SOURCE: "At Messines with the Muddies" an unpublished personal memoir by Captain William O'Brien MC (by kind permission of his estate).

"In the aftermath of our attacks at Langemarck, I had been appointed to the temporary rank of Major, which reflected the casualty rate within the battalion. Similarly, young John Hartley was given his captaincy which went very well with his recent award of the Military Cross.

"I must say we spent a most enjoyable evening behind the lines celebrating our good fortune! The surroundings were far from classical but I think it is fair to say that we dined well and drank copiously of the product of the grape.

"On our way back to billets, we suffered for this over-indulgence when a number of hooligans appeared from the darkness and tripped us up. They ran off laughing but we were uninjured. Young Hartley was most upset by this incident, claiming that army discipline had become far too lenient."

When Willie McCallion saw Rifleman Andy Hollinger trying to attract his attention, he sidled away from the game of 'Crown and Anchor' which Lonnie Lonergan had kicked off in their barn billet.

Hollinger jerked his thumb towards the darkness as a sign for McCallion to follow. Willie turned up the collar of his tunic and slipped outside.

"What's the score Andy," asked McCallion, as Hartley's manservant slid into the shadows.

"Someone for you to talk to ... about Bert," said Hollinger.

Willie followed Hollinger towards the remains of a Chapel. The altar was smashed and the traditional Crucifix had been toppled onto the rubble on the floor. Discarded tins of bullybeef and a smattering of cigarette ends revealed that the last congregation had not been absorbed in prayer.

"You Bert McCallion's wee brother then?" asked a figure in the corner.

"That's me," said McCallion. "And who's you then?"

A match flickered and the face of a middle aged man with a thick moustache engulfing a pipe appeared in the darkness.

"Young Andy here tells me you reckon Hartley's a bad 'un. Funny thing is, so do I," replied the voice. "I know thon skitter too well."

Willie McCallion inhaled the fumes of the 'Warhorse' pipe tobacco which drifted towards him.

"Maybe so," he coughed. "But I still don't know who you are old son."

The pipe smoker hackled his throat and spat an unhealthy globule of phlegm towards a prospecting rat amongst the litter of tins.

"Tom Morgan's the name," he said. "And if Hartley has got a secret, I know where you'll find it."