Richard reread his litany of complaint,debated whether he should send it, decided he must. From the sound of it, Primrosewas in urgent need of honesty in her existence.
‘I much hope to have leave in the NewYear. It is generally agreed that nothing will happen in Flanders prior to theNew Army arriving, which is expected in May or June. We are to hold and makeready for the Big Push in July. It may be possible to arrange for three weeksin England when the battalion is out of the line on rest, which is hoped tobecome a regular rotation. I have spoken to the Brigadier and he is hopeful. Iwill be happy indeed when you become my wife, my love!’
It was not easy to write endearments –neither Navy nor Army had a place for ‘soppy sentimentality’ as he rememberedan officer at Dartmouth describing romance in all of its forms. Officers shouldbe in love with their service, taking a wife in their middle years so that the breedshould continue – every officer should send one, at least, of sons to follow inhis footsteps. There was no other way of maintaining the proper traditions, itseemed. The officer in question had seemed rather regretful that breeding wasnot possible without the involvement of women in the process. The Navy would befar better off without wives in the background, he had no doubt. He had givenwise advice to the class – not to marry before attaining the rank of Commander,unless the bride had a substantial income to bring to the marital home, and tochoose from a Naval family so that the girl had been brought up with anunderstanding of duty.
‘Finally, gentlemen, always remember –Duty First! There can be no choice between Home and the Navy – the Servicealways has priority.’
The words had been solemnly said, Richardrecalled, the lieutenant commander in question, a forty years old bachelor,having no doubt of their wisdom.
He passed them on in his letter – Primroseneeded a laugh.
The hour he set aside for himself each dayhad gone too quickly. He grabbed his tin hat and ducked out of his bunker.
“Paisley, I am going up to the first linefor a quick look around.”
His batman appeared, Lee-Enfield slung,ready at his shoulder.
“Sidearm loaded, sir?”
The holster was empty, Richard havingforgotten to take the pistol down from its hook on the wall.
“Bugger!”
He dived back inside, grabbed the revolverand flicked the cylinder out, checked it had five rounds, the chamber beneaththe hammer empty.
“Thank you, Paisley.”
They set off the fifty yards along thesecond trench, turned into the communication trench leading the fifty yards tothe front.
“Ought to be longer, Paisley. The Germanskept their lines too close together.”
“Makes it easier to support each other,sir. Can throw a bomb pretty near half way across from one to the other.”
They eased around the first dogleg, afavourite aiming point for snipers, present again now that the lines had stabilised.
“Got that sod yesterday, sir, what wassitting up over this one. Mr Michaels it was what spotted him. Up on top of oneof them bunkers, he was, damned four hundred yards away. He called in the eighteenpounders to paste the bunker before he could get down and into cover.”
“Is that what the firing was about? Musthave been twenty shells to kill one sniper.”
“Six of ours he got in the week, sir. Allof them belly shot.”
A strong chance that all would die,slowly, taking up hospital beds and using up manpower to get them to treatment.
There was an argument for having many moresnipers. The trouble was that few of the men would do the job. Sitting up incover, waiting to fire aimed shots, deliberately killing selected targets,demanded a cold-bloodedness that most did not possess. The three snipers now inthe battalion were respected, in a way, but had few close friends. Snipers werea unique breed, a bit doolally, in most soldiers’ opinion. Richard agreed withhis men.
“Best thing then, to get him.”
He knew that Brigade would complain, wouldregard the expenditure of artillery rounds as unjustifiable to kill off oneman. He was not inclined to care greatly what the men well distant from the firingline had to say, not any more.
“All well Captain Caton? I hear youngMichaels showed well again yesterday.”
“Very much so, sir. That sniper was a damnednuisance. Any word on him?”
It was a month since Richard hadrecommended Michaels for an MC, very well earned, in his opinion.
“There is a backlog at HQ, it seems,Caton. They are too busy stabbing each other in the back to get on with runningthe Army.”
“What’s the word there, sir?”
“We can expect to hear that General Haigwas taken over command of the BEF any day.”
“Another cavalry man!”
“So is Allenby, and he would do a farbetter job than either Haig or French. Even Smith-Dorrien would have beenpreferable. Neither is favoured in London, however.”
They said no more. Richard looked throughthe small viewing port that had been carved in the parapet, saw no change fromthe morning, when he had last looked.
“What’s that thing that submarines have,sir? For looking out when they are under the sea?”
“Periscope, Caton – lenses and mirrors ina tube… What a very good idea! I wonder how they are made. Do you know?”
Caton knew only that they existed.
Richard sat down in his bunker that eveningand made a formal request to Brigade that the periscope should be investigatedand, if practical, made on a small scale to be installed in the trenches. Hesat down to another letter to Primrose, including a drawing of what he wasthinking of.
‘Not much of an artist, my dear love. If Iwas, I would draw a picture of you to put up on my wall.’
He wondered if it was true that absence madethe heart grow fonder, as they insisted. Certainly, he missed her. He suspectedhe was in love, which was rather strange and more than a little pleasing. He hadlong
