As suggested and confirmed by other members

Entrenching tools at the ready chaps, time to dig deep with pen and brush, burrow down in to your creativity and excavate some great work – this month's theme is...

"Dug-out"

I am away for the weekend; back late on Tuesday so I will do some serious thinking and see what I can come up with.

Dug Out (not for polling)

One, two, three, big ones, Jerry lobs in,
Take cover’s the shout; all rush to ground,
Discarded mess tins strewn around.
Crash and thump and smoke and din.

“Sir! Sir! Charlie dugout’s bin 'it!”
“How many in there? Quickly, Man!”
“Five, six, seven? We all just ran!”
“Get the shovels, we need to be quick!”

Digging and scraping, all work flat out;
Not a one slacking, cos mates are in there;
Do the same for them, so it’s only fair
To break their backs ‘til comes the shout.

“Sir! Sir! Here’s Wheeler and Best!”
“Scrape their mouths, give ‘em chance to get air!”
“Spluttering and effing, Sir, just a bit worse for wear!”
“Quick on those shovels, let’s find the rest!”


© John Sales 2009.

well written piece with a real sense of the horror of being buried alive...

Excellent John; the increasing sense of urgency in each stanza is gripping.

Here is my effort for this month:

The Dugout


The rumour spread so quickly after our early morning parade.
We were getting a new Commanding Officer for our New Army Brigade.
Some said he was too old, a duffer, some a complete washout,
And there was a fast and frantic clean up with the new man about.

Now then, we never saw him for a couple of days or more;
And from what we heard about him he’d been through the mill before.
Some said he had just one leg, one eye, one arm, or one ear,
You’d have thought he was an ogre and a man for all to fear.

On his first parade before us, it was plain for all to have seen
A full compliment of limbs and ears with eyes of brightest green.
Tall and thin and upright, immaculately polished and dressed,
Four rows of campaign medals, a DSO; all at once we were impressed.

He made a short but pithy speech, told us what we might expect,
And what we could expect from him, that got him some respect.
Soon he started a clearout of the duds and shirkers and drunks,
Including Officers, NCO’s and a sprinkling of other ranks.

He expected the greatest effort, to fit us for the front
And made sure that we were ready for our first attacking stunt.
He knew his business inside out and didn’t suffer fools.
He made sure that we had all we’d need, what he called “The Soldier’s tools”.

New training schedules followed, with marching, parades and bull
But it all seemed to follow a pattern and be sort of rational.
With three months work behind us we were a different Brigade all told
“Fit for purpose” he told us, not just the “Old and bold”.

With our training complete and efficient we had our orders to proceed for France.
And he told us he wouldn’t be with us, but he wished they’d give him the chance.
He was needed to train other battalions, for the Army still needed more
Who would take the fight to the Germans and even up the score.

On our last parade he inspected us all with his customary attention and care
And then he said a last few words and we gave him the customary cheer.
I swear there was a tear in those bright green eyes as we marched on out of the gate;
“If that’s a dugout” the Sergeant said, “Let’s have a few more of ‘em mate!”




 Tony Nutkins October 2009

Nice one squirrel another wonderful voice of the Tommy piece and the same approach to Dug-out I am taking

Yet another cracker from your "pen", Tony - superby written with lateral thinking to boot.


Cheers-salesie.

Thanks chaps - I'm blushing..............................

Here's the b/w version of my work. I'll be adding the colored version in my online gallery soon.

Nice job Lands - I like the resigned look on their faces.

Hi Landsturm,

Excellent work. One of your best. Love it.

I detect a change in style – still monochrome, but are you now using a wet medium, rather than the charcoal and pastel?

Regards,
EoB.

Nice one Lands....one my my favourites also...the monochrome befits the enclosed environment...wonderful

Just bumping this up again in case anybody wishes to make a contribution.

Thank you, all. Medium is acrylic paint. I have used it in many previous MGWAT pieces It always depends how much time I have to work.

A bit of a long one and not properly editted due to time

The Dug Out


The truck rattled to a halt on the rough cobbled road in front of a large farmhouse; its engine ticking over loudly. After a moments delay an officer clambered out the cabin and paused wincing slightly from the pain that coursed through his leg

A private soldier jumped down from the flatbed and handed the officer his valise

“Do you want me to carry it for you sir” he said

“ No that’s fine thank you” he moved aside so the soldier could get in the cab. The officer leaned through the window and offered a curt “Thank you” to the driver

The driver acknowledged with a touch to the peak of his cap.

The officer banged the side of the cab and stepped aside, the truck pulled off with a crunch of gears.

The driver turned to his mate and with some relief said

“Cor Blimey I’m glad to get rid of him…he was a cold fish that one.”

No sooner had the officer entered the farmhouse, the temporary HQ of his new battalion, a sprightly orderly came and took the valise from him and directed the new arrival to a doorway.

“Captain Owen we were expecting you …this way to the adjutant sir I will take your bag to your billet.”

The orderly had disappeared before the Captain could comment, he allowed himself a rare but wry smile, the service here was better than most hotels he had stayed in.

Owen tapped at the door and entered without waiting for any acknowledgement.

If the adjutant, tall, slender, exquisitely tailored and with an aristocratic bearing, was offended by this affront he didn’t show it, he was up on his feet in one fluid movement had crossed the floor with an outstretched hand

“Ahhhhh you must be Harry Owen” he said with an accent that matched his appearance “ we’ve been expecting you…pleasant journey? good …I’m Michael Hanley the adjutant”

Owen took the hand and was surprised by the firmness of the grip, he noticed a sudden hardening of Hanley’s grey eyes as if Hanley just seen something in Owen he hadn’t liked.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome” the adjutant waved a casual hand at the chair in front of his desk before sitting down himself. He hummed as he searched through the papers on his desk and extracted a file. The adjutant read through the papers unaware that Owen was weighing him up. He was in his early forties, blue black hair parted severely in the middle and he sported a neatly trimmed moustache. Hanley’s bearing had betrayed a privileged background, but Owen had been soldiering long enough know that beneath the thin veneer of easy charm and casual authority lay a hard man; and a quick glance at the ribbons on Hanley’s chest, an MC and raft of campaign medals, confirmed Hanley as a regular soldier who had seen some action and knew his trade.

“Well everything seems in order here” Hanley said looking up from his papers with a smile. He then looked Owen up and down slowly, made a note on a piece of paper, and signed it.

“You will be taking over B company” he said allowing himself to sit back in his seat tapping his fingers together “all good men B company” he took a cigarette case out of his pocket and offered one to Owen who declined.

You’ve got a solid Sergeant Major in old Potter a regular, he will show the ropes” as he was talking he put the cigarette into a long black holder “ got himself wounded and then go transferred to us….bit like you what” at this he laughed and lit the cigarette and took a long draw. His face hardened.

“You got some tough boots to fill, Douglas was a good officer, well loved by his men”

“I will try my best not to disappoint” Owen replied coldly not much caring for predecessors reputation, glowing or not. Douglas was then, Owen was now.

The adjutant’s faced hardened for a moment and murmured something which sounded like, “we’ll see.” He sat forward suddenly the smile returning

“Look I can fill you on everything later ….I am sure you must be tired from your journey…lets get you to your billet” he slapped his thighs as if he had just remembered something “The old mans next door” he said with a nod “Lets pop our head round and get you acquainted what?” at this he came from behind the desk putting out the cigarette with his fingers.

“oh by the way, have you brought a servant with you…..no, well if you’ve no objections I suggest Wilkinson he was the fellow who just met you, he was Douglas’s man…good sort!”

Owen shrugged, his own upbringing had included a smattering of household servants as well as a number of labourers on the land meant he was as used to being attended on, but he didn’t much care for it nor for the system of officers’ servants, but so long as it was a requirement for him to have one, he didn’t much care who it was.

The adjutant knocked at the adjoining door and entered. A moment later he beckoned Owen through.

Owen stood in front of the Colonels desk. The figure looking through the papers Hanley had brought in. The Colonel seemed in no hurry to acknowledge him. Owen looked around the room distractedly. The16th century farmhouse had obviously once belonged to a wealthy landowning stock, not dissimilar to his own background vacated for the duration and used as temporary headquarters for units having a spell behind the lines. The colonel’s office was in what was the drawing room simply furnished but still elegant, it had been converted to an office of sorts with a large rough desk and a few ill assorted wooden chairs. Owen was roused by a cough from Hanley. Owen took it as a polite hint to the colonel to look up, but the colonel didn’t move after another cough Owen realised it was being addressed to him and he gathered that he was meant to salute the colonel which he did. No soon as his hand had slapped back down than the colonel looked up from the papers, acknowledged the salute with a nod.

“Now who do we have here Michael” he said to the adjutant

“Colonel Cheshire may I introduce you to Captain Owen”

Cheshire stood up and shook Owens hand “ welcome he said”

Cheshire was tall, in his late fifties, beginning to thicken with age, but nevertheless ramrod straight His salt and pepper hair, very white at the temples, was pulled tightly back from his forehead. His once strong aquiline face was now pitted with deep creases and a once fair complexion further sullied by the unmistakable red blotches of a seasoned drinker. Most notable about the colonel’s features was the heavy luxuriant moustache slightly pinched at each end. He sat down heavily.

Owen wasn’t invited to sit.

Cheshire started to go through the papers again.

“Orwell...What!”

Owen corrected him exaggerating the pronunciation as one would to a child or someone in their dotage.

Cheshire squinted at the papers.

“Owen…Ahhhhh…. yes damned light cant see a blasted thing” he looked at the adjutant “ Michael lets get some more light in here what”

The adjutant went to the door and followed a few moments later by the colonel’s servant who lit the lamp on Cheshire’s desk and several more several more around the room as the servant busied himself not a word was spoken by the officers in the room. The only sound was a barely concealed sigh from Owen who thought it barely dark at all let alone dark enough for several lamps to be lit.

The servant was about to leave but the colonel called after him

“I say Jones what about a drop of sherry what?”

The servant tottered over to a table where several decanters were laid out and brought the sherry over on a silver tray with three glasses. He poured the colonel and the adjutant a glass – Owen declined. The colonel took a sip and savoured the taste. He looked up as if noticing Owen for the first time and blustered

“For Gods sake sit yourself down man”

The colonel waved Jones away but not before he took the decanter off him. The colonel drained the glass and poured himself another. Owen fingers tightened around the hatband of his cap on his lap. Cheshire held the glass to the light and turned it watching the light play in the rich liquid.

Owen sighed loudly and shooked his head impatiently. If the colonel had heard anything, he didn’t show it, the adjutant however who had until that point had been leaning languidly against the window behind the colonels shoulder sipping his sherry stiffened upright, alarmed by the clear display if insolence.

Getting back to the matters in hand the colonel put the glass down and looked at a piece of paper.

“ I see you have a Special Reserve Commission, some of the regulars despise you militia men…for getting up the greasy pole more quickly… Owen couldn’t be sure but he thought the colonel may have had Hanley in mind…”but not me…he lifted his eyes briefly “so long as you cut the mustard and maintain standards…I don’t much care how quickly you got your rank…”

“Took me a few more years to climb the greasy pole myself…did it the hard way…what… Zulus, fuzzy wuzzies...India…what been out of it a while though” He fingered his moustache “In fact probably went on half pay before you came out of short trousers what? Yes must’ve been ‘09 wasn’t it…yes..hey…what”

Owen shook his head as this bumbling old buffer doned on and murmured “dugout” to himself. The word may’ve been inaudible to all but Owen, but his contemptuous expression spoke volumes and it was not missed by the adjutant who put his glass down heavily on the window sill.

Cheshire continued to read from the papers

Served with the 1st at ………Mentioned in despatches twice, wounded in …. 1915 was promoted to Lieutenant posted to the Hampshire Fusiliers (at this Cheshire harrumphed) period as Acting-Company Commander, wounded again…bullet in the leg at your last show…….recommended for the MC …not approved?…bad luck …fully recovered and posted back to us. I bet your glad to be back to your old regiment hey?” he slammed the papers down seemingly satisfied

Owen nodded weakly though he thought he would rather be in any unit in his regiment than this one.

“Excellent just the kind of thrusting young officer we want here hey Michael?”

Hanley didn’t answer. Owen glancing over could tell from his tight-lipped expression that the adjutant was unsure about Owen, he certainly wasn’t sharing Cheshire’s enthusiasm. Owen smirked, like he did at school, when he knew he could play his house masters against the each or twist the head around his little finger and invariably get away with blue murder…it infuriated Hanley even more.


Cheshire rumbled on.

“ Yes we are a mixed unit we have a couple of regulars other than Michael and m’self, the second-in-command Major Donovan is militia like you and the rest are new army but a good bunch what…he clapped his hands together at that, “yes we may be new army but we pride ourselves on having old army values,don’t we Michael”

The adjutant who had allowed himself to relax somewhat but with a firm eye still fixed on Owen concurred.

“Yes we pride ourselves on maintaining the highest levels of deportment, discipline and fighting spirit in this battalion in the finest traditions of the regiment” Cheshire reinforced his point by banging a fist on the table. “Who was that snook we had to send back to get a proper uniform…he was prompted by the adjutant “Hawkings, yes that the fellow, he was New Army, came out with a ghastly uniform…light shirt…A light shirt! You don’t have any light shirts do you” he looked at Owen suspiciously and poured himself another sherry .

Owen’s frustration was increasing by the minute and he fidgeted in his chair eager to leave.

“Redeemed himself in the end though” Cheshire said with satisfaction “got himself killed on a raid, proved himself to be an officer in the finest traditions of the regiment …despite his partiality for light shirts!” The colonel leaned back and too a long sip of his sherry.

Owen frustration was now near to boiling over. His overwhelming urge was to get up and strike this damned fool of a colonel, an old fool, a drunken old sop of an old fool, with an outmoded attitude that would send a young man home, in part-disgrace because his uniform didn’t meet some arbitrary standard…only to find redemption in the eyes of this damned old fool of a colonel by getting himself killed.

Cheshire carried on with another anecdote but Owen didn’t listen. His mind drifted as he watched the colonels mouth open and close like a fish.

Owen suddenly realised it had gone silent and that the eyes of the colonel and adjutant were looking at him questioningly.

“ I’m sorry sir what did you say?”

“ I asked whether you were related to Major General Owen late of the 2nd ?”

“No Sir not that I know”

“ha ha probably a good job Old Tubby Owen was never much of a company officer…I remember him getting lost on exercise on Salisbury plain, a whole company thrashing about in the wilderness…haw haw”

Owen smiled weakly although inside his mind his fingers were tightening around the old fools throat.

Sensing that his meanderings were becoming unwelcome the colonel suddenly stifled his mirth with another glass of sherry and resumed with the formalities.

“We try to mess as a battalion as often as we can…obviously when we are down the line it is more likely you will mess at company level. Tweed is the mess secretary though heaven knows why we trust that fool with the job he is a dullard of the highest order. The adjutant coughed in the background and the colonel seemed to take the hint

“Well we mess late tonight at ten as Major Donovan has the battalion out on an exercise lord knows if I know who needs the training more he or the men….all the field exercises in the world cant stop you being windy can it?

At this the adjutant came across the room with an arm out inviting Owen to get up and leave.

“ I really think Capt Owen could do with a bit of rest after his journey” he said moving toward the door

“ What…oh yes…carry on Owen”

Owen rose and saluted he was about to turn when the colonel stopped him

“One last thing Owen…I notice your upper lip is bear….” As if to emphasise this point Cheshire fingered his own moustache “we like all our gentlemen to wear a moustache in this battalion”

This even took Owen by surprise

“Oh….it wasn’t felt necessary in the Hamp…..”

“I don’t give a damn what they think is necessary in the Hampshire Fusiliers” the snapped “ in this battalion ALL officers wear a moustache”

“But sir you must know that the Kings Regulations have changed”

“DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT KING REGULATIONS” Cheshire almost came out of his chair at this, snorting like an enraged bull “In this battalion I make the rules about what my officers do or don’t wear….Now lets hear no more about it”

The last words were said almost calmly and no sooner had they been said the anger was replaced by the genial smile that had first greeted Owen. It did however reinforce in Owens mind that the colonel was deranged.

The adjutant ushered Owen out the room into the large hallway. Wilkinson was sat at one of the desks and dotted around the room were one or two other clerks and orderlies.

Hanley made sure no one was in earshot and pulled Owen around by the arm .

“ My God Owen you …I have never come across such insolence”

Owen broke free and shook his head

“ The man is a fool…where did they dig him up from”

The adjutant stiffened he was within an inch of striking Owen having him put under arrest or both

“Colonel Cheshire is no fool. He was fighting wars before you came off your wet nurses tit…he has seen more action that you will ever know…and has forgotten more than you will ever learn”

“Which is why he should’ve stayed out in pasture” Owen retorted.

“You may see nothing more than glass or paste but he is a hard diamond that has seen some hard bloody hard soldiering” Hanley was getting increasingly angry. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed he had a DSO and bar? No too busy sneering I dare say. And neither of them was for bringing up the rations…got the first against the Boers defending a wagon train against a commando raid after his senior officer had got a bit windy….probably should’ve got a VC …but they couldn’t let it get out his CO had got windy…could they? He got the bar out here, leading a battalion attack in daylight, he strolling across no mans land swinging his stick as if promenading in the park, he was first in the enemy trenches, brained two of them with his stick and stood on the parapet shouting for the rest bloody move on” the adjutant laughed at the memory

“But what about all that nonsense with the shirts and moustaches and badmouthing Major Donovan and the others” Owen countered

The adjutant tilted his head to one side

“Yes that was inappropriate…but that is what he is like, he is a bluff old cove who doesn’t suffer fools gladly! Yes he is a stickler for detail but he knows a well disciplined unit is a good fighting unit. It is also sends a reassuring message to the men that he is in control, it takes something amongst all this chaos to put a man on field punishment for having his collar undone rather than lets standards slip just because the enemy is a few hundred yards away and sending all sorts over”

“I can’t imagine the men are too happy about it” Owen said rather weakly

“The men love him…yes they gripe…all soldiers gripe…especially on active service, something us regulars understand and use to our advantage, something which you militia never will understand” conversation over so far as he was concerned the adjutant turned to look for Wilkinson

“ well he will have to prove himself to me” Owen said wanting the last word.

The adjutant spun round

“Prove himself to you… you insolent dog he has nothing to prove…and you everything. Don’t think he didn’t spot your insolence earlier, he has your card marked and will watch your every step…he let you get away with a lot today as he clearly respects your fighting record…but that won’t carry with him forever. You are a fool if you underestimate him…or any like him…just you remember that. WILKINSON!”

The orderly came to his feet and hurried over he snapped a smart salute which the adjutant casually returned before opening the office door.


“Show Captain Owen to his billet, I have finished with him” the adjutant slammed his door behind them.

The Dug Out


Burrowing deep the volunteers dig,

Until lit caverns become their rest,

Blessed shelter and rejuvenation

For England, not so far from here

Loans not one of these cosy nests;

Where men maroon deep, to heathen levels,

Beneath the blood and satire,

Shovelling mud under bloody barbed wire.



Talk is dear, but laughter’s not,

‘The Boche, he can’t touch us here?’

But they might near cave in for the strength of their doubt

In the dug-out; dug out of the ground.



By Christ, that rhythm is close!

The shaking walls been sent a dose.

Yet beneath is a brief taste of England dear,

Where the smoke and chat will light old stories

In the dug-out, dug out of the ground.



The borrowers wait for orders from above

From chateaus behind

When the scorched earth lies in front.



In this, the kingdom of the blind.

THE DUG-OUT

"George! George!"
In his confusion Billy shouted out and tried to stand but only managed to raise himself on one elbow before losing consciousness and collapsing back onto the blanket.

"Why does he keep doing that?"
"Only to be expected after an 'ead injury, Sir. Never can tell what'll come of 'em. He's young, an' strong though, and I can't feel no damage to 'is skull, so we c'n be 'opeful."
"Can we get him out of here?"
"Don't think we should try. Least not 'till the shelling's stopped and even then 'e's probably better kept still."
"Do you know what happened?"
"Not much. George said 'is helmet was taken right orf, but it seems to ave done its job; the skin aint even broke."
"Well, he can stay in here for now. We can eat round him. I see George is asleep over there. How come he's in here too?"
"E brought Billy in an' was limpin so bad and was so exhausted I let 'im stay a while. Is that or right Sir?"
"Yes, of course. Did he need any treatment?"
"E said not. 'E said 'e must've banged 'is leg when 'e fell over the parapet. 'E just drank two mugs o' tea straight down and stumbled over there and that was it. I reck'n 'e was draggin Billy for 'arf the night."
"I see. Well that's fine, and I'm very glad to see them both back with us, but don't let our meal be late will you. I'm off to inspect that crumbling firestep now."
"Yes Sir!"

"In! In! In!"
As fast as they could half a dozen men threw themselves under the gas curtain and into the gloom of the dug-out.
"You lot shouldn't be in 'ere! Just officers in 'ere!"

"How's Billy doing?"
"As well as."
"Goodness, it's grand in here."
"Oy! Stop touchin!"

Billy suddenly groaned and flung his arms wide. They all spun round to look.
"Can't you do anything?"
"Nuffin. Just 'ave to wait and let 'im rest. I'm 'opeful though. 'Is 'ead aint broke."

"Billy wouldn't be here but for George you know."
"It was a bad time; we thought they were both lost."
"George dragged him all the way back through the thick of it."
"We didn't even see them coming;they were lucky to make it just before it got light."
"George had to stand up to get Billy over the parapet and then the shelling started again, there was shrapnel everywhere and he just tumbled in."
"Well, I reck'n 'e deserves a medal, 'e does!"

Just then Billy opened his eyes and calmly said "My head is killing me!" and suddenly everyone was laughing.

"No it aint! Not no more! You're back t' normal! But I reck'n you'd best lie still and groan a bit now 'n' then or you'll get sent out when them officers get back for their brew. And the rest've you'd better get out smartish. I'll catch it if you're all in 'ere, and I need t' get the brew going. See if George's awake enuff fer another mug."

Richard gently nudged George with his foot and then nudged him harder. George slumped sideways.
Unable to breathe in, Richard whispered "Oh! Look at the blood. Look at that huge cut in his leg."

"Let me look.....................E's dead...... E's really dead. An 'e never said a word. I recken 'e never even felt it, what wiv gettin Billy over the parapet and that. I can't believe it but e's dead."

---~---

Gunny - good character development, makes me want to know what happened to them after this initial meeting.

Sam - cracking piece, excellent use of subtlety in your language making the piece moody and deep just like the dug-out itself.

CGM - your dialogue gets better and better, excellent use of different language between officers and men - bad news for Annie and the kids though, I feel a few tears will be shed in the not too distant future.


Cheers-salesie.


PS. What's happening with MGWAT? Its popularity seems to be waning faster than Gordon Brown's!

Gunboat, Sam and CGM excellent entries and each a different slant on the topic - grand stuff.

Salesie - I think it might just be that this month's topic didn't excite the imagination of some.
Very high quality entires though.

Sam and CGM I really enjoyed both peices

Sam two great lines .... "But they might near cave in for the strength of their doubt" lovely double meaning in the expression cave in

"Where the smoke and chat will light old stories" wonderful line...giving a hint of future reminicences...

CGM wonderful natural dialouge...

Thanks for the comments folks....I can only speak for myself it wasn't the subject matter that caused problems but being extremely busy at work.

I feel I must apologise for not posting an entry earlier, given that I suggested the theme for this month.

Salesie - I really like the last (4th)stanza which reflects the grit of common Tommy, constantly downplaying seriousness and taking it all on the chin (and still managing to address the officer as sir)! The 3rd line is very humorous, I think for the reasons given above and it's something I think you do very well. You cannot read this stanza without being drawn in to the rhythm created by the tight metre you've employed. Not a syllable is wasted.
Landsturm - Excellent piece. These two really look as if they know they are being recorded and make no special effort for the artist present. It reminds me of the scene in Das boot when the photographer gets an oily rag thrown in his face by the indignant boys busy working in the torpedo room.
CGM - It's great to read dialogue spoken by common Tommy how it would have been spoken as opposed the QE of the officer present. I agree with John that it's very obvious who is who and it is a great example of show, not tell, using dialogue instead of narrative. As I have found myself, writing dialogue phonetically, or with a dialectical slant, is difficult because you have to remember how the same character says a particular word (and how you spelt it) and remain consistent.
Gunboat - I think your dialogue is spot on here and it's one of those stories that you see very clearly when you read it. The characters are developed very carefully and I've always liked the interplay of a few strong characters at work in the kind of setting you have used. I think you've passed the colonel off as very typical of his type, he's someone we can all conjure a strong image of and that makes this work very well. I'd actually like to see him put the militia man in his place to prove the point of his superiority and see how the chap responds given that he's not short on his own confidence. A case of the old fool deceiving the reader and the central character together, before unveiling his true colours espoused by the adjutant.
Squirrel - Great effort. This poem proves not only your knowledge of the subject matter but a much deeper understanding of the way soldiers thought exampled by your use of the first person. The language is non-pretentious and fitting. Your lines give their money's worth but don't compromise word economy. But...will we beat Palace tomorrow?

I know it's the day after the fair, but I only got around to doing this last night. It's based on a Dorothy L. Sayers' short story where Lord Peter Wimsey frames a blackmailer by making it appear he has a card up his sleeve during a poker game at his club. After retrieving the compromising items, he shows his friends how he can manipulate the cards, explaining "I learnt it from a man who shared my dug-out near Ypres." I've posted it on a Lord Peter fanfiction site, so will alter it to make it a non-specific story. I suppose I could tweak it to become part of John and Marie, but that will have to wait.

The dug-out shook with each near-miss of the barrage of Jack Johnsons. In the candlelight pale faces turned downwards to avoid the shower of dirt that followed. Major Stirling, Sergeant Johnson, and several company runners were taking what fragile shelter there was to be had in the tiny room carved out of the clay, an all-too-thin roof of boards and sandbags above.

Sergeant Johnson's gaze was fixed on the Major. From long experience of reading his company commander's moods, he could tell that the Major's nerves were stretched to the limit. Stirling was an excellent officer, he thought, but inactivity was a problem for him. No one cooler in action, but waiting told heavily on the Major. Johnson knew what had to be done.

"Major Stirling, Sir."

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"Might pass the time if we had some entertainment, Sir."

"Can't say I feel much like a sing-along, in the circs. Bally explosions would probably ruin our harmony. Way too much percussion out there," said Stirling with feigned nonchalance.

"I was thinking of a different sort of performance, Sir. You might not guess it, but Private Higgins here is a sleight-of-hand artist. Quite well known in the music halls. Higgins, come over here to the Major."

"S'right Sir. I useter be a top act in the halls, afore the War. Presterdigertation. Pull rabbits outter hats, make yer watch disappear and reappear in yer girl's bag."

"Well, Higgins, I know this isn't the West End, but could you show us a few tricks?" Stirling's voice showed new animation, Johnson noted.

Higgins reached into a tunic pocket, and drew out a deck of cards. Unlike most decks Stirling had seen in the trenches, they were spotlessly clean and crisp, suggesting that they weren't used for games.

"Care to cut the deck, Sir? Look at the bottom card before yer put the deck back. Don't let me see it." Wimsey did so, and noted that the bottom card was the Ten of Hearts. Higgins passed his hand twice over the deck. "If yer'd be so obligin' as to shuffle the deck, Sir?"

Stirling shuffled the deck three times, riffling the interleaved cards back into place with a skill that would have had a riverboat gambler green with envy.

Higgins reached over to the deck, cut it, and revealed the Ten of Hearts.

"By Jove! That's the card!" Stirling exclaimed.

"Now, Sir, if you'd arrange the deck by suits, Deuce to Ace in each one?"

Again Higgins passed his hands over the deck.

"Now, Sir, would you lay them out on the table?"

Stirling started putting the card out. "Wait a minute! Where's the bally Ace of Spades gone to!" He dealt more cards.

"Hell! All the Aces are missing!"

"Really, Sir? Are yer sure you haven't just mislaid them?" He tapped Stirling's tunic breast pocket. "Yer pardon, Sir, but I think there's one of them in there now." And he reached in and extracted the Ace of Spades. The Ace of Hearts was found in Stirling's boot-top, the Ace of Clubs in Sergeant Johnson's haversack, and the Ace of Diamonds in Stirling's holster.

"Splendid, Higgins!" Stirling cried. "Just how did you do that? I had my eyes on you the whole time!"

Higgins dropped his eyes. "Well Sir, secrets o' the trade and orl…"

A short and animated exchange took place between Sergeant Johnson and Private Higgins, with Higgins's expostulations cut short by a short, sharp reply from the Sergeant.

"Well, Sir, seein' 'ow hit's you."

And he showed Stirling how the cards had been subtly trimmed, so that the Ten of Hearts had the slightest possible edge exposed when lined up with the rest of the deck, so that nine times out of ten the deck would be cut at that card. Then he demonstrated how to palm one or more cards, and found the Major an excellent pupil.

"You've the right 'ands for this, Sir – lorng fingers. Them haces was never where I found 'em. In me 'and the 'ole time.

Salesie - correction, I meant 4th stanza. I wrote all this last night then lost most of it and had to start again and this was a stupid oversight. 4th stanza.

I enjoyed that Michael I could actually see the trick being performed, I've said it before and I will say it again. How you pack so much into so few words is incredible

Mr Butler.....thank you for the kind comments but have you been reading my notebook?

Ta very.

I'm sorry my entry was so late this month. Like Michael my piece strayed over the line into November; (the forum doesn't register the date and time of edits !).
I found the subject this month very difficult, but then I always find anything based around a battlefield difficult as I have so little background knowledge. I learn so much every month!
I promised myself this wouldn't be the first month I failed to produce a piece but it was touch and go!

Following my really wordy NIGHT ATTACK and DAWN stories, as you can see, this month I attempted a strictly "show not tell" piece.
I wonder if anyone would care to answer a couple of questions, as this was an experiment in writing styles and I hope it says what I intended.

Ever since the very first piece I wrote, (back in January !), I've known that Annie's husband didn't return from the war, and every month I've wondered if the title could be the opening I needed to explain what happened. I wanted an honourable death involving the sort of act which I'm sure thousands of ordinary soldiers carried out over the course of the war. An act marked and remembered only by those around him at the time but very brave, nonetheless.

So these are my questions:

"Is it obvious that Geoorge only received his injury as he reached the trench?"
This is crucial, because there has to be a very short length of time between when he received his injury and when he sat down against the wall of the officers' dug-out, it being such a serious injury.

"By implication, is it obvious that Billy and George are in the officers dug-out because it was the nearest place of safety to put the unconscious Billy when he and George suddenly arrived back at the trench and there was fierce shelling?"
I think it was unusual for ordinary soldiers to be in an officers dug-out?

These points are so obvious to me - but I wrote it, so of course I know!
Also, if anything I wrote left you puzzled, or you needed to re-read it to understand it, I'd be pleased to know that too.

Many thanks,
CGM

I'm still running late I'm afraid.
There are more good entries again this month.
salesie, your piece made me shiver; I could see it all, in front of me. (My father was buried in a crater of London clay in the Blitz, and had to be dug out before he suffocated so this poem brought it home. )

Squirrel you always tell a good story and it's true again this month. I feel for their Commanding Officer, having to stay behind.

Abraham your poem really made me think. The line "shovelling mud under bloody barbed wire" stopped me short.

Gunboat I really could see the characters in your piece. It's been said already, but I agree, I'd like to read more about them.

Lands, once again I really appreciated your entry. I wasn't sure what to expect when I went to look at your coloured version, but of course it had to be by lamplight. I've flicked from one to the other and can't quite choose between them, except maybe... no I can't! They evoke different responses from me, both equally valid.

Michael, I saw some of the camaraderie which makes life in the armed forces so special here, and here it's between a major and a private; thrown together by circumstances.

Well, I'll be ready to start November any day now, I hope.

Been struggling with a nasty virus for the past week, CGM, so missed your questions. The piece worked for me, and as I said earlier your dialogue gets better with every story you post. It seems that you're beginning to understand "Show don't Tell", and, in my opinion, this latest offering only needs a little tightening up in places to be very good. To that end, perhaps trying a short dialogue-only piece will help you - here's a link to one of mine, to give you an idea of what I mean. http://johnssales.tripod.com/id20.html


Cheers-salesie.

I hope you're feeling completely better now, salesie.
Thank you for the link, I've been thinking about it ever since I read it yesterday. What a moving piece!
I understand what you are saying because I saw the whole scene without the need for any descriptive sentences to fill in the details. It's a different mind-set, isn't it. I think I'll enjoy working on it.

Many thanks,
CGM