“Ai-Weh-Deh”

 

Gladys Aylward - Born February 24^th 1902 - Died January 3^rd 1970

  

She was born February twenty forth 1902

On the outskirts of London, the Oldest sister of two

Her Father was a postman and she also had a brother

Her hard work ethic and faith came from her mother

It was within the Anglican Church that she was raised

And her barely adequate schooling was hardly praised

 

When leaving school Gladys became a Domestic servant

Becoming a parlor maid when proved to be competent

While she was still a teenager, she read a magazine article

About China and the people who had never heard the Gospel

The thought that millions of people had not heard God's word

Affected Gladys profoundly and her conscience was stirred

 

It was while she was working in one rich West End manor

After many years of cleaning in luxurious library and parlor

She attended a revival meeting and the preacher spoke of

Humbly dedicating one's life to the service of God above 

Gladys responded to the message and her heart was full

She knew she was called to China to preach the Gospel

 

So, at the age of twenty-six Gladys became a probationer

At the London branch of the China Inland Mission Center

Gladys attended the school and trained to be a missionary

She passed the examination but still had to wait and see

After three months the mission agency broke the news

She was not considered qualified for service in their views

 

Undaunted she refused to accept it as the final decision

Serving god in other ways while nurturing her inner vision

Her inner sense of calling to China continued to obsess her

She just had to go with or without an agency to sponsor

Biding her time Gladys began to save her meager pay 

Remaining confident that God would help her find a way

 

Then she heard of a seventy-three-year-old missionary

Jeannie Lawson who needed some help to fetch and carry

She was looking for a younger woman to carry on her work

Hard working and devout a Christian who would not shirk

Gladys wrote to Jeannie Lawson and was accepted hence

If she could get to Yangcheng, China at her own expense

 

She did not have enough money for the journey by ship

But she might soon have enough for the train fare at a snip

Gladys knuckled down working every hour God sent her

To raise the remaining money for her third-class ticket fare

At last, she did it she could go to China at her own expense

With passport, Bible, her tickets, and two pounds nine pence

 

So, it was on October fifteenth nineteen thirty-two, a Saturday

At the age of thirty Gladys Aylward was finally on her way

The journey began from Liverpool street station in London

Traveling on the long and at times dangerous trans-Siberian

To make matters worse and make the journey more of a chore

The Soviet Union and China were engaged in undeclared war

 

Gladys had several narrow escapes in the midst of hostilities

And she was detained for a time in Russia due to formalities

Arriving in Vladivostok she had to sail from there to Japan

And then eventually board another ship and sail to Tientsin

Thence by train, then bus and finally mule, to her destination

The inland city of Yangcheng, in Shansi’s mountainous region

 

As if reaching China alone wasn’t enough of a feat to begin  

She was to assist a retired missionary woman to run an inn

Most of the Yangcheng residents had never seen Europeans

Now they had Jeannie Lawson and Gladys on their hands

Even Chinese were called foreigners who lived in the hills

The two women were distrusted and feared as foreign devils

 

Yangcheng was an overnight stop for the mule caravans

Carrying coal, raw cotton, iron goods and pots and pans

But before they could open up there was a great deal to do

And Gladys had to learn the language at least a word or two

Once they had made all necessary repairs in order to open

They laid in a good supply of food for mules and for men

 

When next a caravan came past the inn, Gladys dashed out,

Grabbed the rein of the lead mule and led it with a shout

Led into the inns yard the caravan followed without a fight

Mules knew that inn’s meant food and rest for the night

Once in the courtyard the muleteers had no choice but stay

Once mules found food the muleteers had to call it a day

 

The travelers were given good hot food and a warm bed

A standard price was charged, and the mules were well fed  

But they also had free entertainment, which wasn’t standard

In the form of bible stories, the best stories they’d ever heard

After a few weeks, Gladys did not need to kidnap customers

Caravans bypassed other inns preferring to stay at theirs

 

Some of the travelers became Christians and some did not

But Christians or not the wonderful stories they never forgot

They journeyed from between three months to six weeks

Through deep fertile valleys and along high craggy peaks

Stopping at many inns along the well-worn caravan trails

Muleteers retelling more or less accurately the Christian tales

 

Gladys continued to practice her Chinese for hours each day

And was becoming fluent and comfortable with it to convey

Then Jeannie Lawson fell from one of the Inn's balconies

And despite best efforts dying a few days later of her injuries

Gladys found herself left to continue the mission on her own

But for Yang the cook, a Chinese Christian, she was all alone

 

After Jeannie's death Gladys quickly became fluent in Chinese

The mission agencies had been sure she lacked the expertise

Despite disproving her doubters Gladys remained philosophical

Calling her great feat "one of God's great miracles" that’s all

So, the young English parlor maid and the old Chinese cook

Continued to serve up with dinner stories from the good book 

 

A few weeks after Jeannie's death Gladys met the Mandarin

He arrived in a sedan chair with impressive escort at the inn

He told her that the new reforming government had decreed

That from the practice of foot binding women should be freed

Now to be his foot-inspector she was needed by the mandarin

She could invade without scandal the quarter’s women lived in

 

China had observed the practice of binding feet for centuries

Amongst the women of the upper- and middle-class families

The custom involved wrapping the feet of girls during infancy

Tightly in bandages preventing them from developing naturally

Thus, grown women had extremely tiny feet, which then meant

They could take only slow tottering steps thought to be elegant

 

It was a God send that she would be a paid for foot inspecting

As the missionary service had withdrawn her meager funding

It was clear to them both that she was the only possible candidate

Gladys accepted the position and didn’t for a moment hesitate

With her own feet unbound she could travel the district easily

Spreading the Gospels as well as enforcing the government decree

 

During her second year in Yangcheng Gladys was summoned

By the Mandarin himself and to his palace she was beckoned 

At the palace she found the Mandarin with the prison warden

Looking in great distress as there was a riot at the men's prison

Many prisoners died and the guards were afraid to intervene

Gladys was asked to go with the warden and survey the scene

 

Convicts were rampaging about the prison’s bloody courtyards

Screaming like banshees and taunting the frightened guards

Gladys didn’t understand why she’d been asked to be there

It was because she preached that trust in Christ protected her

The warden implored her to enter the prison and stop the riot

She walked boldly into the courtyard and shouted: "Quiet!

 

Astonishingly when the small woman spoke the men fell silent

Spokesmen were nominated, the prisoner’s side to represent

The problems were not new, not enough food in their bellies

And too much time with which to occupy minds and bodies

After Gladys had talked with them, she spoke with the warden

Give these men paid work and they can feed themselves then

 

There was no money available for sweeping prison reforms

But someone donated some old looms for weaving uniforms

And a grindstone so that the men could work grinding grain

So, Gladys had proved herself to be invaluable once again

The people had a new name for her after what she had done

Calling her "Ai-Weh-Deh," which means "the Virtuous One."

 

Her courage during the Prison riot cemented her reputation

As a miracle worker and as a well-respected holy person

And in nineteen thirty-six Gladys became a Chinese citizen

And she was a regular and welcome guest of the Mandarin

The Mandarin liked Gladys but found her religion ridiculous

But found her conversation was stimulating and humorous

 

While sharing the Gospel in the surrounding village’s one day

She saw a woman begging with a small child by the roadway

The child covered with sores and suffering from malnutrition

It was clear she was not the mother after a brief conversation

The little girl was about five years old and could barely stand

She bought the child putting ninepence in the beggar’s hand

 

A year later, "Ninepence" with an abandoned boy following

And she said, "I will eat less, so that he can have something."

Thus Ai-Weh-Deh acquired a second orphan calling him "Less."

And so, her family slowly began to grow with great success

Gladys lived frugally and dressed like the people around her

Continuing her work both at the inn and as the foot inspector

 

Gladys began to take in more and more unwanted children 

Before too long she had twenty little ones living at the inn

Then the war came to Yangcheng in the spring of thirty-eight

And then very soon refugees began to arrive at the city gate

The Japanese planes came first and bombed the ancient city

Five days later they would be overrun by the Japanese army

 

The bombing was devastating and killed and injured many

The Mandarin gathered the survivors and told them to flee

They must retreat into the mountains at least for the duration

Hiding in the remote caves and villages and await liberation

So impressed was he in her life he wished to make it known

That because of Ai-Weh-Deh he would make her faith his own

 

There remained the problem of the convicts left in the jail

The mandarin consulted Gladys and good sense was to prevail

The traditional policy favored beheading them lest they run

But a plan for relatives to post a bond of guarantee finally won

Every man was eventually released on promise of good behavior

Yet again the virtuous one was to be the poor prisoner’s savior

 

As the war continued Gladys was often behind enemy lines

And passed on messages and information of many kinds

She became friends with "General Ley," a Catholic priest

A European who now led a large guerilla force in the east

Ley had taken up arms when the Japanese army had invaded

Supporting the Chinese army and fighting alone and unaided

 

Ley sent her a message “The Japanese are coming in full force

We are retreating. Come with us retreating is the only course”

She replied, "Christians never retreat!" I would rather be dead

He sent back a copy of a wanted poster with a price on her head

Discretion was perhaps the better part of valor she decided

And thought to flee to Sian with the orphans she’d accumulated

 

She was sad to leave Yangcheng home for so many years

After years of happiness, she resolved not to shed her tears

Her great love had helped many a poor child and refugee 

And many wounded soldiers had her to thank for her charity

Sometimes she amazed herself at the difference she’d made

Not bad for an adequately educated English parlor maid

 

Her orphans now numbered over one hundred of all ages

Who she had to get to one of Sian government orphanages

It was with reluctance Gladys had to leave her beloved inn

With a hail of bullets from her pursuers narrowly missing

While ducking into bushes with a coat wadded up as protection

The coat was found riddled with bullets after later inspection

 

Over a hundred children set off led by the devoted missionary

One orphaned child for every mile of the perilous journey

Surviving the long exhausting days and cold shivering nights

Crossing low barren valleys and over harsh mountain heights

They were headed for the relative safety of the province of Sian

Arriving twenty-seven days after their long journey had began

 

She brought her children safely into Sian and collapsed of fever

How had she made it? Doctors were amazed at her endeavor

This woman, who was suffering from pneumonia and malnutrition

Not to mention typhus, relapsing fever, and supreme exhaustion 

Overcome with fever Gladys sank into delirium for several days

When the fever broke, she returned to Yangcheng looking for strays

 

On the return journey Gladys was wounded by soldiers of Japan

Requiring another spell in hospital when she returned to Sian 

Once she regained her strength she began in this new region,

Sharing in the remote villages the gospels of her own religion

As her health gradually improved, she started a church in Sian

And worked everywhere even a colony for lepers in Szechuan

 

Her health was always impaired by her many war time injuries

And in forty-seven she returned to England for urgent surgery

She remained in England preaching but missing China horribly

Due to the communists, she was no longer welcome incredibly

Throughout her China years she characterized her ministry

As a humble dependence upon God in a steady stream of adversity

 

After ten years back in England, Gladys Aylward returned to Asia

But due to Communist rule was unable to settle in Mainland China

Though excluded from her adopted country she couldn’t stay away

So, she established refugee centers in both Hong Kong and Taipei

In nineteen fifty-eight Gladys founded an orphanage in Taiwan

Where on January third nineteen seventy God took the virtuous one

 

A book was written about Gladys Aylward in nineteen fifty-seven

The book was called “the small woman” and was in the top ten

The book was written by a man by the name of Alan Burgess

And was made into a movie “The Inn of The Sixth Happiness”

It was a constant thorn in her side offending her sensibilities

She was deeply embarrassed by it because of its inaccuracies

 

Hollywood also took great liberties suggesting an infatuation

With the Chinese Colonel Linnan, even making him Eurasian

But Gladys Aylward, the most chaste of women, was horrified

To learn the movie had portraying her in 'love scenes' had lied 

On hearing accounts, she could not be more full of condemnation

Suffering greatly over what she considered her soiled reputation

WHO MADE MARIAN…?

 

In old Nottingham

    Shire in days of yore

There comes a tale

    Of old folk lore

A tale of outlaws

    And an evil prince

A well-known story

    Told often since

About outlaws living

    In the Greenwood

Who were ably led

    By Robbie the Hood

With Little Johnson

    And Friar Touch

William Scarletti

    And young Mad Much

Also Alan Airedale

   The minstrel man

And Robbie’s girl

    The fair Marian

The foe against whom

    Their wits were pitted

Was the evil Prince

    John the half-witted

The prince’s allies were

    Jonathon Starless

And the odious villain

    William the Friendless

A classic story of

    Right against might

But what was it

    That started the fight

According to legend

   This was the cause

While big king dick

   Was away at the wars

Killing foreigners and

   That kind of thing

Prince john had his eye

   On becoming the king

The truth to tell

   Is simpler than that

What started the fight

   Was gossip and chat

The question was

   Was her virtue laid?

And is Maid Marian 

    Any longer a maid

Uncanny Christmas Tales – (018) An Ardennes Christmas

 

The next time you’re whining on about what a crap Christmas you had, because your mother in law over did it on the sherry and told everyone what she really thinks about you, or when your wife’s Uncle Stan spent Christmas afternoon asleep on the sofa breaking wind with monotonous regularity, or your brother’s new girlfriend, who kept hitting on your wife or your Gran who said “just a small dinner for me I don’t have much of an appetite” then spent the afternoon eating all the chocolate Brazils.

If this strikes a chord think again and spare a thought for the half a million or so men of the allied forces and six hundred thousand Germans who spent Christmas 1944 outside in the snow of the coldest winter in a generation in the Ardennes forest during the battle of the bulge.

Men like my father sheltering in foxholes scratched out of the frozen earth with no hot food or drink, unable to light fires for fear of giving their position away and regularly coming under enemy fire or being shelled, then once you’ve hewn out a decent sized foxhole and settled down into it out of the icy wind an order comes down the line for everyone to move out and you move a hundred yards or less and dig another hole.

Go and tell your petty gripes to that generation and see if you get any sympathy.

 

BEASTS IN THE MIST

They gather in the full moons light

On lonely roads at dead of night

With shinning eyes that pierce the mists

They prey on passing motorists

Sure, footed over rock and crag

A victim fresh to feast they drag

And all that’s left when feedings through

Is a baseball cap and a training shoe

No wolf or hound will prowl the moors

And ghosts and ghouls stay home indoors

So, when shrill screams disturb your sleep

Beware the Cumberland killer sheep

Uncanny Tales – (006) The Fated Journey

I’m in my sixties now and I started drinking when I was 15, which was in the early 1970’s.

I always looked older than my age, though not old enough to pass for 18 when I was three years younger, but it was the seventies and landlords pretty much turned a blind eye to 15 and 16-year olds drinking as long as they didn’t look out of place.

My first ever pint was in a pub called The Green Man and it cost me 17 pence, and the first sip of that foaming brew set me on the road that led to oblivion.

It was a long road, and quite a meandering thoroughfare, because I didn’t drink every day, but when I drank I didn’t hold back and I didn’t know when to stop. 

On one occasion, a Friday, I left work at 5.30pm and went straight to the pub, with that week’s pay packet in hand, in those days we got paid weekly in cash, and I woke up the next morning in a bus shelter with 3 pence in my pocket, not even enough to catch a bus, I had managed to piss away a whole week’s wages in one hazy booze fueled night.

 

Also, on a works beano one year, we went on a day trip to France and the more serious drinkers among our party drank nonstop for 26 hours, from the moment the ferry left British waters until its timely return, and we very nearly drank ourselves sober, one or two of the group had to be carried, but the hardened drinkers walked back to the ferry under our own steam.

 

On another occasion after a friend’s house party I woke up on my bedroom floor, wearing only my trousers and one sock, having no idea how I got there.

It was only later when I spoke to my friends that I found out the whole story of what I had done and that they had carried/dragged me home.

They were good friends, who through my behavior, I gradually alienated, one by one, until there was no one left to get me home.

So, I woke up in gardens, subways and gutters, I even woke up once in a skip with a kebab stuck to my face.

In the end I was disowned by my family and my only friends were fellow drunks.

 

Despite my drunken binges I still managed to hold down a decent job so when I was in my late twenties I moved to Abbottsford to take up a very well-paid job which served to fund my benders very well indeed.

On one particular weekend in September I had been drinking since breakfast, and kept it up all day, however by midnight all the pubs were shut, but a serious drunk always knows where to find a drink, so I took a cab to Seb’s, a members only an all-night drinker.

It was there that I met Angela who would, in a roundabout way, and quite unintentionally, become my salvation.

She was a good-looking woman, around about my own age, who was also a drunk, although the drink hadn’t yet diminished her looks.   

The next morning, I woke up in the passenger seat of a car on the sea front in Sharpington with Angela sleeping next to me, slumped over the steering wheel.

I had absolutely no recollection of where we were, or how we got there.

I got out of the car to stretch my legs and the bracing sea breeze almost knocked me off my feet, so I walked along the sea front, trying desperately to clear my head, but things were no clearer 20 minutes later when I returned to the car, which by some miracle was parallel parked to perfection, and I marveled at how we had got from Abbottsford to Sharpington and lived to tell the tale, but then a sense of doom came over me as I looked at the bright blue Chrysler in front of me, because although we had got to Sharpington unscathed, the car had not, as the front of the car carried all the hallmarks of a serious front end collision.

 

I roused Angela from her drunken slumber and got her out of the car and walked her up and down for a while until the sea breeze had blown the cobwebs away.

“How the hell did we get here?” I asked

“Get where?” she mumbled

“Sharpington” I replied

“Why are we in Sharpington?” Angela asked so I walked her further along the seafront until we reached a café that was actually open at 6.00am on a Sunday and several coffees later I got some sense out of her

“The last thing I remember, we were in Seb’s and you said, “I haven’t been to the coast for ages”” She said slowly “so we finished our drinks and got in my car”  

“And?” I pressed

“And then you woke me up” she said, with her head in her hands

“Do you remember hitting anything?” I whispered

“No, like what?” Angela queried

“I don’t know” I replied “but whatever it was, you hit it hard”

 

It was after nine when we stood up to leave, and a small group of fishermen were coming in as we were going out.

“So how come you were so late?” one of them asked

“An accident in the Dulcets” was the reply

“Why what happened?” asked another

“All I know is what the Police told me, that an old man was out walking his dog when he got hit” he said

“And he’s dead?” asked one of the fishermen

“Yes, and the driver didn’t stop” the first one replied   

What little colour had returned to Angela’s face while we were in the café instantly drained away as the realization of what she had done dawned on her as well. 

We returned to the car, but Angela was too distraught to drive, on hearing what we had done I was suddenly stone cold sober, so I got behind the wheel and chose a route that took us back to Abbottsford via a very circuitous route.

 

After that September Sunday all those years ago when some poor Dulcet resident lost his life at our hands I completely lost my taste for the booze, and I’ve been teetotal ever since.
I still see Angela from time to time, she still lives in Abbottsford but she never came to terms with what we had done that day and surrendered completely to the demon in the bottle.
I still see her around about the town with the other down and outs and winos and I believe she sleeps in Cathedral Park, I often wonder if she sleeps any sounder than I do.

 

Uncanny Tales – (003) The Angels of Mons and Le Cateau

It was August 1914, when Commander-in-Chief, Sir John French ordered the newly arrived British Expeditionary Force under his command, to launch an offensive against the German Imperial Army at Mons and so began the BEF’s first major action of World War I and its resulting carnage, and at the centre of that carnage were the Downshire Light Infantry.

The British were heavily outnumbered and despite the fact they killed or wounded three of the enemy to every one of theirs that fell, they were forced to retreat to their second line of defence.

Mercifully the Germans chose not to pursue them immediately but elected instead to lick their wounds.

It was during the respite from the exertions of the day that the stories started to spread through the ranks of weary and bloodied soldiers about the “Angels of Mons”.

It seemed that every man had either witnessed the event or personally knew a man who had.

The story that was circulating the camp fires and aid stations, told that at the height of the battle, visions appeared in the sky of St. George, surrounded by angels, horsemen and cavalry all urging the soldiers on.

John Holt didn’t see them and furthermore he didn’t believe anyone else had, in fact he figured it was probably a combination of fear and fatigue, but as they sat drinking a mug of badly brewed black tea he turned to his mate George and asked him.

“Did you see it Georgie? It was your namesake after all”

“Did I see what?”

“The Angels and St George of course”

“No mate, I was too busy trying not to get shot”

George took a mouthful of tea and pulled a face, swallowed and reluctantly took another mouthful, and then he said.

“Anyway, what use were they poncing about in the sky? They should have come down and got stuck in and give us a bit of a hand”

“Too right” he agreed, but he wasn’t altogether clear if George had seen them or not, but he didn’t get chance to press the point as they were called to muster and prepare for the battle to recommence, it seemed that their all too brief respite to regroup was all but over.

 

Again, they battled against overwhelming odds until well into the next day, until finally they had to retreat again fighting a fierce rear-guard action for the best part of two days until their main body finally caught up with them at Le Cateau, where yet another fearsome battle commenced.

George and John had taken up a position with what remained of their battalion on a wooded ridge firing rapidly at the advancing Germans, round after round after round, and John’s arm ached with the constant reloading and his shoulder was bruised and sore from the repeated recoil.

They fired so many shots John thought his barrel would melt, then all of a sudden, the Germans turned tail and ran, how the British cheered at the sight of the Germans running away from them for a change.

However, their celebrations were to prove premature as everything around them, the entire wood, the hill, the world for all they knew, erupted in a series of massive explosions, so many it was impossible to tell when one ended and the next began, and amidst the din of hells fire that had fallen upon them, were cries and screams and prayers.

But then after what seemed to be hours, which was probably only minutes, the barrage was over.

John lifted his head and could see nothing, as all around was dust and smoke, but he could smell the acrid stench of cordite and his mouth was full of earth.

He spat out the dirt and dust from his mouth and tried to speak but couldn’t, so he grappled for his canteen and took a mouthful, rinsed his mouth and spat it out.

“Bloody hell George I didn’t like that, not one bit”

But George didn’t answer and when he looked at him he didn’t move, he was lying face down behind the ridge exactly where he had been before the shelling.

He put his hand on his webbing to turn him over but as he pulled on his strap his shoulder screamed at him to stop.

So, he stopped pulling and glanced at his right shoulder and saw that a foot-long splinter of tree had pierced through his shoulder from front to back, he gritted his teeth as he gripped the splinter and yanked hard on it.

It came out easily enough, but the pain was excruciating, and John screamed loudly.

With the splinter removed he turned his attention back to George and fearing the worst he managed to turn him over using his left arm and found him to be alive but unconscious and bleeding from the head and he had a leg full of bloody splinters.

John washed the worst of the French countryside off his face using water from the canteen and quickly put a field dressing on his head wound then he removed the splinters from his leg and dressed that as best he could then he did the same to his shoulder.

With first aid rendered John quickly checked five men in each direction of his firing position and found them all dead.

John took a moment to survey his surroundings and couldn’t believe his eyes, what less than 10 minutes ago had been a beautiful wooded hill was now utter carnage and not a tree worthy of the name remained.

John shook his head in despair at the destruction and mayhem but tempered it by counting his blessings.

In the distance he could make out signs of life further along the line and they appeared to be withdrawing which on balance seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do and decided that he and George should join them.

Across the battlefield a mist was falling and through it would soon come the German army to finish them off.

“Best we’re not here when they do” he muttered to himself

“Come on Georgie boy let’s get you to an aid station” he said as he struggled to get him on his good shoulder.

“Don’t worry he’ll be ok” A female voice said and startled him, so he turned around to see an Angel stood before him, a most beautiful thing, complete with flowing robes of pristine white and magnificent wings, and John stumbled, and she reached out a hand to steady him.

“Am I dead?” he asked though quickly answered his own question.

“No, I can’t be dead because my shoulder hurts like bloody hell”

“No, you’re not dead” She reassured him

“Then I’m hallucinating, my wound must be infected or poisoned”

She shook her head.

“Ok then I must be mad that’s got to be the answer” and punctuated his statement with a nod.

“You may well be mad, I couldn’t possibly comment, that’s not my department, but mad or not I am still here none the less”

Just then there were sounds coming from the mist, it was the sound of fighting men on the move and further along the line sporadic gun fire could be heard.

“We had better walk and talk, don’t you think” She said and gestured with an open hand in the opposite direction, John nodded his agreement and moved off with George on his back, who was surprisingly light for a big man.

“So, if for the sake of argument, I suspend my scepticism and agree that I am neither dead, hallucinating nor mad that would mean that I actually believe you are here”

“Yes” She replied

“So why are you?”

“Why am I what?”

John paused before replying as the sounds of war behind them were getting ever louder so he picked up the pace.

“Why are you here?”

“We are here to help those we can”

“We?” he asked with surprise

“Oh yes, I am not alone”

John pondered her reply for a moment before replying

“You say you help those you can, but not all?”

“We can’t help everyone” She said sadly

“I’m afraid you have us outnumbered, unfortunately we can only help the most deserving and even then …”

She left the sentence unfinished as the action behind them was becoming more intense and he glanced back to see a small group of Tommie’s being swept aside by the advancing tide of the German army.

He again quickened the pace and asked

“So why me? Why am I more deserving than those poor men?”

“Because you put the life and safety of your friend before that of your own” she replied as if surprised by the question.

He looked at her doubtfully and she continued.

“You dressed his wounds before any thought of attending to your own”

John didn’t think he had done anything remarkable it was, what it was, and then bullets began zipping past them so he redouble his efforts and tried to squeeze a little more speed from his tired legs, but then she suddenly appeared in front of him and said softly.

“Stand still”

“Not likely” he replied sharply and walked past her

“I don’t want to make us an easier target for them”

She was in front of him again and said

“Trust me, just stand still”

John did as she asked, though was still unsure of the wisdom of such an act as the Germans were only 100 yards behind them and closing fast.

He stood stock still and she moved closer until she was only inches away from them and unfurled her wings with a great flutter and wrapped them around the Tommie’s like a cloak.

He could hear the Germans getting closer and closer, he could hear them talking and some were even laughing.

“They’ll be on us any minute” John said with fear in his voice

“Relax” she replied calmly “they can’t see us”

John wasn’t so sure, but he did as she said as best he could, the Germans were all around them and they were so close he could smell the sweat on them.

They were still shooting at his retreating comrades as they went by and after a short time they moved into the distance in their relentless pursuit and they were still safe, though it soon occurred to him that he and George were now behind enemy lines.

“Have no fear” she said sensing his concern.

“Close your eyes”

John did as she instructed without question and after a moment he felt the reassuring embrace of her winged cloak slip away in a brief flutter and when he opened his eyes she stood serenely before him again.

But they were no longer stood on the dangerous scarred landscape of Le Cateau, they now stood in a much greener place.

Ahead of them the British reserves were mustered preparing to advance to try and halt the German advance.

To his left and right stood a sporadic line of bemused and battered soldiers walking slowly towards the British lines with their angelic escorts looking on.

John’s Angel smiled as he tried to speak but, in the end, he could only return her smile and as he made his way towards the line, with George still on his back, she called after him 

“You can tell George later from me that we Angels don’t get stuck in, but we do what we can”

“Will do” he called back and as he got closer to his lines, groups of Tommie’s raced towards them to help the weary men.

As a couple of men started to relieve him of his burden he suddenly felt George’s full weight on his back and realised his Angel had lightened his load.

While two privates carried George off to the aid station he turned and waved to their saviour and she fluttered her wings in response before she melted away into the landscape.

 

When John and George were at the hospital back in blightey the papers were full of the story of the “Angels of Mons” and everyone they spoke to, had an opinion on the subject, the general consensus appeared to be that it was a miracle though George said he thought it was a load of tosh.

For himself he couldn’t vouch for whether the “Angels of Mons” appeared in the skies above the battlefield or not because he never saw them with his own eyes, but he could say with hand on heart that the “Angels of Le Cateau” most certainly were there, so if he could see “Angels” then why shouldn’t everyone else.

The other thing that filled the papers was the patriotic surge of volunteers enlisting after the terrible defeat at Mons which meant the Angels would be kept very busy.