Chapter Five: ‘Life is nothing without friendship’

Chapter Five

‘Life is nothing without friendship’

26 August 1918: The Fletcher farmhouse, Bray

Aimee and Marius had eaten well. Their breakfast had been mounds of scrambled eggs from the farm’s own hens on fresh bread, all made by Colette Fletcher.

Aimee’s mother added more bread and cheese to the backpack that Captain Ellis had left them. ‘Let me see this pass he’s given you,’ she said and pulled an envelope from the front pocket.

Aimee and Marius looked on as she pulled sheets of paper from a large brown envelope. She shook her head. ‘Plans for a Whippet tank... and a note about how it can be stopped by the enemy... using flame-throwers.’

‘And the pass?’

‘There isn’t one,’ Mrs Fletcher said with a shrug. ‘He must have forgotten to put it in... or he’s given you the wrong pack.’

‘Should we ask for another?’ Aimee said.

‘There’s no time. You’ll have to travel slowly till Marius gets his strength. The sooner you set off the sooner he’ll be home. The pass may have helped... but no one is going to stop and question two French peasants. You look harmless.’

Marius smiled weakly. ‘I feel harmless.’

‘I’ve put some some money in the pack, and Captain Ellis’s map. But you’ll not need that. Aimee knows the way. Just stay off the main roads.’

Colette found her eyes filling with tears. She turned away and shook her head. ‘Now go. Go quickly.’

Aimee picked up the backpack and walked to the door. Mrs Fletcher turned back. ‘And Marius...’

‘Yes?’

‘When you get home promise me you won’t join the army. The first enemy you shoot at could be Aimee’s father.’

The boy nodded. ‘I won’t fight again. When they know my true age they won’t let me fight. The war will be over next year, everyone says.’

‘Good luck.’

Marius stood as straight as his aching body would allow and gave a sharp bow of the head. Then he followed Aimee into the cloudy day where slate clouds promised rain.

They reached the edge of the woods to the east of Bray and looked back. Mrs Fletcher waved and went back inside the farmhouse.

‘We’re on our own,’ Aimee said. ‘Let’s get you home.’

Their pace was slow that afternoon. The rutted path was hard to walk on and Marius needed to rest every kilometre. By noon, as he grew more tired, it was every few hundred metres.

The track through the woods was full of shell-holes; the woodsmen’s cottages had been destroyed. At every turn they met with sorry ruins, nothing but ruins.