Music To Retreat By

"Music to Retreat By"

Who: Nigel, Roux & Llywelyn
IC Date: May 1940
OOC Date: Feb. 21, 2008

What: Some BEF soldiers find an old gramophone and some records in an abandoned French civilian truck.

Logger: Llywelyn

Chemin des Filatiers
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

Coordinates : 11 6

A small paved road. In civilian times the odd car or tractor might be seen headed down here, but as the place is currently a battleground they are deserted to all but military traffic and swarms of refugees.

It is currently daytime.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Front Line Trench
2. Front Line Trench

Roux - 2. Front Line Trench
Nigel - 2. Front Line Trench

(#13795) Destroyed PzKpfw 2C
(Item 1) Flare Equipment / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 2) Kar98k Ranged Weapon / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 3) Radio Equipment / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 4) M68 AT Grenade Ranged Weapon / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 5) M68 AT Grenade Ranged Weapon / 2. Front Line Trench
(Item 6) Mills Bomb Ranged Weapon / 2. Front Line Trench
(Item 7) Flare Equipment / 2. Front Line Trench
(Item 8) Mills Bomb Ranged Weapon / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 9) FM 24-29 Ranged Weapon / 2. Front Line Trench
(Item 10) MAS 36 Ranged Weapon / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 11) Boys AT Rifle Ranged Weapon / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 12) Lee Enfield SMLE Ranged Weapon / 2. Front Line Trench
(Item 13) Mills Bomb Ranged Weapon / 2. Front Line Trench
(Item 14) F-S Combat Knife Melee Weapon / 2. Front Line Trench
(Item 15) 7.5-54 x 654 Ammo / 2. Front Line Trench
(Item 16) Mills Bomb Ranged Weapon / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 17) M68 AT Grenade Ranged Weapon / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 18) .303 British x 224 Ammo / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 19) 14mm Boys x 244 Ammo / 1. Front Line Trench
(Item 20) 7.92-57 x 195 Ammo / 1. Front Line Trench

Obstacles :
East <E> Dragonsteeth-1

West <W> East <E>
South <S> North <N>

Llywelyn arrives from the North.

«Game» Llywelyn moves into Front Line Trench.

«Game» Nigel moves out of Front Line Trench.

Allan arrives from the West.

«Entrenchment» Allan works on improving fortifications, but does a poor job of it.

«Game» Allan moves into Front Line Trench.

Nigel paces back towards the trench from a wrecked refugee truck nose-down in a crater by the side of the road, and hunkers down by the edge of the entrenchment, taking a sip from his canteen. "Lots of nice furniture back there." he remarks idly with a glance towards the truck, and looks about, "Be a pity if the Germans bomb it again and torch it up without it getting no use."

Allan heads off South.

"Oh?" Roux peers out at the truck, "What you suggest then?" He tilts his head, shuffling and standing. Must've been dozing, and the man wipes sleep from his eyes. He adjusts his helmet, to peer out at Nigel. "It is nice."

Llywelyn is looking over the fortifications with a cluster of other engineers. Which is about all he can do, with his right arm still in a sling. The trenches haven't gone through any troubling changes, so he allows himself to be distracted by Nigel. He inches up the trench wall, to get a better view of the truck. "Don't think she's quite up for going for a spin," he says with a grin.

Nigel sits down on the edge of the trench, legs dangling into it, and puts the canteen away. "Don't have to move the truck, though, just a cart a couple comfy chairs to the rear or somehing…" he points a hand at the wrecked panzer, "Maybe put a doilie or two on that thing, pretty it up some now."

Llywelyn laughs at the idea, but he shows enough interest in it to heft himself out of the trench. Which is a rather bumbling process, one arm short as he is. "You're a right domestic, boyo," he says with a grin. "Still, likely as there's things in it we can use. It might even have some fuel left."

«Game» Llywelyn moves out of Front Line Trench.

"Was that Canadian chap Smith's idea." Nigel grins as he climbs to his feet, rolling his shoulder slightly. He doesn't actually stand to his full lanky height, prefering to keep a low profile as he heads back towards the truck. "It's not lootin', we can put it back in when we're leaving. Sitting out there it's just a target for Jerry." the Irishman winks.

Llywelyn ducks a little himself as he strides toward the truck, keeping pace with Nigel. Though he doesn't have to duck nearly as much as the Irishman. Llywelyn isn't the tallest of men. His grin quirks a bit. "I won't tell the brass if you don't. Doubt they'll care, the way the army is leaving equipment scattered hither and yon on the roads. Can't take it all with us, I suppose."

Nigel climbs up onto the back of a wrecked truck that sits in the rear of the entrenchments, nose down in a crater by the side of the road. A tarp covers the rear, and he tugs it aside to reveal the various piles of furniture and other assorted domestic possessions that the refugees were taking with them before they were struck. "I got to say I like that chair there." the Irishman nods to a thick, antique upholstered armchair.

"Can't speak enough TO tell," Roux grins from his spot. He falls quiet, looking over. "Gets burned anyway," Roux shrugs and lets his grin fade into a smile. He scrambles over to follow the two others chatting, peeeeeering out cautiously.

Llywelyn hoists himself up along with Nigel, using his good arm. He lets out a long, low whistle as he looks over the furniture. "These were no paupers…" he murmurs, craning his neck to look down at an old crystal lamp. It, of course, broke in the crash. "Where do you suppose they were coming from?"

Nigel folds his arms over the edges of the truck as he props a boot up on a tire and shrugs, tiltin his head as he studies the furniture, "Arras, maybe? Belgium? Some other city in that direction, no?" he nods back east, then plls himself up, carefully, to stand on the bed of the truck, precariously balanced in the midst of the furniture.

Roux's curiosity is getting him too. He's snuck out, peering at the furniture too. "Pretty," He remarks. He cautiously looks over, and points out a busted vase, "All I can tell is they were going away," Roux sighs. He shakes his head. It seems sad someone would shoot a civilian truck. Such is war.

"I don't like to think of them coming from Arras," Llywelyn says. "God only knows what's happened to them. I still don't know how to rightly feel about having left the people in that town to the Germans. They all seemed good sorts. What do you suppose happened to them?"

Nigel looks to Llywelyn and shakes his head, a helpless shrug animating his shoulders as he steps forward through the furniture, pausing by the side of the chair he'd picked out earlier, giving it a nudge. "I hope the Germans aren't treating them too badly. At least they should be free from bombings and shellings now that we're out of there, shouldn't they? he squats down to see what's blocking the chair's movement."

"Hopefully…" Roux looks a little guilty, maybe it's hitting him hard because he happens to /be/ French. He just sighs and kneels, to push aside a small pillow from the chair leg. "Is this?" He points it out. Might be, might not be. He cranes his neck, curious now.

"What've you got there?" Llywelyn asks, moving cautiously to join Nigel. With his arm, and his general wariness of jostling the truck, it's slow going.

Sticking his left arm between the chair and a small chest, Nigel helps tug the pillow out and passes it to Roux. "That'll make for a better night's sleep when you can get it." he winks, then bends down, and carefully pulls out a big gramophone trumpet, which he peeks into, then sets aside, before carefully, slowly, pulling out the rest of the device, an old hand-cranked record player.

"Woohoo?" Roux tilts his head. Is that the proper expression. But he smiles anyway and nods. "Is nice," He pats it. Roux goes back to leaning, and cautiously helping make sure not too much is jostled. He blinks at the old record player. "Oooh. Huh," Boggle. All kinds of stuff in here.

Llywelyn lets out a half-chuckle, grinning when Nigels the gramophone. "Now that's a thing," he says. "I haven't heard music since we left Arras. I wonder what these folks listened to…" He bends down, awkwardly, and sifts through the scattered possessions near the gramophone. He does find a few records. Popular French music, and a bit of opera.

"Think it's still working?" Nigel asks as he lifts the heavy thing with a small gasp of air, and sets it down atop the chair, before straightening up and looking out east. "Let's get this over to the trench. I'd rather put it together there than over here, can't tell when the Jerries get it in their heads to pay us a visit." he looks over to Llywelyn, "Anything good?" and then to Roux, lifting an eyebrow, "Your kind of music, is it?"

"Huh? Is pretty music," Roux smiles, "But can never sing along…" He replies, looking over the records. "Okay!" Roux will help lift things, looking enthusiastic as usual. Notably, he clings to that pillow. Silly bean. He ducks down at the mention of Jerries though, and looks up again after a moment. "Hm. Maybe I can share the pillow," Roux considers. One glance around, then he glances back to the others.

Llywelyn goes through the records. "Not my sort, I have to say. I prefer something with a bit of brass. Or at least that's sung in a tongue I can understand." But he gathers up some records just the same with his good hand, while the others move the gramophone.

Nigel climbs off the truck and hands the old gramophone trumpet to Roux. "There you go." then he picks up the gramophone and turntable itself, wincing slightly from the weight on his arm as he begins to trot back towards the trench. "Got to come back for that chair, though." he grins as he arrives at the trench, kneeling down as he looks around for a place to set the gramophone down, finally locating a nice flat niche in the rear side of the trench, where the sound's likely to reach both entrenchment lines.

"Thanks," Roux carefully takes it and holds it carefully. He nods, and will trot along after then smiles, "I feel the same," Roux replies to Lly. He's cheery as ever, even looking around. "We save the chair for awhile, yes," Roux agrees. He makes sure to help out as much as he can, mostly soaking in everything. "Too bad I left journal at home."

"I'm certainly not moving the thing," Llywelyn says, gingerly clinging to the records while he moves out of the truck bed. He manages to get himself and them on the ground without incident. "It'd be grand to hear any sort of music again, in any language but German. Speaking of Jerry, you sure he won't be able to hear it from here?"

Nigel sits down next to the old gramophone and picks the trumpet off Roux's hands. "I am not." he looks east beyond the trench and shrugs slowly, "Can't say. How far are they? It could mellow them out, now, but I don't think these Jerries care much for music." he carefully puts the trumpet in place, but pauses then, giving the other two soldiers a small worried look. "This could be broken, let's not hope for too much, eh? Hand me a record, will you?"

Roux frowns at that, looking around just to be sure. "Me either," He agrees. "Maybe they just need a hug," He comments wryly. He falls quiet, to listen and consider the English being used around him. He's not holding any of the records, so he just kind of stays still, poking at the pillow. "Hopefully, not broken."

Llywelyn picks through the records, eventually coming across a collection of ballads by a female singer named Edith Piaf. He hands it to Nigel. "I'd rather not hug a Jerry, if it's all the same to you."

Nigel draws the record out and blows on it, turning it in his hand, then lays it carefully down on the turntable. Then, using his left hand, and visibly uncomfortable by the position, he begins to wind up the gramophone, one foot tapping lightly along the top of the trench as he does. Once he does, he picks the needle and places it on the outermost groove, then waits. Before long, a soft scratchy noise gives way to song.

"Me either," Roux agrees. He is watching and listening now, content to do such. He is still after all, learning English. He smiles, "Ah. This is familiar," Roux notes, before finally going quiet as the song plays. He sits, almost Indian style, settling into the dirt as if he was born there.

Llywelyn stretches out his legs as he sits on the ground beside the gramophone, settling comfortably. The woman's voice is strong and lovely, despite the scratching of the record, holding long, clear notes as she belts out a rousing ballad in French. "It's not bad, boyo…" he allows to Roux with a grin. "Wish I could tell what she was singing about, though…"

"It's pretty." Nigel agrees after a long silence. Without saying another word, so as not to disturb the song, he stands and hurries back towards the truck to loot it further.

Roux helpfully translates a bit, explaining. He goes quiet after though, to listen, tilting his head. He grins back, "She is nice." He keeps his eyes out, yawning a little. "Sorry, has been long boring day. Is strange … boring when not being shot, horrible when being shot," He frowns.

"Hurry and wait. That's what men say of the army. I could do with more boredom, though…" He closes his eyes, as if that might help him understand the words better. It doesn't, but the tune is still pretty. "I can't wait to here the radio again. I wonder what they're saying about us over here…"

"Always," Roux replies. He will help translate a bit, and tilts his head. "Many afraid … I bet," He closes his eyes too, to enjoy the song and stillness of things. "Probably just shocked too," He notes.

"Probably…" Llywelyn is quiet for a moment as he listens but, after some thought, he speaks again. "You'll like England, Roux. It's a fair enough place, and we'll see that you're treated proper."

"Oh?" Roux tilts his head and smiles. "Am glad. Working on English," He nods. He really is! "Which part of it we going to?" He asks quietly, leaning up into the wall, dislodging some rocks.

Peter has connected.

Some of the men have found themselves a gramophone in an abandoned civilian truck. And they've even gotten it to work. A ballad by a French songstress is currently playing softly on it, a pretty tune interrupted by occasional scratches in the record. "Dover, most likely," Llywelyn replies to Roux. "It's a good enough town. By the sea. I hope we'll get some leave, though. Penclawdd isn't far, and I'd like to pay a call on my wife when we get home."

Indeed. Roux is mostly quiet and listening, "Sounds nice." He nods. "I think she would like that," Roux smiles. He puts the pillow under his head but over his hands. Oooh, soft. "Is it a big town?" He asks, looking over to Lly.

"Dover's a goodly size," Llywelyn replies. "Lots of fishing. Penclawdd's a good bit smaller. Little more than a village, but I like it well enough. You can come to dinner at my house, when we get back. If you've time. Winnie's a good cook."

Laying back in the trench is Peter. His helmet is sitting beneath his head, acting as a surrogate pillow. He opens his eyes a little at the conversation, but doesn't speak up.

"I see," Roux replies. "Really?" He blinks, seeming surprised. His eyebrows lift a little. "That would be neat … I cannot cook myself," Roux admits sadly. "What is that? Frenchman cannot cook. Is sad," He bobs his head, making a joke at his expense.

Llywelyn grins. "That's why a man gets married," he says. "I certainly can't manage a proper meal on my own. But you'll like it, Roux. You'll see. Might not be France, but…" He trails off as the song stops.

Nigel had been over by a wrecked civillian truck, sorting out a few more belongings. He returns not much later, bringing with him a comfortable-looking, overstuffed armchair. It drags somewhat in the dirt and along the road as he carries it as well as can be, bringing it right over to the edge of the trench before sitting down on the earth next to it, panting. He's also got a pretty lace doilie resting on a shoulder.

"Ah hah, I'd like that I think," Roux smiles. "And I see! I will have to get there first, but it sounds very nice," He bobs his head. Roux turns his head over to see Nigel arrive with the chair. "He didn't kid…" He is in awe of the man's determination and that chair. "Need help?" Roux calls over, just loud enough for Nigel to hear.

Llywelyn doesn't offer to help Nigel, still one-armed as he is. He just sits on the ground, enjoying whatever boredom he can grab.

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