Paddy Scott's War

By Paul Conway

On Aug 4th 1914 Britain declared war on Germany.

Paddy, with his father, fished out of Quidi Vidi on the east coast of Newfoundland. When the Government called for able-bodied volunteers to fight for King and country, young men from harbours and towns eagerly responded. Underaged, Paddy was forced to wait and contrive a way to gain the support of his family and sweetheart who were against him enlisting.

Unable to resist the lure of adventure and the pride of patriotism, Paddy joined the Regiment. He embraced the role of a soldier and forged close friendships with courageous young men from all parts of Newfoundland.

However, nothing can prepare a person for the shock, intensity, and horror of war. July 1st, 1916, on the battlefield of Beaumont Hamel, Paddy met that reality. The young man who sailed into St. John’s harbour at the end of August 1916 was a changed person from the one who, just a year earlier, had stood at the ship's railing together with his fellow soldiers, laughing and waving to family and friends.

Can Paddy accept the changes to his life and strive to build a new future for himself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Conway
• Release date: Jul 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989473955

Paul Conway

Paul Conway lives with his wife in St. John’s Newfoundland. They have two sons and two grandchildren.A graduate of Memorial University, he spent his career in the aviation industry taking positions in St. John’s, Prince Edward Island, Scotland and Texas. His hobbies include golf, hiking, and writing.The inspiration for Paddy Scott’s War came when Paul and his wife travelled to France and Belgium to follow “The Trail of the Caribou,” Beaumont Hamel and four other locations, where the Newfoundland Regiment fought in World War 1.Paddy Scott’s War is his first novel.

Book preview

Ever wonder where you’d die?

The words crept into Paddy’s head and, at first, he thought he’d dreamt them. Opening his eyes, he looked to the right where the voice seemed to have come from. In the darkness, the side of a face was lit by the amber glow of a cigarette. The soldier exhaled, sending smoke skyward.

It was Bruce, who he’d met during training in Ayr, Scotland. Paddy recalled he was from somewhere on the Northern Peninsula and guessed he was a fisherman. He was a quiet fella. Maybe a bit shy, but a solid guy.

Bruce took another long draw, looked at Paddy then let the smoke casually flow out of his nostrils. He dropped the cigarette, and Paddy heard him crush it into the dirt with his boot.

He looked at Bruce’s dark outline. I… I guess I’ve thought of it but I don’t know.

Bruce settled back against the dirt wall, and Paddy heard him take several deep breaths. You fish? Bruce asked in a low voice.

Yeah, with my Da outta Quidi Vidi.

What do you think? Would you rather die out there fighting Germans or on the water fishing?

Paddy was a little unnerved by the question and staring into the darkness, tried in vain, to see the expression on Bruce’s face. I’m not interested in dying but if I had to choose, I’d say on the water, fishing.

Yeah, Paddy, me too.

Bruce became quiet for a minute then in a tone that seemed more like he was talking to himself said, I don’t think God put us on this earth to kill Germans. He put us in Newfoundland to live and fish… to live, fish and die.

Can’t argue with that, but I don’t plan to die today. I’m planning to go home and get back in the boat with Da.

After a minute Paddy gave him a little nudge with his elbow. I bet you’d rather be fishing than sitting here.

Bruce chuckled. Yeah, me and the b’ys would have the boat full to the gunnels. We’d swamp the goddamn thing.

You better write and tell the fellas to save a few for ya.

Yeah, I’ll do that… yeah.

***

The Newfoundland Regiment had left Louvencourt 9:00 p.m. the previous evening and marched twelve kilometres to the trenches near Beaumont Hamel. Avoiding the main roadways they trekked in the night darkness along trails and through fields. Carrying their heavy equipment their route took them between the British artillery batteries and the frontline. They could hear the boom of the big guns and the swish of large-calibre shells pounding German positions, while ahead the field batteries blasted away at the German wire fencing.

Approaching the front lines the sounds grew louder as the horizon ignited with glowing explosions. Alone in their thoughts they instinctively kept their heads down marching towards the flashes of light in the night sky. Brave young soldiers walking through the Somme Valley into the hobs of hell.

It was after two in the morning when they filed into deep dirt holes to wait for the scheduled time when they’d go over the top.

As they settled in the darkness many lit up a cigarette and engaged in lighthearted banter but soon, fatigued from the strenuous march, most dozed off. Paddy closed his eyes but sleep wouldn’t come easy. He wasn’t afraid, but in the cool dampness of the night he found it hard to stop his body from shivering.

Officers walked about with shaded lanterns while large rats could be heard scurrying about hunting for morsels of food, or trying to find their way into backpacks to steal rations. The brazen rodents would occasionally feel the butt end of a rifle to be killed stone dead or plucked and sent squealing through the air up and out of the dugout.

Paddy thought about the last few months spent in Louvencourt preparing for the battle. It was exciting and reassuring to be with a thousand other Newfoundlanders. He renewed old friendships and forged new ones with fellas from all over.

The Allies had developed a detailed attack plan for a thirty-four kilometre portion of the western battle front. In the area of Beaumont Hamel the Germans defended three successive heavily fortified trench lines. The Newfoundland and Essex Battalions would be the third wave over the top and their task was to reach and capture the German’s third trench line almost four and a half kilometres away. While at Louvencourt, each battalion repeatedly practiced their role in the battle plan giving them a high level of confidence in their ultimate success.

The training was intense with physical conditioning; bayonet practice, trench clearing, night manoeuvres, digging trenches and anything else the Brigade training staff could think of to toughen and prepare them.

Part of their training was to spend time at the Allied frontline where danger lurked everywhere. Bombs exploded and snipers bided their time, waiting for unsuspecting soldiers. He was close by when a fellow Regiment soldier was killed.

Now, sitting in the dark trench, it all played over in his mind like a movie at the Nickel Theatre back home. But this was no movie, it wasn’t pretend. It was real.

***

Suddenly startled by a loud thud from an artillery shell impacting the ground near the dugout Paddy realized he must have fallen asleep. The earth shook, causing dust and debris to rain down as arms shot up to cover heads. Grumbles and groans could be heard, followed by fits of coughing.

They had been holed up in the damp dugout for three hours when he noticed the sky beginning to brighten. In the dim light, a few tried to scribble words to loved ones. He thought he might write to his girl or family, but his hands felt a little unsteady. Besides, he needed to remain focused and not become distracted by feelings he might find hard to control. It would make things more difficult than they already were.

The smell in the trench had gotten progressively more rancid. The stench of sweaty bodies, damp clay, and the nearby latrine was only marginally better than rotting fish guts. It was hard to breathe, and at times, Paddy felt he might retch. He dug a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting up drew in deeply. The sweet aroma of Mayo tobacco temporarily obscured the dreadful stench and helped calm his nerves.

He glanced to his right at Bruce, who was awkwardly slumped forward asleep. The fella on his left had managed to get himself stretched out with his blanket under him. Paddy wished he’d been as resourceful when they’d arrived in the middle of the night.

As the morning light grew Paddy shuffled around trying to get some feeling back in his dunched arse. He looked across at his good friend Cliff with the ever present lock of hair hanging down his forehead. They had met for the first time at the Pleasantville training camp in St. John’s. Cliff embraced the role of a soldier and revelled in the structure, discipline, training and commitment. A tall, powerful, athletic fella with an air of authority, he was a good person to have on your side.

Their eyes met, and they sat staring at each other. What was Cliff thinking? The only tip-off to any tension within him was a periodic movement of his jawbone. Paddy took comfort with the thought big Cliff would be close at hand when the time came to go over the top. There was no questioning Cliff’s courage, and it rubbed off on those around him.

Cliff crawled across and sat in front of Paddy with one leg underneath him while leaning forward with his arms crossed on his knee. How you doing, Paddy?

Alright, b’y. But it’ll be good when we get out of this shit-hole.

Do you know what I was thinking about?

Not sure, but I got a good idea.

I bet you don’t. Remember the first time you brought me down to your house? We went out jigging. Never did that before. Really enjoyed being out on the water, beautiful.

Yeah, was a grand day.

When we got back your mother came down to the wharf and as we pitched up our fish, she took hold of two nice big ones by the gills and headed off over to the stage. By the time I caught up with her, she had the two cod on the splitting table and was gutting and filleting them. What a job! Paddy, if I tried that I’d still be bleeding.

Paddy broke out into a big smile. Yes, Ma can handle a splitting knife, that’s for sure.

But, Paddy, that wasn’t the best part.

No?

No, b’y. After we cleaned the rest of the fish and went over to your house, your mother asked me to stay for dinner. I wasn’t saying no. The smell coming from the frying pan was making me mouth water.

Paddy thought about a plate of golden brown fresh fish. Yes, she does a good job on a bit of fresh fish.

When she served it up fried with scrunchions, boiled potatoes, and carrots from her garden… Jesus Paddy, I never in me life tasted anything like it. And then we finished up with toutons and molasses. You talk about good! Well, I was sitting over there looking at you and that meal came into me head. My mouth started to water. Jesus b’y, now I’m starving.

They said we’d be getting a hot breakfast.

I hope so, ‘cause right now I could eat the arse outta a low flying duck.

Paddy broke out laughing and he felt his body relax. Cliff, I’m really pleased you liked Ma’s meal of cod. Next time I write home I’ll tell her she can expect you down, soon as we gets our work done over here.

Excellent, but I want to ask you to do something for me, a favour. Cliff leaned in a little closer.

Sure, Cliff, what is it?

When you write home next time would you ask your mother if I could bring Hannah down so she could show her how to fry up a pan of cod?

That would be no problem. I’m sure Ma’d be happy to do that.

Perfect. Now I just got to get out of here and get me hands on one of those slimy little Huns.

As Cliff spoke, he curled his right hand into a fist and held it up between them. Cliff’s fist was big. It was half as big as Paddy’s head and probably twice as hard. Paddy thought about what might happen to the first German Cliff got those big paws on. It would not be a pretty sight.

Just then soldiers assigned to the reserve unit shuffled in with trays and boxes of food. Cliff grinned. About goddamn time. He looked Paddy in the eye, gave him a reassuring nod, and crawled back to his spot against the opposite wall.

A soldier shouted at Paddy. Porridge?

Paddy’s stomach was a bit unsettled. No, just a mug a’tea and a few biscuits.

Paddy sat clutching the hot tin mug with both hands while staring at Cliff, who was downing a bowl of porridge. He wondered if Cliff had seen something in his face that worried him. Perhaps he saw a hint of uncertainty, even fear.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the dirt wall, thinking of his family and the conversation he’d had with his father, Richard and mother, Ann when he wanted to join up. When he was leaving, his mother, brother Charlie and sister Rose had cried and his father had hugged him harder than he ever remembered.

He searched within himself, and although he could feel fear in the pit of his stomach, he had no regrets. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with eight hundred of Newfoundland’s finest young men, he was confident he’d made the right decision and was pleased to be part of what was about to unfold.

He imagined himself returning home as someone who’d served his country, a hero. He could see himself walking down the lane towards their house and everybody running up to meet him. It would be all over and life would return to those happy times with a certain young lady in his life and fishing with his Da. That’s the way it would be and the only way he believed it could be.

CHAPTER TWO

The whooshing sound and thud of artillery fire was heard sporadically throughout the night but at 6:30 a.m. it grew more intense. The noise rose like hundreds of drummers beating hard at an ever increasing speed until it reached one continuous rumble of artillery.

In the dugout soldiers shouted to be heard. However, most remained silent, pondering what lay ahead.

Suddenly at 7:20 a.m. a jarring explosion was heard. Startled, they all stared at one another. The deafening blast was immediately followed by a shudder through the ground, causing some trench timber supports to shift while loose dirt cascaded down the sides of the dugout. In the northeast sky they could see a huge plume of dirt hanging high in the air.

The Allies had detonated munitions at Hawthorne Ridge, a mound close to the German lines with a commanding view of the battle field and only nine hundred metres from where the Newfoundland Regiment waited.

The Royal Engineers had tunnelled two hundred and seventy-five metres to the ridge and under it. They had packed it with 18,000 kilograms of explosives for detonation just before the Allied advance. This diversionary tactic was a moment of absolute shock that showed on the faces of all in the dugout. If there was any doubt as to the gravity of what was about to happen, it was quickly dispelled.

At the moment of the explosion the artillery fell silent and Paddy had the sense the men, in the dugout, were holding their breath as if expecting something else to happen. Then after a few minutes the artillery resumed and they all began to speak at once.

Jesus, can’t be a Hun left for a hundred kilometres.

What’s not dead is heading for Germany.

Then an officer shouted into the dugout, The Royal Fusiliers are off to take Hawthorne Ridge. A loud cheer went up.

Let us out and have at ’em, shouted somebody.

Everybody was rustling around, smiling and talking excitedly.

A big fella jumped up with rifle in hand. B’ys you’re looking at the first VC. I’m gonna have the lovely maiden from St. John’s.

Ross, you could kill a thousand Huns and win a VC but she wouldn’t have you… you’re too goddamn ugly, said another to wild cheering.

There was a rumour, a beautiful young lady of a well-to-do family in St. John’s declared she would marry the first Newfoundlander to be awarded the Victoria Cross, the highest British military award for valour.

The officer shouted again. The South Wales Borderers and Inniskilling Fusiliers are going over the top. Gentlemen, the fight is on. This brought more cheers, hooting and hollering.

However after a few minutes the dreadful sound of machine gun fire and artillery could be heard. This drew bewildered looks and murmurs from the soldiers in the dugout. The British bombardment was supposed to have knocked out most, if not all, German machine gun nests as well as their artillery positions.

At 8:05 a.m. a whistle sounded signalling The 1st King’s Own Scottish Borderers and the 1st Border Regiment to go over the top.

As an officer passed a soldier asked, How’s it going out there, sir?

It’s going okay. A little tougher than we thought.

The order came for the Newfoundland Regiment to ready themselves to go over at 8:40 a.m. Everybody began to gather their equipment.

Each soldier had to carry over twenty-five kilograms of equipment: rifle and ammunition, rations, grenades, two sandbags, water bottle, a haversack and a field dressing kit. Besides their personal equipment, soldiers of the Regiment had to share in the carrying of other supplies such as flares, bundles of five foot wooden sticks, mauls, sledgehammers, wire-cutters, hedging gloves, Lewis Guns with magazines, and Bangalore torpedoes. A staggering amount in terms of weight and bulk for the fittest of men.

Affixed to each soldier’s haversack was a triangular piece of tin, seven inches a side, cut from a biscuit can. Its purpose was to allow allied aeroplanes to monitor troop movements.

Over the sound of artillery and machine gun fire Paddy heard a soldier yell to an officer heading out of the dugout, What about those machine guns, sir?

Not to worry private. Artillery is handling it.

After a few minutes the officer returned and spoke with another officer who shook his head and quickly exited the dugout. The soldiers watching the exchange began to talk amongst themselves.

What do ya tink?

I’d say we’re in for a fight once we go over.

They better shut those machine guns down or she’s gonna be really messy.

Shortly thereafter the order came to ‘stand ready’. Paddy looked across at Cliff, who stood straight and tall, rifle in hand, ready to go. His big jaw clenched, eyes focused on the entrance leading to the St. John’s Road trench where they would begin manoeuvring along the Allied trench system until they were close to the front line and exit to the battlefield.

Out of the corner of his left eye he caught sight of Bruce, who stood, head down, gripping his rifle with both hands. Paddy reached over and clutched Bruce’s arm. Guess you’d rather be on the water today. Bruce stared at Paddy for a moment then leaned in close. Feels like strong winds and heavy seas.

They each nodded and smiled but Paddy could see that Bruce’s smile was forced and he wondered if he’d done the same. He could sense himself breathing deeply through his nose. Some soldiers spoke in low voices while others stood still like stone statues with eyes darting around.

Droplets of sweat formed on his brow and his mouth felt dry. He wanted to reach for his water bottle, but it was too late, they would go any moment. He looked at his hands holding his gun. They were shaking, and he wondered if the others noticed. The sound of his heart pounded in his ears.

Word circulated that the advance was not going as planned. In the dugout, there were hushed conversations about the intense battle raging outside and what they might face.

Then word came to hold on the planned exit of 8:40 a.m. but to stand ready. As the minutes went by, tension and anxiety grew. Some shuffled around while others stood with heads bowed holding their rifles, bayonets pointing straight up. Paddy ventured a glance at Cliff, who was staring up to the sky, transfixed, chest expanding and jaw clenched.

He looked around hoping to see some of his other buddies but the dugout was jam-packed with everybody pushing up close to one another. Across from him he noticed a young soldier staring blankly into the back of another soldier. His mouth moved as if praying and from his right nostril Paddy could see a thin line of blood. The soldier didn’t seem to be aware of it and Paddy thought if he were closer he’d give him the hankie he had in his inside pocket.

Then, at 9:15 a.m., a whistle blew, and they knew it was their time to go over the top. Some said nothing while others shouted, clapping each other on their backs.

Okay, b’ys, let’s show ‘em.

Stick together now.

Let’s get ourselves a few of those dirty Huns.

Come on, b’ys.

Then word came that the forward trenches were congested with wounded soldiers and the Newfoundland Regiment would exit from the St. John’s Road trench, almost two hundred metres behind the Allied front line; considerably more open ground to cover than they had expected. However, there was no hesitation as everybody eagerly and orderly entered St. John’s Road.

Cliff turned, put his arm around Paddy’s shoulder and yelled above the deafening noise, Let’s give it to ’em.

Looking into Cliff’s face, he saw no fear but fierce determination. At that moment it was like Cliff’s courage was flowing to Paddy and he nodded. I’m with ya all the way.

Paddy and Cliff put a foot on the firestep. Well, Paddy, this is what we came for.

Paddy said nothing just looked up to the blue morning sky tarnished by a smoky haze. A Sergeant hollered Go, and as he started up he felt a powerful push from the soldier behind helping him up and out of the trench, into the bright sunshine.

The regiment exited the trench by platoon and once out each soldier rushed to take up his spot standing side by side in the long line.

Quick now. Move it. Move it, an officer yelled as the soldiers hurried to their position facing the battle field. Looking down the slope the spectacle was startling. Long lines of Regiment soldiers advancing side by side walking strong and steady. Bayonets pointing up while the morning light reflected off the tin triangle on their backs.

There was a clear view down to the Allied frontline then the four belts of the Allies’ barbwire fencing. Beyond was No Man’s Land and after that the terrain sloped away, concealing the German barbwire and heavily fortified trenches. The rolling land was pocked and churned from the near constant artillery fire and bodies were scattered all around.

Though the morning sun shone brightly there was a stale heavy feeling in the still air. The odour of metallic sulphur drifted up from the battle field.

Once the line of soldiers ahead had gone forty paces Paddy’s platoon started their advance. Each soldier naturally assumed a slightly crouched position clutching their rifles with both hands and one arm elevated with chin tucked in to protect the lower part of their faces. Paddy had a sudden memory of walking home in a hail storm along the shore of Quidi Vidi Lake with his left arm up, in the same manner, covering his face.

They hadn’t gone far when Paddy heard murmuring from soldiers on his right, and as he turned his head, the fella next to him shouted, They’re not there, the bastards are not there.

He looked around, wondering who the fella was talking about. The Germans?

The goddamn Essex never showed up, somebody shouted.

Paddy looked to his far right, where the Essex Regiments should have been. They weren’t there which meant the Newfoundland Regiment’s right flank was dangerously exposed. They were left to go it alone.

The rumble of marching boots was suddenly drowned out by the withering and ominous sound of Rat-A-Tat-Tat-Tat… The Germans had opened fire with their machine guns on the forward lines of soldiers as they neared the first line of wire fencing. Paddy could see soldiers going down. However it appeared the Germans were focusing their guns mostly in the allied cut lines where the soldiers would have to pass through.

It was as if gun fire was coming from everywhere in front. The pace of advance slowed and everybody seemed to crouch lower to the ground. Then all hell broke loose when the Germans began raining artillery on them causing shells to explode all around. The distinctive graphite smell of cordite from the machine gun bullets served as constant reminder how close death was.

Above the sound of artillery and machine gun fire Paddy heard an officer yell, Steady on lads, steady on! He glanced to his left just as the officer’s two arms went up sending his ash stick flying and he fell heavily on his back. As he stared at the officer lying motionless on the ground he was jolted sideways, causing him to stagger under the weight of his heavy backpack.

A shell had struck the ground in front to his right, hurling dirt in every direction. Wiping his face, he looked to see two soldiers knocked to the ground.

One soldier rolled over and using his rifle for support, rose to his knees then slowly to his feet. He looked confused as he lurched forward weaving from side to side. The other soldier didn’t stir but remained with his arms tucked underneath him and his face pushed into the dirt. Paddy hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should try to assist, but another soldier stumbled into him from behind, pushing him forward. His platoon continued toward the front line.

It was pandemonium as artillery shells landed sending dirt and shrapnel in every direction. Bullets ripped through the air, tearing up the ground all around. Soldiers zigzagged left and right but there was no evading the German onslaught.

Injured soldiers tried to crawl for cover in shell holes. The dead, with injuries beyond words, were left as they fell. Blood was everywhere and in the bright morning sun it seemed to radiate against the dark uniforms and brown earth.

Paddy, nor any other soldier, was prepared for what was unfolding before their eyes and no amount of training could have readied them. There was blood and gore everywhere but the worst was the agonizing cries of pain and calls for help.

Every instinct in Paddy’s body told him to stop and help the injured but all their training was focused on completing the mission. It was like he was caught in a wave urged on by officers holding their ash sticks on high and leading the way.

Reaching the Allied front-line trench, he looked down to see soldiers lying and gathered around, some from the Newfoundland Regiment. While artillery and machine gun fire raged, he slid down into the trench and onto the duckboards which were slippery with mud and blood. He sank to his knees, shaking and breathless.

Head down, he closed his eyes trying to catch his breath and calm his nerves. The only sound louder than the artillery was that of his own heartbeat. Throat parched and hands trembling he tried to twist the cap off his canteen, but kept dropping it.

He noticed a group of seven or eight soldiers on his right shouting to one another. Amongst them were Keough and Bailey, who joined up at the same time he did.

There was also an officer with his pistol on his hip but he’d relinquished his ash stick in favour of the more useful Lee Enfield rifle. Officers had changed into regular soldier uniforms so as not to be singled out by German gunners. Paddy thought he recognized him as a Lieutenant but with a long cut across the fella’s forehead, causing blood to stream down his face, he wasn’t sure.

Keough was sitting up against the dirt wall. He had a wound on the side of his head and Bailey was putting a bandage on it.

My buddy, you better hang’er down here. I’ll come back later and make sure the doc looks after ya, Bailey shouted.

I’m good, I’m going on, Keough insisted as he tried to push Bailey away.

No, b’y, you’re not going anywhere. You’re lucky. Looks like a bullet hit your helmet. Wherever it is.

Well, somebody else is gonna have to carry the Bangalore torpedo, said Keough.

We’ll be needing that to blast through the German barbwire, the officer replied over the din of noise while wiping the blood out of his eyes with a white handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket.

I’ll handle that, sir, said another soldier.

Good man, Miller.

Just then several other soldiers slid down into the trench close behind Paddy, but he hardly looked in their direction as he was still struggling with his canteen. Suddenly, somebody grabbed it from him. He turned to see Cliff, breathing heavily with an intense look on his mud-smeared face. Cliff twisted the top off the canteen, took a swallow, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed it back. He put his arm around Paddy. How ya doing, Paddy?

It’s good to see ya, was all he could manage, but having Cliff next to him made him feel just a little better.

Behind Cliff were several other soldiers, including Bruce. They were panting and looking bewildered with eyes darting around. Bruce was kneeling, holding the barrel of his rifle tightly with two shaking hands, the butt resting on the ground. He briefly stared at Paddy, then dropped his head, looking between his arms.

Okay, boys, it’s tougher than we thought, shouted the officer.

You’re goddamn right, sir. The first Battalions over the top were supposed to take out the German line.

The officer looked around at each of them as he gathered his thoughts. Yes, things are not going to plan, but the German line still has to be taken.

Sir, we haven’t even seen one bloody German. Don’t know where the bastards are firing from, said a soldier lying on his back.

Jesus, we’re like sitting ducks out there. It’s goddamn shooting practice for the Hun, said another.

They’re not putting soldiers on the field. Machine guns must be hidden in the trees much further down, replied the officer.

Their artillery is coming from way up on those far hills. You can’t even see em, said another.

The officer with rifle in hand moved to the middle of the group. He took a few deep breaths and knelt down. "Okay, men, listen up. The plan we trained for is gone. We gotta follow our own plan. When we go over the top, stay to the right for a bit, then down on our bellies as we go through the cut lines. We’ll size things up once we get through the wire. Now do we