Chapter 1: Chapter One

Tin Hats

Chapter One

Pulling his right leg out of the clinging thick mud, balancing on his left, he moved slightly further. His right foot sank deep into the soggy ground, and he pulled out his left with all his might. The disgusting smell was suffocating; it swirled around his nostrils, making him heave as he breathed in the air around him; with each breath he drew in, he could feel his stomach curdling. The stench of rotten flesh was lingering on his tongue. The dampness of his uniform was sticking to his shivering, cold, wet body. He flung his head towards the pale blue sky and silently thought, “Where is hope.”

He stood for a few more moments; he tippled backwards onto the mud. There he lay, his eyes fixed, staring up above. His mind drifted, and he started to think about his mother, remembering her sweet, soft smile; her gentle voice echoed through his thoughts. He could feel his eyes welling up and the tears slowly sliding down his cheeks. He coughed and spat blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, trickling down his chin. He tried to raise his arm to wipe the blood away, but he couldn’t find the strength. There he lay, weak and alone. He was afraid as he patiently waited to die.

He closed his eyes and thought back to the days before he joined to fight in the Great War. Peter Lawrence was from West Cornwell, a small village called Sennen Cove. He was just eighteen when he joined the 14th Brigade of the 5th Division Cornwell Battalion. His older brother had also signed up, and Peter wanted to serve just like him. Much to their mothers’ despair, she protested that Peter was too young and begged him not to go to war. Peter felt guilty, for he did not wish to upset her; however, he knew he had to defend his country; the real men were all signing up, and only cowards stayed home with their mothers, thought Peter as he stood in line at the Army recruitment office.

Many of his school classmates were also standing in line, all waiting to become real men, each with a solid patriotic attitude, one holding their heads up high, each full of hope for a great adventure. Peter stood waiting; his stomach was tight with excitement, his head full of wonder. The noise in the recruitment office was full of enthusiastic lads chatting among themselves.

He listened in as he heard them talk of holding a rifle, winning heroic medals, and being able to get as many girls as one would desire. He could feel this tingling rush of exhilaration fill his mind. He heard someone call out his name from the back of the line. He stepped out, looked in the direction, and saw his friend Alfred Jones.

Peter had known Alfred all his life as neighbours; their mothers were close friends. Peter waved him over to where he was standing. Alf approached him, his face full of glee; with a big bright smile, he shoved his Army papers in front of Peter, “I’m off to War, Peter! He exclaimed with the greatest of joy. Peter held out his hand, and Alf shook it ecstatically “are you coming along for the trip too” he asked Peter, still shaking his hand.

 Pulling his arm away, he said, “I do hope so, Alf.” As he looked around, he saw the room full of young men, all standing and waiting in line. Alf patted him on his shoulder. “You’ll have these papers in your hand pretty soon, and when you do come down to the “Ducks Inn”, I and a few of the others are having a celebration”, Alf told him. Peter agreed that he would meet up with him, and Alf explained he had to go to market for his mother first and would see him later that day. Peter was left, standing in the line.

It was not long until a young lady called his name; she asked him to follow her; she led the way down a narrow corridor and stopped at the door with a glass pane window; she tapped the glass, “A voice from inside called out “come in”. The young woman opened the door and nodded for Peter to enter. He entered the small office. There was a large oak desk, and sitting behind it was a recruitment officer.

He pointed to the chair before the desk and gestured for Peter to sit down. The officer was holding papers in his hands. He was shuffling through them; he stopped and held one up as the rest floated down onto the desk, “ah yes, Peter Lawrence, I have your application here”, he said as he finally looked up at Peter. The officer had a worn face with a fixed stare, his stork-like moustache neatly cut, his uniform in prim condition, and each button on his dark green military jacket shone brightly in the light. Peter felt intimidated by this gentleman and began to feel nervous. He rubbed his hands together; he could feel them clamming as he twisted them around on his lap.

“What makes you a good candidate for the war then, Peter?” Asked the officer. Peter lifted his head and faced straight, looking ahead. He mumbled under his breath, trying to find the right words. He planned it all and repeatedly reviewed his introduction in the mirror. Only now, he had no comments; his mind was blank. He began to get flustered, his face turning a slight colour of rouge. “Come on, I haven’t got all day. Did you not see the line of men all wanting to fight in our Great War!” said the impatient officer.

Fidgeting in the wooden chair, Peter looked fixated at the papers on the officer’s desk. His throat had gone dry, he had lost all the words he had practised to say, and he just sat staring at the pile of papers. The officer led towards him and clicked his fingers in front of Peter’s face. He darted backwards into the chair. “Why do you want to go to the war, Laddie?” “So, I can become somebody”, whispered Peter. “Speak up, I couldn’t hear that,” said the officer.

Peter shuffled himself forward, coughed to clear his throat, and then looked straight into the officer’s eyes; with a stern voice, he replied, “I said I want to be somebody.” The officer nodded, and Peter spoke, “My brother has joined the Great War; he is fighting; my mother is proud, and I want her to be proud of me too”. Peter exclaimed. The officer reached down to open the top drawer on his desk; he pulled out some papers. These were the recruitment forms. He looked up at Peter and gave him an encouraging side smile. He passed the documents over, and Peter stuck out his arm; his hand shook as he took the papers out of the Officer's hand.

The papers rustled in his hand; the officer said, “You’ll need to calm your nerves; you will not pass riffle training with a shaky grip”. Peter made his arm go stiff; the rustling stopped; he placed them on his lap and lifted his head to face the officer. By now, the officer was holding a pen and writing out the details on the medical appointment documents. “you need to attend a medical, and if you pass every test, you will be enrolled into the Grand British Army, Peter. You will wear a uniform that holds pride, and whenever you wear this, you will know that you are somebody”, the officer stated. Peter nodded, and the officer stood up and gestured for Peter to stand. He stood up. He pushed the chair back under the desk and left the room.

Peter stood in the corridor looking at the enrolment papers in his hand. A rush of excitement filled his mind; a giant smile shone. He held them up and happily waved them in the air. Buzzing joyfully, he spritely dashed out of the building and quickly went to the market. Everyone he met along the way noticed his utter delight. The market seller gave him some extra apples with his order. Peter was in an excellent mood as he pranced through the blue-painted front door of his home.

His mother was in the kitchen, baking bread. Peter entered the kitchen. He shook the enrolment forms with pleasure. He said, “I got the forms, Mother”, and he placed these on the wooden table next to the mixing bowl and large bag of opened flour. Peter looked at his mother, who had stopped kneading the dough and looked at her son with worry. All the excitement bouncing around inside Peter suddenly turned into butterflies of anxiety. He began to fidget with the flour sack tie, which was hanging loose. In a soft and gentle voice, his mother said, “I just worry that you are too delicate to see the plight of war”.

 She then carried on with making the bread. Peter knew he was upsetting his mother by going to war, but the feeling of missing out was just too much for him to bear. He had to be in France with his brother Alf and all the others. He couldn’t possibly stay behind, classed as a coward. His mother was upset he could not overcome it; being known as a coward was something he could not do. He paused momentarily, watching his mother grease the bread tin. “Mother, I am sorry, but I have to go and join the others; I don’t want to be left at home”. Peter solemnly explained.

His mother knew she couldn’t keep him away from what he wanted to do, no matter how much heartbreak she knew it would cost her. She walked across from her side of the table and held out her arms to hold her son. He leaned into her close, and she squeezed him tight and whispered, “Just make sure you come back to me”. Peter embraced her; he pulled away, looked into her soft brown eyes, and said: “I will come home, Mother, I promise”. He then pulled out a chair and filled out the enrolment forms; his mother watched as tiny tears floated down her cheeks.

Peter delivered the papers on his way to the Duck’s Inn. The pub was busier than usual that evening. Peter had to push through the crowds of young men to get to where Alf and some of his other friends were standing. Peter was handed a pint of beer by his friend James. He sipped the foam from the top and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. James spoke, “Have you filled out your paper yet, Peter? He asked. “I delivered them before I came here”, he replied. “good chap,” shouted Alf, who was nudging his way through the large groups of people. He joined them, and they all clinked their glasses in celebration. The boys had a jolly good time at the Duck’s Inn that evening; all three promised each other that they would write to one another and that they would all return home.

The next day, Peter was called upon for his medical inspection. The nurse was friendly, and the tests didn’t take long. Peter passed them all and was given his medical certificate of clarification. Within the next few days, Peter had received his letter appointing him to attend his Army training; he was to pack and leave for Salisbury Plain. His head spun; it was all happening ever so quickly. Peter thought he might have made a mistake by wanting to join the war. It was too late for that sort of thinking; his bags were packed, and Alf and James had already left for their training the day before. His train tickets were in his hand, and his bag was on his back. He stood at the side of the railway tracks, his mother by his side. The platform was hectic, Peter felt overwhelmed, and the train pulled into the station. The clouds of stream hurled and whistled through across the platform.

Peter felt a tight, tensed feeling shoot straight through his stomach. The train grounded to a stop, the wooden doors flung open, and people poured out, passing their suitcases to those on the platform. Peter turned to his mother. She was sobbing as he hugged her goodbye. Peter moves forward towards the train’s carriage door. He climbed onboard; the carriage was rather full, and Peter was pushed in further by the young man behind him.

He stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance. He managed to find something to hold onto as he looked around the carriage for somewhere to sit. Most seats were already occupied, and he thought he should leave the train. Go home and forget this whole ordeal as he edged on his toes to see further down the carriage. He saw someone leave their seat, and they waved over at Peter.

He made his way down the carriage towards the seat. The elderly gentleman moved to make the gesture for Peter to take the empty seat next to the window. He thanked the man, placed his bag in the hanger above the seats, and went down. He opened the small window and poked his head through the open gap to look for his mother. She was still standing in the same spot. Peter called out for her; she didn’t hear, and he shouted louder. She darted around and saw him. She smiled to herself, seeing his little head poking out the gap.

She had to force her way through the large groups of people. She made her way over to the carriage window. Peter leaned down as much as he could and kissed his mother on the top of her head. They both laughed; the train's whistle blew, and the conductor said, “All aboard”. The platform became loud with the clanking of the steel, the puffing steam as the train jerked. Peter lost his balance and fell backwards out of the gap. He looked out of the window. His mother was waving and saying something, but he couldn’t hear her over the noise of the train. He waved and mouthed, “I will write to you”, as the train moved forward, taking Peter away to training camp.