大象传媒

Alfred was a friend and comrade of mine. More than that, for the last couple of months he had been my next door neighbour, his slit trench being two or three yards away from mine, but near enough for us to shout to each other when the going got tough.
We were part of a line maintenance crew; on the Western Desert, 1942; our job was to keep the lines open between our guns and the forward observation posts and to repair or replace any line damaged by enemy fire.
During quiet moments we could perch on the edge of our slit trenches, smoke a cigarette and swap yarns, but always, one ear would be alert to catch the sound of the German guns opening up.

It is no joke to lie in a slit trench alone, under heavy fire. It can weaken even the strongest resolve and the overwhelming desire is to get out and jump into someone else's trench; anyone, as long as there is someone to talk to, or at the worst, to die with. It is better to have company at any price.
Is this what happened to Alfred? Was it the heat and the flies that drove him out or was it a desperate feeling of loneliness? He was half way out of his slit trench when the shrapnel hit him ending his life on that barren stretch of desert.

I buried Alfred that night; just me and the Padre. The desert was absolutely silent. A hazy moon lit the scene and a stiff breeze stirred the whispering sand. It was very eerie. I dug a shallow grave, the sound of my trenching tool striking stones sounded so loud in the silence.
The Padre opened the blanket that covered Alfred and removed the identity disc. I could see Alfred's eyes, wide open, sightless, covered by a fine film of dust.
And so my comrade and friend passed over and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.

In 1982, I journeyed to Egypt and visited the British and Commonwealth Cemetry at El Alamein. I wanted especially to see where Alfred was lying and to tell him that I hadn't forgoten him. I never will. As I gazed across the desert I saw them as they all once were; young men with dust covered boots, sweat lined faces, laughing at some joke or other. That's how I remember them.

This story was submitted to the People's War website by Helena Noifeld of 大象传媒 Radio Kent and has been added to the website on behalf of Richard Samson with his permission. He fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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