A hero to One

It was 1958 and his days at the old primary school was over for Ben King, he had failed the exam that would decide which school he’d attend, commonly known as the eleven plus. Grammar school or a secondary school; this didn’t faze him as he was destined to be a plumber/drainer with a local building company. The sixties hadn’t arrived yet but it was knocking on the door; some changes were in the wind and he wanted to be a part of it. Plumbers were well paid and he would need money for scooters, clothes and the clubs. As Armistice Day or Remembrances Day as it is now known was coming up and not a lot of studying was going on, and the class had been asked to do a presentation about our Grandparents involvement in this War to End all wars, WW1.

He knew his granddad Albert was in the trenches somewhere in France so spoke to his Nan and asked if it would be ok. “Don’t go there, don’t even go there” she sighed. He was not completely sure what it meant but reasoned if he had been through the war he would be alright now. The old bloke was hoeing vegetables in the plot at the back of the house garden that was where he spent most of his day unless it was raining, and then he could be found in the little tool shed. This day he was leaning on the hoe, cleaning the dottle out from his pipe, and had repacked the pipe, he fired it up using several Swan Vesta’s; the match of choice for pipe smokers. When his old tweed peaked hat was surrounded by blue smoke, he deemed it ok to broach the subject of his war experiences.

“Granddad, can you tell me about the time you were in France in the war” Ben was excited about getting a story to tell at the presentation. He had never seen a grown man break down so quickly, tears were running down his face; he had his hands over his ears shaking his head. Crying “no, no,” he ran into the little shed, slamming the rickety old door behind him. He had never seen him like this he was always so strong, he was his rock. He ran into the house calling for Nan, she took one look at his face, read the sorrow there, immediately understanding what had happened. Grabbing a bottle of beer and two tablets she rushed to the garden shed, “I will speak to you when I get back wait here”

“I have your grandad settled now; god knows how long it will take him to recover! What part of don’t go there didn’t you understand? She cried, twisting up her cleaning towel in anguish.

Ben must have looked dazed and confused; realizing that there was more to “don’t go there” than don’t go in the shed.

Some people when they can’t deal with problems stash them away in a little corner of the mind and get through the day. By bringing up the problem and to the front they have major problems dealing with life and they’re relieving the terrible past. You are big enough now to be told about it probably today wouldn’t have happened if you had known. Your grandad is what they call “Shell Shocked “but I think it’s a bit more than that but its true loud bangs upset him. I was a nurse in a front line hospital and helped them get all the bits of shrapnel out of him but that part was easy fixed not so his mind. She sobbed.

Best I make a pot of tea and take a breath as it is difficult for me as well she said; once the tea was brewing she started again with the story.

Your grandad and four of his long time mates from the village, a bunch of rare “Harem Scarum’s” they were, decided to join up even though they were under age; naturally the army recruiters looked the other way and signed the five of them up. After a bit of training mostly which way to point the rifle, they were shipped to the Somme in France, where they reckon up to twelve million men lost their lives: not so much rifle fire but by heavy artillery shelling and shrapnel. Your granddad told me that at the recovery hospital run by the Red Cross hospital for returned soldiers, wounded in battle. These were boys not men with bits and pieces missing from their body’s, arms, legs and bits thereof, Albert and others like him was put in a different ward as they were wounded different, nothing you could see but Shell Shock it was called. The only thing they could do was keep them sedated, and hope that with time their wounded brains would recover.

I knew where he was as the head nurse used to write to me, so when I left the front line I went there to help others and Albert. The doctor who was handling these cases asked me to be very careful but it would help if we could get him to talk about his experience. I was there for the long haul and so I took it slow but eventually he was able to tell me of the events over time.

Albert was not scared of going over the wall out of the trench’s as it was one on one and the enemy was just a bad shot as they were. He couldn’t come to grip with the officers, they would be waving their pistols saying any soldier no going over would be shot for cowardice in the face of the enemy: of course none of the Officers went over. They were in a dammed if you do, dammed if you don’t scenario. He said it didn’t matter in the finish as the five boys were side by side giving each other support ready to go over the top; when an enemy artillery shell made a direct hit in the trench killing the four instantly blowing him sideways and spraying him with shrapnel. He doesn’t remember any more of the war except talking to me at the hospital, we been together ever since.

So that’s your granddads story, don’t fret boy, he is already back in the garden them pills work wonders, no harm done, said my Nan.

She could see that he was a bit upset so she opened the back door as if to say go. Ben ran up the yard right to his plot threw his arms around the old bloke and said;

 “You will always be a hero to me Granddad!” He ran his fingers through Ben’s crop of unruly curly hair his way of saying they are all right; from that day on Ben was a lot more respectful of him and other returned soldiers. Needless to say, he didn’t go to the presentation you don’t have to have a chest full of medals to be a hero. Ben was laying drains by the time he was fourteen and enjoying the sixties revolution.

Now if told “don’t go there”; Ben King will respect the other persons wishes, and leave it alone they would have a good reason for this. A life’s lesson well learnt.