Free Passions of War by Hilary Green Page A

away.’
    â€˜Was it necessary?’ Tom asked.
    â€˜The Germans were across the canal on both sides of us. If we’d stayed we should have been outflanked and surrounded. We have to find a better defensive position.’
    At that moment gunfire broke out behind them and Tom looked at Ralph in alarm.
    â€˜Have they spotted what we’re doing?’
    â€˜No, that’s our own artillery. Those poor blighters have been told to stay and cover our retreat. They’ll be lucky to get the guns away before the Boche overrun them.’
    Tom scanned the line of men ahead of him. ‘I can see some of our chaps, but they’re all mixed up with men from other regiments.’
    â€˜We’ll gather them together when we stop. Right now what matters is to put as much distance between us and the Boche as possible.’
    As they rode on Tom felt sorry for the foot soldiers. On the march out he had been uncomfortable because, as an officer, he was mounted while they walked, but now the discrepancy was magnified. The men had fought all day, and they each carried a heavy pack as well as their rifles and he saw that some of them were already limping. Many wore bandages on heads or arms and some had to be helped along by colleagues. But in general they did not appear to be downhearted and he heard several asking Ralph why they had been ordered to withdraw.
    â€˜We was on top of them, sir,’ one said. ‘We ought to be going after the buggers, not running away.’
    â€˜We’re not running away,’ Ralph assured him. ‘When we reach a better position we shall turn round and let them run straight into our trap.’
    As they reached the outskirts of the town of Mons, Tom saw a sight that reminded him with a jolt of Serbia. The road here was crowded with refugees, mingling with the troops. They pushed handcarts and perambulators piled high with everything they could carry. Women carried babies on their backs and led small children by the hand. A young girl carried a birdcage in which a canary was singing, undisturbed by the tumult around it, and behind her a youth pushed an old man with a long white beard in a wheelbarrow. Some of them struck off across the fields, heading for some refuge unknown to the English soldiers, others plodded on, adding to the congestion and slowing down the retreat.
    All day they trudged along the straight, tree-lined road with its unforgiving cobbles. Unlike the previous day, which had begun cool and damp, the sun shone from a cloudless sky and Tom saw more than one man cast aside his heavy greatcoat, careless of how he would cover himself when night came. The ration cart threaded its way through the crowd, handing out tins of bully beef and hunks of bread. The men opened the tins and shared them out and ate while they marched. One young lad dropped out of the ranks and sank down on the side of the road. Ralph rode up to him and shouted, ‘On your feet. You can’t stop here. Do you want to be taken prisoner?’
    â€˜It’s me feet, sir,’ the boy whimpered. ‘It’s these boots. Me feet’s bleeding.’
    â€˜You’ve got to keep going just the same,’ Ralph told him. ‘Up you get. That’s an order!’
    As the boy hauled himself upright Tom said quietly, ‘I could give him my horse. My boots are better than his for walking.’
    â€˜Don’t be a fool!’ Ralph replied in an undertone. ‘Do you think he’s the only one? You can’t give up your horse to all of them. You’re an officer now. Behave like one!’
    From time to time they heard outbreaks of firing behind them and once they saw a cavalry regiment cantering through the fields alongside the road in the direction of the enemy. It was clear that the Germans were in hot pursuit and only being held back by a determined rearguard action. Dusk came, with some relief from the heat if nothing else, and still they marched. Finally,