214

Down Pecksniff Street and Dombey Street he ran, the flags were out, tables were laid, everyone was waiting for the parade. Feeling proud in his uniform; freshly pressed trousers, stiff black epauletted jacket and peak hat, polished brass bugle strung across his back, he managed to attract even more attention to himself by scraping the metal studs of his boots over the cobbles. The noise, combined with the sparks as steel struck flint, caused every head to turn and look at him. At Tony Toohey's house a group of girls were gathered across the street, his sister Aimie was one of them, he planted both feet firmly on the floor and skidded along, clattering like an express train, sending showers of sparks flying.

"Whoaa!" he shouted as his feet slipped from under him. He landed heavily on his backside and went bouncing along, even as he bounced the screams and laughter of the girls hit him.

"Good thing he's not going off to defend us!"

"Think's he's riding a horse he does!"

"Church Lads Brigade? More like the charge of the Light Brigade!"

The girls ragged him unmercifully. Even the women forgot their troubles as they laughed until it hurt.

Davey got to his feet. The intended blast on his bugle which was now even more dented than his pride, came out as a shrill shriek.

"Stop him, he's killing me!" howled one of the girls who, like the rest of her friends, was doubled-over in fits of laughter.

Davey knocked timidly on the open door.

"Send him over on their side," jeered Aimie Toohey, "we'll win the war in a week!"

"Hurry up Toots!" Davey called into the hallway.

"What's the score then?" asked Toots sticking his head out the doorway, "what's everyone laughing at?"

"No idea. You ready?" Davey asked hurriedly.

"Be right with yer," he answered jamming on his peaked hat with the its distinctive "CLB" cap-badge. They were just about to set off but he remembered something. "Hang on a mo' I've forgot me bugle," he darted back in. Davey stood suffering further abuse until he re-emerged.

"Left, left; left, 'ight, left," said Davey quietly. They marched off smartly clacking their heels in step but it wasn't enough to silence the girls.

"Look at his ears!" one of them screamed.

"They're bright red!" screamed another.

"They talking about us?"

Avoiding the question Davey answered, "We're meeting up behind the cathedral," but he could feel the stares burning into his already burning ears. The girls were still screeching as they turned into Nickleby Street

"Our Aimie was with 'em, I'll give her a good hiding when I get home," promised Toots realising his friend's embarrassment. Davey was torn between wanting her to protect her and the desire for retribution. He was about to come down on the side of forgive and forget when another lad hailed them from across the street.

"Hey up there!"

ABazzer! How's it going?"

Bazzer struggled to emerge through the narrow doorway to his house, he succeeded by walking backwards carrying his snare drum in his hands, with a wide grin he threw the strap of the drum over his shoulder, took up his sticks and battered out the first few beats of the Brigade song. They marched on together singing the words,

"Old King Cole was a merry old soul

And a Merry Old Soul was he

There's none so fair as can compare

With the lads of the CLB!"

Several more verses which grew steadily cruder were to follow before they reached the cathedral.

"They're all here," said Davey pointing downhill towards the crowd gathered under the massive building's dark shadow, "I'm going to find me Dad!" off he ran away from his friends.

It was a bright sunny day but a cool sea-breeze lifted off the River Mersey and sent a chill through the air, factories and dockyards sent their filthy smoke up to join the breeze darkening the sandstone walls of the cathedral from red to black. Some of the men raised their collars against the damp, many had just finished their shifts, they still wore their work clothes; heavy jackets and boots, trousers with patches on the knees and turnups at the bottoms stitched on to replace frayed edges.

Davey searched amongst them but although he asked several times, "Have you seen me Dad?" no-one was able to help. The men milled around, a disorganised body about three hundred strong waiting for someone to organise them. That someone was ex-Colour Sergeant Cayden. Twenty years of bellowing orders hadn't done anything to weaken his voice.

"LISTEN UP!" he roared above the hubbub. Powered by his barrel-chest his voice stilled everyone into silence, "I want you men fallen in, street by street, file by file. You're in the army now so the sooner you start acting like soldiers the better it'll be for all of us."

"But you're not in the army now Colours!" quipped a voice from the crowd.

"And it's a good thing for you I'm not!" retorted the sergeant.

Groups started to gather together, "Arundel Avenue Raiders!" "Myrtle Street Marauders!" "Copperfield Street Crusaders," "Dombey and Sons!" each man joined his own street under the banner of its adopted name.

"Dad!" called Davey seeing his father heading towards his street's banner. Several other men with sons his age looked in his direction but it was a small man with curly hair, thinning on the top, and wearing trousers that always seemed too big for him, who turned back.

"Alright lad," he said, "by gosh you're looking smart.@ He waved towards a friend in the crowd, Aquite a turn-out eh? We all signed up together. Few more years and you could have joined us. Ironed them trousers yourself?" Davey nodded. "Smart. Is your mum alright?" Hugh knew that she would be taking it hard.

"Fine Dad," said Davey. The past two weeks of her arguing and pleading with Hugh not to volunteer had been the only time in his life that he had heard his mother cry.

The heavy thump of the big bass drum signalled the Church Lads Brigade to form up.

"That's for the band, I'd better go."

"See you at the party," called his father.

Davey ran straight into the outstretched arms of a thick-set man. The man's hands gripped him round his arms and hoisted him into the air. "Hey lad, what's the hurry!" he boomed.

"Uncle Paddy! Are you going to be in the parade?"

"Nobody's going to be dropping white feathers through our door," he boomed planting Davey back on his feet, "it's not us workers that want to fight but nobody's goin' to call Paddy Murtagh a coward," he thumped himself on the chest.

"Your mam'll be pleased, she said she wants you to look after me Dad."

"Silly old woman, she's no idea. Look at them, like lambs to the slaughter, they think it's all a game, but yer Uncle Paddy'll be there for him," he looked thoughtful.

The bass drum thumped out more urgently.

"I'd better go, see you at the party!" called Davey.

"Aye, let's celebrate," said Paddy quietly to himself.

The Church Lads Brigade was placed at the head of the parade with the men behind, street by street, with banners fluttering. On the cathedral steps stood Colour Sergeant Cayden, alongside him clad in his robes and vestments the dean of the cathedral stood ready to give the men his blessing.

"PARADE 'SHUN!" yelled the sergeant. The Brigade and some of the men with military training snapped smartly to attention, others stood looking bewildered.

The sergeant yelled, AYou men have taken the king's shilling, tomorrow you will put on uniform and begin basic training, you will have the power of the king and the might of the British Empire behind you. You will defeat the Hun and return as heroes. I only wish I was going with you. Now let's hear three cheers, AND I MEAN CHEERS for yourselves!"

The shout of several hundred men roared into the air, the noise hit the cathedral and echoed into the distance, all the surrounding neighbourhoods heard it, the streets which waited for the parade and the street parties went quiet as women and children stood and listened to the roar which carried across the rooftops.

The dean's blessing, accompanied with a sprinkling of holy water, was short and simple; "Onward Christian soldiers marching off to war, with the cross of Jesus going on before." It was followed by the first drum rolls of the same hymn as the sergeant roared,

"PAA... RADE WILL ADVANCE BY THE LEFT...FORWARD... MARCH!"

The bass drum beat out the time as the whole mass of men stepped forwards,

"LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, 'IGHT, LEFT," roared Cayden.

Buglers joined in and blasted out, "Like a royal banner, on against the foe,@ the men in the column added their voices to each chorus "Onward Christian soldiers marching off to war...."

They paraded through the Holy Land; John Street, then Matthew Street, James Street and Simon Street, everywhere women and children and older men, not fit for war, stood cheering them on.

Colour Sergeant Cayden marched smartly alongside occasionally hissing out of the side of his mouth, AYOU! What do you think yer are? a camel!@ Out of co-ordination the man would strive to stop himself swinging his left arm forwards with his left leg and get back in step. Showing the compassionate side of his nature the sergeant would demonstrate the small skip necessary to break the ungainly gait.

Davey was proud enough to burst, the Brigade played like it had never played before, Brian Kelly was tossing the mace, he threw it higher than ever and for the first time didn't drop it once.

The band's instruments gleamed in the sun and dazzled the onlookers eyes, it was a parade to remember! Davey and Toots exchanged winks as behind them The Crusaders followed, the tiny figure of Hugh smiled as he looked ahead at his son.

In Copperfield Street the excitement grew as they heard the parade approaching.

"They've just left the Holy Land, they're moving into Dickens Land!" came old Nick's shouted commentary from his bedroom, he couldn't get down the stairs because of his arthritis. As "Pilgrim's Progress" floated through the air they could clearly hear the percussion instruments, xylophones and tambourines and knew it was getting closer.

"They're in Nickleby Street!" cried one, "No its Pecksniff Street!" argued another.

"He who would valiant be 'gainst all disaster," sang the men.

"Let him in constancy follow the master," blasted the bugles in competition with the men for that and the next line.

All the instruments joined together for, "His first avowed intent, to be a pilgrim!"

Horses reared and whinnied as the parade passed.

ADoesn't he look smart.@ AYou just fancy him,@ said the girls in Dombey Street as Davey passed blowing for all he was worth. Then the bugles went quiet as the drums took up the interval between songs, the big bass with "Church Lads Brigade" painted in bright blue letters upon both its faces, boomed out on its own, marking time with the thousands of steel studs which struck the stones. Some of the men carried broom-sticks as imaginary rifles, those who knew drill moved the sticks through, "Slope arms, order arms, present arms."

The snares joined in with their rat-a-tat-tat, they sent a pony and trap hurtling off as the high-spirited animal took fright. As the mace-bearer directed the column into Copperfield Street bugles sounded the first few bars of a song they all knew well.

"LET'S HEAR IT LADS!" roared Colour Sergeant Cayden.

"It's a long way to Tipperary,"

Davey waved to his mum as the Brigade passed by, she was smiling and waving with all the other women of the street.

It's a long way from home"

"It's a long way to Tipperary," At this point Hugh came alongside his wife, their eyes met and flooded with tears as she heard his voice yelling above everyone else to her and to her alone,

"To the sweetest girl I know..."

Goodbye Piccadilly

Hello Leicester Square

It's a long long way to Tipperary but my heart lies there".

Like many other wives Liz buried her face into her pinny and sobbed. The older women took bunches of the younger women into their arms and tried to console them.

The band and men passed by until its sound faded. The atmosphere in the street wasn't what it had been but Mrs Fegan took charge. "Ladies, Ladies, Ladies!" she screeched until everyone turned towards her, "the men'll back soon, let's make sure we have a good party, get rid of the tears and be happy for them, they won't want to remember us like this." The women pulled themselves together, dried their eyes, went into their two-up, two-downs and began ferrying food to the tables.

Before long the men returned rolling two kegs of ale before them.

"What a spread!" exclaimed Davey seeing all the tables filled to overflowing. He said the names of everything he saw as if savouring the taste, "Ginger beer, lemonade, sandwiches, apples, oranges, ham, sausages, biscuits....Dad!" His father ruffled his hand through his son's hair. "Quite a spread eh son!"

"So you've taken the shilling have yer!" exclaimed Mrs Murtagh, "Liz!" she called, "don't you be worrying about your Hughie, my Paddy's goin' to be there to look after him."

Liz forced herself to smile, Hugh joked, "Now I have got problems! But the first thing he can do is fetch me a pint! Paddy, give them a hand over there!"

A group of men were struggling with one of the barrels trying to lift it on top of a low wall. Paddy walked across, "Mind yer backs there lads, I'll be dealing with this boyo," he grabbed the barrel in a bear-hug. "Heeep!" he exclaimed as he straightened his legs and lifted the barrel onto the wall. "I don't know, if you want a job doing you're best doing it yerself," he took hold of the tap, "Pass us that there mallet will yer Johno," then with an almighty belt he thumped the tap home.

"A pint for half-pint Hughie!" he quipped as he passed the glass to his friend.

"Yer great lump, cheers Paddy!" said Hugh.

The party got underway, "Some more cheese Mr Murtagh?" "Can you pass me the ham," "Any pickles?" Best behaviour disguised a free-for-all; families sat together alongside their neighbours, food and drink was passed around until every stomach groaned under the strain, even the babies burbled as milk from their mothers, heavily laden with ale, was fed into them.

"Another piece of cake Hughie?" asked Liz placing a huge chunk of chocolate cake before him as if trying to fill him up so much before he went away that he'd never need feeding again.

"I'm fit to burst," said Hugh but loosened his belt buckle by several notches to allow room for more.

When every last morsel had been cleared Mrs Fegan again took control.

"Right ladies!" she screeched, "let's clear this lot away. You fellers shift yerselves!"

The men moved together and sat laughing and joking together as the women worked away, they were being treated like lords and the beer stopped them from worrying what the future held in store. Outside they sat, smoking their pipes until the sun went down and the barrels had been drained then one by one they made their way into their homes.

"Everything alright Liz," Hugh asked his wife quietly, she sat finishing off the scarf she was knitting for him, "Has Davey gone to bed?"

Liz looked across to her husband, she put down her knitting and got up, crossed the room and hugged him as though she would never let him go.

"Come on girl, don't start going all weak and soppy on me, it's going to be a rough ride and I want to know that my girl is able to cope with it."

"Oh don't go worrying about me now Hughie, I'll be alright," she paused, "it's just that I'll miss you."

"Well if what they're saying is true it shouldn't be for long and I'll be home again. Some of the lads signed up today because they didn't want to miss out, it could be that quick."

"Can we sit and read together?" she asked, "I don't want to waste a minute of to-night."

Hugh took the family Bible from the shelf over the fireplace, "Come on then girl, sit here," he made room for her next to him on the sofa and put his arm around her.

They flicked through the pages, "Let's read this one called The True Vine, it's such a beautiful picture," said Liz.

By flickering gaslight Hugh read the passage but his voice stuttered when he reached, "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends..."

Liz could not control herself, she broke her heart and Hugh knew not to stop her.

Davey heard the heavy sobs. He lay in the darkness and was scared for his father.

CHAPTER 2

"Over the top"

"There yer go Hughie, that's you all done up, it'll protect your vitals," said Paddy. With a jerk he finished strapping the short digging spade to Hugh's chest. A piercing roar followed immediately by an explosion caused them and the men around them to bury their heads into their necks, mud and soil splattered down into their trench.

"You didn't need to duck little feller!" joked Paddy as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"That's their first one today," said Hugh, "The Hun are keeping their heads down." The artillery bombardment that screamed over their heads to plough into the German trenches was tremendous. Behind the enemy lines they could see a large mud-covered hill, AHill 17!@ the colonel had called it, AIt will be quite easy, after our bombardment Fritz won't be interested in fighting, you'll be able to just stroll over there and seize our objective.@

The force of the explosion had dislodged a rough wooden sign, it teetered above a dugout then tumbled down into the mud at the bottom of the trench. The whitewashed words COPPERFIELD STREET CRUSADERS slowly dissolved into the grime and dirt.

"They'll be okay won't they Pad, they're are all such good lads," said Hugh.

"You be worrying about yerself now Hughie, they're all big enough to take care of themselves." The same bad omen had been seen by the other men, they paused in their last minute preparations, hurriedly scribbled letters to their wives and sweethearts were for the moment forgotten, restricted by battledress and greatcoats they shook hands or hugged each other.

"We'd better be getting these monkeys ready," said Paddy as he began to carefully unwrap the rags and strapping which protected his rifle from the mud. Hugh copied him, the blast and roar above their heads increased so that he had to put his mouth directly over the bigger man's ear to make himself heard.

"Soon be our turn!" he yelled.

"You stay right behind me little feller," shouted Paddy back into his ear, "I'm a lot bigger than that there shovel."

Hugh said something he had wanted to say for a long time, AThanks for looking after me Pad."

The bigger man just grinned. "'ere lad, let's be looking after those poor feet of yours." He took off his backpack and dropped its dead-weight onto the mud. "Come on," he pulled Hugh next to him, their weight forced the pack down into the sucking sludge but their feet stayed clear of its grasp.

"You'll be getting yourself in trouble Paddy," said Hugh but grateful to get his sodden feet clear of the mire.

"If those there fellers are too important not to stand in the filth then so are we." Paddy inclined his head towards the officers standing together on a rickety wooden duck-board.

"I don't know why they can't all be like Captain Sherston," said Hugh indicating a man who stood apart from his brother officers, knee-deep in the filth.

"Poetry ain't got no place here but he's a fine man I'll grant you that."

Feeling their gaze upon him the officer looked up from the small pad he was writing upon and smiled at the two friends, he took the time to scratch at the lice gnawing away under his armpit, then returned to his notes.

The hours of waiting passed slowly; the shell fire continued without cease, overhead a bi-plane droned past spotting for the artillery, the very shells the pilot sought to direct onto their targets caused vacuums around the plane sending it dipping and dropping alarmingly, AWouldn't fancy his job eh Hughie?@ said Paddy putting an arm around Hugh, he was dozing on his feet with his head resting on his friend's shoulder. There they stood thoughout that long, hot summer morning, Hugh slept through most of the deep, booming bombardment, it was the shrill blast of whistles which was to bring him back to harsh reality.

"Micawber Street and Nickleby Street are to go first," Paddy informed him.

Shrieking madly above the noise and confusion, the whistles signalled the first wave of attack. "Over you go!" yelled an officer who stood high on a parapet half-way up the trench wall. He motioned them upwards with his Browning pistol, a couple of coat-hooks were missing from his hand but he still had the use of his trigger and middle finger.

To cheers from the men who stood jam-packed together in the trench bottom the first wave climbed from safety into no-man's land.

"Get the Hun! Give them one for us!"

One joker shouted, "Remember the Alamo!"

The shouts of encouragement were drowned by the bomb-blasts which battered above their heads. Two of the men were blasted back into the trench as if flattened by an unseen hand. It was well for those who waited that they could not see the carnage that was taking place.

A blasted wasteland, covered in mud-filled craters and splattered tree stumps was the killing-field. Water-cooled machine guns stuttered out their tunes of death as men ran into the enfilading fire, behind their fallen comrades they crouched, seeking protection as necklaces of death spattered through the mud trying to fasten onto their lives.

Fear sent the thoughts of the waiting men scurrying home to their loved ones.

"Come on girl, let's get you over to Mrs Murtagh," said Mrs Fegan. She looped her arms around Liz's waist and, assisted by her own bulk, lifted her off the sofa.

"Come on, dry those eyes, you'll see, everything's going to be just fine."

She half-carried the younger woman down the lobby, into the street and crossed over to Mrs Murtagh's house.

"Mrs Murtagh!" she screeched. The door was opened by Mrs Murtagh, her hair was tightly wrapped round wooden clothes pegs, she was wearing a flowery workcoat. Instantly seeing what the situation was she said, "In you come girl," against words of protest Mrs Fegan heaved her in.

The front door opened straight into the living room.

"Sit yourself down you poor girl, what are you getting yourself so upset over. Mind your back there Mrs Fegan," said Mrs Murtagh as she helped the fat woman lower her burden into an armchair.

Mrs Fegan stood cradling the younger woman to her big belly. "A cup of tea Mrs Murtagh," she said mouthing the words in her exaggerated sort of way and emphasising the word cup. Mrs Murtagh nodded in understanding.

"I'd just put the kettle on," she said disappearing into the kitchen.

"Have you heard anything from your Paddy," Mrs Fegan called over the sound of the singing kettle, "is he alright?"

"That good for nothing so-and-so," said Mrs Murtagh as she returned carrying a cup of tea, "out there enjoying himself," but the expression on her face told a different tale. "There you go Mrs Mac, get it down yer, you'll feel a lot better for it."

The two old crones watched closely as the younger woman drank the tea.

"There's a good girl, just leave that little bit in the bottom."

Liz no longer sobbed but the tears still streamed down her face, several drops landed in the dregs of the cup. Mrs Fegan gave a questioning look, Mrs Murtagh answered, "That's fine, every little helps. Right, turn your cup three times to the left like this," she showed the movement. "That's a good girl," she turned to Mrs Fegan, "get us a saucer love."

"'ang on a mo'," said Mrs Fegan as she waddled rapidly into the tiny kitchen and returned carrying a saucer.

"Right, tip your cup upside down onto this," Mrs Murtagh held out the saucer. "That's fine." She passed it back to Mrs Fegan, on it was a steaming mess of tea-leaves. Mrs Fegan carried the saucer back into the kitchen whilst Mrs Murtagh peered into the drained cup. "This is what we're after, it's a bright cup! Thank God for that, he'll be fine girl, look here Mrs Fegan, see how bright this is," she said showing her.

"There yer are, I told you didn't I," said Mrs Fegan vindicated, "anything else Mrs Murtagh?"

"Let's have a closer look should we."

Liz had cheered up, she watched attentively as the old woman squinted at the thinly spread tea-leaves which clung to the inside of the cup.

"Umm, yes, umm, yes," she repeated, nodding her head, "oh it's a clear cup, it's a clear cup."

Mrs Fegan was wriggling in anticipation but knew better than to interrupt the reading. Mrs Murtagh was spending a long time with this one, she watched the look of concentration as more and more secrets were teased from the leaves.

Mrs Murtagh's blob nose was almost stuck inside the cup, her wart rubbed along the rim. The moment in which her look of concentration gave way to a look of worry was seen by Liz.

"Will he be alright," she asked quickly, suddenly afraid.

"He'll come home to you girl, he'll come home, you mark my words," said Mrs Murtagh.

"Oh thank God," she said in an anguished but relieved voice.

"Come on then Mrs Murtagh, show us what you've seen," said Mrs Fegan.

"Pass us a pin."

Mrs Fegan extracted one of the spikes which appeared to have dealt effectively with her hat

"See down there, down in the bottom, see those deep lines set into the leaves," said Mrs Murtagh tracing round the images with the pin.

"Yes I see them," said Liz. Mrs Fegan bobbed around behind them trying to get a better look.

"That's the trenches our boys are in," said Mrs Murtagh, "see up there, higher up the cup, look there he is, your little Hughie. He's higher than the trench so he's out of it. Look, can you see him?"

Liz shook her head. Mrs Fegan couldn't see him either but said that she could.

"'ere look," said Mrs Murtagh, tracing round the outline.

"Yes! Now I can see him, I see him," cried Liz, "he's walking round, he's alive and well but what's he doing out of the trench? Isn't that dangerous, will he be alright Mrs Murtagh?" she begged.

"The cup shows everything girl, everything near and everything far, it'd show us...." her voice trailed off slightly as she spoke.

"Anything else Mrs Murtagh," said Mrs Fegan sensing that she needed some help.

"No everything's going to be fine..for him," she replied getting up and sounding as cheery as she could, she walked off into the kitchen, "Biscuits anyone?"

Mrs Fegan sat with the plate resting on her belly, it made a little table of its own. One after another the biscuits were polished off and swilled down with cup after cup of tea. When the last biscuit was left she politely enquired, "Anybody want that one?" the other women did not dare to deprive her, it went the same way as the rest of them. For some time they sat, each lost in their own reveries until the silence was broken by the shout of a rag-and-bone man.

"ENNY OLD RAGS, SCRAP OR IRON!" he shouted walking up the back alleyway, the sound of his cart and the worn-out hooves of his broken down horse followed on behind.

Woken from their day-dreams Mrs Fegan raised her head and looked outside, "There's your Davey, home from band-practice, come on, let's be getting you home love," she gestured Mrs Murtagh to help.

Outside the sun was sinking low, the cathedral cast its long dark shadow upon them as they crossed the street.

Davey greeted them, "Hello Mrs Murtagh, Mrs Fegan," but seeing they way they were both supporting his mother he added, "everything alright?"

"She's been a little upset lad," said Mrs Murtagh, "but she's going to be fine now, aren't you girl?"

"Yes, don't be worrying about me Davey," said Liz in a faraway voice.

Mrs Fegan put a brawny arm around her waist, "Come on, up the wooden hill." Although the younger woman protested they bundled her up the tiny stairway and forced her into bed.

"Now you lie there my love and stay there," insisted Mrs Fegan, "I'll see to Davey, you get some rest."

"Poor dear's dog-tired," said Mrs Murtagh. The way Liz's eyes closed told them that sleep would not be long in coming. They crept back down the narrow stairs but the steep bend half-way up was far more difficult to negotiate going down.

"Here lad, give us a hand," whispered Mrs Fegan to Davey. He sprang up and steadied her hands as she tottered down, her stumpy heels ripping into the oil-cloth. "Thanks lad. She'll be fine now, don't you fret," said Mrs Fegan, "call round in an hour and I'll give you a bit of dinner."

"Thanks Mrs Fegan," said Davey his mouth watering at the thought of one of Mrs Fegan's sized meals.

The two old ladies retraced their steps, the damp evening air had made the cobbles slippery so that Mrs Fegan linked her friend's arm for support. A solitary blackbird piping the dusk sent a shiver down Mrs Murtagh's back, Mrs Fegan felt the shiver through her hand. Safely back in the living room she asked, "Well what did you see Muriel? Come on I know sommat's the matter."

"It's...I'm not sure...I need a closer look, light the lamp Peggy." She took hold of the cup then sat staring into its dried remains.

Hugh pushed a small locket into Paddy's hand, "If anything happens give this to me missus." Above the roar of the barrage Paddy could not hear him but he knew what he meant, he looked at the tiny photograph of Liz.

"You'll be alright little man, I'll see to that, you just stay with me." He clenched his fist and pushed the locket deep into his breast-pocket.

The shells fired from far behind their own lines to race screaming and splitting above their heads suddenly ceased. The air cleared rapidly to reveal a beautiful Summer sky, little clouds scudded across a bright blue expanse but the sudden silence was as unnerving as the roar of battle.

"What's going on then eh?" shouted one of the men to the officer on the parapet.

In a toffee-nosed accent he corrected him, "Do you mean what's going on SIR?" but added, "Sappers have been busy. They've been tunnelling towards Fritz for months," a runner passed him a message, "FIX BAYONETS!"

"Here we go Pad," Hugh's voice was drowned by the sound of hundreds of bayonets sliding from steel scabbards and being locked into position.

The joker began a few bars of the Crusaders favourite song, the words were simple enough, "We're here because, we're here because, we're here because we're here..." repeated over and over to the tune of Auld Lang Syne. None of the other men joined him but some did begin to hum along, it was a beautiful sound as they waited in the horrible silence. It was too much for one youngster, hysteria gave him the strength to force his way through the press of men.

"Mum! Mum! Help me Mum!" he screamed and dropped his rifle into the mud.

"Halt or I fire!" yelled the officer on the parapet raising his pistol.

"Hold on! Don't shoot!" shouted men from below, "someone get hold of him."

But their attempts were too slow, the officer shot the man between the shoulder-blades. "Medics!" A stretcher was passed over the heads of the assembled men and the body was taken up.

"Swines!" Paddy spat.

The men began to murmur amongst themselves.

"He's shot Walter Pritchard's lad, b-----d, Let him have it Robbo!" someone called.

"Silence in the ranks!" yelled the officer sensing the unrest.

"or I fire!" mimicked a man beneath him. The situation was very tense, Hugh and Paddy clenched their knuckles on their 303's.

"I'd just as soon put a bullet into that there feller as into the Hun," said Paddy. The unrest amongst the men told of the same sentiment. The tension ended when one man shouted out, "Eh up, RATS!" A rat fell down into their trench. It was followed by another and another until soon the lip of the trench was a moving line of dark, slimy bodies as the fattened rodents slithered and fell downwards. Men lashed out with their heavy boots or tried to stamp the vermin into the filth. Some of the men received nasty bites and yelled in pain. "Get 'em Rags!" they urged their pet dog. Rags didn't need to be told, it tore after the rats, with a bite and a shake of its head it killed even the biggest of the vermin.

"Something's told them there fellers something's up," said Paddy quietly. They watched the rats dive into the dugouts darting desperately deeper. "Christ! There it is!"

An explosion from a huge land-mine far beneath the earth disembowelled the German trenches. Mountains of debris were propelled far above them; a horse's head, a wheel, artillery pieces, tree stumps. The shock wave hit and buffeted ear drums until they bled, the ground under their feet shook. The sky was blackened and ripped apart, it seemed it could never recover. Hill 17 was totally obscured by the wreckage of war.

"OVER THE TOP!" screamed the officer, gesturing furiously at all the remaining men with his pistol.

Over the rickety duckboards and up the ladders they went.

"Keep the line!" yelled the officer catching up with the heavier laden men.

Not one bullet was fired towards them, "Jerry felt that one!" shouted Paddy. They ran forward together, over the bodies of their fallen comrades, ignoring the cries of the wounded and the arms raised for help; slipping, falling and tripping across the desolation until they reached a section of barbed-wire. Jagged, knifelike spikes the thickness of a man's thumb halted them.

"It's not broken! The gun's haven't done their work!" Men cried in despair as they ran backwards and forwards seeking an opening, anywhere to get through the twisted metal strands.

AIf Fritz has survived this is going to be messy,@ Paddy told Hugh.

A whistle attracted their attention, they ran towards it.

"Through here!" ordered the officer. A gap had been found. He stood there, waving his pistol, goading the men to press forwards, to carry the attack into the German trench. "Come on you men, into the breech!" he roared at the top of his voice.

"That there feller's a bloody fool," said Paddy, so many men were being wedged into the gap that only a trickle were able to pass through. A single shot rang out, it was the high-pitched crack of a .303, the officer's body turned head over heels then dropped to lie grotesquely in the mud.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" shouted Robbo. But the men in the gap were packed too tightly, hampered by the mud and their heavy packs they could not budge.

"Get yerself behind me Hughie, I can see what's goin' to happen >ere.@

Hugh watched as the mass of men buckled and dissolved as heavy machine-gun fire tore into them, they were flung like rag dolls as the wall of lead struck. Paddy was one of the men who took a bullet. He jerked back against Hugh knocking him down, covering him with his body. The sky erupted as explosions rent the air and white-hot metal from mortar and grenade shredded itself. The attack was forgotten as men sought to preserve their lives.

Beneath the body of Paddy squirmed Hugh, wiping the mud and the gore from his eyes he moved until he was able to scream into his ear, "Paddy! Paddy! Where are you hit?" Frantically he turned his friend's head so that he could look into his eyes, "Paddy! Are you alright?" a faint flicker of life blinked back at him. "Let's be getting you out of here." He reached round his waist and unclasped the buckles of his webbing releasing water-bottle and ammunition. Bullets were zipping everywhere as he took hold of Paddy's greatcoat collar and dragged him a short distance towards a shell-hole. The mud allowed Hugh to slide the dead-weight of Paddy along, after several jerks they slid into the hole and came to rest in its slimy bottom. The screams and yells of their comrades told of others less fortunate than themselves.

Hugh opened Paddy's battledress, his tunic and shirt were staining crimson, as he stared into the wounded man's eyes he saw that same glazed look he has seen in the eyes of men hit by sniper fire and knew his friend's time was running out. "You'll be alright you great idiot, it'll buy you yer ticket back to Blighty.@

He took off his pack then carefully wriggled up the muddy slope trying not to put his hands anywhere that bore the stain of battle. When he raised his helmet slightly above the rim of the shell-hole he saw a horrific sight. There was no longer a gap in the wire, the bodies of his friends blocked it. With shattered spirit he sank back into safety.

"We're only a grenade's throw from 'em Pad but we'll be alright, most of the other lads made it," he choked as he said the words, he knew that if he survived he would never forget what he had seen. AWe'll keep our heads down until it gets dark."

Paddy's eyes rolled slowly round in their sockets, he looked at him, "Don't yer be worryin' about me now, I'm not goin' anywhere."

Hugh knew better than to argue, "Let's get you comfy then, it's going to be a long wait." He took off his greatcoat, covered his friend with it, then lay down at his side. Above them the battle raged in all its fury but beyond it the sun rose in the sky and it grew hot and warm.

"Thirsty Pad? let's get you some water should we." He took his canteen from its pouch and by soaking his handkerchief was able to squeeze drops into Paddy's mouth. His fear kept him talking, he talked of trips to Blackpool, "Remember the time you missed the last charabanc and had to sleep on the promenade?" he laughed at the memory; and spoke of old Nick the grouch of Copperfield Street who would wake up in the night and shout out at the top of his voice, "Is anybody there? Can somebody tell me if I'm awake?" He felt Paddy's head, it was cold and clammy, peeling back the greatcoat he saw the bright red patch of blood had grown. Panic forced him to talk even more, "Paddy, me and my Liz have been thinking that we should buy a little place in the country and grow vegetables, keep a few chickens for eggs, maybe a cow for milk and what we don't use we could sell. Davey could have a horse of his own and he'd grow up in a lovely clean place. You could join us Pad, if you want that is, your mum would probably be glad to get rid of you!" he laughed at that point. "Tell you what Pad, we could have a place by the sea and if we had a little boat we could go out everyday and catch a few fish. The four of us wouldn't need much would we."

Paddy did not make a murmur, Hugh panicked, APaddy, you still there?"

"Aye lad, give us...smoke," he croaked.

Hugh reached into his breast pocket and drew out his tobacco, pipe and lighter, he packed a pipe, pulled on it then held it to Paddy's mouth. Paddy could not draw on it so Hugh took some into his own mouth and blew it softly into his friend's. High above, above the shell-bursts and cordite the blue sky beckoned, Hugh thought he saw something and held a hand to his eyes to shield them from the blasts and flares which burst all around.

"Paddy, up there. Can you see it? There's something up there." He tried to show him whatever it was but Paddy was unable to focus his eyes, they just rolled round, he was close to losing consciousness. Hugh lay back staring, "I'm not seeing things Pad, something's up there, something strange." He looked at his friend, his life blood was slowly ebbing away, "Maybe it's a guardian angel," he said dreamily.

It was late afternoon when the wind changed direction. There was an urgency in Hugh's voice, "Paddy, the wind's changed, they'll be laying down gas behind it!" but when he looked into his friend's eyes he saw that unless Paddy received treatment soon it would not be long before the life left them.

First came the smoke; an acrid, thick black cloud which billowed along hovering inches above the battlefield as if not wishing to add its filth to the foulness beneath it.

"They'll be adding the gas next, we're going to have to be getting out of here!"

He dampened their handkerchiefs and tied them into position over their mouths and noses.

"Soon as the smoke covers us we'll make a run for it!"

"Give me.. rifle, I'm stayin'."

Hugh did not answer, he returned his bayonet to its scabbard and prepared the rifle so that he could use it as a walking-stick to help them from the hole.

Unable to see their targets through the smoke the German gunners concentrated their fire in bursts through short arcs. Looking back towards his lines, Hugh saw other men rising from the ground, some helped their injured comrades to their feet, others struggled under the weight of wounded men. Screams of agony and pain rent the air.

"Let's be having you then Pad," said Hugh heaving on Paddy's lapels.

Paddy tried to speak but was too weak, Hugh pulled him into a sitting position then hoisted him onto his back. With his boots caked in mud and scrabbling for grip, ramming the butt of his rifle deep into the mud, he fought his way out from the shell-hole.

"Won't be needing that," he panted as the rifle was left stuck deep into the mud. The smoke engulfed them, "The Hun'll not be missing their chance," he gasped as the fumes soaked into his lungs. He staggered on moving as rapidly as he could dreading the thought that the unseen death might catch them. But it was not long before he felt a burning sensation on the back of his throat and knew it was something terrible. Heavier than air the gas filled hollows and depressions as it rolled along billowing after the retreating men.

Other men had already suffered its effects, they passed by crying out "Jesus help me!" or screaming in agony. Hugh heard retching and gurgling as they lay down to drown in water from their own lungs. Blinded and coughing he struggled through the hell away from the bursts of fire. Soon even the rattle of death stopped. Nothing could be seen, nothing could be heard save the crying of injured men wandering without any sense of direction until they fell. Through the eerie silence he strained under the weight of his friend. His helmet was pushed down in front of his face, only his will-power kept him going forcing him to stagger forwards one step at a time. An occasional magnesium flare flashed through the murk casting garish shadows, burning gas-filled eyes, "Soon be there Pad," he sputtered as they fell downwards.

"These tea-leaves are scattered everywhere," said Mrs Murtagh, "it's like they've all exploded from the bottom of the cup to give this reading." Her shaky hand traced the pin over a small clear area near the rim, "And look at this spot, high up above them, there's not one leaf on it."

"What is it?" asked Mrs Fegan, "hold on it looks like one of those Zeppelin things."

"Yer right girl," said Mrs Murtagh, she cried, "don't tell me they're going to drop bombs on our boys!"

"They'll be alright, you take a good look now," urged Mrs Fegan.

"I thought I saw something before but it's gone....No! There it is. It's my Paddy! He's hurt!"

"Are you sure Muriel? Show me," pleaded Mrs Fegan. The shaky pin drew round the figure of a man laying down.

"But look, if it's him he's higher than little Hughie in the cup," said Mrs Fegan, "what does that mean?"

Mrs Murtagh shook her head slowly from side to side, "My poor lad." A moistness was in her eyes, she took out a grubby hanky and blew her great nose.

AYer could do with a drink,@ said Mrs Fegan, she went out into the backyard where there were crates of stout, some crates were filled with empties others waited to be consumed, Aget this down yer girl,@ she encouraged biting the top off the bottle with her thick teeth.

It was a long drop before they hit the ground, the fall knocked the air from Hugh's body, he could feel everything about him going black and had to fight not to lose consciousness. In surges he became aware that he had fallen onto duckboards, they were solid and wide, they rested on the dry base of a deep dry trench. Forcing himself to see through tear-filled eyes he croaked, "Paddy we're in Fritz's trench!"

The smoke rolled like a wave over the top of the trench then fell like a waterfall down its side it would not be long before the trench was filled but for the moment they were able to breathe. Hugh's lungs were heaving as they sought to drag life through the poison which filled his chest. Paddy lay awkwardly, the gas was already beginning to cover him.

"Let's get you up Pad," Hugh tried to speak but gurgled as if his mouth was full of water. He heaved on Paddy's big shoulders but was barely able to move him. The effort caused him to choke, he coughed and spat out thick mucus, "Come on Pad, you've got to help me. We've got to get out of here."

Paddy's head rolled round, their was a look of stillness on his face.

"It'll soon be over for you," Hugh cried cuddling him, "you'll not suffer much longer."

He sat behind Paddy with his back against the trench wall cradling his friend, shreds of darkness dropped off the black cloud above and were eagerly swallowed up by the smoke around them which gradually deepened.

"Looks like Fritz is getting a taste of his own medicine Pad." He did not know and did not care if he ever moved again when out of the gloom loomed a figure of a man, "Let's hope this feller's one of ours," he said quietly but the spike on the helmet told him otherwise.

"He's a Hun," Hugh whispered, "keep still!" but his warning was not needed.

The gas mask on the man's face gave him a frightening appearance, he moved slowly along the trench like some kind of monster, shuffling and dragging his feet, moving sideways like a crab. Hugh gradually lowered his eyelids, his hope was that the German would take them both for dead and pass them by. As he came closer Hugh could see the man's rifle pointed towards them but it was the sight of the armoured glove with a dagger welded to its knuckles which caused him to shudder. He realised why the man was walking in such a fashion, he had used that weapon before, he was positioned so as to be able to bring it slamming into force.

The dagger glinted evilly in the half-light.

Using his friend as a shield Hugh slowly withdrew his bayonet taking care that even the faintest click should not betray his movement. The German was taking no chances, he approached their bodies cautiously.

Hugh knew he had to cough, the poisons in his lungs were bubbling, they passed up to his throat and he coughed loudly spitting sputum from his mouth.

"Hands hocht! Kamerad!" ordered the German, his voice sounded metallic through the mask. He thrust the dagger towards them and covered any movement with his rifle.

"Take it easy now there's a good feller."Hugh started to position his dagger ready for a sudden lunge but he could see the German knew what he was doing, there was no way that he would be quick enough to get in the first strike before a bullet hit him.