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.Nulli Secundus -
'Second to None'
by Terence Cardwell Chapter
Thirty Seven - Vous Eveille Soldat
The
world was hazy, dark and confusing, with strange sounds
coming and going and a clattering of shoes on wood.
Strange voices echoed, speaking in an unfamiliar
language.
Intense pain penetrated his half-conscious mind. It
burned in his side, burrowing into his flesh. He gasped,
and felt as if someone had jumped on his left lung.
Jack opened his eyes slowly, seeing but not com-prehending
what was happening. He tried to remember the last thing
he had done, but he could only see haze and hear the
sounds as he lay with burning pains.
He
tried to lift his head and left arm up, and felt sharp
stabs of pain. The haze in his mind slowly cleared,
thoughts coming in spasms.
‘Shooting.-- In a forest!’
‘Trees!’
‘Something exploding!’
‘Hitting me!’
‘Bob calling! Good old Bob, a good mate.’
Then Jack remembered seeing the dark shadows above him.
Something had come crashing down and hit him!
‘I was bayoneted!’
‘I’m still alive, I think!’
‘Can’t see!’
‘All blurry!’
‘Maybe I’m blind! Don’t want to be bloody blind. I’d
kill myself!’
‘What are those sounds?’
Jack became more alert as he realised he was still
alive. He was looking at a tall roof. His vision started
to come into focus.
‘I can see, thank God. But where am I?’ Slowly he turned
his head and saw another bed two feet away. Beyond that
there were others stretching into the distance.
‘It’s a hospital.’ A wave of relief swept over him. ‘I’m
safe.’
With great effort he lifted his head to look at the base
of the bed and find if his legs were still there; he was
relieved to see two lumps poking up under the blankets.
As he looked he saw women in white and blue uniforms
moving from bed to bed, sometimes talking to men in
white dustcoats stained with blood who were also going
from bed to bed. There were men in uniforms that were
alien to what Jack had seen on the soldiers he knew, yet
they seemed familiar. These men were walking along the
aisles between the beds, stopping every now and then to
talk to a patient.
A general murmur echoed in the large building,
interrupted by cries of pain and the sobbing of a
soldier somewhere nearby. The smell of carbolic soap and
chloroform hung heavy in the air.
‘I’m alive,’ Jack thought again. ‘I might get to go
home. It would be wonderful to see Elizabeth. It would
be worth the pain to see her again.’ But something was
niggling at Jack’s mind.
‘What is it?’ he wondered.
‘I’m in hospital!’
‘I’m alive!’
‘I don’t think I’m dying. Maybe I am!’
‘Nurses!’
‘Doctors!’
‘—Oh God, No.’ He suddenly realised what the strange
uniforms were.
‘I’m not going home-. I’m in a bloody German hospital!’
He groaned at the realisation of his situation. His
dreams collapsed and his hopes disappeared.
‘I may not see my beautiful Elizabeth for a long while.’
‘How long? Maybe it will be over soon.’
Jack knew in his heart that the war would not be over
quickly. He groaned again, partly from pain and partly
from knowing he would not be going home.
A woman in a white uniform splashed with red appeared
beside him.
‘Vous eveille soldat,’ she said in a soft
soothing voice.
Jack looked at her uncomprehending. He knew she was
speaking French but did not understand the language.
‘English,’ Jack groaned.
‘Ahh, Anglaise! I speak soom English, but not so much!’
she smiled at him. ‘You are awakened, yes. The pain, not
so good.’
‘Pain not so good,’ Jack replied slowly.
The nurse studied him for a while, checking his pulse,
looking into his eyes. She felt his forehead and
inspected the bandages. She took his right hand in both
of hers, feeling the roughness and size.
She put her cool hand on his chest, feeling for heat,
which would indicate an infection. It was only warm.
‘I theenk you vill get better. But you vill have to let
your body heal. It vill take long time. I vill look
after you, my brave soldier.’ She smiled at Jack and he
squeezed her hands in appreciation.
‘What,’ Jack hesitated as he painfully drew enough
breath, ‘is your name?’
‘Bridget, Sister Bridget. What is your first name? I
know your last name is Cardwell.’
‘Joe, but everyone calls me Jack,’ he gasped.
‘Why you not use your other name?’
‘My father was called Joe by his friends, so they called
me Jack.’ ain showed on his face as he winced.
‘Vell Jack, you rest and I vill come back soon. If pain
too bad, wave arm and I com and bring you something for
pain. But not too often. Is not good for you.’
‘What about the German soldiers?’ he asked.
‘They not bother you. For you the war is over.’ She
squeezed his hand and walked away.
Time passed slowly as Jack lay in his bed day after day,
building his strength. The pain in his side and arm
gradually eased as his wounds healed, and his breathing
improved till he could walk around slowly.
He spoke with some of the other patients. Although most
were German, he found the occasional British soldier in
the ward. He spoke with them and offered encouragement
to those who were severely injured. Many had lost limbs
or an eye, and Jack felt almost guilty for not losing
any.
He often thought of his fellow Coldstreamers, Bob,
George, and his other friends, wondering if they were
still alive or had been lucky enough to be wounded and
sent home. He was afraid for them and feared the worst.
From the gossip he had heard, the war had bogged down
into a stalemate of push and pull, advance and retreat,
with no one gaining any great advantages and thousands
of men slaughtering each other in filthy trenches.
Jack felt guilty that he was not with his mates,
fighting alongside them, protecting each other and
enjoying each other’s company. ‘I’ve let them and
Elizabeth down, getting caught, but how could I have
avoided it?’
He realised, after hearing of different battles from
other soldiers, that he was fortunate to survive. He
knew he would not see any more fighting, but the fear
for his friends’ safety stayed with him every day. At
every opportunity he asked for information about his
regiment and friends. But news of the front was scarce
and disjointed. He could find little information about
what was happening, where his comrades were or if they
were safe.
There was no animosity between the soldiers of the
different countries. They found they had a common
interest: to get well as soon as possible, to avoid any
further involvement in this insane war and to get home
to families and friends.
One of the German doctors, who was vehemently against
the war and secretly against the Kaiser, had taken a
shine to Jack and often spoke to him of what he had
observed from the war and the wounded soldiers. In
return Jack helped him to improve his English; in the
process he learned a few phrases of German which might
prove to be useful later on.
The doctor surprised him one day. They were discussing
the war when he said, ‘It seems from my German eyes that
the Kaiser has made a very serious and critical mistake
in facing the British Expeditionary Forces. Dey have
not only thwarted his plans to surround the French
troops, but also stopped der German Army dead in their
deir tracks.’ Jack did not know until then that the
British Expeditionary Forces had held back an army of
over two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers with only
fifty-five thousand troops, with another fifteen
thousand in reserve. ‘Your soldiers that come to fight
us— we know they are the elite of your army. Very brave
men, and ve cannot stop them. But sadly many of dem die.
Just like many of der German soldiers die,’ the doctor
said waving his arm at the room.
‘Why did Germany invade Belgium? They had no argument
with your lot?’ Jack asked.
‘The Kaiser, he has plan, vat he call Schleiffen plan.
Plan to defeat French Army in five weeks by going
through Belgium. Down der left side of French Army and
zurround dem,’ the doctor explained, waving his arm in a
circle.
‘So we stuffed his little plan up did we?’ Jack said,
smiling for the first time in many weeks, realising what
the British Army had done in stopping the Germans.
The doctor smiled. ‘Oh yes. You stops good. When he
heard you vere coming he boasted he would destroy, what
he call your contemptible little army, in three days.
Your army not even slow him down,’ the doctor laughed
and patted the side of his nose with his finger.
‘But you fix him good. You stop him dead. The French
have been saved and his plan is Kaput.
‘He say, finish French in five veeks. Then he free to
fight der Russians and beat them. But now must fight on
two fronts, der Eastern Front, with Russia, and der
Western Front with the French and British. Not so good
to divide his army, big mistake.’
Jack squeezed the doctor’s arm. ‘Thank you. You are a
fine doctor. I hope there are more Germans like you.’
‘I’m not so good. I just not want to see my countrymen
dying with all these terrible wounds.’ The Doctor stood
up. ‘I hope war stop soon, but I not think so. So much
killing, is terrible.’
He walked away and Jack saw the tears in his eyes.
While Jack slowly improved the war dragged on, with
battles at Marne and Asne that bogged down in miserable
trench warfare.
When he asked the few German patients who could speak
English about the war, they told him the Germans were
winning. But when he spoke to the new British patients
arriving, they spoke of battles won. He wondered who to
believe.
Almost four weeks after he had arrived in hospital a
group of German soldiers came in, as they had done a
number of times before, and spoke to the doctor in
charge. They pointed to a number of British soldiers,
including Jack. Jack was watching them and had a strong
suspicion what they were here for.
Bridget came to him and told him the soldiers had come
to take Jack and the other British soldiers to a
Prisoner of War Internment Camp. He was to be ready in
fifteen minutes.
Jack collected his few possessions and joined the other
soldiers, waiting quietly near the entrance to the large
hall. He caught Bridget’s eye and waved her over. She
hurried across, knowing she would never see him again.
Bridget had grown very fond of Jack, admiring his quiet
fortitude. He never shouted out or made any demands. He
treated her with respect, unlike some of her other
patients. He often had short conversations with her
about her life, and she asked many questions about
England.
Bridget stroked his whiskery cheek and Jack softly
touched hers. He caressed her hands and looked into her
eyes, seeing the pain there.
‘I will miss you Monsieur Jack,’ she whispered to him.
‘You must come back and see me again.’ She knew in her
heart that this would not happen. She kissed him softly
on the lips and Jack didn’t resist, enjoying the soft
warmth of their touch.
‘Thank you for looking after me. I will never forget
you,’ Jack whispered.
‘Goodbye my Jack; please be careful.’ Bridget held his
hands in hers, squeezed them, then walked away, hiding
from Jack the tears on her cheeks.
The other soldiers laughed and heckled him, jealous of
his good fortune. Most of them would have given a week’s
pay to kiss Bridget.
Jack did not hear them. He watched Bridget walk away
till she was at the far end of the great hall. A very
special person had just walked out of his life and he
could do nothing to stop it.
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