Fall of Giants

“You’ll be all right,” Mildred said to Billy. “You’ve been trained.”

“Aye.” The training had not done much for Billy’s confidence. There had been a lot of marching up and down, saluting, and doing bayonet drills. He did not feel he had been taught how to survive.

Tommy said: “If the Germans all turn out to be stuffed dummies tied to posts, we’ll know how to stick our bayonets in them.”

Mildred said: “You can shoot your guns, can’t you?”

For a while they had trained with rusted and broken rifles stamped “D.P.” for “drill purposes,” which meant they were not on any account to be fired. But eventually each of them had been given a bolt-action Lee Enfield rifle with a detachable magazine holding ten rounds of.303 ammunition. It turned out that Billy could shoot well, being able to empty the magazine in under a minute and still hit a man-size target at three hundred yards. The Lee Enfield was renowned for its rapid rate of fire, the trainees had been told: the world record was thirty-eight rounds a minute.

“The equipment is all right,” Billy said to Mildred. “It’s the officers that worry me. So far I haven’t met one I’d trust in an emergency down the pit.”

“The good ones are all out in France, I expect,” Mildred said optimistically. “They let the wankers stay home and do the training.”

Billy laughed at her choice of words. She had no inhibitions. “I hope you’re right.”

What he was really afraid of was that when the Germans started shooting at him he might turn and run away. That scared him most of all. The humiliation would be worse than a wound, he thought. Sometimes he felt so wrought up about it that he longed for the terrible moment to come, so that he would know, one way or the other.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re going to shoot those wicked Germans,” Mildred said. “They’re all rapists.”

Tommy said: “If I were you, I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the Daily Mail. They’d have you think all trade unionists are disloyal. I know that’s not true-most of the members of my union branch have volunteered. So the Germans may not be as bad as the Mail paints them.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Mildred turned back to Billy. “Have you seen The Tramp?”

“Aye, I love Charlie Chaplin.”

Ethel picked up her son. “Say good night to Uncle Billy.” The toddler wriggled in her arms, not wanting to go to bed.

Billy remembered him newborn, and the way he had opened his mouth and wailed. How big and strong he seemed now. “Good night, Lloyd,” he said.

Ethel had named him after Lloyd George. Billy was the only person who knew that he also had a middle name: Fitzherbert. It was on his birth certificate, but Ethel had not told anyone else.

Billy would have liked to get Earl Fitzherbert in the sights of his Lee Enfield.

Ethel said: “He looks like Gramper, doesn’t he?”

Billy could not see the resemblance. “I’ll let you know when he grows a mustache.”

Mildred put her two to bed at the same time. Then the women announced that they wanted supper. Ethel and Tommy went to buy oysters, leaving Billy and Mildred alone.

As soon as they had gone, Billy said: “I really like you, Mildred.”

“I like you, too,” she said; so he moved his chair next to hers and kissed her.

She kissed him back with enthusiasm.

He had done this before. He had kissed several girls in the back row of the Majestic cinema in Cwm Street. They always opened their mouths straightaway, and he did the same now.

Mildred pushed him away gently. “Not so fast,” she said. “Do this.” And she kissed him with her mouth closed, her lips brushing his cheek and his eyelids and his neck, and then his lips. It was strange but he liked it. She said: “Do the same to me.” He followed her instructions. “Now do this,” she said, and he felt the tip of her tongue on his lips, touching them as lightly as possible. Once again he copied her. Then she showed him yet another way to kiss, nibbling his neck and his earlobes. He felt he could do this forever.

When they paused for breath she stroked his cheek and said: “You’re a quick learner.”

“You’re lovely,” he said.

He kissed her again and squeezed her breast. She let him do it for a while, but when he started to breathe heavily she took his hand away. “Don’t get too worked up,” she said. “They’ll be back any minute.”

A moment later he heard the front door. “Oh, dammo,” he said.

“Be patient,” she whispered.

“Patient?” he said. “I’m going to France tomorrow.”

“Well, it ain’t tomorrow yet, is it?”

Billy was still wondering what she meant when Ethel and Tommy came into the room.