smashing the telephone connection, which was a fine target at the top
of a post against the sky. Bullets pinged over their heads from all
directions, but there was little chance of them being rushed while their
ammunition held out. However, it became necessary to look ahead. It
was the Scotsman’s idea in digging the graves to plan them in zig-zag
formation. The end of the furthest one was barely ten paces from a
clump of aloes. He now got busy with his spade whilst Ned kept guard in
both directions, occasionally firing at the hut and then in the opposite
direction into the darkness. In half-an-hour the Scotsman had made a
shallow connection between the three graves, leaving just enough room to
crawl through. They then in turn donned the turbans of the two fallen
Arabs, who were otherwise dressed in a kind of semi-European uniform.
They ended up with a tremendous fusillade against the hut, riddling it
with bullets; then they crept to the end of the furthest grave, and
leaving their rifles, they made a sudden dash across the open space to
the group of aloes, bending low and limping like wounded Arabs.
They reached them in safety, but there were many open spaces to cover
yet. As they emerged from the trees Ned stumbled on a dark figure. He
kicked it and ran. They both ran zig-zag fashion, and tore off their
turbans as they raced along. They covered nearly a hundred yards, and
then bullets began to search them out again. They must have gone nearly a
mile before the Scotsman gave a sudden slight groan.
“I’m hit,” he said.
He stumbled into a clump of bushes, and fell down.
“Is it bad?” asked Ned.
“Eh, laddie, I’m doon,” he said quietly. He put his hand to his side. He
had been shot through the lungs. Ned stayed with him all night, and they
were undisturbed. Just before dawn the Scotsman said:
“Eh, mon, but yon was a bonny fight,” and he turned on his back and died.
Ned made a rough grave with his hands, and buried his companion. He
took his identification-disc and his pocket-book and small valuables,
with the idea of returning them to his kin if he should get through
himself. He also took his water-flask, which still fortunately contained
a little water. He lay concealed all day, and at night he boldly donned
his turban, issued forth and struck a caravan-trail. He continued this
for four days and nights hiding in the day-time and walking at night. He
lived on figs and dates, and one night he raided a village and caught a
fowl, which also nearly cost him his life.
On the fourth night his water gave out, and he was becoming light-headed.
He stumbled on into the darkness. He was a desperate man. All the
chances were against him, and he felt unmoved and fatalistic. He drew
his clasp-knife and gripped it tightly in his right hand. He was hardly
conscious of what he was doing, and where he was going. The moon was up,
and after some hours he suddenly beheld a small oblong hut. He got it
into his head that this was the hut where his German persecutor was. He
crept stealthily towards it.
“I’ll kill that swine,” he muttered.
He was within less than a hundred yards of the hut, when a voice called
out:
“’Alt! Who goes there?”
“It’s me,” he said. “Doan’t thee get in my way. I want to kill him.
I’m going to kill him. I’m going to, I tell you. I’m going to stab him
through his black heart.”
“What the hell——!”
The sentry was not called upon to use his rifle, for the turbaned figure
fell forward in a swoon.
Three weeks later Ned wrote to his mother from Bethlehem (where Christ
was born), and this is what he said:
“Dear mother. Everything going on all right. I got three parcels here
altogether as I had been away copped by some black devils an unfriendly
tribe. I got back all right though. The ointment you sent me was fine
and so was them rock cakes. What a funny thing about Belle getting lost
at the picnick. We got an awful soaking from the Mid-Lancs Fusiliers
on Saturday. They had two league cracks playing one a wonderful center
forward. He scored three goals. They beat us by 7-0. The weather is hot
but quite pleasant at night. We have an old sergeant who was born in
America does wonderful tricks with string and knots and so on. He tells
some very tall yarns. You have to take them with a pinch of salt. Were
getting fine grub here pretty quiet so far. Hope Henry remembers to wash
Toffee with that stuff every week or so. Sorry to hear Len Cotton killed.
Is his sister still walking out with that feller at Aynham. I never think
he was much class for her getting good money though. Hope you have not
had any more trouble with the boiler. That was a good price to get for
that old buck rabbit. Well there’s nothing more just now and so with
love your loving son, Ned.”
Ned went through the Palestine campaign and was slightly wounded in the
thigh. After spending some time in hospital he was sent to the coast and
put on duty looking after Turkish prisoners. He remained there six months
and was then shipped to Italy. On the way the transport was torpedoed.
He was one of a party of fifty-seven picked up by French destroyers. He
had been for over an hour in the water in his lifebelt. He was landed in
Corsica and there he developed pneumonia. He only wrote his mother one
short note about this:
“Dear mother, Have been a bit dicky owing to falling in the water and
getting wet. But going on all right. Nurses very kind and one of the
doctors rowed for Cambridge against Oxford. I forget the year but
Cambridge won by two and a half lengths. We have very nice flowers in the
ward. Well not much to write about and so with love your loving son, Ned.”
Ned was fit again in a few weeks and he was sent up to the Italian front.
He took part in several engagements and was transferred to the French
front during the last months of the war. He was in the great retreat in
March 1918 and in the advance in July. After the armistice he was with
the army of occupation on the banks of the Rhine. His mother wrote to him
there:
“My dear Ned, Am glad that this fighting is now all over dear. How
relieved you must be. Mr. Filter was in Sunday. He thinks there will be
no difficulty about you gettin your job back when you come back dear.
Miss Siffkins as been deliverin but as Mr. Filter says its not likely a
girl is going to be able to deliver letters not like a man can and that
dear. So now you will be comin home soon dear. That will be nice. We
had a pleesant afternoon at the Church needlewomens gild. Miss Barbary
Banstock sang very pleesantly abide with me and the vicar told a very
amusing story about a little girl and a prince and she didn’t know he was
a prince and talked to him just as though he was a man it was very amusin
dear. I hear Ettie is goin to get married next month they wont get me to
the weddin was it ever so I call it disgraceful and I have said so. Maud
Bean is expectin in April that makes her forth in three years. Mr. Bean
has lost three more rabbits they say its rats this time. The potatoes
are a poor lot this time but the runners and cabbidge promiss well. So
now dear I will close. Hoppin to have your back dear soon, your loving
mother.”
It was, however, the autumn before Ned was demobilized. One day in early
October be came swinging up the village street carrying a white kit-bag
slung across his left shoulder. He looked more bronzed and perhaps a
little thinner, but otherwise little altered by his five years of war
experiences. The village of Ashalton was quite unaltered, but he observed
several strange faces; he only met two acquaintances on the way to his
mother’s cottage, and they both said:
“Hullo, Ned! Ye’re home agen then!”
In each case he replied:
“Ay,” and grinned, and walked on.
He entered his mother’s cottage, and she was expecting him. The lamp was
lighted and a grand tea spread. There was fresh boiled beetroot, tinned
salmon, salad, cake, and a large treacle tart. She embraced him and said:
“Well, Ned! Ye’re back then.”
He replied, “Ay.”
“Ye’re lookin fine,” she said. “What a fine suit they’ve given ye!”
“Ay,” he replied.
“I expect you want yer tea?”
“Ay.”
He had dropped his kit-bag, and he moved luxuriously round the little
parlor, looking at all the familiar objects. Then he sat down, and his
mother brought the large brown tea-pot from the hob and they had a cozy
tea. She told him all the very latest news of the village, and all the
gossip of the countryside, and Ned grinned and listened. He said nothing
at all. The tea had progressed to the point when Ned’s mouth was full of
treacle tart when his mother suddenly stopped, and said:
“Oh, dear, I’m afraid I have somethin’ distressin’ to tell ye, dear.”
“O-oh? what’s that?”
“Poor Toffee was killed.”
“What!”
Ned stopped suddenly in the mastication of the treacle tart. His eyes
bulged and his cheeks became very red. He stared at his mother wildly,
and repeated.
“What’s that? What’s that ye say, mother?”
“Poor Toffee, my dear. It happened right at the cross-roads. Henry was
takin’ him out. It seems he ran round in front of a steam-roller, and a
motor came round the corner sudden. Henry called out, but too late. Went
right over his back. Poor Henry was quite upset. He brought him home.
What’s the matter, dear?”
Ned had pushed his chair back and he stood up. He stared at his mother
like a man who has seen horror for the first time.
“Where is he——where was——” he stammered.
“We buried ’im, dear, under the little mound beyond the rabbit hutches.”
Ned staggered across the room like a drunken man, and repeated dismally:
“The little mound beyond the rabbit hutches!”
He lifted the latch, and groped his way into the garden. His mother
followed him. He went along the mud path, past the untenanted hutches
covered with tarpaulin. Some tall sunflowers stared at him insolently. A
fine rain was beginning to fall. In the dim light he could just see the
little mound—signifying the spot where Toffee was buried. He stood there
bare-headed, gazing at the spot. His mother did not like to speak. She
tiptoed back to the door. But after a time she called out:
“Ned!... Ned!”
He did not seem to hear, and she waited patiently. At the end of several
minutes she called again:
“Ned!... Ned dear, come and finish your tea.”
He replied quite quietly:
“All right, mother.”
But he kept his face averted, for he did not want his mother to see the
tears which were streaming down his cheeks.
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