Turnbulls Triumph

This is not an easy or comfortable memory. Luckily, most of the attached emotion is blotted out and I never wish to feel it again. For that reason, though, the account may seem a little wooden. The reader will hopefully understand why, by the time they reach the end of it. I include it, because I feel it to be an important part of the story of my war life, and, at last, to be able to tell what happened: something I was not allowed to do then. The memory surfaced only recently as a picture, also onsite,  across in a waterlogged clearing. I drew it, and as I moved closer, just as before, I suddenly saw the words upon it. The rest of the memory materialised then..

I dont know what initiated the feud between Turnbull and I, I have a feeling, but nothing definite, but this may help explain the extremity of my opinion of the man; to me then and now, his action in this story was crueller than what he did later. You, of course, must judge for yourselves.

We were walking in single file along one of the Somme tributaries that had all but dried out. This is some time before the big push itself. It is a wet day and rain falls on us now and then. Trees like willows grow each side of the stream which is currently more like a narrow path and Sgt T. leads us; I am one man from the end as there are about six or eight of us in total. We mutter only quietly as T. says there has been some suprise activity in this area. Close to where there is a break in the trees at my right, he stops the patrol and beckons me, makes me walk just behind him. I am suspicious as to why but obey, boots plashing on the marshy ground, just to show Im not scared of whatever he has in store for me. The others watch me file past them to my new position: they are a bit suspicious, but are also worried that voicing their feeling will spoil some sort of joke. Were always playing jokes on each other in the battalion because it lightens moral. Something tells me, however, that this is not going to be a joke

Just as I reach the end of the tree line, the sergeant stops everyone else and shoves me forward alone, unarmed. Its then I notice the cross. It stands in this boggy clearing, almost in the centre. Quite tall, to my shoulder, in grey wood Its been there a while The person beneath seemed to have been well thought of-a frame of once white wood runs round the rectangle grave from the base of the cross. It faces away from me. At one side the ground has subsided and a corner within this frame is especially waterlogged. The entire rectangle is bare mud

Go an Look at it! jeers Turnbull. Go and see who it is! the other men are quiet; they start to realise this is no prank...

Something beyond my own mind tells me not to go. Keep away. A familiar voice of protection. It tells me I dont want to discover who is there.

I refuse to go forward, but Turnbull shoves me, points his gun I stumble towards it. Its difficult, as if something is trying to physically stop me After two or three steps, I fall forward, feeling inexplicably illI begin to get to my feet. Looking up, I can see some of the letters on the front of the cross. I dont want to see the rest, dont want to believe it. I turn, feel dizzy and sway. Turnbull is laughing. He knew what it said all along, hes known the news it brings, news he should have told me when he was first given it... hes just been waiting his chance Gathering myself, muddy and enraged, to my feet, I fly at him. I can hear nothing, only see his throat, my target through my red fury. I raise my hand to grab him Someone catches it and holds me back. Turnbull still thinks its funny and provokes me. I struggle to get at him.

It is a big man holding me back, he is in his mid thirties and tells me to calm down because Turnbull is doing it so I attack him, and he can have me on a charge for hitting a senior. He tries to comfort me, but he has no idea what about. I am still young though, and the restraint feels like a hug in the circumstances. Suddenly, I seem to go limp, just managing to se one of the others look at me in concern then at the front of the cross to read what it says that could have upset me so much. We are used to crosses now after all But this one was different. The words? RSM Andrew Evans ***REGT. Sept 1915 R.I.P.

Next thing I recall, I am on the other side of it, being held by two men: the on whod restrained me before, and another large bloke. Im struggling again. I want to get at Turnbull. Hes been waiting for me to come round and now lifts my chin none to gently, looks into my eyes to make sure Im fully conscious then laugh sadistically before letting my head fall. At this he orders the two men to hold me up so I have to look at the cross. They dont want to, I think, but they too scared to disobey. I cannot speak.

I am made to stare at that cross till the image imprints on my brain, and I lock it away. My faces crumples, Im exhausted, to sob but Turnbull thumps me in the stomach, then hauls me up by the hair as I double over. He makes me stare at it longer. The man on my right tries to comfort me again, saying its best not to react. Hush, Lad he keeps saying. What the hell does he know? That my role model is under that mud? The pain racking my body? The confusion and disbelief? That there was the person who I could go to with my worries, whod stood up for me as a kid? Whod promised to take me on long hikes, camping and so on, now I was older? He didnt even know Andy was my brother. I know I shouldnt be angry with this man who is trying to help, but I just cant feel anything else. In fact Im numb. I close my feelings away forever. Nothing will ever be the same, and I dont want to feel any of it

The men are murmuring amongst themselves, angry at what Turnbull has done to their wee one, determined to do something about it on my behalf. But what can they do? They cannot help me grieve..As for Turnbull: I swear hell never do this to anyone againThe smug arrogant bastard.

Andy was ambushed just at that very spot by two Germans who he didnt know were coming. Typical of the stupid great lump, he had wandered out of the trees for a leak! I think the Germans were as surprised as he was, and had to kill him for their own survival. I dont think they wanted to do it. One shot him in the stomach, then the other bayoneted him in the other side. They let him fall and carried on. I didnt witness this, but it came to me along with the memory. I also know what happened in Wills last moments, and Will has confirmed my recent vision of this as correct, but I will leave the disclosing of the details to him. He outlived both myself and Andy

I never was able to grieve, and my one great wish was to see my big brother again