Waiting
by Lyndon House
12th June 1916
Dearest Dafydd,
Hello my love. How are you? Here I am about to write another letter, and I thought I had so many things to tell you, but now my mind is blank, as I realise just how much I am missing you. The girls are fine, doing well at school, and looking forward to their summer holidays. Mary is becoming quite the lady, now. She is so like you, and every time I look at her, it brings you close to ,me. Your mother is fine also, though her arthritis is playing her up a bit. The news from the front about Fred Morgan was very sad. Doris and the boys are bearing up, but it must be so difficult for them. Every time I see her, trying to contain her grief, I wonder how I would react should anything happen to you. I know you said we should talk about it, but whenever there’s bad news, I just can’t help it. I love you and miss you so much. Last week, Megan drew a picture of her daddy, and now she sleeps with it, to look after it, so she can give it to you when you come home. And you will come home, my love, you will. We all pray for you every night. I’m about to take the girls to school, and I’ll post this letter in the way. I can’t think to write any more for now, except to say that we love you and miss you, and I count the days to the time when you will come home, and we will be a family again. God keep you safe.
Your loving wife,
Anne.
Dafydd read the letter, straining his eyes against the last of the night’s darkness. It was far from the first time that he had read it, yet he never tired of its contents. The mud and filth, which clung to everything, had long since contaminated it, but his eyes lovingly caressed each neatly written word. It brought his family so much closer. Carefully, he re-folded the precious paper, and returned it to the top pocket of his uniform.
The British artillery bombardment had been blasting the German defences for five days, and he was one of a hundred thousand men who waited in trenches for the moment when it would cease, and the great Somme offensive would begin.
He cast his gaze across the wide, empty expanse of no-man’s land ahead of him. Great explosions rent the air, accompanied by bright flashes. They lit the sky as shells hit their targets, illuminating the great swathes of barbed wire, which criss-crossed the landscape. It was as though the land were being ravaged by a hellish thunderstorm.
"God...Look at that. " he said quietly. "How could anyone live through that?"
"Don’t you believe it boy. The bloody Hun are dug in so deep, they’re knocking on The Devil’s front door. There’ll be plenty of the bastards waiting for us."
The reply came from Daniel, who was standing with his back to the earth wall of the trench, a thinly rolled cigarette hanging from his lips. He had joined up at the very beginning of the war, carried along on the tidal wave of patriotic optimism. It carried him all the way to Belgium, just in time for the retreat from Mons. In those two years, he had aged a lifetime, witnessing and experiencing so many horrors that the flame which burned in his soul, had been snuffed out. He felt nothing. No fear, no sense of horror, no compassion. Just an empty shell.
To Daydd’s left stood Isaac and Iestyn, brothers, though no two brothers could have been less alike. Isaac was a deeply religious, thoughtful man, whilst his Iestyn displayed a recklessness of spirit which had embroiled him in a series of, what Isaac always referred to as....’situations.’ It was also true to say, that due to his rakish good looks and sparkling blue eyes, women were usually at the centre of these ‘situations.’ Only one thing was constant in his life, his brother. His rock-like presence was a haven in which Iestyn would shelter from the storms, which would invariably brew up around him.
Isaac cast his gaze across the empty darkness of no-man’s land, and his stomach churned in the realisation that shortly he, along with thousands of others would cross it to meet.....What?. He tried to banish the thought from his mind.
"What are you thinking, Isaac?" Iestyn asked. "Calling on God for your salvation?"
"If I ever had to call upon the Lord to save anyone’s soul, it would be yours." Isaac replied, slowly smoothing the large, bushy, black moustache of which he was undeniably proud.
"Iestyn chuckled.
"Hey Dan. Remember that whore that used to live opposite the training camp in Aitaples. You know, the one with the big scar on her back. Used to shout blue murder when you was giving it. Anyway, she was always asking why our Isaac never went to her. Told me that she wanted him, loved him. Wanted to marry him."
Isaac sneered, then Iestyn winked at him, as the sneer slowly became a smile, followed by a resigned shake of the head.
"I wonder what I’d be doing if I were home, right now?" Dafyyd said.
"Well I’ve got a pretty good idea what Iestyn would be doing." Daniel replied. "I expect I’d be getting the fire going in the forge."
"It’s my wife’s birthday today." Dafydd said, his voice betraying the sadness he felt. "Me and the girls would be getting her breakfast in bed as a special treat. We always did that."
He reached into the top pocket of his mud-splattered uniform, once again, and pulled out a photograph, from its position next to the letter, as he had done countless times before. He gazed at the battered, wrinkled, sepia images of the smiling faces of the three people who were the very centre of his existence. He sighed deeply.
"Oh, dear God....I wish I was there with them."
"You’re not married, are you, Dan?" Iestyn said, fiddling with the bolt of his rifle.
"Was once...Only for about nine months though. Then she buggered off with some Irish tinker. Grubby little bastard, he was. Still he was welcome to her...Her and her foul temper..
"Our Isaac’s had the longest engagement in history, haven’t you brother? Six years, isn’t it?"
"You know the reasons for that. What with her mother’s illness, and now the war."
"Don’t want her to be a widow then."
Isaac detected a hint of harshness in Daniel’s voice, but ignored it and returned to look once again out across the empty expanse. He listened to the thunder of explosions. Dafydd stared at his photograph and remembered, Iestyn fiddled with his rifle, and Daniel retreated into his personal darkness.
The silence between the four men was played out against the continuing storm of artillery. It lasted for three or four minutes, and was broken by Iestyn, who leant his rifle against the trench wall, and began fiddling with the front of his uniform.
"Aw, these bloody buttons, man." He said, as he crouched forward to examine the front of trousers. Soon, the reason for his discomfort became obvious, as a small, but integral part of his anatomy was exposed to the air. It was followed swiftly by a jet of water which hit the soft earth at the bottom of the trench, forming a small puddle. It quickly drained into the soil. He then reverted to the child, attempting to spray the jet over the top of the trench, chuckling as he did so.
"For pity’s sake Iestyn." Isaac said, shaking his head. "Grow up boy."
"I’m surprised that he still knows it’s for peeing through, as well." Daniel said.
The commotion had also drawn the attention of other occupiers of the trench, for soon, anonymous comments pierced the air.
"Look out, Iestyn’s got his Johnnie out. There must be a woman about."
"I’d put it away if I was you, Hughsie. Before some bloody sniper shoots it off.
Laughter drifted upward from the massed ranks only to be dispersed by the sound of artillery, like smoke on the wind.
"There we go boys. A corner of a foreign field that is for ever Pontnewynydd." Iestyn said, as he tucked himself in, once again.
Just in time, as it happened. They were joined by six other men, who burst in, in an almost ill-mannered, abrupt way, jumping into the trench from behind. There were a few shouts between them, before they dispersed equally quickly, leaving one man behind. He stood quietly,
unmoving, as the four soldiers each eyed their new companion. It didn’t take long to work out if not who he was, then what he was. The new, unspoilt uniform was the obvious signpost. Then they looked at the face, clean and fresh, with brown eyes, wide, filled with a mixture of fear and apprehension. It was as though God had fashioned a brand new soldier.
The new arrival smiled nervously then blushed under the gaze.
"Reinforcements boys. "Iestyn announced. "Just come up, have you?"
The soldier nodded.
Daniel slowly advanced to within a few feet of the newcomer, then flicked the remains of his cigarette into the earth at his feet.
"How old are you boy?"
"I’m eighteen"
Daniel stared at him accusingly, for it was obvious, to his eyes at least, that the boy wasn’t telling the truth. By at least a year, he reckoned.
"Is that what you told them at the recruitment office. Eighteen going on seventeen, is it boy?"
The youngster’s spine stiffened with defiance.
"I’m eighteen."
"Volunteer did you?"
"I wanted to do my duty. It’s in out family."
"In your family." Daniel said, incredulously.
"Yes. My dad was at the Siege of Mafeking, and my Grandad was at Rorke’s drift."
"Rorke’s Drift...Rorke’s bloody Drift, is it. Fighting the Zulus, was he? Well I’ll tell you something boy. Out there, you won’t find a bunch of ragged arsed savages with spears waiting for you. You think this all some sort of bloody game?"
"Oh, leave him alone." Dafydd said, as if to rescue him from Daniel’s bitterness. "What’s your name, son?"
"William....William Davies."
"How long have you been over here?" Iestyn asked.
"Six weeks. Came up last night."
"Dew. That’s bad luck. You should have hung on for a couple more hours. You’d have missed all this....Where you form them?"
"Abersychan."
"Abersychan is it. We had someone from Abersychan in our platoon. Remember boys? Joseph Waters?"
There were mutters in the affirmative before Iestyn returned to his inquisition.
"Did you know him?"
"Not personally. But my Mam knew his wife, and of course we all knew when he was killed. They all said he died a hero?"
Daniel barked a loud, humourless laugh.
"A bloody hero....No boy...He died screaming. Both his legs blown away, his guts hanging out. Not much glory in looking at a man with his guts hanging out.. Nobody dies a hero out here, boy. We just die. I suppose that’s why you joined up. To be a hero?"
"That’s alright." Iestyn said, interrupting. "We all had daft reasons. I joined up to get away from the pit. All that muck and filth.....Muck and filth? Compared to this lot, it was cleaner than my Auntie Mary’s backside. I’d give anything to be back down there.....The pit I mean."
"And our man asked me to join up, just to watch our for Iestyn....And it’s just as well I did. What about you, Dafydd?"
That’s the question Anne asked when I told her what I’d done....Why?....I don’t know really. It seemed that the Belgians and French needed our help. I mean they had been invaded. I thought of all the women and children, just like Anne and my girls. Wondered what it would be like if it were they who were being threatened. I’d like to think that there would be men who would fight to save them, and I could do no less."
"Why did you join up Dan?"
"I joined up because I was a bloody fool."
Dafydd smiled, then turned his gaze toward William, and looked at the youngster. At his brown eyes, full of apprehension. He seemed to be trying so hard not to look scared. Then he imagined him the day he joined up. Filled with stories of the honour and glory of battle...Of heroism and bravery.....Of gallant deeds of derring-do. He probably felt so proud. He would be just like his father and grandfather....A hero. And now, that innocence was about to be brutally torn from him by the hideous, blood-soaked reality of it all.
He turned and leant his tall, lean frame against the trench wall. Then gazed out across no-man’s land, just as the sun cleared the horizon, flooding the scene with its warmth and light. He lifted his head, and gazed upward into the pale blue sky. It was unblemished by clouds and he was struck by just what a glorious morning it was. It was the sort of summer morning when he, Anne and the children would leave their cottage in Blaenavon, and walk upward to the Blorenge Mountain. They would stroll across its heather strewn expanse and look in awe at the panoramic vistas it accorded of the surrounding countryside. They would watch the skylarks as they hovered in the air, before dropping into the purple carpet, their melodious song providing a rich accompaniment.
There was no birdsong now, but it was still a truly glorious morning And then, he became aware of something else, something far more sinister. He turned his head, and the expressions that met his gaze told him that the others had realised it also. There was silence. Not a sound. The air was eerily still, oppressively heavy with the smell of smoke and burnt cordite, which stung men’s nostrils. The bombardment had ceased. The time had come. Meaningful glances were exchanged, between the five comrades, then Iestyn spoke.
"Dear God in heaven. It’s quiet."
Isaac sighed.
"It’s the loudest thing I’ve ever heard."
The silence was broken as a steady babble of chattering started up all along the lines. Some were shouting, some praying. Then Dafydd heard a voice above the others. Like a whisper at first, then drawing closer, like a steam train approaching from the distance. Growing ever nearer, until the sergeant was there with them, and the words were for their ears.
"Fix bayonets and wait for the signal to advance."
And then he was gone, his words growing quieter again, as though the train had passed them and was on its way again, into the distance.
Iestyn fiddled with the bayonet on his belt, drew it out, and tried to attach it to the end of his rifle-barrel. But the quaking in his body had spread to his hands and fingers, and he was powerless to stop it. The bayonet steadfastly refused to slide home.
"Aw, come on you bastard....Please."
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm, and he looked up to see Isaac’s smiling face. He took the rifle and bayonet from him.
"I don’t know brother. Even at a time like this, I’m still watching out for you."
The bayonet slotted into its position, then the two men stared at each other for a moment. An understanding passed between them. A final realisation. They threw their arms around each other, in an embrace, and held tight.
"Isaac....What’s our Mam going to say?"
"Don’t you go worrying Iestyn." Isaac said, as they parted. "Whatever may happen today, God will be with us."
The men lined up together, and all stared ahead....Waiting.
William worried that someone might hear his heart pounding in his chest, and he fiddled nervously with the chinstrap of his helmet. He was standing next to Daniel, and he looked up at his rugged, dirty face.
"What’s the signal?" he asked, nervously.
Daniel glared back at him.
"You listen for Major Beckett’s whistle. That’s the signal."
Then his face creased into a broad smile, and he winked.
"Don’t you go worrying boy. You stay by us. We’ll look after you."
The sudden display of friendly warmth sent a surge of pride coursing through William’s body. He had been accepted, and he was about to go into battle with his new comrades.
"Look boys....Out there."
The shout came from Iestyn. It was a hare. Everyone watched as it made it’s way slowly across the shell-scarred landscape. A solitary hare, blissfully unaware of the carnage that was about to be unleashed about it.
"Do you know, boys. I’d sell my soul to be that hare, right now."
A noise startled the animal, and it bolted for safety.
"That’s right boy." Iestyn shouted after it. "You bloody run....If I was a hare, I’d bloody run too."
The air was thick with anticipation, and Isaac drew it in deeply, trying to suppress the nerves which welled up from the pit of his stomach. He turned his head to the left, to see Iestyn, an expression of grim determination etched on his face. Then to the right, where Dafydd’s mind seemed distant
"What are you thinking about, man?"
"Not thinking exactly. Just wondering."
"What?"
"I was just wondering....When all this is finally over. Do you think anyone will ever remember us?"
A long, shrill whistle then pierced the morning air.
July 2nd 1916
Dear Madam,
It is with profound regret and sorrow that I write to inform you of the death of your husband, Private 712 Dafydd John Lewis of the 2nd Battalion of the Monmouthshire Regiment, who was killed in action on the morning of July 1st. Though it will be of little comfort to you in the terrible pain of your grief, your husband died a hero. Though in full view of the enemy’s guns and without any thought for his own safety, he gallantly tried to aid some of his comrades who had been severely wounded by an artillery shell. For this selfless act of heroism, I have recommended your husband be awarded the Military Medal. It is because of men of the calibre of Private Lewis that I am sure this war will end in our ultimate victory. God save the King.
Yours sincerely,
Colonel R.C.J. Markway
Commanding officer, 2nd Battalion Monmouthshire Regiment