Two o’clock, 20 May. The 2nd Battalion, the Yorks Rangers, were dug in beyond the town walls. The town had sprawled, however, since the Venetian days and the Rangers had wasted no time in either occupying the buildings that stood crumbling and empty, or billeting themselves among the locals. Most of the battalion’s B Echelon, for example, had made their base among a number of dilapidated houses at the foot of the walls, and in the courtyard within had set up a field kitchen. So far, since landing on Crete, none of the men had gone hungry.
Even so, some three hundred yards further on, Sergeant Stan Sykes was squatting over a small fire under the shelter of a large plane tree by the side of the Knossos road. He was clutching his sword bayonet, from which hung a small Dixie can full of water. Beside him on the ground was a can of evaporated milk, a small packet of tea, a tiny tin of sugar and two white eggs. The battalion were being fed their three square meals a day, but with the lads in their positions and nothing much else going on, Sykes had bartered a couple of eggs from a Cretan girl in return for a piece of chocolate. He’d decided to boil some water, hard-boil the eggs and brew up some tea while he was about it. It was a means of passing the hours, if nothing else.
As the first wisps of steam began rising from the tin, Sykes’s thoughts turned to CSM Tanner. Sykes had found him the previous evening at B Company’s headquarters, a requisitioned house at the edge of town, a hundred yards behind their lines and a stone’s throw from the Knossos road. Sitting beneath a sprawling tamarisk, Tanner had been drinking a brew and sharpening his bayonet. The CSM had looked up as Sykes approached. The blood had been washed from his face, but some livid purple bruises had emerged on his neck.
‘You all right, sir?’ Sykes had asked.
‘Course I’m bloody all right,’ Tanner had snapped, then added, ‘Well, no, actually, I’m not. I’m bloody seething, Stan.’ He had looked around, then said, ‘Come on, let’s get away from here for a minute.’ He had led Sykes through a sparse olive grove between HQ and their forward positions, and up towards a rocky outcrop that overlooked the company’s lines. He had eventually sat down on a stony seat in the rock and Sykes had thought he was about to speak, but the CSM had merely pulled out a packet of cigarettes. For a while they had smoked in silence, the sun setting over the high mountains away to the west, the sky, once so blue, turning a soft purple.
‘Well, what happened, then?’ Sykes had asked.
‘The captain came and got me,’ said Tanner, then told him about Alopex’s release. ‘But it’s your new platoon commander, Stan.’
‘I know him – or rather, I should say, I
‘So there’s another Wiltshireman in the battalion.’
Tanner drew on his cigarette, eyed Sykes carefully, scuffed at the ground, looked around him once again and then said, ‘Look, his old man used to employ my dad. As a gamekeeper. But my dad died, and I left home soon after. Joined the army. Mr Liddell’s old man – well, he was a good bloke. A really good man.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What I’m trying to say, Stan, is this: that’s all anyone needs to know. When I left – there was a bit of trouble. But if you hear him saying anything, you’d be doing me a favour if you told me about it – and tried to put a lid on it too.’ He looked at him, his brows pinched.
‘You want me to find out what he knows?’
‘Yes – but whatever he tells you, you keep to yourself, you understand? My past is no one’s business. No one’s.’
‘No, no, of course not,’ said Sykes. ‘Listen, Jack, we’ve all got our secrets. Blimey, I was in all sorts of trouble before I joined up. That was then – this is now. If you don’t want to talk about it—’
‘I don’t. I can’t, Stan.’
‘And that’s fine. Honestly. Say no more.’ He grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, then changed the subject. ‘You know, you definitely had the better of that Cretan geezer. The lads are right behind you.’
‘You’re just trying to make me feel better. I’ve suffered my share of humiliations in my life, but being force- marched at the head of a load of new recruits was more than a man should have to put up with. I fought that bastard to save our pride and ended up getting it bashed. Sticks in the gut, Stan. Really sticks in the gut.’
‘I’m sure, but that was just a new officer trying to prove ’imself and nothing more. But, honestly, Jack, you can hold your head up. More than can be said for me an’ Woody. What a pair of lily-livers we were, eh?’
Tanner had smiled wryly. ‘We should get back.’
Sykes had left Tanner feeling little the wiser. His friend had never really talked about his past – not even his time in the army before the war. An occasional comment here and there, but that had been it.
The water had now begun to boil and, looking up, Sykes saw Lieutenant Liddell approaching.
‘Care for a brew, sir?’ Sykes asked.
Liddell paused, hands behind his back, then said, ‘Yes, why not? Thank you, Sergeant.’ He added, ‘The men all seem to be in order.’
‘Yes, I think so too, sir.’
‘And in good heart.’
‘As good as can be expected. We just need Jerry to come, sir. Don’t want too much hangin’ around.’
‘Er, no, I suppose not.’
Sykes passed the lieutenant an enamel mug of sweet tea. ‘There you go, sir.’
Liddell thanked him, took a sip and nearly choked.
‘You all right, sir? I didn’t poison it, did I?’
‘Just a bit more sugar than I’m used to, Sykes.’
‘Oh, I’ll try an’ remember another time, sir.’
‘I’m sure I’ll get used to it.’ Liddell gingerly took another sip. ‘Um, tell me, Sergeant, where are you from? Clearly not Yorkshire.’
‘Deptford, sir. I’m a south Londoner. You’re not from Yorkshire either, though, are you, sir?’
‘No, no, I’m not. I’m from Wiltshire. The same village as CSM, er, Tanner, as it happens.’
‘He told me once that he left there as a boy.’
‘Yes. His father died – I remember there was talk that he’d been shot by some poachers. Or maybe it was an accident. I’m really not sure. I was away at the time – at my prep school.’
‘His father was shot?’
‘Yes, definitely shot, but how or why, I couldn’t say for sure.’ He frowned. ‘There were rumours.’
‘About what, sir? How he died?’
‘Yes. It was sad. His father was a good sort. Then one of the village lads drowned. Two unfortunate deaths just like that. As I say, I was away, but I remember there being rumours – village people are like that. There’s always talk. You know how it is.’ He paused again. ‘He was always rather wild.’
‘Tanner, sir?’
‘Yes. He was older than me, but it was almost as though he’d grown up out of doors. I’d run into him in the woods sometimes – suddenly he’d be there, as though he’d appeared from nowhere. Never heard him approach. I don’t remember his mother at all. She must have died when he was very young.’
‘So why did he leave, sir?’
Liddell shrugged. ‘I suppose because there was no one to support him any more. He was too young to take over as game-keeper – no brothers or sisters, no parents. I do know, though, that my father gave him an introduction to the regiment. He’d served with the Yorks Rangers in the last war – that’s how he met my mother. He was best friends with my mother’s brother, you see. I’m not sure of the ins and outs of it, but he had been in the Wiltshires and then was transferred. I don’t know why – filling a hole, I suppose.’
‘So that’s why you joined them too?’
‘Yes. I could have joined one of the Wiltshire regiments, but my father died last year and, well, I suppose I thought I’d follow in his footsteps, so to speak.’
‘The CSM doesn’t ever talk much about those days, sir.’ Sykes caught his eye. ‘Doesn’t like people knowing his business – and why should he, sir? It’s not up to us to pry into a man’s past.’
Liddell glanced at him. ‘No – no, of course it isn’t.’
