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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Combed Out</p> +<p>Author: Fritz August Voigt</p> +<p>Release Date: July 24, 2005 [eBook #16355]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMBED OUT***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Suzanne Lybarger, Melissa Er-Raqabi,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="https://www.pgdp.net/">https://www.pgdp.net/</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries + (<a href="http://www.archive.org/details/toronto">http://www.archive.org/details/toronto</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #ccccff;"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through the Internet + Archive/Canadian Libraries. See + <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/combedout00voiguoft"> + http://www.archive.org/details/combedout00voiguoft</a><br /> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Transcriber's notes: + </td> + <td> + The author is listed as F.A.V. on the original title page. His + full name was Fritz August Voigt, although he chose to be + called Frederick.<br /> + <br /> + Footnotes, being quite brief definitions, have been placed in + the right margin. + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<h1>COMBED OUT</h1> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>F.A.V.</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><br /><br />THE SWARTHMORE PRESS <span class="smcap">Ltd</span>.<br /> +72, OXFORD STREET, LONDON, W.1. +</p> + + + +<p class="center"><i>1920</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">page.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#I">Squad Drill</a></span></td><td align='right'>1</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#II">The Fatigue Party</a></span></td><td align='right'>9</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#III">On Detachment</a></span></td><td align='right'>42</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#IV">The Casualty Clearing Station</a></span></td><td align='right'>53</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#V">Walking Wounded</a></span></td><td align='right'>74</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#VI">Air-Raids</a></span></td><td align='right'>90</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#VII">The German Push</a></span></td><td align='right'>109</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#VIII">Home on Leave</a></span></td><td align='right'>127</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#IX">Across the Ridges</a></span></td><td align='right'>143</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X.—</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#X">The Armistice</a></span></td><td align='right'>155</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<blockquote><p>"The silent, colossal National Lie that is the support and confederate +of all the tyrannies and shams and inequalities and unfairnesses that +affect the peoples—that is the one to throw bricks and sermons at."</p> + +<p class="right">(<span class="smcap">Mark Twain</span>).</p></blockquote> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1><a name="COMBED_OUT" id="COMBED_OUT"></a>COMBED OUT<br /><br /></h1> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h2>SQUAD DRILL</h2> + + +<p>Our Sergeant looked at us contemptuously and we looked anxiously back at +him. Then he gave his first instructions:</p> + +<p>"Now I'm goin' ter show yer 'ow ter do squad drill. It's quite +heasy—yer've only got ter use a bit o' common sense an' do hexac'ly as +I tell yer. Now we'll start wi' the turns. When I gives the order Right +Turn, yer turn ter yer right on yer right 'eel an' yer left toe. When I +gives the order Left Turn, yer turn on yer left 'eel an' yer right toe. +Now just 'ave a try an' see if yer can do it.—Squad!—now when I shouts +Squad it's a word o' warnin', an' it means I want yer ter be ready ter +go through yer evverlutions. Now then, yer s'posed ter be standin' to +attention. That's not the way ter stand to attention—yer want ter use +some common sense—when yer stand to attention, yer stand wi' yer chest +out, yer stomach in, yer 'eads erect an' facin' to yer front, yer +shoulders straight, an' yer 'ands 'angin' down by yer sides wi' yer +thumbs along the seams o' yer trousers. Now then, Squad! Stand at +Ease!... When I gives the order Stand at Ease, yer places yer feet about +eighteen inches apart an' yer clasps yer 'ands be'ind yer backs, yer +right 'and inside yer left, but yer mustn't look round or talk until I +shouts Stand Easy! Now then, Stand at Ease!"</p> + +<p>We obeyed the command with fair smartness, only a few stood awkwardly, +not quite knowing what to do with their hands or doubtful whether their +feet were really eighteen inches apart.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Recruits.</div> +<p>"That ain't so bad for a first shot," said the Sergeant, to our great +relief. "Now, remember what I told yer about standin' to attention—when +I gives the order Tshn! yer all springs smartly to attention. Now then, +Squad—Tshn!... No, no, I wants it done smarter'n that. Stand at Ease! +Now then, try agin: Tshn!—No, no, that ain't 'alf smart enough. Try +agin. Stand at Ease!—Tshn! That's a bit better, it wants a lot o' +improvin' though. Still, yer only a lot o' rookeys* an' yer can't +learn everythink all at once. Now we'll 'ave a bit of a change an' try +the turns."</p> + +<p>We turned to the right, the left, and the right-about. We were all +depressed or resentful and thinking of home. We performed the movements +mechanically and repeated the same mistakes time after time. The +Sergeant was losing patience. He glared at us and bawled out his orders. +But the hour came to an end and we were dismissed for breakfast.</p> + +<p>The breakfast interval seemed to pass like a flash. We were back on the +parade ground, standing at ease. Another Sergeant approached us and +yelled "Number Four Squad—Tshn!" We sprang to attention and stood +rigidly erect, not daring to move. The roll was called and then the +weary round of drill began again.</p> + +<p>We marched up and down in response to commands that were barked at us in +a sharp ringing voice. As the minutes and hours crept along we became +sore-footed and thirsty, for the ground was hard and the sun very hot. +From time to time we were allowed a brief respite. We would then sit +down on the parched grass and feel the stiffness of our limbs and the +burning in our flushed faces.</p> + +<p>We learned to "form fours" and to "form two deep." We formed fours again +and again, but someone was sure to make a mistake every time. Our +Sergeant shouted abuse at us, but no one cared. We passed on to other +movements. We "changed direction to the right" or to the left, we +"formed squad," we advanced, we retired, we wheeled and turned and +gyrated. The stultifying occupation dragged on as though it would never +cease. Our sore feet, our aching limbs, the burning sun, and our clothes +clammy with perspiration maddened us. Suddenly the man next to me began +to sniff and a tear rolled down his cheeks. Our Sergeant observed him +and shouted "Halt!" and said:</p> + +<p>"Don't take it ter 'eart, yer'll soon get used to it. I know it's bloody +awful at first. Fall out an' sit down a bit."</p> + +<p>The man—a tall, elderly fellow, with dark hair and bushy eyebrows—left +the ranks and flung himself down in the grass, sobbing violently.</p> + +<p>"Pore bloke, 'tain't orften they're took as bad as that."</p> + +<p>Five minutes ago we hated our Sergeant, but this sudden revelation of +humanity on his part changed our attitude so completely that we felt +ready to die for him. Moreover the interruption had distracted us, and +the next half-hour passed very quickly. But gradually our physical +discomfort reasserted itself. When at last the morning's drill was over +we were so dispirited that we hardly felt any relief. We received the +order "Dismiss," and flocked towards the mess-room where we formed a +long queue.</p> + +<p>We filed slowly in and passed by a trestle on which three foot-baths +were standing. We held out our plates while a soldier in a grimy uniform +ladled cabbage, meat and a greasy liquid on to them. We sat down on +benches in front of tables that were littered with potato-peel, bits of +fat, and other refuse. We were packed so closely together that we could +hardly move our elbows. The rowdy conversation, the foul language, and +the smacking of lips and the loud noise of guzzling added to the horror +of the meal.</p> + +<p>I was so repelled that I felt sick and could not eat. I sat back on the +bench and waited. I observed that the man sitting opposite was watching +me intently. Suddenly he asked: "Don't yer want it, mate?" I said "No," +whereupon he exclaimed eagerly, "Giss it." A bestial, gloating look came +into his face as he seized my plate and splashed the contents on to his +own, so that the gravy overflowed and ran along the table in a thin +stream. He took the piece of meat between his thumb and his fork and, +tearing off big shreds with his teeth, gobbled them greedily down.</p> + +<p>We washed our plates outside the mess-room in a metal bath that held two +or three inches of warm water. Others had used it before us, and it was +thick with grease and little fragments of cabbage and fat were floating +about in it. From a nail in the wall a torn shred of a disused woollen +pant was hanging. It was black and glistening, for it had already been +used times without number. Some of the men wiped their plates on it, but +others preferred to rub them with earth and then clean them with a bunch +of fresh grass from a patch of lawn near by.</p> + +<p>Then, to our dismay, the bugle sounded. We were back on the parade +ground, but no Sergeant took charge of us. Instead there appeared a man +without a cap and wearing a jersey. He was of colossal size. He had +coarse, brutal features. He was our physical drill instructor.</p> + +<p>He scowled darkly at us for a short while. Then he looked at one man +after the other. His eyes rested on me. I wondered what was the matter. +I was kept in suspense for a brief space and then he roared like a bull, +"Take those bloody glasses orf," as though the wearing of glasses were a +crime against humanity. I took them off and put them into my pocket. The +instructor gave me a savage look and then bawled out a number of +commands in rapid succession—so rapid that we were unable to follow any +of them. We stood still and felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to do. +There was an embarrassing pause, and then he thundered:</p> + +<p>"Bloody lot o' fools—gorne to sleep 'ave yer? Don't try any o' yer +tricks on me. I ain't 'avin' any. <i>I'll</i> smarten yer up a bit—by +Gawd—I'll break yer bleed'n' 'earts afore I've done wi' yer—by Gawd I +will. When I tells yer ter do a thing yer've got ter <i>do</i> it, else +there'll be trouble, Gawd strike me blind. Now then, let's see what yer +can do."</p> + +<p>He gave his orders more slowly and performed each movement himself while +we imitated him as best we could. We jumped and ran, we bent our bodies, +and threw back our heads, we stretched our arms, we rose on our toes, we +flopped down on to the ground and got up again with lightning rapidity. +We ran to and fro until we were breathless. Mistakes were frequent, and +whenever a mistake was made the instructor would stride up to the +culprit with bared teeth and clenched fist and bellow contemptuous and +filthy abuse at him. Not one of us had the courage to remonstrate. +Suddenly our tyrant looked at his watch, and, to our immense +satisfaction, walked off without saying a word.</p> + +<p>We remained standing irresolutely for a while and then sat down on the +grass one after another. It was not long before a Sergeant came up and +said he was going to give us saluting drill.</p> + +<p>"On the order 'Right 'and Ser-loot,' yer bring up yer right 'and to the +peak o' yer cap an' turn yer 'ead sharply to yer left an' 'old it there +while I counts six paces. At the end o' the six paces yer cuts yer 'and +away an' brings it smartly dahn ter yer side an' looks to yer front. +Squad—Tshn! By the Right, Quick March!... Right 'and, Ser-loot!"</p> + +<p>Up went our right hands and our heads turned smartly to the left, while +the Sergeant shouted, "One, two, three, four, five, six, <i>Dahn!</i>" +whereupon we brought our hands smartly down to our sides and turned our +heads to the front again. We marched to and fro saluting imaginary +officers with our left hands, it may have been twenty times, it may have +been fifty, we were so overcome with infinite boredom that we regarded +everything with complete apathy and could not trouble to count. Then, +by way of variety, we saluted with our right hands, and some more dreary +minutes passed by. Then we stood to attention and saluted to the front. +Finally, in order to complete our mastery of the art, each man had to +leave the ranks in turn and salute the Sergeant in passing. Some of us +did so clumsily and incorrectly and were sent back in order to repeat +the performance.</p> + +<p>Although each one dreaded his own turn, lest he should make himself look +ridiculous, yet the mistakes made by the others were greatly enjoyed, so +that when five or six men saluted without a single error there was +general disappointment. But consolation was at hand, for the next man +walked past the Sergeant with trembling knees. He was so hampered by +nervous fright that he saluted awkwardly and with the wrong hand. There +was loud laughter and the Sergeant, simulating an outburst of intense +fury, roared at the unfortunate man, "Use a bit o' common sense, can't +yer! Yer in the bleed'n' army now, yer not at 'ome wi' a nurse to look +arter yer! Get back an' bloody well do it agin!" The man's nervousness +increased, his mouth was open and his eyes were staring. With a violent +effort of the will he mastered his fear and saluted correctly although +in a grotesque and ungainly fashion.</p> + +<p>We began to pity him, but one of our number, a man with long arms, a low +forehead, and a protruding jaw, shouted, "Make 'im do it agin, +Sergeant."</p> + +<p>The Sergeant swung round and bellowed—he was really angry this time:</p> + +<p>"What's the matter wi' yer? 'Oo told you to interfere? Mind yer own +bloody business! Come an' do it yerself an' show us what yer made of."</p> + +<p>We applauded this utterance, while the nervous individual slunk back in +the ranks, thankful that attention had been distracted from him. The man +addressed stepped out with swaggering alacrity. We hoped he would make a +mistake and were ready to jeer and laugh at him. But to our great +annoyance his salute was perfect, affectedly perfect. As he came back +to the ranks he leered horribly at the Sergeant and then looked at us +with a smirk of triumph and self-congratulation.</p> + +<p>More men were called out, one after the other, but as there were no +further displays of pitiable shyness or nervous embarrassment (although +errors were frequent) the proceedings began to bore us intensely, and +once again we counted the minutes and longed for the end of the +afternoon.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant's voice was becoming hoarse and he gave us brief intervals +of rest with increasing frequency. Our movements became slower. Our +mistakes, instead of disappearing, became more numerous. Our faces and +necks seemed on fire. They were so sunburnt that to touch them was +acutely painful. Our limbs moved sluggishly and reluctantly. The +Sergeant looked at his watch. "Time yet, Sergeant?" asked someone in a +drawling, agonized voice.</p> + +<p>"There's another twenty minutes ter go—we'll risk it though, and knock +orf in ten. Only get along to yer 'uts as soon as I dismiss yer an' +don't show yerselves nowhere, else yer'll get me into trouble."</p> + +<p>Our weary spirits were revived a little. The prospect of a quick +termination to our discomforts caused the last ten minutes to pass with +comparative rapidity. We were dismissed for the day, and straggled back +to our huts, too broken in mind and body to think or do anything except +lie down and rest.</p> + +<p>So this was our first day in the army. How many more days of drill would +we have to endure? Perhaps we would be sent to the front soon. That +would be a change at least. I tried to visualize the future. What would +actual warfare be like? I thought of bayonet charges and men falling +under machine-gun fire. Then I recollected having heard somewhere that a +soldier can take an active part in a modern war without ever seeing the +enemy, and I imagined a low range of distant hills dotted with little +puffs of smoke. I could not, however, realize the precise mental state +of a soldier under fire, so that none of these pictures seemed +convincing to me. I wondered whether I would be anxious, nervous, +terrified, excited, exuberant, or calm and indifferent in the presence +of danger, but I could not arrive at any conclusion. Even the term +"under fire" conveyed no precise meaning. Nothing I had read about the +present war was of any help to me. The reports of the war-correspondents +in the daily press were so full of obviously false psychology, that I +regarded them as obstacles in the way of a proper understanding of +modern warfare, and no doubt that was partly the object with which they +were written or rather inspired. I knew that within a few weeks I might +be dead or terribly mutilated, but as I could not visualize the precise +circumstances the prospect only filled me with an indefinite uneasiness. +The possibilities before me were too vague and too numerous, and I did +not possess sufficient knowledge to estimate them accurately. I did not +even know whether I would remain in a fighting unit. I hoped we would be +sent to the front soon, for the one thing I feared was a prolongation of +the dreary round of infantry drill. Moreover I was intensely curious as +to the real nature of war and eager to experience new sensations and +conditions. Nevertheless, from time to time I felt a wild desire to run +away and enjoy a few days of freedom, but the realization of the +futility of such a wish always brought on a fit of such black despair +that I tried not to think about it at all.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h2>THE FATIGUE PARTY</h2> + + +<p>There was much gaiety amongst us. There was also much gloom and +bitterness. We would often quarrel violently over nothing and enrage +over little inconveniences—intense irritability is the commonest result +of army life. Our morale was dominated by the small, immediate event. +Bad weather and long working hours would provoke outbursts of grumbling +and fretful resentment. A sunny morning and the prospect of a holiday +would make us exuberantly cheerful and some of us would even assert that +the army was not so bad after all. A slight deficiency in the rations +would arouse fierce indignation and mutinous utterances. An extra pot of +jam in the tent ration-bag would fill us with the spirit of loyalty and +patriotism. If an officer used harsh, brutal words we would loathe him +and meditate vengeance. But if an officer spoke to us kindly or did us +some slight service we would call him a "brick," a "toff," or a "sport," +and overflow with sentimental devotion. It was not difficult to please +us, indeed it was often touching to observe for how small a thing the +men would show the most ardent gratitude and work enthusiastically so as +to show their appreciation. If those with high authority in the army had +only realized the tremendous influence just a little kindness and +consideration had on the morale of the troops, much hatred and +misunderstanding, much useless suffering and humiliation would have been +avoided.</p> + +<p>Not that the officer was any worse than the common soldier. In fact, he +was usually better. Most officers, belonging as they did to the +comparatively wealthy and leisured classes, had been able to cultivate +luxuries like good-nature, benevolence and politeness all their lives. +But mere goodness was not sufficient.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the very fact that a man possesses authority separates him +from his fellows. How could it be otherwise? What man capable of genuine +friendship could bear to exert authority over his comrades with the +obligation to inflict punishment on them if he should think it +"necessary"? To dominate is worse than to be dominated. The very feeling +that a man has power over others gives him an exaggerated notion of his +own importance and merits, it arouses latent brutality, it fosters +grandiose thinking (that terribly harmful vice of nearly all our +statesmen). Indeed, most of the cruelty and injustice in the world are +due to the demoralizing influence of authority. And that is why there +were some amongst us who would not have accepted promotion whatever +material advantages it might have brought.</p> + +<p>How could our officers, seeing that they had authority and did not live +our lives, understand us and treat us as we ought to have been treated, +if they were not men of exceptional imagination, sympathy, and +intuition? We never had an officer who was really a bad man. At heart +they were all good, kindly men—and yet how often we suffered from their +lack of something more than mere goodness!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>We were twelve in a tent and going to bed always tried our tempers +severely. Some of us would come in with muddy boots and tread on the +blankets of the others. Those who went to bed early could stretch out +their legs until their feet touched the tent-pole. Those who arrived +later would have to wedge themselves in as best they could and remain +with knees drawn up for the rest of the night—any attempt at forcing +them down would be sure to create a disturbance and lead to a furious +dispute and an exchange of insults and obscenities. When we were all in +bed, no one could stir without causing inconvenience to his neighbours. +A sleepless night, invariably accompanied by the restless impulse to +stir and fidget, was unforgettable misery, but fortunately our work was +so hard that sleepless nights were very rare.</p> + +<p>One morning when it was still dark and the others were snoring loudly I +looked at my watch. It was twenty past four. Reveillé would be at +half-past five, so I abandoned myself to more than another hour, so I +thought, of delicious indolence. I closed my eyes and was beginning to +doze and dream again when I heard the flop, flop of heavy feet treading +the mud and slush outside. The canvas of the tent was banged violently +and a voice, which I recognized as that of the Police Corporal, shouted:</p> + +<p>"Reveillé—breakfast at 5 o'clock, parade at 5.30 with haversack +rations."</p> + +<p>I started up in dismay and shouted:</p> + +<p>"It's an hour too early! What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>The Corporal answered resentfully:</p> + +<p>"Never mind what's the matter—show a leg, and get a move on!"</p> + +<p>He passed on to the next tent and repeated his order, and then to the +next, and so on, until his voice grew faint in the distance.</p> + +<p>I was full of vexation at being deprived of the extra hour of sleep. I +could not understand why reveillé should be so early, unless it was my +watch that was wrong.</p> + +<p>The other men in the tent began to stir. They sat up and groaned and +yawned and stretched out their arms, or turned round impatiently and +went to sleep again. One of them looked at his wrist-watch:</p> + +<p>"Gorblimy, 'tain't 'alf-past four—what the bleed'n' 'ell d'they want to +wake us this time of a mornin' for? Some bloody fatigue, I bet yer!"</p> + +<p>"Wha', ain't it 'ah'-past five?"</p> + +<p>"'Alf-past five be blowed! 'Tain't 'alf-past four!"</p> + +<p>"Why can't they let a bloke sleep of a mornin'!—they don't want yer ter +be comfortable, that's what it is. I bet yer me bottom dollar the C.O. +don't get up at this time!—'e don't get up afore ten or eleven, you bet +yer life. 'E 'as eggs an' bacon for 'is bloody breakfast wi' a batman +ter wait on 'im an' put plenty o' bloody sugar in 'is bleed'n' tea! All +'e does is ter shout at us an' tell us orf when we comes back from work.</p> + +<p>"Gorblimy—when's this bastard life goin' ter end! When I think o' +Sunday mornin' at 'ome wi' breakfast in bed an' the <i>News of the World</i> +wi' a decent divorce or murder, I feel fit ter cry me eyes out. Bloody +slavery, soldierin'! An' what's it all for? Nothin' at all—absolutely +nothin'! Why don't the 'eads come an' bloody well fight it out amongst +theirselves—why don't King George 'ave a go wi' Kaiser Bill? What +d'they want ter drag <i>us</i> out 'ere for ter do their dirty work for 'em? +If I was ter 'ave a row wi' another bloke, I'd take me coat orf an' set +about 'im me bleed'n' self! I wouldn' go an' arst millions an' millions +ter die fur me! I'd fight it out meself, like a man! That's me! That's +'ow I'd do it! Act like a bleed'n' sport, I would—tell yer straight! +Gorblimy—draggin' us out 'ere inter this bloody misery—it makes me +blood boil...."</p> + +<p>This fulmination was interrupted by shouts of "Shut up" and "'Old yer +jaw" and "Put a sock in it" and "Let's get a bit o' sleep," but there +was no chance of further sleep. The air was heavy with the rank smell of +stale tobacco. Several men lit cigarettes and the ends glowed in the +darkness, each one illuminating a face as the smoke was drawn in. +Someone lit a candle and the bright flame dazzled us at first. Another +man got up and threw immense black shadows. The recesses of the tent +were full of murky gloom.</p> + +<p>"Have a look what the weather's like!"</p> + +<p>I raised the flap and peered into the outer darkness. A cold gust of +wind blew in carrying several snowflakes with it.</p> + +<p>"It's snowing!"</p> + +<p>"Jesus Christ, another day o' misery afore us—when <i>will</i> this life +end!"</p> + +<p>I began to dress. I picked up my towel and soap and loosened the flap +once again. I felt I had to go out and wash, for I had not washed at all +on the previous day, fearing the dirty, freezing water and the piercing +wind. I longed to remain in the warm tent, and for a moment I wavered. +Then, with an effort of the will I suppressed the strong temptation, and +squeezing through the tent-opening, I stepped out into the oozy mud. The +black night seemed to weigh heavily on the world. Only here and there +dull glimmering blurs showed that candles were burning in the other +tents.</p> + +<p>An icy wind was blowing round me. I was in my shirt sleeves and +regretted not having thrown my great-coat over my shoulders. The cold +made me contract my muscles and draw my breath in sharply between my +teeth. I felt the snowflakes beat gently against my face. I folded my +arms across my chest and found a little protection from the gusts that +seemed to pierce me. My left foot had sunk deeply into the slush. I +pawed the mud with my right in order to find the duckboard. I touched +the edge and stepped firmly upon it. With an effort I dragged the other +foot from the slush. It came out with a loud, sucking squelch, but I +felt it was leaving my boot behind. I let it sink back again and then +freed it with a twist of the ankle.</p> + +<p>I could not see the duckboard in the dense gloom. I walked along it +carefully, feeling the edge from time to time. I heard a rapid step +behind me—another man was going to wash; he must have grown accustomed +to the darkness, for he walked along without hesitation. He slowed down +as he approached me. I tried to go faster, but trod on the extreme edge +of the boards. I had to stop for a moment and the man behind me became +impatient and shouted:</p> + +<p>"Get a bloody move on, for Christ's sake. It's too cold to wait out here +in this weather."</p> + +<p>I stood aside to let him pass. He brushed roughly by, nearly pushing me +over. I uttered a curse and stepped back with one foot—it sank deeply +into the mud. I bent sharply forward to draw it out again, there was the +beginning of a squelch and then it suddenly slid out of the boot. I +ground my teeth and took a box from my pocket and struck a match, +although my numb fingers could hardly hold it. There was a splutter and +for a moment I saw a whirl of white snowflakes, a patch of glistening +mud, and a deep, funnel-shaped hole with my boot at the bottom of it. +The match went out, but I judged the direction accurately and pulled my +boot out of the ooze. I forced my frozen foot into it and plodded on +through the darkness.</p> + +<p>The duckboards came to an end although the ablution benches were another +seventy or eighty yards away. Our Commanding Officer was a keen +sportsman and he had stopped the laying of duckboards so that all energy +could be devoted to the construction of a boxing-ring.</p> + +<p>My feet were so cold that the pain was almost unbearable. I was strongly +tempted to turn back, but having got so far, I resolved to go on. My +teeth began to chatter. The man who had passed by me had already reached +the ablution shed and I could see a faint gleam from his candle in the +distance, so that I did not fear to lose my way.</p> + +<p>I reached the shed and saw him standing with bared chest and shoulders, +gasping and shivering. I picked up a zinc basin and once more stepped +into the outer gloom. The well was only a few yards off—I could just +distinguish its black mouth. I placed my basin on the edge. I grasped +the cold, wet rope and lowered the bucket into the depth. I drew it up +again and emptied it into my basin—the bits of ice floating in the +water knocked sharply against the zinc.</p> + +<p>I carried the basin back and placed it on the bench. My fingers were so +cold that it nearly slipped from them. I plunged my hands into the water +and quickly splashed face, chest and shoulders. The water was a dirty +grey colour and full of sand and grit. I rubbed myself with my towel and +began to glow. I emptied the basin and left the shed, glad to think that +this one unpleasant duty had been performed. My face was burning.</p> + +<p>It was still snowing and the wind was blowing hard. I trudged through +the mud and soon felt frozen through and through again. Several dark +figures went by on their way to the shed. I could now just distinguish +the duckboards and I quickly reached my tent. I lifted the flap and +stepped in. Some of the mud, with which my boots were smothered up to +the tops, splashed on to the blankets belonging to a man who lay near +the entrance. He growled incoherently at me. Most of the other men were +up.</p> + +<p>I finished dressing and put on my great-coat. I picked up my tin plate +and mug and went out into the darkness once again. I was afraid I might +have to stand in a long queue outside the cook-house, but fortunately +only a few men were waiting before me. I joined them and we marked time +at the double in a vain attempt at stilling the intolerable pain in our +frozen feet.</p> + +<p>About ten minutes passed and then the front of the cook-house was thrown +open. A light appeared and a voice shouted: "Breakfast up!" We raised a +feeble cheer and filed past while one of the cooks poured tea into our +mugs and placed a fragile wisp of bacon on to each plate.</p> + +<p>I balanced my mug in one hand, fearing to spill the tea, and the plate +in the other, fearing that the wind might blow away the thin bacon +fragment. The snow fell into the mug and dissolved in the rapidly +cooling tea. It settled on the bacon which had grown quite cold.</p> + +<p>I stepped into my tent and sat down on my —— I cut off a piece from +the previous day's bread ration—it had been nibbled by mice overnight +and was soiled and dusty. Other men arrived, one by one. We ate our meal +in silence. It was usually so—either the conversation was violent and +rowdy or nothing was said at all.</p> + +<p>We wiped our plates on an old sock or a rag or a piece of newspaper and +packed them into our haversacks together with our mugs and rations for +the day—a chunk of bread and a dirty piece of cheese. I tied up my +boots—the laces were covered with liquid clay—and put on my puttees +which were hard and stiff with caked mud. It was a quarter-past five and +I lay down at full length, glad to have a few minutes to myself. But the +pain in my feet became intolerable—I jumped up and stamped the floor of +the tent, grinding my teeth with mortification.</p> + +<p>Several of the men had not come in yet with their breakfasts. We could +tell by the banging of mess-tins, mugs and plates, and by the angry +shouts of "Get a move on," that a long queue was still waiting in front +of the cook-house.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the tent-flap bulged inwards and two hands, the one holding a +full mug and the other a plate, forced their way through. They were +followed by a head and shoulders. Thereupon the man tried to step in, +but he tripped over the brailing underneath the flap, and plunged +forward, spilling the greater part of his tea. He uttered a savage, +snarling oath, walked over to his place and sat down, growling and +cursing under his breath.</p> + +<p>Another man followed. As he pushed his way through the entrance the +shoulder-strap of his tunic caught one of the hooks on the flap and his +progress was sharply arrested. He held out his mug and plate helplessly, +but no one moved to assist him.</p> + +<p>"Take these bloody things orf me, can't yer!" he shouted with furious +resentment. Someone jumped up and took the mug and plate, while the +newcomer freed himself from the hook.</p> + +<p>It was five-and-twenty past five when the last of us came in with his +breakfast. But before he could reach his place there was a loud blast of +a whistle, and a distant voice shouted, "On Parade!"</p> + +<p>The irritation that had been accumulating since reveillé burst out.</p> + +<p>"Why can't they let yer finish yer breakfast—'tain't 'alf-past yet, not +be a long way!"</p> + +<p>"They treat yer like pigs!"</p> + +<p>"We're a bloody lot o' fools ter stand it—that's the worst o' this mob +though, yer'll never get 'em ter stick together an' do anythink."</p> + +<p>"I bet the C.O.'s enjoyin' 'isself...." A stream of filthy language +followed—abuse of the Commanding Officer, abuse of the army, abuse of +the war, and abuse of the Government. The man could find no other way of +expressing himself with adequate force and crudity. At times he became +incoherent.</p> + +<p>He was not grumbling at the little hardships and discomforts of this +particular morning. He was grumbling at an entire life of discomfort. He +was rebelling against his degrading slavery and enforced misery, and it +was the harrowing consciousness of his own impotence that added such +bitterness to his anger.</p> + +<p>Not one of us left the tent. There was a second blast of the whistle, +louder and more prolonged than the first, followed by an angrier "On +Parade!"</p> + +<p>We stepped out into the cold air one by one and splashed and plodded +through the slush in surly reluctant fashion. The day had just begun to +dawn, and in the grey twilight I could perceive innumerable dingy +figures moving slowly towards the parade ground amid the falling snow.</p> + +<p>A long double line of men had already formed up. The Sergeant-Major blew +his whistle a third time and shouted "On Parade—get a bloody move on!"</p> + +<p>Masses of men came straggling up and the line grew longer and longer. +Another double line was formed behind it, and then a third and fourth.</p> + +<p>Nearly everybody was on parade, only a few here and there were coming +over from the tents. The Sergeant-Major observed them and shouted to the +Corporal of the Police: "Corporal, take those men's names—have 'em up +for orderly room this evening." Then he turned to us. "If you can't turn +out a bit smarter, I'll have you on parade ten minutes earlier—this is +the last warning yer'll get."</p> + +<p>The Police Corporal was standing over by the tent-lines, entering the +names of the stragglers in his notebook. I could see a solitary figure +issue furtively from a tent and slink round the bottom of the parade +ground in order to join us from behind and escape observation. I wished +him success and followed his movements with interest. But just as he was +darting into the ranks, one of our Sergeants caught sight of him and +said to the Sergeant-Major: "There's a man what's just fell in over +there, sir."</p> + +<p>The Sergeant-Major shouted "Come here!" in peremptory tones, but the man +pretended he had not heard and remained in the ranks.</p> + +<p>"Come here, damn you!"</p> + +<p>This second order frightened him, he slunk out of the line, crossed over +to the Sergeant-Major and stood to attention before him.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with you, are you deaf? Why aren't you on parade in +time? D'you want to sleep all day?"</p> + +<p>"I thought—er—parade was at—was at half-past—and—and—I couldn't +find my puttees...."</p> + +<p>"Who the hell d'you think yer talkin' to—<i>Sir</i> to me, d'you hear!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir ... I couldn't help it, sir ... I couldn't find...."</p> + +<p>"Take this man's name and number, Corporal. We'll have him up for +Orderly Room to-night.... Fall in and look sharp, damn you, keeping us +all waiting like this."</p> + +<p>It was still snowing hard. Our caps and shoulders were covered with a +white layer. The parade ground was a big stretch of well-trodden mud and +slush. We sank into it up to our ankles. Our feet were torturing us, but +only a few men in the rear ranks ventured to stamp the ground a little. +The wet had penetrated our boots several weeks before and they had never +been dry since.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant-Major blew his whistle and shouted: "Listen to the Orders." +He held a bundle of papers in his hand and read with the help of a +torch:</p> + +<p>"Every man must shave once in twenty-four hours. Buttons" (he pronounced +it "boottons," for he came from the North Country), "cap-badges and +numerals must be cleaned thoroughly once a day. Box-respirators and +steel helmets will always be carried. Except when it is raining, +great-coats or waterproofs will not be worn when men are working. Men +are forbidden to smoke while at work.</p> + +<p>"It is observed that discipline is becoming very slack indeed throughout +the Coomp'ny. It is especially noticed in marching, taking up dressin', +etc. The men ... app ... the men apparently ... do not realize that when +marching at all times each section of fours must keep their dressing and +cover off correctly and keep the step and when at attention there must +be no talking and the order to stand at ease is a drill-movement and the +heads and bodies must be kept still. Unless there is an improvement in +future the Coomp'ny will parade each evening at 5.30 and on Sunday +afternoon for extra drill.</p> + +<p>"Men must not clean their boots on the refuse tins, otherwise the tins, +which are of thin material only get—er—demol—demolished. Mud from +boots must not be put into tins.</p> + +<p>"Pigs in camp are army property and will eventually be consumed by this +Coomp'ny. It is therefore not only—er—reprehensible, but also against +their own interest if men tease these pigs and pull them about by tails +and ears or feed them with unsuitable food. Offenders will be severely +dealt with."</p> + +<p>We had been on parade for nearly half an hour. The torture of freezing +toes was so acute that even men in the front ranks were trying to get +warm by treading the mud or sharply raising and lowering their heels. +The Sergeant-Major suddenly observed them, blew his whistle and shouted +angrily: "Stand still there —— —— d'you hear? Stand still there. +Can't yer understand English, damn yer?" We were convinced that we would +hear the blast of his whistle and his angry shout in our nightmares to +the end of our days.</p> + +<p>He was in reality quite a kind-hearted man, but he was bullied by his +superiors just as we were bullied by ours. He was bullied into being a +bully. And his superiors were bullied by their superiors. The army is +ruled by fear—and it is this constant fear that brutalizes men not +naturally brutal.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant-Major began to call out the fatigue parties. We felt +relieved and thought that at last we would begin to move and get warm.</p> + +<p>"Fall out Sergeant Waley's party!"</p> + +<p>A score of men splashed across the mud and lined up under Sergeant +Waley.</p> + +<p>"Fall out Sergeant Hemingway's party!"</p> + +<p>Forty or fifty men lined up. It was Sergeant Hemingway whose sense of +duty had prompted him to report the man whom he saw slinking into the +ranks after we were all assembled on parade.</p> + +<p>Then the proceedings were interrupted. One of our officers, wearing top +boots and a fur-lined overcoat with a big fur collar, emerged from the +half darkness and the whirl of snowflakes and walked up to the +Sergeant-Major, who stood to attention and saluted. The officer returned +the salute and the two talked together for several minutes.</p> + +<p>A man in the front rank not far from me muttered in an agonized voice: +"Gorblimy, get a bloody move on—I'm perishin' wi' cold." Another added: +"They don't say nothin' when <i>'e</i> comes late on parade—'e wouldn't mind +if we was kept 'ere all day—oo, me feet, they're absolutely froze."</p> + +<p>The Sergeant-Major swung round sharply and bawled out: "Stop that +talking there—you're stood to attention!" Then he went on talking to +the officer. At length the conversation came to an end. Salutes were +exchanged once more and the officer walked over towards a house on the +far side of the road that ran alongside the camp. As he opened the front +door a warm glow shone out into the gloomy morning. Then the door +closed, like the gates that close on paradise, and there was nothing +left to relieve the dismal dreariness of our dingy world.</p> + +<p>"Sergeant Fuller's party!"</p> + +<p>Another set of men fell out. I did not really belong to them, but I +joined them because I noticed that one of my friends was of their +number, while all the men of my own party were strangers to me. I hoped +that I would not be detected.</p> + +<p>Sergeant Fuller counted his men. There was one less than the required +number and I felt encouraged, for there could now be no objection to my +presence. The Sergeant asked: "Where's Private Hartley?" and someone +answered, "Gone sick, Sergeant." Suddenly he perceived me and asked:</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>"I've come instead of Private Hartley, Sergeant," I replied, hoping that +the feeble lie would pass.</p> + +<p>"Who gave you permission?"</p> + +<p>"Er—I—Hartley said I could take his place."</p> + +<p>"Who's Hartley? Is he God Almighty? Get back to your own party!"</p> + +<p>I did not move.</p> + +<p>"D'you hear—get back at once!"</p> + +<p>"It's only for to-day, Sergeant—I want to work with my mate. Hartley'll +take my place again to-morrow. Besides, you'll be two men short without +me."</p> + +<p>"Get back, will you, and do as you're told."</p> + +<p>I did not move.</p> + +<p>"D'you refuse to obey the order? Get back at once, or I'll have you put +under arrest."</p> + +<p>I turned away and the blood rushed into my face with vexation. I even +forgot my numb feet in thinking of the long dreary day before me, with +no one to talk to.</p> + +<p>"Corporal Locke's party!"</p> + +<p>I saw another friend of mine fall out and I went with him. Corporal +Locke counted his men and found he had one too many. He looked down the +ranks, he saw me, and said:</p> + +<p>"You don't belong to my party—you'll have to go somewhere else."</p> + +<p>"I want to work with Private Black—I've been on your party before."</p> + +<p>"I don't remember you. Anyhow, you weren't with me yesterday—I'm sorry, +but I can't have you."</p> + +<p>"Nobody'll notice the difference."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Lost his temper.</div><p>"I'm sorry; the S.M. has told me off once already for having too many +men on my party. He went off the deep end* about it and said I'd get +him into trouble. I can't let you stay."</p> + +<p>One after another the fatigue parties were called out and I fell in with +my own, the last of all and about eighty strong. Sergeant Hyndman was in +charge.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant-Major blew his whistle and shouted, "Move off!" and one by +one the N.C.O.'s gave the words of command:</p> + +<p>"Party—Tshn! Into File—Right Turn! By the Right—Quick March!"</p> + +<p>As we passed out of the camp each of us drew a shovel or a pick from a +great heap of tools near the entrance.</p> + +<p>We got on to the road and formed fours, and at last began the longed-for +march which would restore our circulation and warm our frozen feet.</p> + +<p>The snow was still falling heavily and the wind blew it into our faces. +We bowed our heads and pulled our caps down over our eyes. Our feet +began to glow but our ears became painfully cold instead. We held our +hands over them and as our ears grew warm our fingers became numb and +frozen, so that we put our hands back into our pockets (although it was +against regulations) and tried to think of something else.</p> + +<p>Gradually, however, I became warm in every member and was filled with a +sense of physical comfort that released my thoughts from immediate, +material things. I thought of home and made plans for the future. I had +a long, stubbornly contested argument with an imaginary opponent about +the issues of the war. And then physical discomfort made itself felt +again, all my free and wandering thoughts were gathered in by a +wide-flung net and roughly thrown into a narrow dungeon.</p> + +<p>I was growing unpleasantly hot and I longed to get rid of my heavy, +sodden great-coat. The strap of my haversack was making my shoulder +ache. I became peevish and fretful once more.</p> + +<p>We swung along the road with rapid strides. Some of the feebler marchers +showed signs of weariness and began to grumble at our speed. There was +an ironical shout of "Double up in front," whereupon the front fours +slowed down a little.</p> + +<p>The wind increased in power and the snow flew past us in horizontal +lines obscuring the Flemish landscape. We marched on in silence for an +hour or more until suddenly the front fours halted and all the others +thronged up against them. We had reached our destination.</p> + +<p>There was a broad-gauge railway. On one side of it huge stacks of +sleepers stretched away in long rows that were soon lost to sight in the +wintry atmosphere. On the other side was a barbed wire fence. Beyond it +lay flat fields on which the snow had settled evenly. In one of the +fields was the dim form of a farm-building, barely visible through the +rush and turmoil of dancing snowflakes.</p> + +<p>A Sergeant of the Royal Engineers came up and told us what our work +would be. We were to carry all the sleepers across the line and stack +them in four rows on the far side of the fence.</p> + +<p>"Is it a task job?" we asked.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant did not know.</p> + +<p>"What did they make us bring our shovels for?"</p> + +<p>A voice, mocking such a naïve questioner, answered:</p> + +<p>"Don't yer know the army be now?"</p> + +<p>We broke down a section of the fence. Two men were assigned to each +stack. They loaded each sleeper on to the shoulders of a couple of men +who carried it across the railway lines into the field, where it would +be received and stacked by other men.</p> + +<p>Hour by hour we trudged to and fro in pairs, bearing our wet and heavy +loads. We lost consciousness of everything except driving snow, +squelching mud, aching backs and sore shoulders. When one shoulder +became so sore that mere contact with our load was intensely painful, we +changed over to the other, until that too became bruised, and then we +would change back again. And so on, hour by hour.</p> + +<p>Our legs seemed as heavy as lead and yet they seemed to move of their +own accord without any effort of the will. Our minds became blurred and +numb—a numbness that was broken from time to time by a sharp stab of +pain whenever a sleeper was placed across our shoulders.</p> + +<p>"For Christ's sake, let's 'ave a blow," said my partner suddenly.</p> + +<p>I looked at my watch. It was a quarter-past ten—nearly two hours more +till lunch!</p> + +<p>We observed that only a small number of men were working, and my partner +blurted out:</p> + +<p>"I ain't goin' ter do more'n me share. There's a lot o' fellers swingin' +the lead be'ind them stacks. I'm goin' ter 'ave a bit of a rest, I'm +bloody well done up."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Idlers.</div><p>We both went behind a stack and found that a crowd of men had gone there +before us. One of them shouted cheerfully: "Here come two more +leadswingers!"* We leaned against the wood and rested, but a few +minutes had hardly passed when a Corporal appeared and shouted +peremptorily: "Come on out o' that—get on wi' yer job an' put a jerk in +it." We struggled reluctantly back to our work.</p> + +<p>The wearisome, monotonous trudge began again. As the first stacks +disappeared the journey became longer and longer. I again looked at my +watch—it was twenty to eleven. The quarter-past ten seemed several +hours ago! The way the time dragged drove us to despair. But there was +no escape—we had to live through every minute of this dismal day.</p> + +<p>My partner and I worked on in silence. Gradually the men slackened their +pace and tried to miss their turn. We did the same. Others, who were +behind us, followed suit, refusing to do more than their share. Our +progress became slower and slower until at length it stopped altogether. +There was a long straggling queue in front of the half-demolished stack. +The first pair of men refused to take the sleeper held in readiness for +them, protesting that there were others who ought to have gone before, +and the others refused to work until the first two had taken their turn. +A deadlock ensued and then a Sergeant came up with "What's the matter +now? This ain't a bleed'n' picnic! Don't yer know there's a war on? Yer +like a lot o' school kids. Go an' get a bloody move on!"</p> + +<p>A chorus of voices asserted that some people couldn't play the game and +were swinging the lead and dodging their turn. Thereupon the Sergeant +formed us up into two ranks and ordered us to proceed with the work. +This interruption made at least a portion of our time pass more quickly. +Then we continued our wearisome tramp. An age seemed to pass. I looked +at my watch, but it was only twenty-three minutes after eleven. To and +fro we went with bruised shoulders, aching backs and numbed +intelligence. I fell into a kind of semi-conscious state. Suddenly the +whistle blew for lunch. How quickly the last twenty-seven minutes seemed +to have passed!</p> + +<p>It was good to have an hour's rest before us. As for the afternoon, +well, there was no need to think about it, for it was still a long way +off. Besides, somehow or other, the afternoons always seemed to pass +more quickly than the mornings. Moreover, we had paraded an hour earlier +than usual, so perhaps we would also stop work an hour earlier.</p> + +<p>"'Urry up an' dror yer tea," our Sergeant shouted. "Yer only gettin' +'alf an hour fur yer dinner—we've got ter git the job done ter-day."</p> + +<p>"Why didn' yer tell us it was a task job? Gorblimy—we ain't done 'alf +of it! We won't get 'ome afore five or six o'clock ter-night."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> can't 'elp it, 'tain't <i>my</i> fault. Yer've got ter git it done, +them's me orders!"</p> + +<p>There was vociferous grumbling and swearing that continued while we +formed a queue and filed past a man who poured tea in our mugs from +three large dixies.</p> + +<p>We sat down by the stacks wherever we could find shelter from the wind. +We were still hot and perspiring after our morning's labours. We ate our +rations in silence, for the resentful shouting had died down and had +given way to a sullen quiet.</p> + +<p>When we had finished our meal we stared vacantly at the snowflakes that +were blown over the top of the stack above our heads and whirled round +and round in front of our eyes. Gradually we began to feel the cold +again. Many of us got up and walked about, for it was nipping our feet. +I was stiff in every limb and full of bitter thoughts. I hoped the +half-hour would be over soon.</p> + +<p>At length the Sergeant blew the whistle and shouted:</p> + +<p>"Fall in! Yer'd better put a jerk in it—yer won't go till yer've +finished. It's a task job. Yer didn't shift 'alf the sleepers this +mornin'—there's another couple o' thousand left, so get a bloody move +on!"</p> + +<p>The grumbling was renewed in the ranks.</p> + +<p>"It's no good yer bloody well grousin'. The work's got ter be done. +Carry on!"</p> + +<p>Our tedious round began again. The distance from the old stacks to the +new increased steadily. We tramped through mud and slush in wind and +snow, hour by hour.</p> + +<p>"I'm goin' ter 'ave a rest—I've 'ad enough o' this," said my partner. I +felt annoyed, for although I was stiff and tired and sore, I had again +relapsed into that state of dulled sensibility in which my limbs seemed +to move automatically and time to have no existence at all. Although I +was aware of pain I was yet indifferent to it. And now my partner was +going to drag me back to full consciousness. I gave way to his wish and +we leaned against a stack. We stayed there with several others until we +were discovered by a Corporal who chased us out and abused us roundly.</p> + +<p>We went on with our work. The brief rest had only done harm, for the +first sleeper that was subsequently laid on to my shoulders produced +such a pang that I had to close my eyes for a moment. Nor could I set my +stiff limbs in motion without difficulty. I silently cursed my partner.</p> + +<p>The dreary hours dragged on. I tried hard to fall back into my former +state of blurred consciousness, but the very attempt itself frustrated +the effort. I was full of growing resentment against my partner. My +dormant anger was aroused, it had found an object and, against all +reason and fairness, demanded vengeance. I pretended to stumble and +jerked the sleeper so as to hurt his bruised shoulder.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, what yer doin' of?" he shouted, in great pain. "Christ +Almighty—be a bit careful!"</p> + +<p>In a moment I regretted what I had done and said, "Sorry, I stumbled +over something—I hope I didn't hurt you!" I felt ashamed and all my +resentment vanished. Thereupon I became too oppressed in spirit even to +look at my watch.</p> + +<p>We had been splashing and squelching to and fro, I did not know how +long, when an officer arrived. He stood still for a moment and watched +us work, and then he said:</p> + +<p>"The job's got to be done this afternoon, my lads, but I'll try to get +you a day off to-morrow. Who's in charge of the party?"</p> + +<p>We pointed to Sergeant Hyndman. He was sitting in an improvised shelter +in front of a fire, sipping hot tea. He had spent the greater part of +the day there and had not observed the arrival of the officer, who was +walking slowly towards him. Suddenly he jumped up and there was an +exchange of words which we could not hear, although we tried hard to do +so. The Sergeant came over to us, looking rather disconcerted, so we +were able to guess the nature of the conversation.</p> + +<p>We felt greatly encouraged and worked with renewed vigour. The stacks +vanished one by one. Time appeared to slip by with gathering speed. A +kind of common rhythm seemed to pervade our movements as we plodded to +and fro with mechanical regularity.</p> + +<p>The officer went up to the stacks from which we were removing the +sleepers and made a mental calculation. "Only four hundred sleepers left +now, boys—that's five apiece or ten to each pair. You'll soon be +finished, and I've ordered lorries to take you home!"</p> + +<p>His kindness did us good and we worked with a kind of grim +determination. My partner was coming to the end of his strength. His +knees were bent and from time to time he staggered, jerking the sleeper +so as to make me wince with pain. But he kept up obstinately. We counted +the sleepers as we received them—one, two, three and so on. This +occupied our minds and the time passed all the more quickly. Eight ... +nine ... ten! At last our work was done! "Thank God," said my partner +with deep conviction. We rested against one of the newly erected stacks, +but it was not long before Sergeant Hyndman came striding up and +addressed us angrily. He had evidently been snubbed by the officer and +was giving relief to his mortification by bullying us.</p> + +<p>"What yer doin' there? Swingin' it on yer mates, are yer? Call yerselves +sportsmen, do yer? Get back an' bloody well do yer bit!"</p> + +<p>"We've done our share—there were four hundred sleepers left, which +makes ten journeys for each pair. If it doesn't work out it's because +some of the others have been swinging the lead behind the stacks. We've +carried our ten and aren't going to do any more."</p> + +<p>"Why d'yer let 'em swing it on yer? It's yer own bleed'n' fault! D'yer +think I'm goin' ter stand over yer all day? Some o' you blokes is as +'elpless as a lot o' kids—yer want a wet nurse to look arter yer!"</p> + +<p>"That's what <i>you're</i> there for, to look after us!"</p> + +<p>"Don't bloody well tell me what I'm there for! I know me job an' don't +want no tellin'. Get stuck into it an' don't let me 'ave any o' yer +bloody lip, else yer'll be up fur orderly room—I shan't give yer +another warnin'!"</p> + +<p>Seeing that argument was useless, we walked away and crossed the railway +lines. My partner growled: "I 'ope I meet 'im in civvy life—I'll give +'im somethin' ter think about—I've seen better things'n what 'e is +crorlin' about in cheese!"</p> + +<p>There were fifty or sixty sleepers left. We dawdled on our way back, +hoping that there would be enough men in front of us to clear the lot. +The officer shouted: "Come along, my lads, sharp's the word and quick's +the action! You'll be finished in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>The khaki-clad flock straggled forward. The remaining sleepers were +loaded on to our shoulders—my partner and I received the last one. As +we carried it off a cheer was raised by the other men.</p> + +<p>At last the whistle blew and we fell in. The sky was still covered with +dark, heavy clouds, but the snow had ceased to fall and the wind had +dropped. We could see the dreary landscape a little better now. The +railway lines curved away until, in the far distance, they ran into a +ghostly procession of tall, slim poplars that filed across the dim +horizon and marked the passage of a main road. On one side of the lines +long rows of dark squares in the snow showed where the sleepers had lain +before we moved them. A brown stretch of churned and trodden mud and +water connected them with the new stacks that extended in four rows +along the other side of the lines. We had shifted five thousand eight +hundred sleepers in all. Around us were level, snow-covered fields +unrelieved by anything except an occasional tree and the farm. It +consisted of three buildings, a house and two big barns, forming three +sides of a square. The cottage had a low, thatched roof, dirty, +whitewashed walls, and green shutters. In the middle of the square was a +huge muck heap, covered with patches of melting snow. A pig was pushing +its snout into it here and there and grunting from time to time. There +was no other sign of life anywhere. A dreary, depressing landscape!</p> + +<p>"Remember Belgium!" said one of the men in the ranks derisively.</p> + +<p>"We won't forget it in a hurry!"</p> + +<p>"Fritz can have it for all I care!"</p> + +<p>"He's welcome to it—I don't want it, I want to get back to Blighty!"</p> + +<p>We were called to attention. The promised lorries were waiting for +us—three lorries for eighty men. We marched towards them in file, but +as we got nearer to them, the men broke rank and everybody rushed wildly +to get in first so as to secure any available boxes or petrol-tins that +might serve as seats. A noisy, turbulent throng clustered round each +lorry. We scrambled in, pushing, hustling, and swearing. We were soon so +crowded together that there seemed to be no room for any more, but +nevertheless more men climbed up and forced an entrance. We formed a +compact mass and our picks and shovels were heaped on the floor in +everybody's way.</p> + +<p>The lorries started with a lurch so that we all staggered backwards. +They raced along, and bumped, and swayed from side to side. The roof of +the lorry in which I stood was so low that I had to keep my head bent +forward all the time. The fumes from the exhaust made our eyes water and +smart.</p> + +<p>We reached camp after about half an hour's ride. We jumped out and lined +up on the road. Sergeant Hyndman perceived the Commanding Officer +strolling about amongst the tents and said to us in an awe-stricken +voice:</p> + +<p>"Smarten up a bit, for Christ's sake—there's the Captin walkin' +about—don't make no bloomers when yer dismissin' else yer'll get extra +shovel-drill an' get me into trouble in the bargin. Mind yer salute +prop'ly.... Party—Tshn! Inter File, Right Turn! Quick March!"</p> + +<p>We wheeled into the camp holding our picks and shovels at the trail. +Our Commanding Officer stood still and watched us. As we passed him the +Sergeant yelled out with unaccustomed sharpness: "Eyes—Right!" We all +turned our heads smartly to the right and he saluted with strained, +affected precision. The Captain touched the peak of his cap in a +perfunctory manner. He hardly seemed to be looking at us at all, but +suddenly he spotted a man who was not holding his shovel perfectly +horizontally and thundered:</p> + +<p>"Hold your shovel properly, that man there!"</p> + +<p>The man was disconcerted for a moment but soon re-adjusted his shovel to +the satisfaction of his superior. The ground was so muddy and uneven +that it was sometimes impossible to keep the exact military formation. +Without having noticed it, I was a little more than the regulation +distance from the man in front of me.</p> + +<p>"Close in there, you with the glasses," bawled the Captain in a +resentful voice, as though my transgression were intended as a personal +insult. But his anger was diverted by another man and he shouted with +gathering fury:</p> + +<p>"That tall man over there—hold your pick properly. Not like that, damn +it ... hold it at the point of balance—no, no, no, not like that ... +here, Sergeant, take that man's name and number and give it to the +Corporal of the Police. He'll do half an hour's extra shovel-drill this +evening."</p> + +<p>We halted. The Sergeant made a note of the offender's name and then said +to us in an awestruck whisper: "Now mind yer dismiss prop'ly for +Christ's sake!"</p> + +<p>We faced to the front and on the command "Dismiss!" we all turned to the +right, raised our picks and shovels and transferred them from our right +hands to our left, touched the peaks of our caps with our right hands, +turning the palms outwards, paused a moment and then broke away.</p> + +<p>"Fall in, fall in—very bad, very bad, absolutely disgraceful!" bawled +our infuriated C.O. "If you don't do it correctly this time, you'll get +an hour's extra drill every day for a week! Now dismiss them again, +Sergeant!"</p> + +<p>The prospect of extra drill filled us with dismay. Sore shouldered, +stiff, and aching in every limb, oppressed and wearied in mind and body, +we only had one intense desire—to get away, to hide somewhere, to enjoy +at least a brief spell of warmth and comfort.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant gave the command, and we dismissed a second time. We went +through the absurd performance with anxious punctiliousness, but three +men, either through fear, weariness or carelessness, made some slight +mistakes and their names were taken for extra drill.</p> + +<p>As soon as the men were off the parade ground there was a wild stampede +in the direction of the cook-house.</p> + +<p>The scramble became a mad hustle. The men raced along the duckboards or +splashed through the mud in a frantic attempt to get served first, +pulling their mess-tins and plates out of their haversacks as they ran.</p> + +<p>It was growing dark and a few snowflakes were floating about in the air. +The sky was a murky leaden colour.</p> + +<p>As I stood waiting in the dinner queue I had an imaginary fight with our +Commanding Officer. I knocked him down and gloated over him as he lay +sprawling in the mud with my hand savagely clutching his throat. Our +pent up feelings often found relief in vindictive dreams.</p> + +<p>The queue stretched along the duckboards and in between the tents like a +dingy snake in the gathering gloom. It was rapidly growing in length as +more and more men came hurrying up.</p> + +<p>But the front of the cook-house was still closed. The men grew impatient +and banged their plates and tins. There were shouts of "Get a move on." +Fretful, smouldering impatience increased until it flared up in anger. +"Get a bloody move on—we want somethin' ter eat after a 'ard day's +work!... <i>We've</i> got a fine bloody lot o' cooks, keepin' us waitin' in +the bloody cold—get a move on, for Christ's sake!"</p> + +<p>The shout was taken up all along the line—"Get a bloody move on"—and +tins and plates were banged until the uproar was deafening. It gradually +died down again, although curses and resentful remarks were still +frequent.</p> + +<p>"'Tain't worth eatin' when yer do get it!"</p> + +<p>"Bleed'n' stew, I s'pose, 'nough ter make yer go queer!"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't feed me dog on the stuff they give yer in the army—I +wouldn't 'ave the cheek ter orfer it to 'im."</p> + +<p>"Come on ... put a jerk in it"—the cry was taken up again. There was +hooting and booing and banging of plates until pandemonium reigned once +more.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the shutter in front of the cook-house was pushed up and one of +the cooks appeared in the opening. The booing changed into loud, +ironical cheers:</p> + +<p>"What yer bin doin' all day? Swingin' the lead?"</p> + +<p>A squeaky voice retorted: "I've bin up since four in the mornin' workin' +a bloody sight 'arder 'n what you 'ave. Yer never satisfied, yer +bleed'n' lot o'...." The rest was drowned in a storm of derisive shouts.</p> + +<p>Then the men in the queue took up the argument again.</p> + +<p>"Yer too slow—yer could'n catch the measles!"</p> + +<p>"You come an' do my job an' see 'ow yer like it!"</p> + +<p>"Do <i>your</i> job! No bloody fear, why, 'tain't a man's job at all, it's +only old women what goes inter the cook-'ouse."</p> + +<p>"Go on, get a move on—don't stand there talkin'!"</p> + +<p>Another cook appeared. He dipped his ladle into a receptacle behind the +till and emptied into the first man's plate. The next man held out his +plate, and then the next. The cumbrous serpent moved forward inch by +inch while a counter movement began of men straggling back through the +slush, holding up tins or plates of steaming stew.</p> + +<p>Two candles were burning inside my tent. The men were sitting on their +kits. The noisy manner in which they ate was irritating beyond measure.</p> + +<p>After the meal I went over to the tent of a friend. He was sitting by a +flickering candle in moody silence. I asked him to come with me to the +village. He put on his great-coat and we walked along the duckboards on +to the road. It was intensely dark and we were conscious of the silent +fall of snow.</p> + +<p>"What sort of a day did you have?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Undiluted misery. We marched to the quarry and when we got there we +found there was nothing to do, because the train hadn't turned up. So we +waited in the wind and snow, just walking up and down, stamping with our +feet and trying to get warm. Lieutenant Rowlatt was in charge of us. He +wouldn't let us leave the quarry or go into an estaminet. And he only +gave us half an hour for dinner. Of course he spent most of the time in +an estaminet himself, eating eggs and chips and flirting with the girl +... I couldn't keep warm and there was no shelter anywhere. It was like +doing an eight-hour guard."</p> + +<p>All the windows in the streets of the village were shuttered, but the +light shone through cracks and chinks—a promise of warmth within that +cheered us a little.</p> + +<p>We entered an estaminet. It was crowded. Soldiers were standing round +the walls waiting for vacant seats. We went to another place, but that +too was crowded. Indeed, they were all crowded. Nevertheless, it was +better to stand in the warmth than to walk about stiff-limbed in the +slush and falling snow. We went into the next estaminet we came to. We +entered the main room. An oil lamp was hanging from the ceiling. In the +middle there was a long table and soldiers were seated round it, +squeezed tightly together, eating eggs and chips and drinking wine or +coffee. We leaned up against the wall with a number of others and waited +our turn. The air was hot and moist and smelt of stale tobacco, burning +fat, and steaming clothes. There was a glowing stove at one end of the +room. It looked like a red-hot spherical urn on a low black pedestal. A +big bowl of liquid fat was seething on the fire. A woman with flaming +cheeks was throwing handfuls of sliced potatoes into it while she held a +saucepan in which a number of eggs were spluttering. The heat was +becoming intolerable and we edged away from the stove. We waited +patiently. More and more men came in until there was no standing room +left. The conversation was boisterous and vulgar, much of it at the +expense of the woman, who laughed frequently and pretended to feel +shocked and called the soldiers "Naughty boyss." A few men rose from the +table from time to time and at last our turn came, so that we were able +to sit down. We ordered eggs and chips and <i>vin blanc</i>, but had to wait +a long time before we got them. I rested my head on my hand and +struggled hard with sleep. At last the woman brought us the things we +had ordered and we ate and drank in silence. We would have been glad to +sit and doze in this warm place in spite of the smell and noise, but +when we had finished we felt obliged to get up and make room for others.</p> + +<p>We stepped out into the darkness. The snow had turned into rain that +fell in a steady drizzle. I was so tired that I had no desire left +except to get back to my tent.</p> + +<p>"I wonder how much longer this is going to last?" I said to my friend.</p> + +<p>"I've given up hoping. The war's a deadlock that may continue for years. +All I look forward to now is the spring and the warm weather. And +perhaps we shall get leave some day."</p> + +<p>"We've only been out here six weeks—we won't get leave for another +eight or nine months."</p> + +<p>"It's something to think about and look forward to, anyhow."</p> + +<p>We said good-night to each other and retired to our tents. Most of the +men were already in bed. They were smoking their cigarettes as they lay +stretched out on the floor. One of them was reading a newspaper by +candlelight. I wrapped myself up in my blankets and wedged myself +tightly in between my two neighbours. Although I was wearied out, I felt +compelled to glance at a paper. There might perhaps be some hint of +peace, some little glimmer of hope to go to sleep with and dream about. +I took up my copy of the <i>Times</i> which I received irregularly. I began +to read the leading article but was so irritated by its unctuous +hypocrisy that I turned the page over and scanned the headlines. +Suddenly a big drop of water splashed on to it. I became aware of the +rain outside, swishing down upon the canvas, and, looking up, I saw a +glistening patch of moisture collect above my head. Another heavy drop +descended, I stretched out my arm and pushing my fist against the wet +patch drew it down the canvas as far as the brailing. But the moisture +continued to gather, and soon it was dripping in many places. My +kit-bag, standing upright next to me, was getting wet, so I placed the +<i>Times</i> over it and let the water trickle off towards the ditch. Then a +man shouted from the other side of the tent:</p> + +<p>"It's coming through like anything, my whole pillow's sopping wet."</p> + +<p>It was more than he could bear. Each little discomfort taken separately +would have been altogether negligible. But when petty discomforts +accumulate there comes a time when one more, however small it be, has +the effect of a sudden infliction. He ground his teeth with fury at +those pattering drops of water, but the realization of impotence seemed +to descend upon him with such power that he lay back and closed his +eyes, a prey to violent mental agitation. Then he uttered a foul oath, +blew out his candle, pulled the blanket over his head and tried to go to +sleep. I heard one of the other men laugh and say good-humouredly, "'E's +gettin' on—'e'll soon be swearin' wi' the best of us."</p> + +<p>The man referred to was rather refined and had resisted the habit of +swearing far longer than any of us. I was amused, and my own equanimity, +which had been on the verge of collapse, was restored by this incident.</p> + +<p>I was conscious of irresistible weariness and called out with a yawn: +"Good night all," and the answer came "Good-night!" Then I heard someone +singing ironically: "When you come to the end of a perfect day." I began +to feel warm and was filled with a sense of intense comfort. I could +hear the water dripping on to my coat, but I had become indifferent to +it. My limbs were so tired that to rest them was an exquisite luxury. +And then sleep came with a sudden, overwhelming rush.</p> + +<p>We felt refreshed and yet indolent when we heard the steps of the Police +Corporal splashing through the mud at half-past five the next morning. +He banged the tent and shouted: "Reveillé—breakfast at six, parade at +six-thirty." We enjoyed a few minutes in bed. I ran my fingers through +my hair and found that it was soaked. My pillow—a shirt stuffed with +spare clothing—was wet also, but the rain was no longer beating down on +the canvas. The air inside the tent was pervaded by a foul, acrid +stench. I threw the flap aside and looked out. The vast expanse of +steely blue was dotted with glittering stars and on the eastern horizon +it merged into a faint pallor. The air was deliciously fresh. We got up +one by one, yawning, groaning and grumbling, and dressed and went out to +wash.</p> + +<p>As I stood in the breakfast queue I saw that the east was shot with a +delicate rose colour. The purity of the dawn seemed extraordinarily +beautiful compared with the sordid dinginess of the mud and khaki that +were always with us.</p> + +<p>We paraded, but at first the parade did not seem so tedious as usual. I +was in the rearmost rank, standing next to a friend, Private Cowan, and +we were able to converse in whispers. He remarked that the morning was +like a "symphony in blue and gold." Even the glistening mud, usually so +hideous, was flecked with luminous patches. But my feet were becoming +numb and cold again. I felt that the pain they were giving me was about +to deprive me of all pleasure in the rising sun to which I had been +looking forward ever since reveillé. I fought against it, but it was +stronger than I. I became angry and trod the mud in order to get warm. I +gave up the attempt and waited impatiently for the end of the parade. +When the sun's rim cut the horizon and sent a shaft of light across the +land, it merely irritated me.</p> + +<p>Three lorries arrived, our party was called out, we left the parade +ground and scrambled into them. They quickly bore us to the place where +we had worked the day before.</p> + +<p>The sun was shining brightly. The long rows of stacked sleepers +stretched out before us. We wondered what our work would be. Someone +suggested we would have to restack the sleepers in their former places +and we did not consider the suggestion absurd.</p> + +<p>Our Sergeant had gone to get instructions. He returned and told us a +mistake had been made the day before. We nearly groaned with +apprehension. He leered at us and did not, for a moment, say what the +mistake had been. Then he told us:</p> + +<p>"It's all right, me lads. I was only pullin' yer legs a bit. Yer needn't +get the wind up, yer 'aven't got ter put 'em back. This is what 'as +'appened. Yer was supposed ter spend two days on the job an' yesterday +yer did two days' work in one. I see the officer about it an' 'e says +yer worked bloody fine an' says 'e won't 'ave yer workin' ter day +although there's plenty o' other things ter do. 'E says yer ter go back +ter camp an' 'ave a good rest. 'E ain't 'alf a toff, I tell yer."</p> + +<p>This announcement was followed by loud cheers. We scrambled back into +the lorries. Everyone was jubilant at the prospect of having a holiday, +and there was shouting and singing as the lorries sped along. We reached +the camp and jumped out. We were dismayed at seeing our Commanding +Officer walking about and conversing with the Sergeant-Major.</p> + +<p>As we marched into the camp the C.O. said to our Sergeant: "Where've +these men come from?" The Sergeant explained. "They've got the day off, +have they? Kit inspection at ten o'clock!"</p> + +<p>Our hearts sank and several of the men muttered something between their +teeth. Our Sergeant, however, screwed up a little courage for once and +explained that we had worked exceptionally hard the day before and that +the officer in charge had promised us a holiday. The S.M. intervened in +the discussion and pleaded on our behalf. At last the C.O., after +walking up and down impatiently, said:</p> + +<p>"Very well, we'll drop the inspection—they'll have to go to the baths +though!"</p> + +<p>We were elated beyond measure and when we were dismissed we saluted with +all the smartness of which we were capable in order to please the +Captain, and walked off the parade ground in the strictest regulation +manner. Once they were off the parade ground the men rushed towards +their tents, hallooing like schoolboys.</p> + +<p>The baths were not unwelcome, although to stand in a tub under a thin +drip of hot water in front of a broken window through which a cold gust +of wind came and whistled round our shoulders, was no pleasure. But the +ordeal was quickly over and before eleven o'clock in the morning most of +us were free to do as we pleased. The greater part of the day was still +before us and the morrow was a long way off.</p> + +<p>There was much bustling and shouting and singing. It was easy to please +us for pleasure was such a rarity. I was scheming how to make the most +of this precious holiday. I decided to go for a solitary walk. I left +the camp and strolled up a hill from where I could get a fine view of +the surrounding country.</p> + +<p>I gazed in an eastward direction. All the snow had melted, the fields, +the bare trees and hedges, were steeped in warm sunlight. In the +distance there was a gentle slope crowned by a long line of poplars.</p> + +<p>Beyond the poplars, about eight miles away, there was something I did +not see, although I knew it was there—a stupid, terrible, and uncouth +monster that stretched in a zig-zag winding course from the North Sea to +the Alps. It was strangely silent at that hour, but I was fascinated by +it and thought about it harder and harder, in spite of myself. I became +increasingly conscious of it and it grew upon me until it darkened +everything and seemed to crush me beneath its intolerable weight.</p> + +<p>If only the end would come! And, until it does come, give me hard work +so that my own thoughts cannot oppress me and I may forget all except +sore shoulders and aching limbs!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h2>ON DETACHMENT</h2> + + +<p>The light-railway engine pulled the trucks slowly along by winding +circuitous routes. It was a warm, sunny evening. Everything was green +and peaceful. The farms and cottages bore no signs of war. But soon we +saw a number of shell-holes grouped round cross-roads, and gradually, as +we proceeded, the fields came to be pitted more and more thickly. We +skirted a large village. It was deserted. The roof of the church had +three black holes. All the houses were damaged and we could see the +splintered rafters standing out darkly against the sky.</p> + +<p>We passed by camouflaged shell dumps and guns of big calibre, +camouflaged and concealed amongst trees and bushes, so that often the +muzzle alone was visible. Shell-holes were dotted everywhere. Many of +the trees were scarred and their branches wrenched away.</p> + +<p>We steamed into the terminal siding. Some distance in front of us was a +row of poplars, regular except for the gaps where branch or trunk had +been shattered. To the right was a patched-up road with several ruined +cottages on either side. To the left of the poplars was a wood in which +a large white château was half concealed. It looked very dreary with its +black, gaping windows. To our right was a big farmhouse. Most of the +tiles had been blown from the roof, showing the bare rafters. The door +was in splinters, and the walls were riddled. A little lane wound round +the farm in a loop and then lost itself in the wood.</p> + +<p>Behind us was a hedge and a group of trees amongst which a gun was +hidden.</p> + +<p>There was no sound of firing. No birds were singing, although it was +spring. All was quiet except for the frogs that uttered raucous musical +croaks in a pond near by and puffed out the bladders at the corners of +their mouths, so as to produce long-drawn shrill vibrations.</p> + +<p>We shovelled the stones out of the trucks. Several of the men expressed +disappointment at the fact that there was no "excitement."</p> + +<p>Soon after nightfall desultory firing broke out some distance off. Then +a gun began to fire a long way behind us. The shells passing high +overhead made a faint rustling noise, as though they were travelling +along in leisurely fashion.</p> + +<p>Suddenly all the batteries in the entire neighbourhood joined in. The +uproar was like that of innumerable thunderstorms crashing together. The +guns bellowed and roared and pounded and deep reverberations filled the +night. From behind us there came flashes so dazzling that we could not +bear to look at them, and great blasts of air and thunder-claps that +seemed to strike our ears with colossal hammers and make them drone +intolerably. Thunder-clap followed thunder-clap, long jets of white +flame pierced the darkness, and now and again the very air seemed to +kindle, and brilliant sheets and shreds of flame blazed and crackled +round us. Above there was a noise as though thousands of devilish +creatures were rushing along, helter-skelter, with inconceivable +rapidity, howling, shrieking, screaming, wailing, laughing, exulting, +whistling and gibbering.</p> + +<p>The shells burst over and beyond the belt of trees in front of us. +Vivid, multicoloured scintillations and innumerable glittering stars +flashed out and thronged the sky. At times the shells fell so thickly +that a white flame of dazzling brilliancy would dart writhing along the +tree-tops with lightning speed. The booming of the guns and the terrible +screeching of the shells continued unabated. We were blinded, deafened, +and all our senses were confused.</p> + +<p>At last the tumult began to die down. I looked round, curious to see +the effect on the other men. Frequent flashes still lit up every detail +of our surroundings.</p> + +<p>Everyone had stopped working. Most of us were gazing ahead, thoroughly +scared. Standing next to me was someone who said he had always wanted to +see a bombardment and now he was satisfied. He was not at all +frightened, being one of the few who realized that we had been in no +danger. By the light of the gun-flashes I saw, a few yards in front of +me, one of our men, a young nervous fellow, stretched out at full +length, trembling, and sobbing hysterically and clutching at the grass +with hands that opened and closed in mad spasms. Another man was +cowering down by one of the trucks, his face buried in his arms.</p> + +<p>Our Sergeant approached. He was quite unafraid and had a rather bored +look on his face. Two men were walking beside him. One of them, a +Corporal, who a few hours before had complained that we were having no +excitement, was saying in a strained, halting voice, that he felt very +unwell, that he had hurt his knee, and would like to go back to camp. +The other, a small, broad-shouldered, full-chested, squat individual, +with a flat nose and a brutal face—the champion light-weight boxer of +our unit—implored the Sergeant in whining tones to let him go home. The +Sergeant, however, told him to shut up and go on with his work.</p> + +<p>Gradually the firing became less and less frequent, until finally it +died down altogether. Soon the big yellow disc of the moon rose above +the tree-tops and all was silent except for the croaking of the frogs.</p> + +<p>We finished emptying the trucks and then sat down inside them. The +engine came along, rattling and puffing. It was coupled to the train, +and the return journey began.</p> + +<p>The landscape was plainly visible in the light of the rising moon. +Shell-holes, torn trees, and ruined houses decreased in number. We +passed a straw-thatched cottage nestling amid a group of bushes and +poplars. A light shone from the window, a dog barked. A bat flitted +silently past. It seemed as though the uproar of the cannonade had been +a dream.</p> + +<p>The engine stopped at the siding. We jumped out of the trucks and +retired into our tents. Not a word was spoken by anyone.</p> + +<p>The following day we again received orders to proceed to the terminal +siding by the light railway.</p> + +<p>In the morning our champion boxer had reported sick in anticipation. He +looked convincingly pale and complained of the usual "pains all over." +The Medical Officer gave him "light duty" and he spent the day in camp, +picking up matches, bits of paper, and miscellaneous rubbish.</p> + +<p>It seemed strange that the ruined houses, the belt of poplars, the +damaged farm, and the wood with the white château were still standing +there so peacefully after the bombardment of the previous night. The +frogs, charming creatures, were still croaking merrily.</p> + +<p>When we had unloaded the trucks we sat down in the grass and awaited the +return of the engine.</p> + +<p>The trees were dim in the warm haze. I gazed at the white château. It +fascinated me, for some inexplicable reason, and I felt an impulse to go +and explore it. I was seized by a mood such as I had rarely felt since +childhood, when almost every lonely and desolate building filled me with +a sense of awe and mystery, as though it were the home of ghosts or +fairies or witches. I was conscious of the absurdity of the emotion, but +I surrendered to it and even enjoyed its strangeness.</p> + +<p>There was no sound of firing.</p> + +<p>I obeyed the impulse and strolled down the little winding lane. It led +through a gap in the green hedge that surrounded the wood. Knowing that +the enchantment of the château would vanish as soon as I entered it, I +dawdled on the way so as to prolong my pleasure. Suddenly the bushes in +front of me caught fire and a bright sheet of flame shot upward and +almost simultaneously there was a sharp report. I was so thrilled by the +mysterious attraction of the château that I barely noticed the event. As +I passed a small ruined cottage, which I had not observed before, for it +was hidden amongst the trees, there was a short whizz on a high note, +and then a loud crash. Smoke issued from the windows and the riddled +roof, and bits of wood and débris hurtled through the air. Then there +was a loud wailing noise followed by a terrific detonation. The château +was blotted from view by a dense mass of black smoke that rose out of +the ground in front of me. The spell was broken. I hesitated whether to +go on or not, when I became aware of a voice behind me. I looked round +and saw one of our Corporals shouting and gesticulating. I turned back +and rejoined the others, though not before I had been called a "bloody +fool" and threatened with arrest for walking off without permission.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the loud, rustling wail was repeated and a portion of the wood +was enveloped in a dark cloud. There was a deafening thunder-clap and +jagged shell fragments sailed over our heads or dropped in our midst.</p> + +<p>Then shell followed shell in rapid succession, all bursting in the wood. +A piece of metal whizzed past the ear of a man standing a few yards +away. He became unnerved, dashed towards one of the trucks and cowered +down by the wheels, trembling in every muscle.</p> + +<p>None of the others showed any sign of fear except anxious looks. We had +been in no danger at all during the previous night's bombardment, but +many of the men had been terrified. Now, when they were in considerable +danger, they felt nothing more than anxiety, simply because there was no +awe-inspiring display of flame and thunder.</p> + +<p>Murky smoke clouds issued from the trees and hung above them in thin +streaks. Another sound was added to the uproar—a long-drawn whine—and +a sepia coloured puff appeared high up in the sky. A sharp ringing crack +followed. Then another puff appeared, and then another. High-explosive +and shrapnel shells continued to burst without intermission.</p> + +<p>The frogs had ceased to croak, for one of our men, standing on the edge +of the pond, was throwing pellets of mud at them. All at once he dropped +like some inanimate object and lay on his side. At the same time a +motor-ambulance came rushing up and stopped at the cross-roads. Two +soldiers issued from the wood, carrying a stretcher. A wounded man was +lying on it. He did not move arms or legs, but he howled and screamed;, +his voice rising and falling in a weird inhuman manner. A little after, +two more wounded were carried out on stretchers. They were white, silent +and motionless.</p> + +<p>A small crowd had gathered round the man who had fallen by the pond. He +was laid on to a stretcher. He seemed rather dazed but did not look +pale. A shrapnel ball had hit him in the back.</p> + +<p>The human loads were pushed into the ambulance which disappeared in a +cloud of dust.</p> + +<p>Our anxiety had deepened. Many of us were walking up and down in +agitation. Nevertheless, there was no hysteria and no ignominious +expression of fear as there had been on the previous night.</p> + +<p>At last the railway engine appeared, to the immense relief of everyone. +We climbed into the trucks and the return journey began. The shelling +continued unabated. Above the belt of poplars a little black speck was +moving along at great speed. Around it and trailing behind it were +numerous black puffs. The frogs had resumed their concert.</p> + +<p>When we reached our destination we were met by several others of our +unit who had arrived during the afternoon and were quartered in the +town. Two of my friends were amongst them and together we walked over to +their billet.</p> + +<p>We entered a huge bare room and sat down on some of the kits that were +arranged neatly round the floor.</p> + +<p>"What sort of a time have you had?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Bloody awful.... The S.M. and the C.O. have been making our lives a +misery. We've had umpteen extra drills and parades and kit inspections. +There've been at least a dozen orderly-room cases and several court +martials since you left. You know Deacon? He got fourteen days. Fritz +has been over a good bit lately and we have to put out our lights as +soon as it gets dark, else we'd cop out for sure. Well, one of our +Sergeants had a candle burning in his tent and the flap wide open—you +could have seen it a mile off, you've no idea how a candle shows at +night-time! We heard the archies firing in the distance and we yelled, +'Put out that light!' The Sergeant didn't take any notice though—he was +reading a book. So Deacon, who's got a decent bit of pluck, walked +across and asked him to blow out his candle. The Sergeant told him to +mind his own bloody business. So Deacon said he'd blow the candle out +himself. The Sergeant flew into a rage and swore at him and told him to +sling his bloody hook. Deacon got wild too—he's one of those fellows +who won't stand any nonsense—and blew out the candle. The Sergeant went +off the deep end properly and had him placed under arrest. Deacon got a +District Court Martial and was charged with insubordination. They gave +him fourteen days' Number 1. He's serving it in camp. There's no gun or +wagon there, so they can't crucify him on a wheel in the ordinary way. +They've been tying him to a post instead, one hour in the morning and +one in the afternoon. That blackguard of a Police Corporal won't let +him be in the shade where the trees are, but has him tied up in the full +glare of the sun.</p> + +<p>"The C.O.'s been down on people writing things in letters too. Lewis +wrote home he'd starve on the rations we get if it weren't for the +parcels his people send him. The C.O. had him up. He told him to make +complaints through the proper channels in future and gave him seven days +Number 2. He has to collect and empty the latrine buckets every morning +before breakfast. When he gets back from work in the afternoon he has to +chop wood with that swine of a Police Corporal standing over him. Of +course, he's a bloody fool to write in that strain—our rations aren't +so bad, considering. Thompson was up for the same sort of thing. He +wrote he'd seen a thing or two out here and when he got back home he'd +open people's eyes a bit about the war and the army. All bluff, of +course, for the truth about the war and the army could never be +published. He got five days for his trouble. I nearly got into hot water +myself. Luckily for me I was the first one to be on the peg for writing +things in my letters, else I'd have got a stiff sentence. I wrote: +'Being in the army is just like being back at school; the only +difference is that whereas at school your superiors generally know a +little bit more about things than you do, in the army that is not the +case.' The C.O. told me off properly. He said it was most serious, a +court martial offence, in fact. The charge would be one of 'Conduct +prejudicial to good order and military discipline.' He let me off, +though, because it was my first transgression. Old Peter Cowan was +nearly run by the S.M. a couple of days ago. He was inspecting us and +when he came to Peter he shouted, 'Why haven't you cleaned your +boottons?' Peter answered with a perfectly solemn countenance, 'I +omitted to do so, sir.' The S.M. glared at him, but he wasn't quite sure +about the meaning of the word 'omitted,' and being afraid of making a +fool of himself he passed on. Fletcher, who was standing only a few +numbers away, smiled at Peter's remark. The S.M. spotted him, and +shouted, 'What are you grinning at—anything foonny?' Fletcher said, +'No, sir,' and straightened his face with a wry contortion. The S.M. +shouted to the Orderly Sergeant: 'Take this man's name.' Fletcher was up +before the C.O. in the evening and got three days for laughing in the +ranks. I'm sure Peter'll get into trouble before long. He did the same +sort of thing yesterday. Sergeant Hyndman was in charge of us and we +were standing to attention. Peter started talking—you could hear him as +loud as anything. Hyndman got his rag out and yelled, 'Stop talkin' +there, will yer?' Peter dropped his voice and went on in a whisper. +Hyndman could still hear him, so he walked up to him and shouted, 'What +the bloody 'ell's the matter wi' yer?' As cool as you like old Peter +replied, '<i>Cacoethes loquendi</i>.' Of course Hyndman hadn't the remotest +idea what that meant and said, 'None o' yer bleed'n' impudence, else +I'll land yer inter trouble.' He didn't run him though.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, I'm jolly glad to be away from headquarters. We've got old +Rusty in charge of us. He's been a bit of a worry-guts about having +cleaned boots and buttons ever since he got his second pip, but he's +quite a decent old stick taking him all round. He gets drunk every +evening, so that he's generally too far gone to trouble about lights +out. He doesn't make a fuss over our letters either—I believe he can +only read a very plain hand and has to skip the longer words. A good +job, too, for that's one thing I absolutely cannot stick, the way all +our letters are read....</p> + +<p>"I hear you've had some excitement? It put my wind up a bit when I heard +about it. Still, I'm glad in a way—the monotony of our lives was +becoming unbearable. I'd rather have shell-bursts than blasts of the +S.M.'s whistle. Have many been dropping in the town recently?"</p> + +<p>"A good few—I daresay you'll have some to-night if you're lucky. Yes, +the S.M.'s whistle got on my nerves too. I was longing for a change and +frightfully keen on seeing a bit of the war. I confess I wasn't +particularly scared by the shells we had—of course, none of them came +very near. But I don't want to have any more, not after seeing those +wounded carried along on stretchers to-day. You're right in the town +here and it's quite likely that you'll make a closer acquaintance with +high-explosive shells than I've been able to make...."</p> + +<p>I had hardly spoken when there was a faint muffled boom in the distance +and a long, deepening howl, and then a loud explosion that shook the +building.</p> + +<p>A few minutes after a second shell passed overhead and exploded +somewhere in the town.</p> + +<p>Then, without the usual warning, there was a roar that seemed to split +our heads and an impact that sent us reeling backwards against the wall. +The room was filled with dense, pungent smoke and dust that choked and +blinded us. Above the violent droning in our ears we could hear the +clatter of falling bits of plaster and masonry. A whistle blew and there +was a shout of "Clear Billet." We thronged the doorway and poured down +the stairs, panic stricken, but before we had left the building there +was another reverberating crash and once again we were enveloped by +smoke and dust while the bits of plaster showered down upon us from the +ceiling. I bowed my head and held my arm up to protect my face. +Something whizzed closely by, and a man dropped heavily with a groan in +front of me. He lay on his face with one arm doubled up underneath, +quite motionless. Two men went up to him and crossed their hands under +his chest to raise him. His blood was gushing out and forming a pool on +the floor. As we dashed out into the road I saw an artilleryman standing +alone on the cobbles and looking around in a scared fashion. There was +another deafening explosion and dense clouds of smoke issued from a +building forty or fifty yards away. Suddenly the artilleryman clutched +his face with his hand. The blood began to stream through his fingers +and down his wrist into his sleeve. He hurried away with staggering +steps.</p> + +<p>We left the town behind us and waited near a barn in the open fields. We +were joined by the two men who had remained behind to help our wounded +fellow soldier.</p> + +<p>"Is it serious?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"Serious?—He's done for, poor chap! A big bit of shell caught him right +in the chest—it didn't half make a hole. We carried him away from the +billet and sat him up against a wall. We couldn't stop the blood from +flowing. He came to for a few seconds though, and moaned, 'O my poor +mother! O my poor mother!' enough to break your heart. And then he +seemed to lose consciousness again. The ambulance arrived and we laid +him on a stretcher. I expect he died before he got to the hospital."</p> + +<p>"Anybody else hit?"</p> + +<p>"Two of our fellows—one of them pretty seriously. They could both walk +though. A lot of men from other units have been killed. The last shell +dropped into a mess-room and laid out a dozen or more, and just as we +were coming along we saw an artilleryman lying in the road with a big +hole right in the middle of his face. He was still warm but his heart +had stopped beating. It's a bloody awful feeling to lose one of your +mates, though."</p> + +<p>"I can't make it out, some'ow. 'E was talkin' an' jokin' to me only a +few minutes back, an' now 'e's dead. The way 'e said 'O me poor mother!' +nearly set me cryin'. Poor old chap, 'e was one o' the best—it's allus +the best as gets killed an' the rotters left alive."</p> + +<p>No more shells dropped into the town that day, but instead of going back +to the billet, the men made their beds in the barn at nightfall. I +returned to camp, thinking of the man who was dead and wondering whose +turn would come next.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h2>THE CASUALTY CLEARING STATION</h2> + + +<blockquote><p>"For who feels the horrors of war more than those who are +responsible for its conduct? On whom does the burden of blood and +treasure weigh most heavily? How can it weigh more heavily on any +man or set of men than those on this bench?"</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Mr. Balfour</span> (House of Commons, June 20th, 1918.)</p></blockquote> + +<p>The rain came swishing down. Water gathered on the canvas above, and +heavy drops fell splashing on to the floor with monotonous regularity. +Somebody was muttering curses in his sleep. Others were snoring loudly. +I lay awake for a long time, staring into the black darkness of the +marquee. Suddenly—it must have been two or three o'clock in the +morning—the familiar rumbling noise broke out in the distance. It +seemed to spread along the whole horizon. The "stunt" had begun.</p> + +<p>A drowsy voice growled: "They're at it again—why can't they stop it +once and for all." Another groaned deeply and muttered: "Awful—awful +slaughter—blackguards, blackguards."</p> + +<p>The uproar increased. I was filled with a terrible dejection, but I went +to sleep in the end.</p> + +<p>It was broad daylight when I woke up to the sound of innumerable +motor-cars coming and going out on the road. The wounded were streaming +in.</p> + +<p>The operating theatre was alive with figures clothed in white, +blood-stained garments, bustling up and down, or standing in groups +around the other tables. At the far end of the theatre someone was +blubbering like a little child.</p> + +<p>"Here, come on—hold this man's leg up. What d'you think you're here +for?" It was the surgeon at the next table who was speaking to me.</p> + +<p>I grasped the leg by the foot—it was quite cold—while the orderly +removed a bandage from the thigh. The bone had been shattered. A bullet +had also entered the man's chest, making a small round puncture. A shell +fragment had struck his upper lip, leaving a jagged triangular hole +below the nose. Several teeth had been knocked out. The upper palate had +been gashed and partly separated from the bone. It hung inside the +half-open mouth like a shrivelled flap. He breathed feebly and +irregularly. The surgeon bent over him and asked him if he had been +wounded long. He answered in low, hoarse whispers that he had been lying +in the mud and rain for several days. Then he turned his eyes up so that +only the whites were visible. They remained rigidly fixed in that +position. He received a dorsal injection, being too weak for chloroform. +The shattered thigh was painted with picric acid and the tourniquet +tightened above the injury. The surgeon cut through the leg with a +circular sweep of the knife, the splintered bone offering no resistance. +The limb came off in my hands. I held it for a moment, being awed by it. +It seemed very heavy. Then I dropped it into the pail below. When the +surgeon had dressed the stump, he made a slight incision in the forearm +in order to inject a saline solution. The man, who had not uttered a +sound hitherto, winced and gave a faint cry.</p> + +<p>"Come along—hold this leg up!"</p> + +<p>I darted to the next table and seized another foot and ankle. There was +a greenish festering hole so high up the leg that it was impossible to +use a tourniquet. So the surgeon laid bare the main artery by a +longitudinal incision and tied it up with catgut to prevent excessive +loss of blood. With a rapid stroke of his knife he then made a shallow +cut right round the limb above the injured spot, and depressing the +blade cut deeply down to the bone. The blood gushed up suddenly, formed +a pool on the towels and sheet underneath, overflowed the edge of the +table, and splashed down on to the floor in a cascade. The operator +paused a moment and then, while the blood continued to stream from the +wound, he cut round the bone until flesh was entirely severed from +flesh. The upper periosteum was pushed back and held by means of a metal +plate. The bone was sawn through—the saw grated and jerked and jarred +in a horrible manner. The leg came off and I dropped it into the white +enamelled pail. The toe-nails clicked against the enamel, and the thigh, +bumping against the rim, overturned it and flopped into the pool of +blood under the table.</p> + +<p>"Come on—look sharp—never mind that leg—give a help here and remove +this man's bandages."</p> + +<p>I was looking at a head that resembled a huge football made of soiled +linen. In place of the mouth there was a small, dirty hole through which +the fetid breath came and went. Above the hole was a big red patch. I +unwound the bandages one by one. Gradually the face was revealed. +Between the mouth with black, swollen lips and the bruised eyes, closed +by grey greenish lids, there was, where the nose should have been, a red +hole big enough to contain a human fist.</p> + +<p>The wounded came and went in an unbroken stream. The tables were always +occupied. I went from one to another, unwound bandages, held up limbs +for amputation, fetched splints, padding, gauze, or new bandages. I was +too busy to think or to feel any horror. I was vaguely conscious of +nausea and of a hot, stifling atmosphere heavy with the fumes of +chloroform and ether.</p> + +<p>Some of the wounded had arms that hung by shreds of muscle and sinew. +Others had feet that were nothing but masses of clotted blood, lumps of +torn flesh, and bits of bone tied up in blood-sodden linen parcels. Some +had deep holes in their backs, others had gashes in their heads from +which soft, pink matter oozed.</p> + +<p>Before me lay a man with a blackened face, a shattered knee, and +festering holes all over his body. Gas-gangrene had set in and the +stench was almost unendurable. The surgeon gently felt the injured leg, +but the man gave such long-drawn piercing shrieks that he had to be left +alone. He was sent to the resuscitation ward to recover strength a +little, for he was very weak through loss of blood. In the evening he +began to rave—he asked for whisky in a boisterously jovial voice, and +then he yelled and cried: "Sergeant, Sergeant, Sergeant, you've ruined +my career." In the night he died.</p> + +<p>The wounded were often perfectly silent. But more often they would groan +or wail or shout. Sometimes they would all howl in chorus like cats on a +roof. Indeed the weird and terrible howling of wounded men is more like +the howling of cats than any other sound I know.</p> + +<p>Men regaining consciousness after an operation would sometimes laugh +uproariously or cackle fiendishly. Or they would break into torrents of +filthy language. One man yelled in a crazy voice that England was the +most glorious country on earth and that he had done his best to be a +good soldier. Then he was seized by a fit of violent weeping, while +someone at the other end of the theatre was shouting with intense fury: +"If I had Lloyd George here, I'd shoot the blighter," and another man +was carried out with his head lolling from side to side and saying in +mad, amiable tones: "Zig-zag, zagazig, zig-zag," and so on without a +break.</p> + +<p>A man who had undergone an operation some days previously was brought in +to have his wound redressed—a deep laceration, that reached from knee +to hip and exposed the thigh-bone. The padding was removed, but as soon +as the raw flesh was touched he threw back his head, bared his teeth, +and uttered shrill, piercing cries in sudden blasts, and nothing could +be done to comfort him.</p> + +<p>Near by a wounded man had been lying quietly on a table when all at once +he gave a yell and, before we could rush to the spot, he plunged head +foremost and crashed down on to the floor. We picked him up, but his +mind seemed too confused to realize what had happened. He did not +struggle any more, but gibbered and whimpered piteously.</p> + +<p>If the chloroform and ether were not administered with great care and +skill, the patients would choke and kick and make furious efforts to +tear the mask from their faces. And so great was the number of wounded +and so rapidly was it necessary to perform each operation, that it was +not humanly possible to devote sufficient time to each individual case. +Gas was the most merciful anodyne, but it could only be used for brief +operations. Under its influence men became unconscious quickly and +without a struggle, and they recovered consciousness without the fearful +retching and vomiting that always followed the use of chloroform or +ether. And yet, even with gas, haste and carelessness and defective +apparatus added suffering to suffering.</p> + +<p>On the table lay a man with a shattered gangrenous knee. He received gas +and became unconscious, but, just as the bone was being sawn through, he +regained his senses. His face was ashen pale and the sweat ran down it +in big drops. He was too weak to struggle, but his eyes were staring in +a way that was terrible to see. I held the foot and an orderly held the +stump while the saw grated harshly as it cut through the bone, and the +man moaned in piteous drawling tones: "Jesus Christ have mercy upon me, +God Almighty have mercy upon me, and forgive me <i>all</i> my sins." When +the operation was over, he was carried out, making unintelligible +sounds.</p> + +<p>He was followed by a man from whose chest I removed a filthy, +blood-sodden mass of padding. I observed that his breathing was becoming +weaker and weaker. The anæsthetist shouted:</p> + +<p>"Fetch the oxygen—look sharp!"</p> + +<p>An orderly brought a long black cylinder along, but the rubber tubing +was knotted in a bundle and several seconds passed before it could be +disentangled. At last the end of the tube was pushed into the mouth of +the dying man. The tap of the cylinder was turned on, but there was no +sound of gas running through. The anæsthetist glared angrily around and +shouted: "Corporal Chamberlain!"</p> + +<p>The Corporal came and the anæsthetist thundered:</p> + +<p>"Go and get a new cylinder—this one's empty—your damned carelessness +again—look sharp about it."</p> + +<p>It was the Corporal's business to see that the cylinder in the theatre +was always full. He fumbled in his pockets for the key to the cupboard +in which the reserve cylinders were kept, but he could not find it. He +walked out and searched in the shed opposite the theatre. He came back +without it.</p> + +<p>"Hurry up for God's sake—the man's dying—it'll be too late in a +minute!"</p> + +<p>He looked round the theatre with affected deliberation, for the angry +shouting of the anæsthetist had wounded his pride. At last he found the +key on a shelf. He unlocked the cupboard, fetched out a new cylinder, +and placed it beside the table. The tube was pushed into the open mouth, +the tap was turned, there was a rush of gas. But it was too late. The +man was dead.</p> + +<p>"D'you see what you've done?" shouted the infuriated anæsthetist. +"Here's a man dead through your neglect. Don't you bloody well let it +occur again, else I'll put you under close arrest and have you up for a +court martial."</p> + +<p>The Corporal walked sulking out of the theatre and muttered something +about a "bloody fuss."</p> + +<p>One of the orderlies went to the door and shouted:</p> + +<p>"Another slab for the mortuary!"—Those who died on the operating tables +were facetiously called "slabs."</p> + +<p>Two bearers came in with a stretcher. The corpse was pushed on to it and +carried away to the mortuary. There it would be sewn up in an army +blanket, ready for burial. And then a telegram would be sent to a wife +or mother, informing her that her husband or son had "died of wounds +received in action."</p> + +<p>There was amputation after amputation. The surgeons were tired of +cutting off legs and arms—it was "so monotonous and uninteresting," as +one of the sisters put it.</p> + +<p>Then there came a little variety in the shape of a man with a bullet +wound in his throat. He breathed quite normally, but when the bandage +was removed, his breath rushed bubbling through the aperture and +bespattered all who stood around with little drops of blood. "A most +unpleasant case." He was quickly replaced, however, by another who lay +on a stretcher white and motionless. His tunic had been unbuttoned. His +shirt had been pulled loosely over a big, round object that appeared to +be lying on his belly. The surgeon drew back the shirt. The round object +was still concealed by a dirty piece of lint. The surgeon lifted it off +and revealed a huge coil of bluish red entrail bulging out through a +frightful gash in the abdomen.</p> + +<p>"Here, Crawford, here's something for you!"</p> + +<p>Captain Crawford was an abdominal specialist, at least he was +particularly interested in abdominal cases, or "belly cases" as they +were humorously termed. Captain Wheeler, who had called him, was +interested in knee cases. Captain Maynard, who was working at the far +end of the theatre, had a fondness for head cases.</p> + +<p>"Such a delightful tummy, isn't it?" said Captain Wheeler, who spoke in +the affected drawl of our public schools and universities.</p> + +<p>"Rather," replied Captain Crawford, who had come over from his table +holding a blood-stained scalpel in his hand. He added:</p> + +<p>"Just my rotten luck—I've only had amputations."</p> + +<p>He looked at the bulging entrail admiringly and went back to his work. +In a few minutes he was ready for the next case—a man whose head was +thickly swathed in bandages.</p> + +<p>"That's a bit of a change, anyhow—I'm fed up with legs and arms."</p> + +<p>The bandages were removed. Amid a mass of tangled, blood-clotted hair +was an irregular patch where a piece of bone had been blown away, +leaving the brain-matter exposed.</p> + +<p>The Sister looked at it with eager curiosity and said:</p> + +<p>"A <i>most</i> interesting case. I'm <i>sure</i> Captain Maynard would so <i>love</i> +to see it! Captain Maynard!"</p> + +<p>"One moment, Sister!" He was busy with a delicate knee operation. After +a little delay he came over and inspected the damaged head.</p> + +<p>"You've got all the luck," he said. "I haven't had a decent head for +ages. Still, I s'pose we have to put up with these annoyances—horrors +of war, you know!" He laughed and the Sister smiled. Then he went back +to his knee while Captain Wheeler attended to the head.</p> + +<p>It must not be supposed that the surgeons, sisters and orderlies of the +----th C.C.S. were particularly cruel and heartless. They were simply +ordinary human beings and the ordinary human being, however he may be +horrified by the first sight of wounds and suffering, soon gets used to +them and accepts them as facts of everyday life.</p> + +<p>It was growing dark outside and the electric light was switched on. The +wounded still arrived in multitudes. Towards eight o'clock the +day-shift came to an end and the night-shift began. We had no time to +clear the theatre. The new surgeons continued where the old had left +off. They were in high spirits and set to work merrily, exchanging jokes +all the time.</p> + +<p>The bearers were utterly exhausted and several of them had blue rings +round their eyes through lack of sleep.</p> + +<p>"Poor bearers," said one of the Sisters, "I <i>do</i> feel so sorry for +them—they have an awfully hard time!"</p> + +<p>Captain Dowden—another "head specialist"—said to me:</p> + +<p>"Give the bearers a bit of a rest. Go to the Prep. yourself and bring me +a nice head case."</p> + +<p>I went accompanied by an orderly. The Prep. was a long marquee and on +either side was a long row of stretchers, one close up against another. +A man was lying on each, generally silent and motionless. Only a few +were groaning feebly. We selected one whose head looked like a parcel of +blood-sodden bandages. We carried him into the theatre and laid him on +to the table.</p> + +<p>The bandages were unwound. The man's hair was matted and caked with +gore. There were three deep gashes in the skull. The head was washed and +shaved and then painted with picric acid. The brilliant electric light, +the clean white garments of the fresh teams, the bare head painted +bright yellow and the three thin streaks of red blood trickling down +made a strange picture. The largest wound was just above one ear. A +local anæsthetic was injected and the skin round the injury pushed back. +With a pair of curved pincers the surgeon broke away bits of bone from +the edge of the hole. Then he pushed his little finger deeply into it +and fetched out a large bone fragment and a quantity of soft matter, +coloured a pale red, which he allowed to flop down on to the floor. The +man was motionless except that he violently wagged his left big toe. And +all the time he made a continuous cooing, purring noise, like that of a +brooding hen.</p> + +<p>The surgeon working at the next table, Captain Wycherley, received a +"case" with a shattered right arm and a right thigh. He called his +colleague, Captain Calthrop, over, and the two operated together, the +one amputating the arm and the other the leg.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the head case was replaced by a boy who came walking into the +theatre and mounted the table unassisted. His right eye was bandaged. As +he became unconscious under gas the bandage was removed. With a few +dexterous strokes of his scalpel Captain Dowden removed all that was +left of the eyeball, a dark, amorphous mess. The wound was cleaned, +dressed and bandaged. The boy regained consciousness. For a moment he +looked vacantly round. Then he slowly raised his hand to the bandage, +and, turning down the corners of his mouth suddenly broke into bitter +weeping. He was gently helped down from the table and led out of the +theatre, crying: "They've done for me eye, oh, oh, oh, they've done for +me eye!"</p> + +<p>"Poor kid," murmured the Captain sympathetically, and began to operate +on the next man, who had a wound in his shoulder about as large as a +hand. In the middle of the raw flesh a short length of undamaged bone +was visible. Nothing serious, and only a flesh wound. The man inhaled +the chloroform and ether fumes without choking or struggling. His wound +was excised, "spirit bipped," dressed and bandaged. Then he was whisked +off the table and carried away to a ward.</p> + +<p>In the doorway appeared a man with his arm in a sling. He was dazzled by +the electric light and put his hand over his eyes. Captain Wycherley +called out to him: "Come along, my lad, and hop on to this table." He +walked up to the table with uncertain steps. An orderly helped him on to +it. He lay back and turned his head to one side and looked towards the +next table on which Captain Calthrop was amputating an arm. It came off +in the hands of an orderly who dropped it into the bucket. The newcomer +followed it with horror-stricken eyes. He continued to gaze, as though +fascinated, at the half-closed hand that projected above the edge of the +bucket. Then he trembled violently.</p> + +<p>Captain Wycherley observed what was happening and said:</p> + +<p>"Come on, don't worry about the next man. Let's have a look at your +wound."</p> + +<p>"Yer not goin' ter take orf me arm, are yer, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No, of course not, don't be so silly!"</p> + +<p>"Yer won't 'urt me, sir, will yer?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. Pull yourself together now. Be a man! You won't feel anything +at all."</p> + +<p>The orderly untied the sling and began to unwind the bandage, but the +man drew his arm away and cried:</p> + +<p>"Oo, oo, oo,—very painful, sir, very painful!"</p> + +<p>The orderly, pleased at being mistaken for an officer, said in a +soothing, patronizing voice:</p> + +<p>"We'll just have this bit o' bandage orf an' then we'll give yer some +gas and send yer orf to sleep. You won't feel nothin' and yer a sure +Blighty. I wouldn' be surprised if yer got acrorss termorrer."</p> + +<p>He went on unwinding the bandage, but the man began to shout and +struggle again.</p> + +<p>Thereupon the surgeon intervened:</p> + +<p>"For God's sake be quiet. Pull yourself together and don't make such a +fuss."</p> + +<p>"I can't 'elp it, sir—I couldn't never stick no pain, sir, no, sir, +never, sir—it's very painful, sir, very painful. I'll try 'ard, I'll do +me best—but it <i>is</i> painful, sir."</p> + +<p>However, as soon as the bandage was pulled a little he yelled and +writhed. The surgeon at last lost patience and said: "Hold him down."</p> + +<p>Two orderlies and two bearers seized his hands and feet while the +bandage was quickly removed. He shrieked and struggled violently, but he +was firmly held.</p> + +<p>He had a small, deep wound in the fleshy part of the forearm. He +received gas and soon lost consciousness. The surgeon pushed a probe +into the hole. There was a metallic click, whereupon he inserted his +forceps and pulled out a jagged piece of steel, the fragment of a German +shell. When the wound had been excised and dressed, the man was carried +away and replaced by another whose right leg was thickly wrapped up. The +wrapping was removed and revealed a shattered knee and two toes dangling +from the foot. Captain Wycherley snipped them off with a pair of +scissors. The man winced and they dropped on to the floor. The +anæsthetist administered gas. It was some time, however, before the +patient lost consciousness, for the balloon that adjoined the mouthpiece +leaked badly and once the rubber-tubing was blown off the nozzle of the +cylinder.</p> + +<p>Captain Dowden was busy with a foot, or all that was left of a foot, a +number of crimson shreds hanging from an ankle over a projecting piece +of bone. Captain Calthrop was attending to a "belly case"—he had cut a +longitudinal slit in his patient's abdomen and both his hands were +groping inside it, buried up to the wrists, while the stomach-wall +heaved up and down with the breathing of the unconscious man.</p> + +<p>The "case" lying on the end table had been in the C.C.S. for several +days. He had undergone operation as soon as he arrived. At that time he +only had a small surface-wound below the knee, but it was slightly +gangrenous. The next day the gas-gangrene appeared above the knee-joint. +The wound was excised a second time. But soon afterwards gangrene +appeared again, still higher up, and a third operation was necessary. +And now the wound stretched from below the knee almost as far as the +hip. It was shallow, but as broad as a hand and of a greyish-green +colour. The man breathed feebly and his eyes were turned up so that +only the whites were visible. He received gas. Amputation was impossible +for the gangrene had reached too far. The wound was excised, but the +surgeon said: "I'm afraid he's done for, poor fellow." The man's +breathing became almost imperceptible. The oxygen cylinder was sent for, +the rubber tube was pushed in between the blue lips, and the gas rushed +through. In a few seconds he had revived and gave loud and regular +snorts, jerking back his head and shaking his body with each ingoing +breath. He was taken back to the ward and put back to bed. He began to +talk volubly about his wife and children. Within half an hour he was +dead.</p> + +<p>"Just go and see if there are many left in the Prep.," said Captain +Dowden to his orderly.</p> + +<p>The orderly came back and reported that there were hardly a dozen.</p> + +<p>"Any Huns amongst them?"</p> + +<p>"Four or five, sir."</p> + +<p>"Are we still receiving?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, we stopped about an hour ago. There won't be any more cases +arriving to-night, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good—we shall be able to get off early, at two or three in the morning +if we're lucky. We can take things easy a bit."</p> + +<p>The bearers came in with a stretcher.</p> + +<p>"Take it easy, bearers. There's no hurry—we haven't got many more to +do. Just put him on that table there."</p> + +<p>The newcomer's left leg was thickly bandaged, but the blood was oozing +through and forming a pool on the table. When the bandage was removed, +Captain Dowden examined the limb, but no injury was visible on the upper +surface. I grasped the foot—it was blue and cold. I raised it, so that +the surgeon could look at the under-surface of the leg. As I did so, the +calf gave way in the middle. He told me angrily to pull harder. I pulled +until the leg was taut again. The muscles and the sinews squeaked +faintly as they stretched. Underneath the calf was a big hole and the +bone had been completely shattered. The man was strangely quiet. His +bare chest did not move. I looked at his face and suddenly I saw his +lower jaw drop. He was dead.</p> + +<p>"Another slab for the mortuary!"</p> + +<p>The remaining tables were empty and no more wounded were brought in for +a while. The bearers were obeying the surgeon's order and were taking a +rest. The officers and sisters in the theatre were in high spirits. They +were trying to speak French and ridiculing each other's efforts. Captain +Wycherley began to hum a tune and wave his amputation knife like the +conductor of an orchestra, whereupon the others locked arms and danced +up and down the theatre, talking and joking. Then Captain Calthrop broke +away and danced by himself, kicking his legs up in the air. The Sisters +watched him and laughed loudly. One of them could hardly control +herself, and shrieking with laughter, cried:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Captain Calthrop, you really are <i>too</i> funny!"</p> + +<p>Captain Dowden had not joined in the merrymaking. He was standing by the +table on which the corpse was lying. He smiled uneasily and said to an +orderly: "Tie up his jaw and his feet and hands and take him away. And +tell the bearers to get a move on. Let's get finished as quickly as +possible."</p> + +<p>The orderly pushed the dead man's lower jaw sharply against the upper, +so that the teeth clicked, and kept it in position by tying a bandage +right round the head. Then he crossed the dead hands and feet and tied +them together also.</p> + +<p>He went to the door and shouted, "Bearers!"</p> + +<p>But only one bearer appeared with a stretcher over his shoulder. I +helped him to lift the corpse on to it and carry it away. It was an +intensely black night. All was silent except for an occasional muffled +boom in the distance and the sound of someone whimpering in one of the +wards. Our load was very heavy and we had to feel our way slowly along +the duckboards. When they came to an end we walked through the grass. I +was in front and all at once I tripped over some obstacle. With a +strenuous effort I retained my balance but nearly tipped the dead man +off the stretcher. We walked on, but did not reach the mortuary, +although we should have done so long ago. We put the stretcher down and +looked around. The darkness enveloped us like a mantle. We could see +nothing except a few shafts of light that shone through chinks in the +walls of the distant operating theatre. Roughly guessing our direction +we continued our journey. I felt a tent rope brushing against my leg. I +stepped over it and encountered another, while the orderly knocked his +foot against a peg. We put the stretcher down a second time. It rested +partly on the ground and partly on the ropes, and we held the corpse for +fear it should roll off. We shouted for a light. Someone answered near +by and struck a match. The momentary glimmer was sufficient to show that +we were standing amongst the ropes of the mortuary marquee. The man +struck another match to show us the way in. We entered and added our +burden to a double row of other dead, who lay there in the flickering +match-light staring at the roof with sightless eyes and rigid, +expressionless faces.</p> + +<p>When we got back to the theatre all the three teams were busy again.</p> + +<p>The bearers came in with a case, and one of them said:</p> + +<p>"This is the last Englishman, sir. There's about half a dozen Fritzes to +do, sir."</p> + +<p>"Bring 'em along—let's get the job done."</p> + +<p>The swing-doors were pushed open and two bearers appeared with a +stretcher on which a man clothed in grey was lying. His dark hair was +matted. His boyish face was intensely white. His eyes were closed. He +gave a hardly audible moan with every breath. A blanket was drawn up to +his chin.</p> + +<p>"Is this a Hun or a gentleman?" asked Captain Calthrop.</p> + +<p>"A 'Un, sir," said one of the bearers and grinned.</p> + +<p>"Dump him on the table!"</p> + +<p>The blanket was removed and a blood-sodden strip of linen unwound from +the German boy's right forearm, which was hanging to his shoulder by a +few shreds of flesh and sinew.</p> + +<p>"Tell him his arm's got to come off."</p> + +<p>I explained to the boy that it would be necessary to remove his arm in +order to save his life.</p> + +<p>He did not seem to understand at first and looked at me with a puzzled +expression. Then he suddenly broke into a wail, like a little child, and +cried, "Ach Jesus, ach Jesus, ach Jesus ..."</p> + +<p>The chloroform mask soon muffled his cries and he became unconscious. I +grasped his cold hand and slender wrist. The arm was rapidly amputated. +The red stump with the disc of severed bone in the middle was cleaned +and bandaged and he was carried back to the prisoners' ward, retching +and vomiting.</p> + +<p>On Captain Wheeler's table lay a healthy looking German with a bronzed +face. His legs were pitted with a great number of small wounds caused by +minute bomb fragments. The mask was clapped over his mouth and the +chloroform allowed to drip on to it. But he inhaled the fumes with +difficulty, and began to choke.</p> + +<p>The anæsthetist got angry and snarled:</p> + +<p>"That's it, choke away—a choker like all the rest of them—you blasted +race of murderers—I'm sorry for the individual though, this deluded +fool, for instance."</p> + +<p>Captain Dowden was vainly trying to converse with a German who had been +hit in the back. The bullet had passed through the lower part of his +lung, and then through the abdomen, leaving a hole through which part of +the intestine projected.</p> + +<p>"Come along and ask him some questions," he said to me. "Don't stand +about there doing nothing—make yourself useful. Tell him he'll be well +treated—better than the English wounded are treated in Germany."</p> + +<p>The prisoner answered in a drawling whisper:</p> + +<p>"I never expected bad treatment—the English wounded are not treated +badly by us either."</p> + +<p>"Aren't they! That's all he knows about it!... Ask him if he likes war."</p> + +<p>"O God, no—war's good for the rich, not for the poor."</p> + +<p>"I thought these Huns loved warfare—ask him if he thinks Germany will +win."</p> + +<p>"Germany's in a bad way—Ach Gott, don't ask me any more, give me +something to stop my pain!"</p> + +<p>"That's the retort diplomatic! Send him off to sleep—let's get the job +done."</p> + +<p>When the man had lost consciousness, Captain Grierson, the anæsthetist, +put the chloroform bottle aside, jumped down from the stool, and +searched the pockets of his helpless patient. He did not find much, +however, only a few letters and picture postcards until he came to a +deep trouser pocket from which he drew a big German pipe.</p> + +<p>"Not a bad souvenir," he said, as he put it into his own pocket and +returned to his stool. Of course this was not stealing, it was merely +"scrounging" or "pinching" or "collecting souvenirs," which is an +entirely different thing.</p> + +<p>For a time the surgeons worked silently, amputating arms and legs, +holding the bare skin between two fingers and cutting the flesh, +throwing bleeding bits on to the floor, dressing and bandaging stumps +and excised wounds.</p> + +<p>Captain Calthrop was grumbling at the tedium of the work when his +anæsthetist lit upon a happy thought and said:</p> + +<p>"How'd you like to try your hand at giving an anæsthetic? I'll have a +shot at surgery—I've never done it before. I'd like to see if I'm any +good at it."</p> + +<p>"Right you are," replied Captain Calthrop, "we'll change over."</p> + +<p>"Jolly good idea," added Captain Wycherley at the next table, "we'll +change over too."</p> + +<p>"Right-o," said his anæsthetist.</p> + +<p>And so the two anæsthetists operated and the two surgeons gave +anæsthetics. It was, perhaps, rather a dangerous thing to do, but as the +wounded men were only Germans it did not matter.</p> + +<p>Captain Dowden took no part in this experiment. In fact he even +suggested that it was "a bit thick," but his disapproval did not assume +a more tangible form.</p> + +<p>After finishing one case each, the four surgeons and anæsthetists +changed back again.</p> + +<p>"Surgery, isn't so bad as I thought it would be."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it—you wait till you get an abdominal!"</p> + +<p>"Giving an anæsthetic's rather a ticklish affair. I thought my man was +going to choke to death, he got so blue in the face."</p> + +<p>A few more Germans with slight flesh wounds that only required dressing +were brought in, and then the work of the night shift was over.</p> + +<p>The surgeons, anæsthetists and sisters trooped out gaily to have tea and +cakes in the shed opposite the entrance to the theatre.</p> + +<p>Our work was not yet over, for we still had to put everything in order +for the day shift.</p> + +<p>The operating theatre looked like a butcher's shop. There were big pools +and splashes of blood on the floor. Bits of flesh and skin and bone were +littered everywhere. The gowns of the orderlies were stained and +bespattered with blood and yellow picric acid. Each bucket was full of +blood-sodden towels, splints, and bandages, with a foot, or a hand, or +a severed knee-joint overhanging the rim.</p> + +<p>Two of us got pails of hot water and set to work with swabs, scrubbing +brushes and soap. We mopped up the pools of blood and wrung our swabs +out over the pails until the dirty water became dark red. We scrubbed +till our arms ached. With our bare hands we brushed the bits of flesh, +skin and bone into little heaps and threw them into the buckets, and +these we emptied into a big tub after picking out the amputated limbs +which we carried off to the incinerator to be burnt. Within an hour and +a half the theatre was clean and tidy.</p> + +<p>A heap of blankets and articles of clothing had been left in a corner. +We loaded them on to a stretcher and carried them to a small tent some +distance away, taking a candle with us.</p> + +<p>We folded the blankets and stacked them carefully. Some of them were +clammy and slippery to the touch. Others were hard and stiff. The rank +smell of stale, clotted blood was sickening.</p> + +<p>The clothing we carried to the pack store, a large marquee, where we +sorted it, putting great-coats, tunics and shirts on separate heaps. I +was holding a shirt when I became aware of a tickling sensation across +one hand. I hurriedly dropped the garment and lowered the candle so that +I could see it distinctly. It was swarming with lice.</p> + +<p>We walked out into the darkness and made for our own marquee. As we +passed the prisoners' ward an orderly called out from inside:</p> + +<p>"'Ere, just come in a minute. 'Ere's a Fritz been 'ollerin' out all the +evenin'—come an' tell us what 'e wants."</p> + +<p>We went in. The prisoners were lying on stretchers in two rows. Most of +them were asleep, but one was tossing about and crying in piteous tones:</p> + +<p>"Hab'ich noch'n Arm, oder hab'ich keinen?"</p> + +<p>"'E's bin at it for 'ours, pore bloke. Arst 'im what 'e wants—I 'xpect +it's somethin' ter do with 'is arm what they took orf early in the +evenin'."</p> + +<p>I asked the man what he wanted and noticed that his right arm had been +taken off at the shoulder. He was silent for a moment and looked at me +with haggard eyes. Then suddenly he wailed:</p> + +<p>"Kamerad, sag mir doch—Comrade, tell me—is my arm still there, or is +it gone?"</p> + +<p>"He wants to know if he's still got his arm," I said to the orderly, who +turned to the prisoner and exclaimed: "Arm bon, goot!"</p> + +<p>"Aber ich fühl ja nichts—But I can't feel anything—for God's sake tell +me if it's still there!—Ach Gott, ach Gott, ach Gott."</p> + +<p>He buried his face in his pillow and sobbed hysterically.</p> + +<p>I explained to him that it had been necessary to remove his arm, but +that he would live and be well treated and see no more fighting.</p> + +<p>He turned round and stared at me and then shouted jubilantly:</p> + +<p>"Jetzt weiss ich's—Now I know—thank God, I shall live, live, live. O +du lieber Himmel, das Glúck ist zu gross."</p> + +<p>He gave a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction and closed his eyes and +turned on his side to go to sleep.</p> + +<p>Somehow it seemed strange that there could be any happiness left in the +world.</p> + +<p>"Thanks awfully," said the orderly. "It must 'a' bin the uncertainty +what upset 'im. I'm bloody glad yer came in. Yer've done 'im a world o' +good. I took to the pore bloke some'ow—I allus feels pertickler sorry +fur wounded Fritzes, I dunno why. I 'xpect 'e's got a missis an' kiddies +just like meself.... Good-night!"</p> + +<p>"Good-night," I answered, and added mentally:</p> + +<p>"Your profession of soldier, the most degrading on earth, has not +degraded you. You are engaged in the most infamous and sordid war that +was ever fought, and yet you have remained uncontaminated—there is no +honour or decoration in all the armies of the world good enough for +you."</p> + +<p>We entered our marquee and made our beds.</p> + +<p>All at once I noticed how utterly tired I was both in mind and body. I +crept under the blankets and closed my eyes and saw a vast confusion of +red and yellow patches, of severed limbs and staring eyes and blue, +distorted faces of suffocating men. They thronged the darkness in ever +increasing numbers and then they arranged themselves into a kind of +gigantic wheel that began to turn slowly round and round. And suddenly I +became conscious of a grief so intense that it seemed almost like +physical pain, but weariness soon mastered every other sensation and I +fell into a dreamless sleep.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h2>WALKING WOUNDED</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"The war is doing me good as though it were a bath-cure."</p> + +<p class="right">(<span class="smcap">Field Marshal Von Hindenburg</span>.)</p></blockquote> + + +<p>Some had dirty bandages round their heads. Some had their arms in +slings. Others had hands so thickly swathed that they looked like the +huge paws of polar-bears. Many were caked with mud and wore tattered +uniforms. Some limped or hobbled along. Others could walk unaided. Some +leaned heavily on our shoulders and some we had to carry on our backs.</p> + +<p>As each one entered the waiting-room—a little wooden shed opposite the +swing-doors of the operating theatre—we took off his boots and tunic +and made him sit down in front of the glowing stove. From time to time +an orderly would shout across from the theatre:</p> + +<p>"Next man!"</p> + +<p>And we would take the "next man" over and help him to mount one of the +tables.</p> + +<p>They were all very quiet at first and many sat with bowed heads. Some +were dreading the operation, others, who were not badly wounded, looked +bright and cheerful, as well they might, for they were going to have a +holiday, perhaps in England, but anyhow at the Base, where they would +enjoy a respite from danger, hardship, and misery—a respite that might +last for weeks. And in the meantime the war might come to an end—one +could never tell.</p> + +<p>Two infantrymen with packs and rifles passed by. They had been +discharged from the C.C.S. and were going to rejoin their units. They +stopped outside the waiting-room for a few minutes and looked enviously +at the wounded sitting round the stove inside, and murmured with deep +conviction: "Lucky devils."</p> + +<p>A patient came out of the theatre with bandaged arm. He held a large, +semi-circular piece of iron in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Is that what they took out o' yer arm?" said one of the infantrymen.</p> + +<p>"Yes—decent bit, isn't it!"</p> + +<p>"Gorblimy, I wish I could 'ave a bit like that, in me knee or somewhere, +to lay me up for months."</p> + +<p>His comrade added in a voice full of hopeless longing:</p> + +<p>"I wish I were in his shoes. Anything to keep out of that hell up the +line!"</p> + +<p>"'E's a sure Blighty, ain't 'e?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!"</p> + +<p>The man with the injured arm put on his boots and threw his tunic over +his shoulders and walked off, smiling happily.</p> + +<p>A German, looking weak and pale, came in. He was in great agony and had +received permission to enter the theatre with the British wounded, so +that his pain might be relieved as soon as possible.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo, Fritzie," said someone in a cheerful voice. "Got a Blighty?"</p> + +<p>The German did not understand and looked utterly miserable. He sat down +timidly with the others. The room was dark except for the glow given out +by the stove that lit up the hands and faces of those around it. +Suddenly a man shouted from the background:</p> + +<p>"Them bastard Fritzes—I'd poison the 'ole lot." And that started the +argument.</p> + +<p>"I reckon one man's as good as another."</p> + +<p>"I reckon a Tommy's worth a dozen Fritzes. The bleeders ought ter be +wiped orf the face o' the bleed'n' earth. I see 'em do a thing or two, I +tell yer—me an' my mate was in the line down Plugstreet way when they +crucified a Canadian. I see the tree what they did it on wi' me own +eyes—dirty lot o' swine!"</p> + +<p>"Bloody lies! Yer read it in the paper!"</p> + +<p>"Wha' if I did?"</p> + +<p>"Yer said yer saw it yerself!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I read it in the papers and then I see the tree what they did it +on arterwards. The nails was still there. An' what <i>d'you</i> know about +it? Yer in the artillery, yer don't see no fightin'!"</p> + +<p>"Don't see no fightin'! Gorblimy, I reckon the infantry wouldn't be much +bleedin' cop wi'out the artillery."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell yer what the artillery do—blow up their own mates what's in +the front line, there now!"</p> + +<p>"If we'd 'ad artillery in August, 1914, the war'd 'a' bin over in three +weeks!"</p> + +<p>"Don't yer believe it! It's the infantry what 'as all the danger an' +gits all the rotten jobs. The artillery's cushey compared wi' the +infantry."</p> + +<p>"The artillery 'as a bloody sight 'eavier losses!"</p> + +<p>"Go on—tell us another! It's no good arguin' wi' yer, yer won't see any +side 'cept yer own."</p> + +<p>But a third man, bringing the argument back to its original subject, +said:</p> + +<div class="sidenote">The Germans.</div><p>"I reckon it's all bloody lies what's in the papers. The Belgies is a +damn sight worse'n Jerry.* Yer know that there gun what used to shell +Poperinge—well, they never knew where the shells came from till they +found it was a Belgian batt'ry 'id in a tunnel. They caught the gunners +when they was telephonin' to Jerry. They stood the 'ole bleed'n' lot up +aginst a wall an' shot 'em—serve 'em right too."</p> + +<p>"Go on—tell us another!"</p> + +<p>"I bet yer it's true, now then!"</p> + +<p>"How much do you bet?"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen bloody francs!"</p> + +<p>"All right, I'll take yer on!"</p> + +<p>"I reckon the Froggies is the worst," said a man who had not spoken +before. "I was out 'ere in 1914 an' they didn't 'alf let us down. I was +a bloody fool ter join up though—I'd like to strangle meself for it. +They won't catch me volunteerin' for the next war, not this child, no +bloody fear! Look at the way they treat yer—like bleed'n' pigs. There +ain't no justice anywhere. There's strong an' 'ealthy fellers at the +Base just enjoyin' theirselves. Then there's the 'eads what 'as servants +to wait on 'em—d'yer think French or Duggie 'Aig ever 'as shells +burstin' round 'em? Then there's the Conchies what 'as a easy time in +clink—if I see a Conchy in civvy life, I'll knock 'is bloody 'ead orf, +struth I will. And the civvies—gorblimy—when I was 'ome on leave they +kep' on arstin' me, 'Ain't yer wounded yet?' an' 'When are yer goin' +back?' But d'yer think they care a damn—Not they, you bet yer life on +it! <i>They</i> don't want the war to stop—they're earnin' good money an' go +to dances an' cinemas. They'd start cryin' if we 'ad peace—I tell yer, +I was glad when me leave was over an' I was back wi' me mates. I won't +'alf throw me weight about when I gits out o' the army! I won't 'alf +raise 'ell—I'll 'ave a bloody revverlution, you see if I don't!..."</p> + +<p>The shout of "Next man" sounded across from the theatre, and the +would-be destroyer of the social order got up and walked across.</p> + +<p>"Where were you wounded?" asked one of the soldiers of his neighbour who +was drawing his breath in sharply between his lips, evidently being in +great pain.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Ypres.</div><p>"Near Eeps,* by the Canal. A shell busted in front o' me an' a bit +copped me in the shoulder. Fritz was sending 'em over by the 'undreds, +whizz-bangs an' 'eavy stuff all mixed up—gorblimy, 'e don't 'alf give +yer what for!"</p> + +<p>There was a temporary lull in the conversation and then a small, wiry, +spiteful looking Cockney spoke. He had reddish hair and big round +spectacles of the army pattern.</p> + +<p>"I didn' 'alf do it on a Fritz afore I was wounded! 'E give 'isself up +an' I takes 'im along—I makes 'im walk in front o' me—yer can't take +no risks wi' them bastards. 'E turns rahnd an' says ter me in +English—'e must 'a' bin a clurk or a scholard—'e says, sarcastic like, +'I s'pose yer think yer goin' ter win the war!' I gets me rag out an' +tells 'im ter mind 'is own bleed'n' business. I tells 'im if I catch 'im +lookin' rahnd agin I'll kill 'im! We walks on a bit an' suddenly I +throws a Mills at 'im—gorblimy, it wasn't 'alf a fine shot, it busted +right on 'is shoulder. It didn' 'alf make a mess of 'im—I bet 'is own +mother wouldn't 'a' rekkernized 'im as 'e lay there wi' 'is clock all +smashed up!"</p> + +<p>"I think it's a damned shame to kill a man after he's surrendered," said +a tall Corporal.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't goin' ter stand no bleed'n' sarcasm! An' Fritz does the same +to our blokes! It's 'e what started it! We learnt it orf of 'im!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's what they all say. It's always the other man who's done it +first. There's been many a fellow who's quite decent at heart who's +murdered a helpless prisoner thinking to avenge some abominable outrage +that was never committed, but only dished up by some skunk of a +pen-pusher who's never seen any fighting in his life. I don't know much +about Fritz, he may be worse than us or he may be better, but I've seen +our fellows do some bloody awful things. Anyhow, I know the German +soldier's doing his bit just as we are. He thinks he's in the right and +we think we're in the right, and he's just as much entitled to his +opinion as we are to ours. And I tell you straight, if I had the choice +between killing a German soldier and killing Lord Northcliffe, I'd shake +hands with the German and ask him to help me kill Lord Northcliffe and a +few others like him. And I'm not the only one who's that way of +thinking, I can tell you. We call ourselves sportsmen, but have we ever +recognized that we got a brave enemy? Say what you like about Fritz, he +may be a brute, but he's got some pluck—he's up against the world, he +is. He'll be beaten in the end, that's a cert, but he's putting up a +bloody hard fight. I didn't think much of him before I came out, but +it's hats off to him now! But d'you think the civvies or the papers +admit it? No bloody fear! The other day I saw a picture of the grenades +we use—I think it was in the <i>Graphic</i> or one of these illustrated +rags. It was headed, 'Ferreting Fritz out of his Funk Holes.' I know the +man who wrote that hasn't been in the trenches himself! He's never seen +a lot of Germans lying dead round their machine-gun after fighting to +the last, as I have! He hasn't even seen a shell burst, not he! I bet he +slipped into <i>his</i> funk hole, though, when there was an air-raid on! +Dirty, filthy swine! When I was home on leave I got so wild at the way +the civvies talked that I gave them a piece of my mind and told them a +thing or two. And one of them called me a pro-German! He, of course, was +a patriot. He was making money out of the war and wanted a fight to a +finish. Well, I got my rag out properly and I caught him by the throat +and shook him till he was blue in the face. It was in the street too, +and a lot of people standing about. They didn't say anything more after +that, though! I felt I'd done a good deed. I was really glad to feel I'd +clutched his windpipe with all my strength. I expect he still wears the +marks of my finger-nails, although it happened months ago...."</p> + +<p>"'Ere, 'ere! That's the stuff to give 'em! I reckon Fritz is a bloody +good sport. We ought ter shake 'ands an' make peace now. Peace at any +price, that's what I say.... I tell yer a thing what 'appened when I was +in the line. We 'ad a little dog wi' us an' one night she must 'a' +strayed inter Fritz's trenches. The next mornin' she came back wi' a +card tied round 'er neck an' on the card it 'ad: 'To our comrades in +misfortune—What about Peace.' I reckon that was a jolly decent thing +ter say. Jerry wants ter get 'ome to 'is missis an' kiddies just as much +as what we do!"</p> + +<p>"Next three men," shouted the theatre orderly.</p> + +<p>The next three were light cases. They were dealt with very quickly. Then +the German hobbled across and several English wounded followed in rapid +succession. When the waiting-room was empty we went over to the Prep. +and fetched the other Germans along. There were no wounded arriving at +the station at that moment, but we knew from the distant rumble of the +bombardment that the Prep. would soon be crowded once again.</p> + +<p>A number of British soldiers gathered round the entrance of the +waiting-room, curious to see the prisoners and hear what they had to +say.</p> + +<p>"Ask 'em if they're glad to be out of it."</p> + +<p>I put the question and there was a chorus of fervent "Ja's" and "Gott +sei Dank's."</p> + +<p>They were all glad to be out of it. No more fighting for them, Gott sei +Dank! War was no good, at least not for the common soldier.</p> + +<p>"Ask him what he thinks of Hindenburg."</p> + +<p>A cheerful youngster from East Prussia answered: "Der's' nicht besser +als wir—He's no better than we are!"</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he came into the trenches a week ago and gave us cakes and +cigars."</p> + +<p>"But that was jolly sporting of him, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"He can keep his cigars—<i>he</i> doesn't have to lie in shell holes for +days on end."</p> + +<p>"War's no good," said a small man with a protruding forehead and keen +eyes and wearing a red-cross on his arm. "Ich danke meinem Gott—I thank +my God that I've never taken up a rifle during the whole war, and I've +been in it since the beginning. No human being has lost his life through +me, thank God."</p> + +<p>"Was für'n Zweck hat es—What's the good of shooting each other like +this? The heads ought to come and fight it out amongst themselves."</p> + +<p>"It's good for politicians and profiteers—für die ist's gut."</p> + +<p>"Ask them what they think of the submarines."</p> + +<p>A Lieutenant of the Prussian Guard answered contemptuously that he +didn't think much of them. He didn't believe stories of food-shortage in +England, he didn't believe anything the papers said, they were all full +of lies.</p> + +<p>"Ask them if they're satisfied with their treatment."</p> + +<p>Yes, they were all satisfied. The Lieutenant pronounced it "blendend" +(dazzling). They had not eaten so much and such good food for months and +months. Oh it was good to be out of the fighting. Yes, their treatment +was perfect—except for the thieving. Why were British soldiers allowed +to steal the buttons, caps, rings, and watches belonging to their +prisoners?</p> + +<p>A German private, a tall thin man with bushy eyebrows, who had not +spoken hitherto, said he didn't mind losing a few buttons—but to rob a +man of his marriage ring, that was very mean—eine Gemeinheit—his +marriage ring had been taken from him: he would have lost anything +rather than that, for it always reminded him of home.</p> + +<p>The boy from East Prussia said he didn't care what they took from him as +long as they didn't take his life. He was safe now and nothing else +mattered. He spoke with a Polish accent.</p> + +<p>I asked him what town he came from.</p> + +<p>"Allenstein."</p> + +<p>"Did you see anything of the Russians in 1914?"</p> + +<p>"Jawohl"—he had seen plenty of Russian troops. They behaved very well. +"Die sind besser als die Deutschen—They're better than the Germans...."</p> + +<p>But the theatre orderly interrupted us and asked us to "send two or +three across."</p> + +<p>I went to the Prep. to see if there were any new arrivals. It was full +once again and the wounded were streaming into the station.</p> + +<p>It was quite dark outside. The duckboards were lit up by rows of +hurricane lamps. The bombardment was still going on.</p> + +<p>When I got back to the waiting-room all the prisoners were gone and +English wounded were taking their places. Soon the benches round the +stove were crowded with dark figures whose hands and faces were lit up +by the glow.</p> + +<p>A man with haggard features and a bandage round his head began to talk +in a mournful voice:</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Got wounded.</div><div class="sidenote">Hospital.</div><div class="sidenote">Dead drunk.</div> +<p>"Oh, it's 'ard ter lose yer mates. There was three of us—we was always +together—we couldn't bear the idea o' separatin'. One of us copped a +packet* about three months ago an' went inter dock*—'e wasn't 'alf +upset when 'e left us, though 'e was a sure Blighty—'e was afeard +they'd send 'im to another mob when 'e got well agin. But 'e came back +to us arter all—we didn't 'alf 'ave a bust up that evenin'. The two of +us was absolutely canned to the wide*—'e wasn't though, 'e didn' +drink much—'e was better'n what we was—well-spoken like—didn' go +arter no tarts—didn' do no swearin'. Yer never came acrorst a better +mate'n what 'e was! We was goin' over the top when a shell busted in +front of us. It blinded me for a moment and then when I could see +agin—gorblimy—it must 'a' copped 'im in the stomach an' ripped it +open—ugh!—'e was rollin' over wi' all 'is guts 'angin' out—ugh!—yer +should 'a' 'eard 'im groan. 'Me own mate,' I says ter 'im, but 'e didn't +rekkernize nothin' and then we 'ad to go on—yer can't stop when yer +goin' over! Soon arter me other mate copped it too. Somethin' bowled 'im +clean over, but 'e gets up again an' shows me 'is arm. 'There's a +bastard,' 'e says, as cool as yer like—'is 'and was blown clean orf at +the wrist! He just turned round an' was walkin' orf to the dressin' +station when a shell busted atween us. It copped me in the 'ead an' +knocked me senseless. Arterwards I 'eard me mate 'ad bin blowed ter +bits. Oh, it's 'ard when yer've bin together all the time an' shared +everythink."</p> + +<p>He buried his face in his hands and made no further sound except an +occasional sniff and a hasty drawing in of the breath through trembling +lips.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Killed.</div><p>"It's bloody murder up the line," said a full Corporal. "We were in a +trench four feet deep and up to our waist in water. A Jerry sniper +spotted us and one man got biffed,* and then the next, and then the +next all along the trench. We were packed together like sardines and had +no cover at all for our heads and shoulders. I got the wind up terribly +'cause I knew my turn was coming. He only gave me a Blighty though—I +reckon I'm bloody lucky!"</p> + +<p>"We was ready for to go over the top an' waitin' for the whistle to +blow. We didn't 'alf 'ave the wind up. You could 'ear the teeth +chatterin' all along the trench. I was shiverin' all over, I...."</p> + +<p>"Next man!" The conversation stopped while the next man went across, but +having once begun to tell their experiences, the men would not stop +altogether, and after a brief silence an elderly little man with a +bandaged foot said:</p> + +<p>"What I couldn't get over was insomnia. I could never sleep at the +right time and I was always dead tired on duty. Once I worked +forty-three hours at a stretch and after that I had to do a guard in our +trench. I felt sleepy all of a sudden. I pinched myself and banged the +butt of my rifle on my toes, but everything seemed to swim round me. +Then, I don't know how, I went off to sleep. I was awakened by an +officer who shook me and swore at me. I was a bit dazed at first and +then suddenly it struck me what had happened. I never had the wind up so +much in all my life and I implored him not to report me. I don't +remember what happened next, I was in such a state. But he did report +me. I got a court martial and was sentenced to death for sleeping at my +post. They put me into the guard-room and I expected to be shot the next +day. It was a rotten feeling, I can tell you. I didn't think about +myself so much as about the wife and the little boy. I wouldn't go +through a night like that again for anything. But I went to sleep all +the same. I woke up the next morning when someone came into the +guard-room. I didn't know where I was for a second or two, and then in a +flash I realized I'd got to die. I don't mind admitting that I rested my +face against the wall and blubbered like a kid. Anyone would have done +the same, I don't care what you say. But the man who'd just come in +said:</p> + +<p>"'Pull yourself together, old chap—you're all right for to-day, +anyhow.' I sat bolt upright and stared at him.</p> + +<p>"'They're not going to shoot me?'</p> + +<p>"'Not to-day,' he answered. 'Cheer up, all sorts of things might happen +before to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>"The joy I felt was so big that I can't tell you how big it was. But I +soon felt miserable again. I couldn't understand what had happened. I +didn't know whether I was going to die or live. The uncertainty became +so terrible that I wished I'd been shot that morning—all would have +been over then. They brought me a meal, but I couldn't eat. I asked +them what was going to happen, but they didn't know. Another night came, +but I didn't get any sleep at all. I lay tossing about on my bed, now +hoping, now despairing. I thought of home mostly, but once or twice I +thought of the kids in the school where I taught—to die like this after +the send-off they gave me! Still, they wouldn't know, they'd think I was +killed in an accident, and that was some consolation to me. And the next +morning—I can't bear to think of it—nothing happened: that was just +the terrible thing about it—nothing happened. The day passed and then +another day. At times I longed to be taken out and shot, and once or +twice I felt I didn't care about anything. I didn't care whether I died +or not. A week passed and then another week. I don't know how I lived +through it. Then, one day, I was told to pack up and rejoin my unit. I +don't know exactly what I did, but I think I must have gone hysterical. +I remember some N.C.O. saying I ought to stay a bit because I wasn't +well enough to go up the line. He said he'd speak to the officer and get +me a few days' rest. But the thought of staying in that place made me +shiver. I said I was absolutely all right and went back to my unit.</p> + +<p>"But I never found out what had happened—you see, I was only a common +soldier, so they didn't trouble to tell me—until I got a letter from +the Captain who was in charge of me when I was on that forty-three hour +job. He said he'd heard I was in for a court martial for sleeping when +on guard, so he wrote to our headquarters to tell them I'd worked +forty-three hours on end and wasn't fit to do a guard after a spell like +that. Then they must have made a lot of inquiries—I expect there's a +whole file of papers about me at headquarters. Anyhow, that's how I got +off—it's more than a month ago now. Well, yesterday morning I was put +on guard again. I tried to get out of it, but the officer said I was +swinging the lead and he wouldn't listen to any excuses. I told him I'd +had insomnia overnight and could hardly keep my eyes open. I said I'd do +anything rather than a guard—a fatigue job or a patrol, no matter how +dangerous, as long as it kept me on the move. The very thought of doing +a guard made me tremble all over. He swore at me and said he'd heard +these tales before and told me to shut up and get on with it. Well, I +had to stand in the trench in front of a steel plate with holes in it +through which I had to peer. It was just about daybreak. There was a +tree growing about fifty yards off. It had been knocked about pretty +badly, but there were plenty of leaves left on it. I stared at it, +trying hard to keep awake. But soon the trunk began to quiver, then it +wobbled with a wavy motion like a snake. Then the leafy part seemed to +shoot out in all directions until there was nothing but a green blur, +and I fell back against the trench wall and my rifle clattered down. I +pulled myself together, absolutely mad with fear, because I kept on +thinking of the last time I went on guard and the court martial and the +death sentence. I ground my teeth and stared at the tree again. But the +trunk began to wobble with snaky undulations and the green blur grew +bigger and bigger in sudden jerks, while I tried frantically and +desperately to keep it small. But it got the better of me and all at +once it obscured everything with a rush and I dropped forward and +knocked my forehead against the steel plate. I pulled myself together +and prayed for a Blighty or something that would get me out of this +misery. I looked at my watch—O God, only five minutes had gone, +one-twelfth of my time! I had a kind of panic then and I dashed my head +wildly against the trench wall and I bit my lips—I almost enjoyed the +pain. I looked through the hole. The tree was steady at first, but it +soon began to wobble again. Then I said to myself: 'I don't care, I'll +risk it, I won't look out, I'll just keep awake. I don't suppose any +Fritzes will come along—I'll just peep through the holes from time to +time so as to make sure.' I stamped on the duckboard and kicked the +sides of the trench and jerked my rifle up and down just to keep myself +awake. It was all right at first and I was beginning to think I would +get over it somehow, but my feet soon felt as heavy as lead and my head +began to swim until I fell forward once again. Jesus Christ—I didn't +know what to do. I thought of looking at my watch, but I hadn't the +courage at first. Besides, I felt the seconds would slip by while I was +hesitating and so I'd gain at least a little time. I counted the +seconds—one, two, three ... four ... five ... six ... my head dropped +forward and I nearly fell over. I looked at my watch—fourteen minutes +had gone, nearly a quarter of an hour! That wasn't so bad. I felt a +little relieved, but drowsiness came on again. I fought against it with +all my strength, but with an agony no words can describe I realized that +it was too strong for me. I pulled myself together with another +despairing effort. I noticed that my clothing felt cold and clammy—I +had been sweating all over...."</p> + +<p>The theatre orderly burst into the waiting-room and shouted: "Are you +all deaf? I've been yelling out 'Next man' the last five minutes, but +you won't take no bloody notice. Send us two or three. The Colonel's in +the theatre—he'll kick up a hell of a row if you don't get a move on."</p> + +<p>We were scared and sent three men across. When they had gone, we asked +to hear the end of the story.</p> + +<p>"Well, I was absolutely desperate. I kept on looking at my watch, but +the minutes crawled along. I believe I must have started crying once, +but I don't know for certain, I was so sleepy that I don't remember half +of what I did and what I dreamt—I know I did dream, it's funny how you +can start dreaming even when you're standing up or moving about. I +couldn't keep my eyes open and I kept on dropping off and pulling myself +together. Suddenly, there was a terrific crash and a shell burst, it +must have been forty or fifty yards off. I thought, bitterly, that +there'd be no Blighty for me—no such luck. Then, high up in the air, I +saw a big shell-fragment sailing along in a wide curve, spinning and +turning. I looked at it—it was coming my way—Jesus Christ, perhaps I'd +have some luck after all—and in any case a few more seconds would have +passed by. It descended like a flash, I started back in spite of myself +and held one hand out in front of my face. I felt a kind of numb pain in +my right foot—nothing very bad. I looked down and, oh joy, I saw a big, +jagged bit of shell imbedded in my foot. I tried to move it, but the +pain was too great. Joy seemed to catch me by the throat, I began to +dance, but such a pang shot through my leg that I had to stop. I dropped +my rifle and hopped towards the dressing-station. I think it was the +happiest moment in my life. I lost the sensation of weariness for the +time being. But my foot began to hurt very badly and I got someone to +help me along. My wound was dressed. I got on to a stretcher and I +didn't know anything more until I was taken out of the motor ambulance +here at the C.C.S. Anyhow, I'm all right now and I'm going to try and +get across to Blighty and swing the lead as long as I can."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a while. It had grown dark outside. But the call +from the theatre sounded again. Gradually the waiting-room emptied +itself until at last there were only two men left sitting in front of +the fire. They both seemed depressed and gloomy. Then one of them broke +the silence and said:</p> + +<p>"We was goin' over when a 'eavy one burst. I didn't 'alf cop a packet in +me shoulder. It's the third time too, an' I've got the wind up about +goin' up the line agin when I'm out o' dock. The third time's yer last, +yer know. Fritz'll send one over with me number on it, that's a bloody +cert!"</p> + +<p>"If yer number's up it's up," said the other, who had a big patch over +his right ear. "If yer've got ter die yer've got ter die, an' it's no +use worryin' about it."</p> + +<p>Their turn came before long and I helped each one to get on to a table. +Then I went over to the Prep. to see if any more walking wounded had +arrived, but there were none at all.</p> + +<p>I stood out in the open for a few minutes in order to breathe the fresh +air. There was a roar and rumble of distant drum-fire. The trees behind +the C.C.S. stood out blackly against the pallid flashes that lit up the +entire horizon.</p> + +<p>The mortuary attendant came walking along the duckboards.</p> + +<p>As he passed by me he growled:</p> + +<p>"There's a 'ell of a stunt on—there'll be umpteen slabs for the +mortuary."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h2>AIR-RAIDS</h2> + + +<p>It was a warm, sunny afternoon. About a dozen of us were pitching a +marquee in leisurely fashion, when suddenly there was a shout of "Fritz +up!"</p> + +<p>We gazed at the sky, and, after searching for a while, saw a tiny white +speck moving slowly across the blue at an immense height. Then, at some +distance from it, a small white puff, like a little ball of cotton-wool, +appeared. A few seconds passed and we heard a faint pop. More puffs +appeared around the moving speck, each one followed by a pop. All at +once, behind us, a bright tongue of flame flashed out above a group of +bushes. There was a sharp report and a whizzing, rustling noise that +died down gradually. Then another puff and another pop. The bright +flames flashed out again in rapid succession. The little speck moved on +and on. Grouped closely round it were compact little balls of +cotton-wool, but trailing behind were thin wisps and semi-transparent +whitish blurs. Above a belt of trees in the distance we observed a +series of rapid flashes followed by an equal number of detonations. The +upper air was filled with a blending of high notes—a whizzing, droning, +and sibilant buzzing, and pipings that died down in faint wails. The +little white speck moved on. It entered a film of straggling cloud, but +soon re-emerged. It grew smaller and smaller. Our eyes lost it for a +moment and found it again. Then they lost it altogether and nothing +remained save the whitish blurs in the blue sky and a hardly audible +booming in the far distance.</p> + +<p>"I bet 'e's took some photographs—'e'll be over to-night. I reckon +we're bloody lucky to be at a C.C.S."</p> + +<p>"D'yer think 'e wouldn't bomb a C.C.S.?"</p> + +<p>"Course 'e wouldn't—'e knows as well as what we do that there's some of +'is own wounded at C.C.S.'s."</p> + +<p>"Yer've got some bleed'n' 'opes—do anythink, 'e would. Didn't yer see +it in the papers? 'E bombed a French C.C.S. at Verd'n an' knocked out +umpteen wounded."</p> + +<p>"I bet that's all bloody lies—yer can't believe nothin' what's in the +papers."</p> + +<p>"Can't yer! If yer don't it's because yer don't want ter. I believe yer +a bleed'n' Fritz yerself, always stickin' up fer the bastard. Everythink +what's in the papers is true—the Government wouldn't allow it if it +wasn't! That's got yer, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yer want ter look at it a bit more broad-minded. Course 'e makes +mistakes sometimes like anybody else—'ow do 'e know it's a C.C.S.—'e +can't see no Red Crorss at night?"</p> + +<p>"Mistakes be blowed—'e knows what's what, you take my word for it ..."</p> + +<p>We gathered idly round the disputants, glad of a distraction that would +help to pass the time. A third person joined in the argument:</p> + +<p>"If 'e bombs 'orspitals an' C.C.S.'s it's our own bloody fault. Look at +our C.C.S. 'ere. There's a ordnance park and a R.E. dump up the road. +There's a railway in front an' a sidin' where troops is always +detrainin'. Then there's a gas dump over yonder. An' if we're bloody +fools an' leave the lights on at night, 'ow can 'e tell what's what when +everything's mixed up together? Why the bloody 'ell don't they put +C.C.S.'s away from dumps an' railways? Why don't they stick 'em right in +the fields somewhere? I bet we'll cop it one o' these nights, an' serve +us right too."</p> + +<p>German aeroplanes had passed overhead almost every clear windless +night, but the buzz of propellers, that often went on for hours, and the +dull boom of bombs exploding far away had never caused anything more +than slight uneasiness and apprehension.</p> + +<p>One night, after we had been at the C.C.S. for about a month, we heard +the uproar of a distant air-raid. Early the next morning a number of +motor-ambulances arrived with their loads of wounded men. A camp, a mile +or two from the station, had been bombed and fifty men had been killed +and many more wounded. One of the "cases" brought into the theatre had +been hit on the forehead. The bomb-fragment had not penetrated the +skull, but had passed along its surface. The scalp hung over the +forehead loosely like an enormous flap, the red, jagged edge nearly +touching the eyebrows. Since then I thought of this man every time there +was an air-raid.</p> + +<p>The event increased our uneasiness. After each "bombing-stunt" we +thought: "We were lucky this time—it will be our turn next though." +Moreover, we began to realize our helplessness. We were compelled to +remain in our tents during a raid and there was no possibility of taking +shelter. We could have put on our steel helmets—they would at least +have afforded some head protection, but hardly any of us had the courage +to do anything that might be regarded by the others as a sign of fear.</p> + +<p>The discussion about the bombing of hospitals had made us all think of +air-raids. We had nearly finished our day's work when we noticed a few +clouds on the horizon. We felt relieved. Perhaps the sky would be +overcast and we would have an undisturbed night.</p> + +<p>"I can't stick night raids," said one of our number. "They don't put my +wind up a bit, but they interfere with my sleep and make me feel tired +in the mornings."</p> + +<p>A man who had been in the war from the beginning answered:</p> + +<p>"I can see you haven't been out here long, and have never been in a +proper raid. I'll never forget the last time we were bombed. We were out +on rest about fifteen miles behind the line. Fritz came over and I had +the wind up so badly that I left the tent to go into the open fields. +(I'd had a taste of it before, you know, and that makes all the +difference.) Then he bombed us before I knew where I was. I ran for my +life. There was a hell of a crash behind me and a bit caught me in the +shoulder and knocked me down. When it was all over I got up and went +back, although my shoulder hurt like anything. A lot of our fellows were +running about and shouting. Where my tent used to be, there was a big +bomb-hole and my mates were lying dead all round—fourteen of them. I +didn't recognize most of them, they were so smashed up. Fritz had +dropped one right on the tent. I reckon I was lucky to get off with a +Blighty! I was in hospital six weeks and then I got ten days' sick leave +in London. Fritz came over one night—Christ, I didn't half have the +wind up! We were sitting in the kitchen, mother and father didn't seem +to mind much—they didn't know what it meant. Fritz had never dropped +any our way before. I never heard such a barrage, at least not for +aeroplanes. It wasn't so bad as out here all the same—you could take +shelter, anyhow. Air-raids are bloody awful things, they put my wind up +much more than shell-fire."</p> + +<p>We finished our work as the sun was setting. The clouds on the horizon +had vanished. One by one the stars came out. It was "an ideal night for +a raid."</p> + +<p>Soon after dark a man was brought into the station with a crushed knee. +Immediate operation was necessary. He was carried into the theatre and +laid on to one of the tables. He received an anæsthetic and became +unconscious. With his scalpel the surgeon made a deep cut in the +knee-joint and searched the cavity with his finger. There was a Sister +standing by. Also an orderly who had won the Military Medal for bravery +in an air-raid some months before. Suddenly there was an outburst of +anti-aircraft firing and a tumultuous whistling of shells overhead. It +lasted for several seconds and then with a deafening, reverberating +thunder-clap that shook the entire theatre, the first bomb fell. Before +our ears had ceased drumming another bomb exploded and then another. The +orderly, who had held his hands in front of his face, now gave way to +fear. He darted madly to and fro and then scuttled beneath a table. The +Sister, who had remained quite calm, said in an amused voice: "Pull +yourself together, it's all over now." The orderly got up trembling, his +face very white. The surgeon had not moved away. He had just grasped the +edge of the table tightly and had bent his head forward, while his +muscles seemed stiff with a violent but successful effort at +self-control. The anæsthetist, too, had remained on his stool, but was +leaning right over his patient. I had been conscious of a powerful +impulse to duck down, but I grasped the table and gave way to the +impulse so far as to lean slightly forward. This compromise saved me +from any violent expression of fear. The Sister was the only one of us +who showed no sign of fear at all.</p> + +<p>The surgeon went on with his work and extracted several fragments of +bone from the injured limb. A few seconds passed and suddenly the +electric light went out in accordance with the orders that decreed that +all lights should be extinguished on the approach of hostile aeroplanes. +The surgeon cursed loudly and the Sister fetched an electric torch which +she held over the knee. The operation continued, but it was not long +before anti-aircraft fire broke out once more. Then there was a weird +bustling, rushing sound, followed by a roar that again shook the theatre +and rattled the windows. Six explosions followed in rapid succession. +This time the orderly controlled himself, for he knew the Sister was +watching. Nevertheless, his knees trembled violently. The Sister held +the torch steadily and the surgeon paused for a moment and went on with +the operation as soon as all was quiet.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes it was finished. The wound was dressed and bandaged and +the patient carried away.</p> + +<p>I stepped out into the clear night. The sky was thronged with glittering +stars. Everything seemed strangely peaceful. I walked round the station, +trying to find out where the bombs had fallen, but nobody knew. I went +to the marquee and found Private Trotter sitting there, breathless and +white. The neighbouring C.C.S. a few hundred yards away had been hit. A +Sister and an orderly had been killed and several patients wounded.</p> + +<p>"It didn't 'alf put me wind up," said Trotter, excitedly. "When the +first'n drops I lays down flat on the duckboards and one bursts just +aside o' me an' smothers me with earth. Then another'n bursts an' I +'ears a man 'oller out—krikey, 'e didn't 'alf scream. I gets up and +another'n bursts, so I flops down agin, but it didn't come so near that +time. I waits a bit an' then I gets up an' goes to see what they done. I +couldn't see nothin' at first, but I sees some fellers runnin' about wi' +lights. There was a noise in one o' the wards, so I goes in. A bomb must +'a' burst on the roof—there was a big 'ole in the canvas. The bed +underneath was all twisted an' torn, but there wasn't nobody in it. +There was some wounded lyin' in beds at the fur end of the ward, an' one +of 'em was cryin' somethin' chronic. Then someone brings a light an' I +sees an orderly lyin' by the side o' the bed with a big 'ole in 'is face +an' the blood pourin' out. I goes roun' to the other side—gorblimy—an' +there I sees the Sister lyin' on the floor with 'er 'ead blown clean +off—I dunno where it was blown to, I couldn't see it nowhere. Krikey, +it wasn't 'alf a sight to see 'er body without a 'ead lyin' in a pool o' +blood. It made me feel sick, so I ran orf an' came 'ere."</p> + +<p>Private Trotter was trembling in every limb. He was the pluckiest man I +ever knew and capable of any piece of foolhardy daring. But this time he +was near a nervous breakdown.</p> + +<p>We went to bed full of anxiety. For a long while we lay awake, straining +our ears to catch the sound of firing or the drone of German propellers. +But no sound broke the stillness of the night, and one by one we dropped +off to sleep.</p> + +<p>The next morning was clear and sunny. The sky remained blue all day. Not +a cloud could be seen. "Our turn next"—that was the thought in +everybody's mind.</p> + +<p>The evening was starlit once again. As we lay on the floor of the +marquee, wrapped up in our blankets, we heard the sound of bombing and +firing in the distance.</p> + +<p>Clear days and clear nights followed each other. Sometimes a train would +stop in front of the C.C.S., hissing and puffing, and throwing up a +great shaft of light. We would curse it, fearing that it would attract +German raiders.</p> + +<p>If only the fine weather would come to an end! Give us wind and rain so +that we could lie in bed without being oppressed by anxiety! But the sun +continued to shine and the stars to glitter.</p> + +<p>The disaster that had befallen the adjoining C.C.S., which had been +brilliantly lit up during the raid, had acted as a warning example to +us. At nightfall the windows of the theatre were screened with blankets +and no lights were allowed to show in the wards or on the duckboards.</p> + +<p>If only the trains would halt somewhere else at night-time!</p> + +<p>One day a number of Flemish peasants began to collect hop-refuse in the +surrounding fields. They made three great heaps of it and set fire to +them. In the evening the heaps were burning brightly, but no one took +any notice.</p> + +<p>The canteen was crowded. All the benches were occupied and men who were +unable to find seats stood around in groups. There was noisy +conversation and singing and shouting. Nearly everyone was drinking +beer. Those who sat at the tables were playing cards. The air was thick +with tobacco-smoke. Two or three candles were burning on every table. +And all at once, without any warning, the thunder was loosened upon us. +There was an ear-splitting roar and in a moment candles were swept away, +benches and tables overturned, and the whole crowd of men was down on +the floor, trembling and panic-stricken. Another detonation, and then +another, shaking the ground and reverberating, and sending up showers of +stones and loose earth that came rattling down on to the canteen-roof, +while the huddled, sprawling mass of human bodies shook and squirmed +with terror. The droning of propellers could be plainly heard, then it +grew weaker and weaker, until it passed away. One by one the men got up. +Someone lit a candle. Tables, benches, and prostrate bodies had been +thrown into confusion. Cards and coins and overturned beer-mugs littered +the floor. The smell of spilt beer mingled with the smell of stale +tobacco. A few of us stepped out into the open air. We inhaled a +pungent, sulphurous stench. We were sure our camp had been bombed this +time and were fearful lest any of our friends had been hit. We walked +past the Church tent—it was full of rents and holes. And just beyond it +was a huge pit with fresh soil heaped up in a ring around it. Loose +earth and stones and sods were scattered everywhere. Then we saw +something move in the darkness—it was a man on all fours, dragging +himself painfully along and uttering a groan with every breath. Two +bearers arrived with a stretcher. They put it down by his side and +helped him on to it. Then they picked it up and disappeared in the +gloom. We had hardly walked a few yards further when we saw a light +approaching us. We went towards it. A man was staggering slowly along +and leaning on the shoulder of a comrade who was carrying a lantern. He +supported his right elbow with his left hand, down the back of which +two thin streams of blood were winding. His left sleeve was darkly +stained and the blood was dripping from it. His face was very pale and +the corners of his mouth were slightly turned down.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the broad white beam of a searchlight swung across the +darkness. For a time it seemed to paw the sky in a hesitating fashion +and then it remained fixed on one spot.</p> + +<p>"There 'e is! There 'e is!" someone shouted in an excited voice.</p> + +<p>In the white track was a brilliant silver object travelling along at a +great speed. A number of anti-aircraft guns opened fire simultaneously, +and all around the shining fugitive innumerable stars of pale, liquid +gold flashed out and melted away again.</p> + +<p>"I bet they're puttin' 'is bloody wind up! Rotten bastard, bombin' a lot +o' wounded! If I get 'old of a Fritz up the line, I'll murder 'im. Yer +won't catch me takin' no more pris'ners, I tell yer."</p> + +<p>A flashing star suddenly seemed to envelop the aeroplane.</p> + +<p>"Got 'im that time—bloody good shot—'e's comin' down, look, look, 'e's +comin' down! Look, 'e's all in flames!"</p> + +<p>But the aeroplane sped on, growing smaller and smaller. Then the white +beam swung back and was extinguished, while the guns ceased firing.</p> + +<p>"Fine lot o' gunners we got—couldn't 'it a Zep 'alf a yard orf! They +ain't worth the grub they get!"</p> + +<p>We returned to our marquee and sat down on our kits. My friend Private +Black came in after us, smiling ruefully. I asked him what was the +matter.</p> + +<p>"I was playing the piano in the Sergeants' Mess when the first one +dropped. We all jumped up together and rushed out. Then the second one +burst and I lost my head and didn't know where I was going. I darted to +and fro, tripping over tent-ropes and dashing up against revetments. I +never had the wind up so much in all my life. I couldn't get my breath, +there was a kind of weight on my stomach and a tightness round my chest +and throat, and my knees kept on giving way all the time. The third one +burst and I fell down and crawled under some ropes and lay flat against +some sand-bags, trembling all over and feeling as though I was going to +choke. I waited for a long time, but nothing happened, so I got up and +looked round. Lucky escape for us! There's a terrific hole by the Red +Cross and another one behind the bath-house. The third's in the next +field. Only two men hit. O'Neil's got it in the elbow—he's all right +for Blighty. Poor old Hartog's badly hurt—a frightful gash in the thigh +with the piece still in it. I hope he won't have to lose his leg. +Christ, I'm glad it's all over—I wouldn't like to go through that +again."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a while, but soon the silence was broken by the +distant muttering of anti-aircraft fire.</p> + +<p>"Jesus Christ Almighty—'e's comin' again—O God, why can't 'e leave us +alone."</p> + +<p>We stood outside the marquee and anxiously watched the horizon. We heard +a faint humming noise. It grew louder and louder until it became a deep, +droning buzz that rose and fell in regular pulsation. Then +boom—boom—boom—three times the sullen roar of distant explosions +sounded. Then there came the familiar rushing, whistling noise of a +descending bomb. We flung ourselves down in the wet grass. I felt every +muscle in my body contract as though I were trying to make myself as +small as a pin point in expectation of the terrible moment. There was a +dull thud close by and I felt the earth vibrate. The bomb had fallen a +few yards away, but had merely buried itself in the earth without +exploding.</p> + +<p>There was no anti-aircraft fire, but the droning noise continued loudly, +rising and falling. Private Trotter, who was lying beside me, was +drawing his breath in sharply between his lips. Our fear of impending +disaster was prolonged intolerably. The droning propeller seemed to be +directly above us. I tried to analyse my feelings. If one finger is held +close to the middle of the forehead a curious sensation of strain seems +to gather in that spot. That was precisely the sensation I had at the +back of my head and neck, only with far greater intensity. It was the +concentrated, agonizing consciousness of the swift descent of a huge +iron mass that will strike the base of the head and blow the whole body +to pieces. In the region of the solar-plexus I had a feeling of +oppression such as one often has before an examination, before jumping +into an icy river, before opening a letter that may contain bad news. I +also breathed more heavily than usual. I made no attempt to master these +sensations. It occurred to me that fear is merely a physical reaction +that cannot be avoided. If a man reacts so violently that he is overcome +and rushes about as though he were demented, it is no more his fault +than if he shivers with cold. A man can stop shivering by an effort of +the will, but only to a certain extent. And no effort of the will can +prevent him from feeling cold. In the same way, no effort of the will +can prevent him from feeling fear, and only to a limited extent can the +will control the outward manifestations of fear. Nevertheless, some +distraction may enable a man to forget his fear for a while, just as it +may enable him to forget the cold. I was so intent upon self-analysis +that I lost consciousness of everything except my mental concentration, +even of those sensations I was trying to analyse, for the very act of +analysis was destroying them. As they grew weaker, the effort of my will +increased. It became so great that I grew conscious of great mental +tension and at the same time I realized that my fear had vanished +altogether. For a brief space I had a sensation of vacuity as though I +could neither think nor feel. Then my mental effort suddenly collapsed, +I once more became aware of the droning overhead, and with a rush my +former fears were upon me again. I pressed myself flat to earth. I heard +the descent of a bomb. I trembled and tried to shrink to nothing. There +was a deafening thunder-clap and the ground shook. A quantity of loose +earth came down upon us. Another bomb descended—every muscle in my body +tightened and I stopped breathing altogether. But the explosion that +followed was fainter than the last. Then there was another, still +further off. All my muscles gradually relaxed and a delicious feeling of +relief pervaded my whole being. The buzzing noise became more and more +feeble. I got up and walked back to the marquee, trembling and weak at +the knees. The others followed.</p> + +<p>Most of us went to bed, but a few continued to pace up and down in great +agitation. One man picked up his blankets in a bundle and went off in +order to sleep in the open fields, far away from the camp.</p> + +<p>An hour had hardly passed before distant anti-aircraft fire broke out +again. Anxiety began to renew its tortures. We heard the dull, sullen +roar of bombs exploding at intervals. Then fourteen burst in rapid +succession as though a gigantic ball of solid iron had bounced fourteen +times with thundering reverberations on a resonant surface. But the +sound of firing died down and soon all was quiet. And then sleep came +upon us and our troubles were over for a time.</p> + +<p>The next morning was windless and clear. All day we kept looking at the +sky, but not a cloud was to be seen.</p> + +<p>The evening approached, darkness fell, and the stars shone. "Lights Out" +was sounded and we extinguished our candles. None of us said a word, but +everybody knew what everybody else was thinking of. And soon we heard +the familiar buzz. At first it only came from one propeller, but others +arrived and the sound multiplied and increased in volume, and at the +same time it rose and fell in irregular gusts and regular pulsations. +Anti-aircraft firing burst out suddenly and for a few minutes there was +a blending of whining, whistling, rushing sounds overhead punctuated by +faint reports. The firing ceased, but the droning noises continued +louder than ever. The German aeroplanes seemed to be above us like a +swarm of angry wasps, and above us they seemed to remain, hovering and +circling. We awaited the downward rush and the deafening thunder-clap +that would destroy us all. One man was groaning loudly. Another +shivered. I could hear the chattering of many teeth. My neighbour +trembled violently and cowered beneath his blankets. But his fear grew +so strong that he could not bear it any longer. He got up and said in a +strained voice, trying to appear calm, "I'm goin' to 'ave a look at +'em." He ran out of the marquee and disappeared. I found my powers of +resistance ebbing. I was unable to control my imagination. I saw my +comrades and myself blown to pieces. I saw the clerk in the office of +the C.C.S. write out the death-intimations on a buff slip and filling in +a form. I saw a telegraph boy taking the telegram to my home. He stopped +on the way in order to talk to a friend. Then he whistled and threw a +stone at a dog. He sauntered through the garden gate and knocked at the +front door. The door opened ... but I could not face the rest, and with +a tremendous mental impulse I turned my mind away to other things. But +my terrible thoughts lay in wait for me like tigers ready to rush upon +me as soon as my will relaxed its efforts. I tried to compromise, and I +imagined myself killed and invented all the details of a post-mortem +examination and burial. I found some relief in these imaginings, but +soon that implacable telegram claimed my attention once more and drew me +on to what I dared not face. I sought distraction by muttering some +verses of poetry to myself. They had no meaning to me, they were just +empty sound and their rhythm had a hideous pulsation like that other +pulsation overhead:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He above the rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In shape and gesture proudly eminent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood like a tower...."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and so on, line after line. The dreariness of the verses grew so intense +as to be almost intolerable. At the same time I was dimly conscious of +the fact that at one time I thought this passage beautiful. But the beat +of the blank verse carried me on. Sometimes it seemed to blend with the +buzzing of those angry wasps above and sometimes the two rhythms would +vie with each other for speed, so that they hurried along each +alternately ahead of the other. I came to a line where my memory failed +me. I faltered for a moment, but the droning sound seemed to grow into +an enormous roar, and I leapt back to the beginning:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He above the rest...."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and then on and on a second time until my head throbbed with the double +pulsation.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a man who had been lying on the far side of the marquee got up +and said:</p> + +<p>"I've had enough of this, I'm going to sleep in a ditch."</p> + +<p>He went off. The wasps were still buzzing, but the interruption had +broken the spell. I felt a sense of relief. I became conscious of +intense weariness and felt ashamed of my fears. I cursed the German +aeroplanes and thought, "Let them do their worst, I don't care." I made +up my mind to go to sleep and resolutely buried my face in my pillow. +Then it occurred to me that I would never be able to enjoy <i>Paradise +Lost</i> again, and I was half-amused and agreeably distracted by the +trivial thought.</p> + +<p>But the wasps were still buzzing. Another man began to groan loudly:</p> + +<p>"Gawd—this is bloody awful—why the bloody 'ell can't they leave us +alone!"</p> + +<p>Thereupon his neighbour tried to create an impression by appearing calm +and philosophical. He said in a strained, breaking voice:</p> + +<p>"Think of all the waste in life and treasure this frightful war +involves. Think of the moral degradation. Think of the widows and +orphans. Think of the...." He was unequal to the effort and his voice +trailed away and then seemed to catch in his throat. But he recovered +and with a kind of gasp he squeezed out a few more words: "Bill, forgive +me for insulting you to-day—I didn't mean it, Bill. Forget it, Bill, +forget it! If you get killed without forgiving me, my conscience will +always torture...."</p> + +<p>"For Christ's sake shut up, yer bleed'n' 'ypocrite," interrupted the +gruff voice of "Bill" somewhere out of the darkness. "Yer always +bleed'n' well preachin'—it's bad enough 'avin' Fritz over us without +you bloody well rubbin' it in. If yer don't shut yer mouth, I'll come +over an' shut it for yer, 'struth I will."</p> + +<p>The philosopher said no more, but another voice made itself heard, that +of a good-natured, elderly bachelor, who said with melancholy +resignation:</p> + +<p>"It's jolly hard, all the same, to be knocked out like this. You're so +helpless—no dug-outs, no shelters anywhere...."</p> + +<p>"It's doubly hard when you're married," said another. "I haven't got the +wind up about myself at all, but I can't help thinking about my wife.... +They're going away now, thank the Lord. You never know when they won't +be coming back though—that's just the worst of it."</p> + +<p>The noise of the propellers was indeed dying away.</p> + +<p>Several voices muttered "Thank God," but one man's teeth were still +chattering as though he was so absorbed by his own fear that he had not +noticed the disappearance of its cause. Soon there was complete silence +and one by one we fell asleep.</p> + +<p>Another clear day and another clear night. We lay awake listening +anxiously to the bursting of bombs and the muttering of anti-aircraft +fire. But we went to sleep in the end and felt drowsy all the following +day—a clear day. Casualties came in from a camp that had been bombed +overnight, and we saw shattered limbs, smashed heads, and lacerated +flesh. Several of our men were looking pale through lack of sleep and +had dark rings round their eyes.</p> + +<p>Another clear night. The agonizing vigil began again, but I was so weary +that I went to sleep a few minutes after lights out. Sullen thunders +mingled with my dreams and did not wake me up.</p> + +<p>Another clear day. Would the fine weather never end? Late in the +afternoon, however, a few clouds collected on the horizon. In the +evening the entire sky was overcast and not a star was to be seen. And +as we went to bed we heard the rain swishing down upon the canvas roof. +The unspeakable joy we all felt at the prospect of an untroubled night!</p> + +<p>"Bloody fine, this rain: we'll get some proper sleep now, thank God. I +never had the wind up so much in all my life, and I've been out here +since '15 and in some pretty hot places too."</p> + +<p>"I reckon the longer yer out 'ere the windier yer get. I joined up in +'14 like a bloody fool. At first I didn't care a damn for anything. Then +I was wounded on the Somme an' sent across to Blighty. I dreaded comin' +back agin. I only 'ad a little wound in me 'and, an' I used ter plug it +wi' dubbin' an' boot-polish ter keep it raw. It didn't 'alf 'urt, but it +gave me a extra week or two in 'orspittle. I 'ad to go in the end +though—the M.O. didn't 'alf give me a tellin' orf. Jesus Christ, didn't +I 'ave the wind up when we went up the line! An' now I'm scared at the +slightest sound, an' I sometimes wake up out o' me sleep shiverin' all +over. When I was on leave a motor-car backfired in the street—it didn't +'alf make me jump; me mate 'oo was with me said I looked as white as a +sheet. The longer yer out 'ere the worse yer get—it's yer nerves, yer +know, they can't stand it. In the line it's always the new men what's +the most reliable...."</p> + +<p>"That's a bloody fact. When we first come out, I thought all the Belgian +civvies a lot o' bloody cowards takin' cover whenever Fritz came over. +<i>We</i> used to stand an' look at 'im. They wasn't cowards, it was us who +was bloody fools. They knew summat about it, we didn't. All the same, I +know one or two old reg'lars 'oo was in it from the first an' never 'ad +the wind up any time—there's not many like that though, generally it's +the old soldiers what's the worst o' the lot for wanglin' out o' risky +jobs."</p> + +<p>"Napoleon was right," observed a small, red-haired lance-corporal, whose +remarks generally had a sardonic touch, "when he said the worse the man +the better the soldier. It's only people who have no imagination and no +intelligence who are courageous in modern war. Nobody with any sense +would expose himself unnecessarily and rush a machine-gun position or do +the sort of thing they give you a V.C. for. Of course, there are a few +cases where it's deserved, and it isn't always the one who deserves it +that gets it. I'm quite certain the refined, sensitive, imaginative kind +of man is no good as a soldier. He may be able to control himself better +than the others at first—educated people are used to self-control—but +in the long run his nerves will give way sooner. Moral courage is a +thing I admire more than anything, but there's no use for it in the +army, in fact it's worse than useless in the army. The man who's too +servile to be capable of feeling humiliation and too stupid to +understand what danger is—that's the man who makes a good, steady +soldier. We've seen men so horribly smashed up by bombs that it makes +you sick to look at them, and then people expect us not to be afraid of +air-raids. The civvies haven't seen that sort of thing, so they may well +show plenty of pluck, although I believe there are a good many with +enough imagination to have the wind up when there's an air-raid on."</p> + +<p>"Bloody true. You know, if there was a lot o' civvies an' a lot of +Tommies in a Blighty air-raid, I reckon the civvies'd show more pluck +than the Tommies. My mate who's workin' on munitions told me 'e saw +'underds o' soldiers rushin' to take shelter in the last raid on London. +O' course there was crowds o' civvies doin' the same, but 'e says there +was a lot what didn't seem to care a damn. The other day we 'ad a bloody +parson spoutin' to us—'e said war brings out a man's pluck an' makes an +'ero of 'im. I reckon that's all bloody tosh! War makes cowards of yer, +that's the 'ole truth o' the matter, I don't care what yer say. I didn't +know what fear was afore I joined the army. I know now, you bet! I'm a +bloody coward now—I don't mind admittin' it. There's things I used ter +do what I wouldn't dare do now. When we go up the line I'm in a blue +funk from the time I 'ears the first shell burst to the time we goes +over the top. An' when we goes over I forgets everythink an' don't know +what I'm doin'. P'raps I'll get a V.C. some day wi'out knowin' what I +done ter get it. And I'm not the only one like that. Anyone 'oo's bin +out 'ere a few months an' says 'e ain't windy up the line's a bloody +liar, there now...."</p> + +<p>"By the way," I interrupted, "how did that orderly who works in the +theatre get his Military Medal—he had the wind up more than any of us +the other night?"</p> + +<p>"I know whom you mean," answered a private of the R.A.M.C. "He got it +that bombing-stunt a few months ago. It was bloody awful too—the worst +thing I've ever been in. I was standing next to him when the first one +exploded. He flopped down and lay flat on the ground, but I rushed away +into the fields with a lot of others. When it was all over we went back +and heard the wounded crying out in a way that was dreadful to hear. +This fellow was still lying on the ground by the duckboards, trembling +all over and paralysed with fear. We went to help the wounded, but he +was in such a state that he could not come with us, so we left him +behind. There was an inquiry afterwards and <i>we</i> got into a frightful +row for running away. He got the M.M. for sticking to his post!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h2>THE GERMAN PUSH</h2> + + +<blockquote><p>"What madness there is in this arithmetic that counts men by the +millions like grains of corn in a bushel.... A newspaper has just +written about an encounter with the enemy: 'Our losses were +insignificant, one dead and five wounded.' It would be interesting +to know for whom these losses are insignificant? For the one who +was killed?... If he were to rise from his grave, would he think +the loss 'insignificant'? If only he could think of everything from +the very beginning, of his childhood, his family, his beloved wife, +and how he went to the war and how, seized by the most conflicting +thoughts and emotions, he felt afraid, and how it all ended in +death and horror.... But they try to convince us that 'our losses +are insignificant.' Think of it, godless writer! Go to your master +the Devil with your clever arithmetic.... How this man revolts +me—may the Devil take him!"</p> + +<p class="right">(<span class="smcap">Andreyeff</span>.)</p></blockquote> + + +<p>Throughout the winter one question above all others was discussed by the +few who took an interest in the war: "What were the Germans going to +do?" It was clear that they had been able to withdraw many divisions +from their Eastern Front. Would they be numerically equal or superior to +the Allies on the Western Front?</p> + +<p>On the whole we were of opinion that, whatever happened, our positions +would prove impregnable, although we observed with some astonishment +that there were no extensive trench systems or fortified places behind +our lines. I doubted whether the Germans would even attempt to break +through—I thought they would merely hold the Western Front and throw +the Allies out of Macedonia, Palestine, and Mesopotamia.</p> + +<p>The winter was over and the fine weather had set in. For several months +we had been working in a wood-yard and saw-mills. Our lives had become +unspeakably monotonous, but the coming of warm days banished much of our +dreariness. The hazy blue sky was an object of real delight. I often +contrived to slip away from my work and lean idly against a wall in the +mild sunshine. At times I was so filled with the sense of physical +well-being, and so penetrated by the sensuous enjoyment of warmth and +colour, that I even forgot the war.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the wood-yard was a little stream, and on the far bank +clusters of oxlips were in bloom. Here we would lie down during the +midday interval and surrender to the charm of the spring weather. It +seemed unnatural and almost uncanny that we should be happy, but there +were moments when we felt something very much like happiness. Moreover, +it was rumoured that leave was going to start. How glorious it would be +to spend a sunny May or June in England!</p> + +<p>Once a fortnight we paraded for our pay outside one of the bigger sheds +of the yard. As a rule, I was filled with impatience and irritation at +having to wait in a long queue and move forward step by step, but now it +had become pleasant to tarry in the sunshine. One day, when we were +lined up between two large huts, a deep Yellow Brimstone butterfly came +floating idly past. It gave me inexpressible delight, a delight tempered +by sadness and a longing for better times. I drew my pay and saluted +perfunctorily, being unable and unwilling to think of anything but the +beauty of the sky, the sun, and the wonderful insect.</p> + +<p>I held my three ten-franc notes in my hand and thought: "I <i>will</i> enjoy +this lovely day to the full. When we get back to camp I will do without +the repulsive army fare, I will dine at the St. Martin and buy a bottle +of the best French wine, even if it costs me twenty francs. And then +I'll walk to the little wood on the hill-slope and there I'll lie all +the evening and dream or read a book."</p> + +<p>The whistle sounded. It was time to go back to work. But I cursed the +work and decided to take the small risk and remain idle for an hour or +two. I went to an outlying part of the yard and sat down on a patch of +long grass and leant back against a shed. The air was hot and several +bees flew by. Their buzzing reminded me of summer holidays spent in +southern France before the war. I thought of vineyards and orchards, of +skies intensely blue, of scorching sunshine, of the tumultuous chirping +of cicadas and grasshoppers, and then of the tepid nights crowded with +glittering stars and hushed except for the piping of tree-frogs.</p> + +<p>Before the war—before the war—I repeated the words to myself. They +conveyed a sense of immeasurable remoteness, of something gone and lost +for ever. But I <i>wouldn't</i> think about it. I <i>would</i> enjoy the present. +But the calm waters of happiness had been ruffled and it was beyond my +power to restore their tranquillity. I began to think of many things, of +the war itself, of the possible offensive, and soon the fretful +rebellious discontent, that obsessed all those of us who had not lost +their souls, began to reassert itself.</p> + +<p>But why not desert? Why not escape to the south of France? Why not enjoy +a week, a fortnight, a month of freedom? I would be caught in the end—I +would be punished. I would receive Number 1 Field Punishment, and I +would be tied to a wheel or post, but nevertheless it would be worth +it! I imagined myself slipping out of camp at night and walking until +dawn. Then I would sleep in some wood or copse and then walk on again, +calling at remote farms to buy bread and eggs and milk. I would reach +the little village, the main street winding between white houses and +flooded with brilliant moonlight. I would climb the wall and drop into +the familiar garden and await the morning. Then I would knock at the +door and I would be welcomed by an old peasant woman, and she would ask: +"Tu viens en perme?" How could I answer that question? It worried me, I +felt it was spoiling my dream. But I dreamt on and at the same time +battled against increasing depression. Even a few days of freedom would +be a break, a change from routine. And would the little village be the +same as when I saw it last? No, it would be different, it would be at +war. I might escape from the army, but I could never escape from the +war. My dream had vanished.</p> + +<p>But I <i>would</i> make the best of things. I <i>would</i> enjoy the immediate +present—was I not losing hours of sheer pleasure by harbouring these +thoughts and ignoring the beauty of the day?</p> + +<p>Some distance ahead was a farm of the usual Flemish type—a thatched +roof, whitewashed walls, and green shutters. Near by was a little pond +with willows growing round it. In the field beyond, a cow was grazing +peacefully. The sky seemed a deeper blue through the willow-branches. +The tender green of the grass was wonderfully refreshing to the eyes. +The cow had a beautiful coat of glossy brown that shone in the sunlight. +I abandoned myself to the charm of the little idyll that was spread out +before me and forgot the war once again.</p> + +<p>And then all at once a gigantic, plume-shaped, sepia coloured mass rose +towering out of the ground. There was a rending, deafening, double +thunder-clap that seemed to split my head. For a moment I was dazed and +my ears sang. Then I looked up—the black mass was thinning and +collapsing. The cow had disappeared.</p> + +<p>I walked into the yard full of rage and bitterness. All the men had left +the sheds and were flocking into the road. Some were strolling along in +leisurely fashion, some were walking with hurried steps, some were +running, some were laughing and talking, some looked startled, some +looked anxious, and some were very pale.</p> + +<p>We crossed the road and the railway. Then, traversing several fields, we +came to a halt and waited. We waited for nearly an hour, but nothing +happened and we gradually straggled back to the yard.</p> + +<p>Some of us walked to the spot where the shell had burst. There was a +huge hole, edged by a ring of heaped-up earth, and loose mould and +grassy sods lay scattered all round. Here and there lay big lumps of +bleeding flesh. The cow had been blown to bits. The larger pieces had +already been collected by the farmer, who had covered them with a +tarpaulin sheet from which a hoof protruded.</p> + +<p>The next day, at about the same hour, the dark cloud again rose from the +ground and the double explosion followed. We again abandoned the yard +and waited in the field. But this time there were several further +shell-bursts. No dull boom in the distance followed by a long-drawn +whine, but only the earth and smoke thrown darkly up and then the +deafening double detonation.</p> + +<p>The next day more shells came over, and the next day also.</p> + +<p>The big holes with their earthen rims began to dot the fields in many +places. No damage of "military importance" had been done. Not even a +soldier had been killed, but only an inoffensive cow.</p> + +<p>At night the sky was alive with the whirr of propellers, and shells +whistled overhead and burst a long way off.</p> + +<p>One Sunday, toward the end of March, when we had a half-holiday, I +walked up the hill that was crowned by a large monastery and sat down +on the slope by a group of sallows. They were in full bloom. A swarm of +bees and flies were buzzing round. Peacock and Tortoiseshell butterflies +were flitting to and fro. The sunlight filtered down through the bluish +haze. I rested and let an hour or two slip by. Then I got up and crossed +a little brook and strolled along a narrow path that wound its way +through a copse. The ground was starred with wood-anemones, oxlips, +violets, cuckoo-flowers, and in damp places with green-golden saxifrage. +I came to a small cottage that had pots of flowers in every window. I +sat down while a hospitable old woman made coffee and chattered volubly +in Flemish. Another soldier arrived soon after. Had I heard the news? +The Germans had broken through on the Somme and had captured Bapaume. I +asked him if he had seen it in print. No, he had heard it from an A.S.C. +driver. He hoped it wasn't true, but he feared it was.</p> + +<p>I returned to camp full of suppressed excitement.</p> + +<p>Something was wrong. The shelling of the back-areas continued; air-raids +became more and more frequent. These were ominous signs.</p> + +<p>Then the newspapers arrived. The Somme front had collapsed. The Fifth +Army was in full retreat. The Germans had taken Bapaume and Peronne and +were threatening Amiens.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Had I been living in Germany during the war I would have felt a powerful +tendency to defend the cause of the Allies, to excuse their misdeeds, to +overrate their ability, while being highly critical and censorious of +every German shortcoming.</p> + +<p>A nation at war is a mob whose very blatancy, injustice and cruelty +drive one to hatred and opposition. The enemy mob seems less detestable +because it is out of sight and one thinks almost involuntarily: "It +cannot be as bad as our own."</p> + +<p>I could not bear to hear a victory joyfully announced. The jubilation +and the self-glorification of the crowd filled me with loathing, and I +could only think of the intensified slaughter and misery that are the +price of every victory. They who pay the price, they alone have the +right to rejoice, but they do not rejoice. The German mob revealed its +depravity when it hung out flags in the streets to celebrate the first +German victories. And, when the first battle of Cambrai was won, London +jeered at the bereaved and mocked the dead by ringing the joy-bells.</p> + +<p>Every genuine patriot is called a traitor in his own country. But +patriotism, however genuine, is a thing that must be surmounted. There +is only one good that war can bring to a nation—defeat. A patriot, +loving his own country, would therefore wish his country defeat in war. +But he who has surmounted his patriotism and has attained complete +impartiality would not selfishly claim the only benefit of war entirely +for his own country, but would desire all to share it alike, and would +therefore wish defeat for every warring nation.</p> + +<p>If a horde of British and a horde of German soldiers engage in mutual +butchery, and if the maimed, broken remnants of the British horde have +just enough order left to drive back the remnants of the German horde, +leaving innumerable dead and wounded and for ever darkening the lives of +countless friends and wives—in other words, if the British army wins +what our infamous Press would call a "glorious victory"—then all that +is evil in the life of the nation is encouraged and justified. It is +then that the diplomatists who lied and schemed to bring on the +monstrous event, that all the politicians who exploit and foster the +nation's madness and misery to enhance their own reputations, that those +who batten on the slaughter, and that those who glorify the carnage at +a safe distance and fight the enemy with their lying tongues, are +justified. They all are justified. But if, instead of victory, there is +defeat, then they tremble lest they should be disgraced and lose their +places, lest they should be victims of a disillusioned people's anger, +lest they should forfeit their plunder, lest they should be called to +account for the lies with which they fooled the masses. Defeat is the +defeat of evil, victory is the victory of evil.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A second batch of papers arrived. The German advance was continuing. The +British reverse was becoming catastrophic. At first I felt a kind of +grimness, and then I was thrilled by the thought that perhaps the end of +the war might be near. We might not have a good peace, but peace of any +kind was preferable to war. The mendacious Press talked much about a +"dishonourable peace," as though any peace could be as dishonourable as +a prolonged war.</p> + +<p>But the immediate reality became too overwhelming. Grey multitudes were +sweeping khaki multitudes before them. High-explosives, shrapnel, +grenades, bombs, bullets were rending, piercing, and shattering the +living flesh and muscle and bone. Towns and villages were being turned +into heaps of brick and wreckage. Hordes of old men, women, and children +were thronging the roads, and fleeing from approaching disaster.</p> + +<p>We went to work as usual although we worked less than usual, for we now +had something to talk about. Would the Germans reach the coast? If they +did, then the northern armies would be cut off and destroyed. A general +retreat from our front might be ordered at any moment. We stood in +groups and discussed these problems hour by hour.</p> + +<p>One day we were returning from work and passing through the village. A +crowd of civilians was standing round the window of the Mairie, where a +written notice was exposed. An old woman dressed in black was moaning, +"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, mon Dieu." The '19, '20, and '21 classes had been +called up.</p> + +<p>Then the German advance came to an end. A French army had arrived and +saved the situation. The shelling of the back areas had ceased. The +danger was over for a time.</p> + +<p>Had the Germans assembled all their strength for one supreme attempt at +breaking through the Western Front? Or was it only the beginning of a +whole series of operations?</p> + +<p>One morning, as we woke up, we heard the roar and rumble of a +bombardment. We did not take much notice of it, for we had heard the +sound so often.</p> + +<p>We paraded, and marched off to work. The continuous roar gradually gave +place to irregular, though frequent, outbursts of firing along the +entire front.</p> + +<p>The next day the sound seemed to have come nearer. Rumours began to +circulate—it was said that Armentières had fallen, that the Portuguese +had been annihilated at Merville, that the British had counter-attacked +and taken Lille.</p> + +<p>Rations, newspapers and letters were delayed. Large bodies of troops +passed through the village. We got no definite or official news, and +nobody had any clear notion of what was happening.</p> + +<p>But the sound of firing grew louder and louder and our anxiety deepened. +There could no longer be any doubt about it—the Germans were advancing +on our front.</p> + +<p>The sickening certainty transcended all other considerations. A few +miles from us thousands were being slaughtered. I ceased to ponder the +problems of failure and success. I forgot the politicians and was +conscious of only one despairing wish, that the terrible thing might +come to an end. Victory and defeat seemed irrelevant considerations. If +only the end would come quickly—nothing else really mattered.</p> + +<p>I often wondered what was in the minds of the other men. Many of them +looked anxious, but on the whole they were normal in their behaviour. +They grumbled and quarrelled much as usual and talked rather more than +usual—but so did I, in spite of my intense mental agitation.</p> + +<p>The sound of firing grew louder.</p> + +<p>We marched to an extensive R.E. park and saw-mill near a railway siding. +We had to dismantle the machinery and load everything of any value on to +a train. For several hours five of us dragged a huge cylinder and piston +along the ground. We toiled and perspired. We made a ramp of heavy +wooden beams in front of the train and then we slowly pushed the iron +mass into a truck. We went back and, raising a big fly-wheel on its edge +and supporting it with a wooden beam under each axle, we rolled it +painfully along, swaying from side to side.</p> + +<p>Then there came the long-drawn familiar whine, and the black smoke arose +behind some trees a hundred yards away and the thunder-clap followed. A +jagged piece of steel came whizzing by and lodged in a stack of timber +behind us.</p> + +<p>We pushed the wheel up the ramp and returned to fetch heavy coils of +wire, bundles of picks and shovels, sacks and barrels of nails. Our +backs and shoulders ached, our hands and finger-tips were sore.</p> + +<p>Another shell came whining over. It burst by a little cottage. Its +thunder made our ears sing. The fragments of flying metal made us duck +or scatter behind the stacks.</p> + +<p>We worked until we almost dropped with sheer fatigue. Iron rods and bars +for reinforcing pill-boxes, bags of cement, boxes of tools, parts of +machinery, all went on to the train. Then we entered a big shed, where +a number of tar-barrels stood in a row. We rolled them out and placed +them by the timber stacks. We laid a pick beside each barrel so that it +could be broached, the tar set alight, and the entire park destroyed at +a moment's notice.</p> + +<p>It was dark when we stopped work. We reached camp after an hour's +wearisome marching. We waited in a long queue outside the cook-house. +The cooks served out the greasy stew as quickly as they could, but we +were so tired and ill-tempered that we shouted abuse at them without +reason and without being provoked, and banged our plates and tins. The +war, the advance, the slaughter were forgotten. We were conscious of +nothing but weariness, stiffness, and petty irritation.</p> + +<p>The following day we marched to a ration dump. The wooden cases of +rations were piled up in gigantic cubes, so that the entire dump looked +like a town of windowless, wooden buildings. We formed one long file +that circled slowly past the stacks, each man taking one case on to his +shoulder or back and carrying it to the train. And so we circled round +and round throughout the monotonous day.</p> + +<p>In the evening I did not wait in the dinner queue, but went to the St. +Martin. It was kept by an old woman and her two daughters. They were +tortured by anxiety:</p> + +<p>"Les Allemands vont venir ici—de Shermans come heer?" they asked. But I +knew no more than they did. I told them, against my own conviction, that +the German advance would be held up, but they remained anxious. The +uproar of the cannonade was louder than ever. All the windows of the +building shook and rattled. The old woman muttered: "'Tis niet goet, +'tis niet goet," and the elder daughter echoed: "Oh, 'tiss no bon, 'tiss +no bon."</p> + +<p>Two British officers entered. They looked round and saw that private +soldiers were sitting at the tables. But the St. Martin was the biggest +estaminet in the village and provided the best wines and coffees, so +they stood in the doorway, undecided what to do. They asked one of the +girls if there was a restaurant for officers in the neighbourhood. She +answered: "No—no restaurant for officeerss—you come heer—privates, +zey no hurt you—privates, officeerss, all same."</p> + +<p>Encouraged by these assurances, one of the newcomers said to the other:</p> + +<p>"Come on, let's sit down here and have a coffee—we needn't stop long."</p> + +<p>All the smaller tables were occupied, but there was one long table that +stretched across the room and only a few men were sitting at the far end +of it. The officers sat down at the near end and ordered coffee. They +seemed a little embarrassed at first, but they soon began to talk freely +to each other:</p> + +<p>"I wonder if there's a war on in these parts—I hear the Huns have made +a bit of a push."</p> + +<p>"Curse the blighters—they'll mess up my leave, it's due in a week's +time."</p> + +<p>"Jolly good coffee, this! Here, Marie, bring us another two cups—der +coop der caffay—that's right, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Dat's right," said the girl, "you speak goot French—vous avez tout a +fait l'accent parisien."</p> + +<p>Suddenly her sister came running into the room, sobbing loudly:</p> + +<p>"English soldier come round from Commandant—he tell us Shermans +come—ve got to go 'vay at once, ve got to leave everysing—ve go 'vay +and English troops steal everysing and shellss come and smash everysing +and ve looss everysing."</p> + +<p>The civilians of the village had received orders to leave immediately. +Through the window we could see groups of people standing in the street +and talking together. They were greatly agitated.</p> + +<p>The old woman sniffed and wiped her eyes. The elder daughter was +packing a few things in a bundle. One of the officers asked: "What about +our coffee?" but she took no notice. Her sister had gone out in search +of further information.</p> + +<p>She soon returned. Yes, they would all have to leave at once, but, if +they liked to take the risk, they could come back to-morrow with a +wagon, if they could get one, and fetch their belongings.</p> + +<p>They were comforted. They knew where they would be able to get a wagon. +They would cart their stock and their household property away on the +morrow. They would start another estaminet somewhere. They would suffer +loss and inconvenience, but they would not be ruined—their valuable +stock of wines would save them from that.</p> + +<p>The bundle was made up and they prepared to leave. We paid our bill and +went out into the street. Numbers of soldiers were straggling past. They +looked wretched and exhausted. Their boots and puttees were caked with +mud. They had neither rifles nor packs. Three men were lying up against +a garden wall. We asked them for news. They could not tell us much, +except that the Germans were still advancing.</p> + +<p>"We was at Dickebusch when 'e started slingin' stuff over—gorblimy, 'e +don't 'alf wallop yer—umpteen of our mates got bleed'n' well biffed. We +cleared out afore it got too 'ot."</p> + +<p>Several famished "battle-stragglers" had entered our camp in order to +beg for food. They sat round the cook-house and ate in gloomy silence.</p> + +<p>In the adjoining field a number of tents had sprung up. Blue figures +were moving in and out amongst them. The French had arrived.</p> + +<p>The next morning, about breakfast time, the first shell burst near the +camp—a short rapid squeal followed by a sharp report. The second shell +burst a few minutes after, throwing up earth and smoke. A steel fragment +came sailing over in a wide parabola and struck the foot of a man +standing in the breakfast queue. He limped to the first-aid hut, looking +very pale. When he got there, he had some difficulty in finding his +wound, it was so slight.</p> + +<p>We paraded and marched off. Several shells burst in the neighbouring +fields. We reached the ration dump and began to load the train. A +civilian arrived with the newspapers. Our N.C.O.'s were powerless to +stop the general stampede that surged towards the paper-vendor.</p> + +<p>The Germans had advanced on a wide front ... Armentières had fallen. The +news was several days old and much might have happened since.</p> + +<p>We went back to our work and discussed events. We were bullied and +threatened with arrest, but we talked in groups while we carried cases +of rations. Would we be involved in the advance? We might even be +captured—that would at least be an experience and a change.</p> + +<p>In the evening a few of us went to the St. Martin to see if the old +woman and her daughter had been able to fetch their property away. We +observed that the windows, where tinned fruit, chocolate, cakes, soap, +postcards, and other articles used to be exhibited, had been cleared +completely. We entered and found one of the girls in tears:</p> + +<p>"All gone—all gone—I show you—you come into de cellar—all de wine +gone—bottles all, all broken. English soldiers come in de night and +take everysing 'vay—ve nussing left—it's de soldiers in de camp over +zair in de field—zey plenty drunk dis morning—ve lose everysing—ve +poor now."</p> + +<p>Besides the windows, the till and the shelves had been cleared, and +empty drawers and boxes had been thrown on to the floor. We went down +into the cellar. All the cases had been opened and the stone floor was +littered with empty and broken bottles. The girl began to sob again when +she saw the ruin that had been inflicted:</p> + +<p>"All gone, all gone—ve poor now."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you complain to the Town Major?" one of us suggested.</p> + +<p>"Complain?—vat's de use complain?—de Town Major, he nice man, he kind +to us, but he no find de soldiers dat come, and if he find zem he punish +zem but ve get nussing. Vat's de use punish zem if ve get nussing? All +gone, ve poor now—oh, dis var, dis var—dis de second time ve +refugeess—ve lose eversing 1914, ve come here from Zandvoorde and ve +start again—ve do business vis soldiers, soldiers plenty money, ve do +goot business, and now ve refugeess again and ve novair to go. If de +Shermans come, ve do business vis de Shermans—but de shells come first +and ve all killed—ah, dis var, dis var! Vat's de use fighting? All for +nussing! Var over, me plenty dance!"</p> + +<p>We ascended the cellar stairs. The mother was in the main room, wiping +her eyes. We said good-bye to her and her daughter, feeling ashamed of +our uniforms, and walked out into the street.</p> + +<p>A mass of French cavalry were galloping past. It was growing dark. The +cannonade had become deafening. Over the town a few miles off there was +a crimson glare in the sky.</p> + +<p>A horde of civilians was thronging the main street of the village. Old +men and women were carrying all that was left to them of their property +on their backs. Others were pushing wheelbarrows heaped up with clothes +and household utensils. Girls were carrying heavy bundles under their +arms and dragging tired, tearful children along. White-faced, sorrowful +mothers were carrying peevish babies. Great wagons, loaded with +furniture and bedding, and whole families sitting on top, were drawn by +lank and bony horses. A little cart, with a pallid, aged woman cowering +inside, was drawn painfully along by a white-haired man. They passed by +us in the gathering gloom, and there seemed to be no end to these +straggling multitudes of ruined, homeless people who were wandering +westwards to escape the disaster that threatened to engulf us all.</p> + +<p>The eastern sky flickered with vivid gun-flashes and scintillated with +brilliant shell-bursts. The night was full of rustling noises and sullen +thunder-claps, while a more distant roaring and rumbling seemed to break +against some invisible shore like the breakers of a stormy sea.</p> + +<p>We retired to our huts and tents. Soon after lights-out the Police +Corporal came round and shouted:</p> + +<p>"Parade at 4.45 to-morrow morning in marching order."</p> + +<p>The tumult increased as though the surge were coming nearer and nearer. +Shells of small calibre passed overhead with a prolonged whistle and +burst with a hardly audible report. The thunder of bigger explosions +shook the huts and caused the ground to tremble.</p> + +<p>As I woke the next morning the din of the cannonade broke in upon my +senses with a sudden impact. Rumbling, thundering, bellowing, rushing, +whistling, and whining, the tumult seemed all around and above us. +Sudden flashes lit up the whole camp so that for fractions of seconds +every hut and tent was brilliantly illuminated. Multitudes of dazzling +stars appeared and disappeared.</p> + +<p>We drew our breakfast and packed up our belongings. All was confusion in +the hut.</p> + +<p>We paraded, the roll was called, and as the day began to dawn we marched +off.</p> + +<p>We passed down the main road in long, swaying columns of fours. We left +the woodyard behind us and hoped it would be destroyed—how we hated the +place for the dreary months we had spent there! The westward stream of +refugees had ceased, but an eastward stream of French infantry and field +artillery thronged the roads. The artillerymen were mostly tall and +powerfully built. The infantry were nearly all elderly men of poor +physique. They looked desperately miserable. We exchanged greetings:</p> + +<p>"It's a good war!"</p> + +<p>"C'est une bonne guerre!"</p> + +<p>And then we broke into song:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, <i>Oh</i> it's a lovely war!"</p> + +<p>The French did not sing, but we, who were escaping destruction, passed +from one song to another:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I don't want to fight the Germans,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I don't want to go to war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd sooner be in London,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear old dirty London."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Far, far from Ypers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd like to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where German snipers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can't get at me."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When this bloody war is over,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O how happy I shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I get my civvy clothes on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more soldiering for me."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and all the other songs familiar to every soldier in the British army.</p> + +<p>We marched all day along straight roads running in between flat fields +and past ugly little villages. As we grew tired and footsore our +rollicking spirit abated and the singing died down.</p> + +<p>Towards nightfall we halted in a large meadow with a pond in one corner. +Several lorries loaded with tents were waiting for us. We unloaded them, +pitched the tents, crept into them, and went to bed.</p> + +<p>The rumble of the cannonade sounded faintly in the far distance.</p> + +<p>"I reckon it's a bloody shame to let the other Tommies and the +Frenchies...."</p> + +<p>The voice seemed to die away into a drawl as weariness overcame me. I +continued to hear the sound of words for a little while, but they +conveyed no meaning. And then sleep descended and brought entire +oblivion.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h2>HOME ON LEAVE</h2> + + +<blockquote><p>"I have several times expressed the thought that in our day the +feeling of patriotism is an unnatural, irrational, and harmful +feeling, and a cause of a great part of the ills from which mankind +is suffering; and that, consequently, this feeling should not be +cultivated, as is now being done, but should, on the contrary, be +suppressed and eradicated by all means available to rational men."</p> + +<p class="right">(<span class="smcap">Tolstoy</span>.)</p></blockquote> + +<p>A change had come over us all. Instead of long spells of dreary silence +interrupted by outbursts of irritability, by grumbling and by violent +quarrels over nothing, there was animated conversations and sometimes +even gaiety. Our talk was all about one subject—not about peace, for we +had abandoned all hope of peace and hardly ever thought of it—but about +leave. We had been waiting for seventeen months when, without warning, a +leave allotment was assigned to our unit. About half a dozen men were +going every day and no one knew whose turn would come next. We were full +of intense excitement and glad expectation, but also of anxiety in case +something should happen to stop our leave altogether.</p> + +<p>I made up my mind to enjoy myself thoroughly. I would see parents and +friends and forget all about the army and the war. I would be gay and +frivolous and go to theatres, music-halls and cafés. And one day I would +spend in the British Museum and lose myself in books—that would be +just like old times! Of course, our leave would not last for ever and +the return journey would be terrible. No doubt the fortnight would pass +very quickly, but I determined to enjoy every single hour with +deliberation and understanding, and to squeeze every drop of pleasure +out of it. How many hours were there in a fortnight? More than three +hundred! Many would be wasted in sleep, but still, there would be many +left and by dwelling upon each one, the fortnight would seem an age.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>An afternoon and an evening in a train that travelled all too slowly. A +night and half a day at Calais Rest Camp. How terrible was the rankling +impatience that gnawed our hearts as the hours dragged on.</p> + +<p>But at last we were on the leave boat. There was another long delay, and +then, with a feeling of immense relief, we heard the engines throb and +the paddle-wheels begin to turn. I looked overboard and saw white foam +hissing along the surface of water rapidly widening between us and the +quay.</p> + +<p>Seventeen months of exile and slavery had come to an end and before us +lay a wonderful fortnight of freedom and happiness. And at the end of +the fortnight? There was no need to think of that now.</p> + +<p>The sea was blue and smooth and a cool breeze was blowing. We saw the +cliffs of England grow larger and larger. Soon we were able to +distinguish the town of Dover, the houses clustered round the harbour, +and the Castle up on the cliff. It was there that I had begun my career +as a soldier more than two years before. How much had happened since +then! I felt that I had become a different being altogether.</p> + +<p>The boat entered the harbour and ran alongside the quay. A train was +waiting for us. We poured out of the ship in two streams that spread out +fan-wise and flowed into the carriages.</p> + +<p>It was good to sit by the window in a comfortable compartment and lean +back against soft cushions.</p> + +<p>Glad anticipation and barely suppressed excitement were visible on +everybody's face.</p> + +<p>The train sped through familiar country: meadows, pastures, cornfields, +orchards and woodlands. People waved their handkerchiefs at us from +cottage windows.</p> + +<p>It was growing dark as the first rows of drab suburban houses began to +glide past.</p> + +<p>So this was London. I stared out of the window and tried to grasp the +tremendous, wonderful fact with all the power of my mind. Somehow or +other it did not seem real, but I felt I could make it real by an effort +of the will.</p> + +<p>Streets and houses and moving people soon crowded the whole view. The +people filled me with intense curiosity. I longed to talk to them and +find out what they felt and thought about the war.</p> + +<p>We entered Victoria Station. I opened the door of the compartment with +hasty, trembling hands. I did not wait to change my French money, but +hurried out into a street and got on to a 'bus.</p> + +<p>London, with its subdued lights, lay all around me. It had not changed +since I saw it last, and yet I felt it ought to have changed. The reason +was that I had changed. And then I began to fear that I had changed +beyond the power of recovery. The oppressive sensation that I was in a +dream forced itself upon me. I felt that there was only one reality in +the whole world—the war. Would I ever escape from the war? It would +come to an end some day, and I would leave the army, but would not the +war obsess me until the end of my life? Would I ever be myself again?</p> + +<p>But this was not the way to enjoy my leave! I began to feel +disappointed at not being so happy as I had expected to be. Why was I +not full of rapture? Why did not every object fill me with delight? But +I ought to have known that habitual discontent and bitterness and revolt +are not shaken off in a few hours or a few days, and that they persist +even after their immediate cause has been removed.</p> + +<p>I looked round at the other people sitting on the 'bus. I had visited +foreign countries in former years, but never before had I felt that I +was amongst complete strangers. There are moments when a dog, a horse, +or a bird fills us with a sense of the uncanny—its mind is an insoluble +mystery, with depths so dark and inscrutable that one feels something +that approaches fear and horror. And so it was as I sat on the 'bus. The +civilians around me seemed like animals of a different species. They +were not human at all—or was it I who was not human?</p> + +<p>I went to another seat in order to listen to a man and woman who were +talking together. I felt that if they were to talk about the war, the +uncanny spell would be broken, the dream would dissolve and I would be +restored to my own fellow creatures. But they spoke about trivial +domestic matters and about a flower show. If they had only mentioned the +word "war" I would have felt relieved by its familiarity, but they did +not mention it once.</p> + +<p>And then, in great mental agony, I said to myself: "I <i>will</i> be happy, I +<i>will</i> enjoy my leave." But a number of invisible cobwebs hung between +myself and the world around me. I tried to brush them away, but they +were so impalpable that the movement of my hand did not disturb them at +all.</p> + +<p>I gave up the attempt. I would wait until I got home. Then I would talk +and forget myself—only by forgetting myself would I enjoy the present. +Only those who forget themselves are happy. The obsession of self is +the most oppressive of all burdens.</p> + +<p>I descended from a 'bus and took a train. A girl sitting opposite me +stared at my blue chevrons and whispered to her fellow passenger: "He's +just come from the front." So I too was regarded as a strange kind of +animal. I got out at my home-station. I showed my leave-warrant to the +ticket collector. He was a benevolent looking old man. He smiled and +wished me good luck. Things began to seem a little less foreign. And +then the thought of being home in a few minutes absorbed me entirely.</p> + +<p>I hurried down the street. I knocked at the door, and it opened. The +long yearned-for meeting took place at last.</p> + +<p>I threw my pack, equipment and steel helmet contemptuously into a +corner. I took an infantile delight in clean, furnished rooms, in the +white table-cloth, the shining silver, the cut flowers, and the +oil-paintings on the wall. And we talked until late into the night.</p> + +<p>It was good to wake up the next morning and to know that the first day +of my leave was still before me. I felt encouraged to face my new +surroundings boldly. I would understand them and identify myself with +them. If the sensation that I was dreaming came upon me again, I would +welcome it and then I would destroy it once and for all. I would enjoy +my leave at any cost. It would become my only reality, and when it was +over it would be a reality which I would take back to the front. I would +hoard it and always think of it out there, so that the war would seem +like a dream, the end of which I could await with patience and +resignation.</p> + +<p>I went out to seek friends and acquaintances. I also hoped to meet some +war enthusiasts. I would tell them something about the war. How would +their theories be able to stand before my actual experiences!</p> + +<p>I was soon disillusioned.</p> + +<p>I dined with a wealthy kinsman. The slaughter of millions had brought +him prosperity. He had never done any fighting except with his mouth, +but it is precisely that kind of fighting that infuriates the spirit, +engenders heroic ardour, and causes the nostrils to dilate. He was so +bellicose that he even desired to do some <i>real</i> righting, not +understanding the difference between the two. He thought of joining an +infantry unit—the artillery were not good enough, he did not want to +fire at an enemy he could not see, he wanted to use the bayonet and +murder his fellow men in hand-to-hand encounters.</p> + +<p>I began to understand why many men I had met were glad to come back from +leave.</p> + +<p>I tried to dissuade him, although I felt it would do him good to see +something of the war and he would learn a much-needed lesson. And yet I +did not want him killed or horribly mutilated, although I knew that he +and those like him were alone responsible for the entire war, both at +its origins and its continuance.</p> + +<p>But he would not be persuaded. He said he was <i>dying</i> to go out and see +the fun.</p> + +<p>At the word "fun" I felt a sudden and violent contraction of all my +muscles. I had an almost irresistible impulse to stand up and strike him +across the face. But I was in a public restaurant and I controlled +myself. He did not seem to notice anything.</p> + +<p>The conversation drifted away from the war and became commonplace. I +tried to relate a few of my experiences, but somehow or other they +seemed unsuited to the occasion.</p> + +<p>I had set out with the intention of destroying a mouldering, tottering +edifice built up of illusions and ignorant prejudices, and I found +myself face to face with towering, strong, unshakable walls, strong and +unshakable precisely because it was built of illusions, lies, and +prejudices.</p> + +<p>I felt the burden of war descending upon me with all its crushing, +annihilating weight. I fought a losing fight against the conviction +that for the rest of my leave I would be able to talk of nothing else +and think of nothing else but the war. If only I could talk to someone +who would understand, that at least would bring relief!</p> + +<p>I longed to see my two friends, although I felt some anxiety lest they +might have changed, or rather lest they might not have changed with me.</p> + +<p>It was in the evening of my first day that we met. At first the one +embarrassed me a little by his apparent cold aloofness. But his caustic +observations on the war soon made it clear that he had stood the test. I +realized, from the hatred that lay behind them, that he had suffered as +much as many a soldier in the trenches.</p> + +<p>Then the other said to me:</p> + +<p>"This is a thing I have never told anyone yet, but I will tell it to you +now. There are times when I almost wish I could see German troops +marching victoriously through the streets of London. It is not my reason +that is speaking now, but my bitterness, which has become stronger than +my reason."</p> + +<p>I understood him far too well to make any comment.</p> + +<p>And then after a long silence, I said: "I wonder if anybody else thinks +like that."</p> + +<p>And he answered: "Yes, there are many—more than you would believe."</p> + +<p>But the first added: "We must remain neutral—that is our one and only +duty. The more malevolent our neutrality the better, but it must be +neutrality. Remember that there are Germans whose bitterness prompts +them to wish that British troops were marching through the streets of +Berlin. I think their wish is juster than yours, but both wishes cannot +be fulfilled, and it is therefore desirable that the next best thing +should happen, namely, that both the Allies and their enemies should be +entirely deprived of victory."</p> + +<p>I agreed, but added:</p> + +<p>"Yes, fundamentally one must remain neutral, but in relation to present +circumstances one cannot remain neutral. It is our business to arraign +England, our own country, and not Germany. It is for every nation to +discover its own faults. There are many Germans of courage and honesty +who will condemn their country for the crimes she has committed. But +condemnation from outside is useless and is always discredited. In all +probability the Allies and the Central Powers are both equally bad, and +to denounce the enemy only is mere yelping with the rest of the savage, +vindictive pack."</p> + +<p>"That is true, but what is the good of saying it, or thinking it! +Ignorance, prejudice, and intellectual dishonesty are far stronger than +you are. The depravity of mankind is such that only failure and +humiliation will carry conviction. Mere words are only wasted. If any +nation is completely defeated in this war, then its people will rise +against its rulers, whether they are guilty or not, and they will fix +all the responsibility of war upon them and upon themselves. There will +be a frenzy of self-accusation—whether just or unjust it doesn't +matter—and as for the victors, they will say: 'Our enemies admit their +guilt, so what further proof is needed?' Where the <i>real</i> guilt is, that +is an irrelevant and trivial question. Success or failure will be the +sole ultimate criterion. There is only one hope for the world—that +failure will be so evenly distributed that there will be anxious +heart-searchings in every country. Failure alone makes ignorant people +think. Success is taken for granted. Even after a single battle lost, +the Press is full of explanations and excuses, but after a battle won, +there is only complacency and self-glorification, and questions as to +the why and wherefore are considered out of place or even treasonable."</p> + +<p>When we parted I was seized with a feeling of intense loneliness, but +nevertheless I realized with satisfaction that I was not entirely alone. +I also gave up the idea of enjoying my leave and conceived a deep +aversion for all pleasures and amusements.</p> + +<p>The next day I wandered into the British Museum. The 600,000 volumes +that surrounded me on the shelves of the reading-room had a depressing +effect. I took out a few books, but was too distracted for serious +study.</p> + +<p>I almost smiled with self-contempt when I thought how I had set out the +previous morning in order to conquer my old world, and how it was now +receding further and further from me. I looked at the other readers. +They were mostly old men, engrossed in their studies, just as they had +been in peace time. I wondered what they thought about the war. I knew +they would not allow it to disturb them much or interfere with their +studies and their sleep. And after all, why should they care? It was +only youth that was being slaughtered on the battlefields and not old +age.</p> + +<p>The sleepy dullness of the museum became unbearable and I walked out +into the street.</p> + +<p>I spent the evening with a member of the National Liberal Club, an +intimate family friend, whose intellectual arrogance was one of the evil +memories of my childhood, when many eager impulses and aspirations had +been turned to bitterness by his lofty depreciation and his +imperturbable assumption of superiority based on maturer years and +experience. Having at different times received material kindnesses at +his hands, I knew I could not tell him what I really thought, and the +prospect of meeting him filled me with uneasiness. Moreover, in his +presence I felt a kind of pride which I did not usually feel in the +presence of others—a pride that forbade me to express any sentiment or +to reveal my inner mind. And yet my inner mind was clamouring +intolerably for revelation. I realized the advantage he would derive +from his simple attitude and from his lack of mental integrity, which +enabled him to ignore any considerations that did not conform to his +preconceived notions, and I realized the disadvantage of my complex +attitude, made up as it was of so many conflicting impulses, at war with +each other and with the world around me.</p> + +<p>My fears were justified.</p> + +<p>At first the conversation was commonplace, and I related various +experiences in a desultory fashion. Those that were mildly amusing were +most appreciated. But gradually we drifted towards more vital issues and +then the long and futile argument began. The weapons of sarcasm and +denunciation were denied to me by the laws of politeness and etiquette. +I beat in vain against the solid walls of obstinate prejudice and +superficiality. His statements were uttered with dogmatic emphasis. They +expressed beliefs held with all the self-assurance born of ignorance. +They were based on no independent reasoning or observation, but had been +assimilated either directly from the daily Press or from a circle of +acquaintances whose entire political outlook was the creation of the +Press. It was only then that I realized the immense power of newspapers.</p> + +<p>For most people "thinking" is just the discovery of convenient phrases +or labels, such as "pessimist," or "socialist," or "pacifist" or +"Bolshevik." When any puzzling mental attitude comes before their +notice, they pin one of their labels to it, and, having labelled it, +they think they understand it. The Press supplies them with these +labels, and, consciously or unconsciously, they store them up in their +minds and always have a few ready for immediate use.</p> + +<p>So familiar and commonplace were the phrases which my opponent selected +from his store in order to reply to my every utterance, that I could +almost tell what he was going to say before he said it. Moreover, the +fact that he had travelled abroad and had associated with foreigners, +instead of widening his view had only narrowed it. Had he never +travelled he might have been sufficiently modest to admit that he knew +nothing of foreign countries and he might have suspended judgment about +them; but the mere fact that he had travelled filled him with a deep +conviction that he knew all about the places he had visited, and this +conviction, enunciated with pompous emphasis, supplanted the real +knowledge and understanding derived from honest observation. Like so +many people who do not possess the faculty of experiencing, he +continually appealed to his own experience and continually referred to +his maturer years, as though old age of itself brought wisdom.</p> + +<p>As for the war itself he took no deep interest in it, although he +glanced at the war news every day. But to understand it, to analyse its +causes, to grasp its significance, to realize its true nature, that he +never attempted to do. His labels and his alleged experiences and his +years were sufficient to cope with the entire question and answer it +satisfactorily for himself. I almost envied him for his +self-sufficiency. He would never suffer acutely from any mental strife +or agitation due to any but immediate and personal causes. Perhaps such +a stable mentality that can without effort reject all inconvenient data +is the most desirable of all and the most conducive to happiness. +Certain it is that the stability of society and the very existence of +civilization itself depend upon the preponderance of that particular +type.</p> + +<p>I knew that the argument was hopeless. Indeed, it was no argument. It +was no exchange of ideas. It was no mutual attempt at discovering truths +by an impartial comparison of two different attitudes.</p> + +<p>At times there were signs of heat on both sides. My opponent spoke of +"our democratic army" (familiar phrase!) and the overbearing manner in +which he connected this dictum with a number of false, irrelevant or +arbitrary generalizations made me feel a momentary pang of anger and I +wished he could experience a term of military service. Nevertheless, +there was no actual display of bad temper or emotion and we parted with +all the habitual formulae imposed by social decorum.</p> + +<p>I knew I had come into contact with the truly representative man. His +opinion and the opinions of those like him, they all made up popular +opinion. All other opinion was abnormal and negligible. It was with +despair that I realized the hopelessness of my own position and that of +my friends.</p> + +<p>The public did not understand the war and did not want to understand it. +It was far away from them and they did not realize the amount of +suffering caused by it. It also brought wealth to many who would +therefore have regretted its sudden termination. This seems a hard thing +to say, but nevertheless it is true. The so-called "working-classes" had +developed an appetite for wealth and power that nothing could satisfy. +This appetite was being fed continually, but the more it devoured the +more voracious it became. Nor did the shameless profiteering of the +wealthy tend to allay it in any way. Protests against the war never went +beyond the passing of mere resolutions. Those who had sufficient +humanity and imagination to hate the war in its entirety and to suffer +from it, although not necessarily taking any part in it, were too few +and too scattered and isolated to take any effective action.</p> + +<p>The extent to which a man can suffer is the precise measure of his +merit, and thus it was that our patriots and war-enthusiasts being +incapable, by reason of their grossness and vulgarity, of suffering in a +spiritual sense, were immune from the misery caused by the war and yet +it was they above all others upon whose support the continuance of the +war depended.</p> + +<p>This was the terrible fatality. The more a man suffered from the war the +smaller was his control over it.</p> + +<p>Everywhere, those who deserved to suffer did not suffer and those who +did not deserve to suffer suffered. And that was why the war went on. +Most people were so indifferent that it was impossible to talk to them +without anger. I could think of nothing else but the war. I could not +escape from its invisible presence. The streets and houses seemed the +immaterial creations of some dream, and somewhere behind them the +slaughter was going on, and amid the noise of the traffic the throbbing +of the bombardment was plainly audible.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I felt an impulse to shout from the house-tops like a Hebrew +prophet and denounce this most wicked of generations. But the very +futility of the idea filled me with mortification.</p> + +<p>Our enlightened twentieth century has no use for prophets. Christ +Himself would have been arrested as a pacifist or a lunatic if He had +spoken His mind in the streets of London. And the clergy would have +applauded the imprisonment of a dangerous "pro-German." The scribes and +Pharisees were more numerous and more powerful than ever before.</p> + +<p>Particularly the scribes.</p> + +<p>There never was in all the world an infamy as great as the infamy of our +war-time Press. A horde of unscrupulous liars and hirelings spat hatred +and malice from safe and comfortable positions. They played the hero +when no danger threatened. They defied an enemy who could not reach +them. They boasted of the deeds they had not done. They gloried in the +victories they did not win. They mouthed frantic protestations of +injured innocence when they should have felt the burden of guilty shame. +They were mawkishly sentimental when they should have felt keen grief +and horror. They denounced murder and they urged others to commit +murder. They spewed their venomous slime into every spring of healing +water. At a time when clear thinking and balanced judgments were needed +more desperately than ever before, they squirted into the air thick +clouds of lies, and half-truths, and misleading phrases, and judgments +distorted by hatred and warped by malice. And as for those who were +either lured on to perpetrate the great iniquity by grandiose and +seductive falsehoods or were dragged from their homes and families and +sent unwilling to the slaughter, these miserable slaves the Press of all +countries urged on, one against the other, brutally deaf to their +misery, representing them as glad and cheerful when they had reached the +extreme of human suffering, magnifying them into heroes of epic +proportions (before they donned their dingy garb of war they were "lice" +that had to be "combed out"), endowing them with absurdly impossible +virtues—when they were just ordinary human beings in misfortune with no +ambition except to live in peace and comfort—and at the same time +bestowing lofty patronage upon them and calling them "Tommies" and +sending them cigarettes, chocolates and advice, as though they were +children to be petted, with no will or intelligence of their own.</p> + +<p>The Press, the cinema, the atrocity placards, and propagandist leaflets, +they all practised the same deliberate and colossal deceit and kindled +hatred against the enemy. And so successful was this diabolical +conspiracy that hatred became second nature to vast masses of people. To +think evil of the enemy was an article of national faith, and to +question this faith, or still more to repudiate it, that was heresy of +the most heinous kind. Religion died long ago, but the cult of +nationalism that replaced it was infinitely more pernicious in its +intolerance and cruelty than religion at its very worst.</p> + +<p>Individually men are often good, but collectively men are always bad. +The national mob had never been so powerful, nor had it ever been so +servile, and that was why its passions were those of the coward and not +of the brave man; that was why chivalry and generosity and +fair-mindedness were execrated, and only hatred and boastfulness and +vindictive malice were allowed to live.</p> + +<p>The rapidity with which the time passed was terrifying. Although my +leave had produced so much disillusionment, I yet dreaded its +termination. Just as my life at the front had made me unfit for life at +home, so my short spell of life at home had rendered me unfit for +further life at the front. Moreover, I knew that my concrete experiences +had done a little towards strengthening and confirming the attitude of +my few friends, a consideration that gave me some satisfaction. I +thought that in time I might get into touch with other people who shared +our attitude and then take part in some anti-war movement and fight +against the war instead of in it. That would have been the only activity +to which I could have devoted myself with energy and enthusiasm. But I +would soon have to go back and be muzzled once more by a ruthless +discipline and an all-embracing censorship. Moreover, as my leave +approached its end I began to regret that I had not striven harder to +enjoy the comforts and freedom of civilian life. The dread of the coming +return to slavery and dreary routine began to outweigh every other +consideration. The prospect of living in a tent crowded with +foul-mouthed, noisy soldiers filled me with dismay. I made a feeble +attempt at securing an extension of my leave, but failed, and then I +resigned myself to my fate.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, towards the end of the fortnight, I went to Kew Gardens +with my friend.</p> + +<p>The softness of the warm September day, the calm trees, and the flowers +that were pure untroubled beauty (how I envied them their dispassionate +lives, their tranquil growth, their effortless attainment of perfection, +and their unconscious dying!)—all these had a strangely harmonizing +influence upon my discordant spirit. We spoke little, and of the war not +at all. Indeed, the war suddenly seemed curiously remote and I could +hardly hear the throbbing of the guns. I knew that this afternoon would +never be lost, that I would often think of it when back at the front. It +would remain a dream of tranquil beauty that would haunt me at +unexpected moments. I felt that for this alone my leave had been worth +while.</p> + +<p>The last morning came. I made a successful effort to control myself. I +said good-bye. It was all over.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When I got back to camp all the men were out at work. I sat down alone +in my tent. I felt slightly dazed, but not as miserable as I had +expected to feel. I did not know how to occupy my time. I had brought +several books with me, but I felt no inclination to read. Life seemed +empty and purposeless. I waited impatiently for the return of the +others.</p> + +<p>They arrived and the evening passed quickly in talk. My friend, whose +place was next to mine, remarked that I was far more cheerful than men +returning from leave usually are.</p> + +<p>The next day and many days after I was unable to shake off the feeling +of mental torpor and a vague regret for what had been and what had gone +for ever. My leave seemed like a thing I had dreamt of long ago. +Sometimes I asked myself in a puzzled manner: "Have I really been home +on leave?"</p> + +<p>The end of the war, no one could tell when that would be. But the next +leave—it might come in eight or nine months—that was something to look +forward to and I began to think of all the things I would do when it +actually did come.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h2>ACROSS THE RIDGES</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"And Cuchullain ... deemed it no honour nor deemed he it fair to +take horses or garments or arms from corpses, or from the dead."</p> + +<p class="right">(<span class="smcap">Tain Bo Cuailgne</span>, 5th Century).</p></blockquote> + + +<p>There were only a few stars visible above, but the whole eastern horizon +was flashing and scintillating. Down in the valley, where several +British batteries were in action, long thin jets of flame darted forth +incessantly.</p> + +<p>As the day dawned we could see that the distant ridges were enveloped in +drifts of dense, white fog. From time to time patches of the fog would +glow redly and then become brilliantly incandescent and throw up sheets +of lurid flame. German shells came whistling over and burst with angry, +reverberating roars. Black fountains of earth and smoke spurted up from +the fields and left slowly thinning clouds that hung suspended for a +while and then dissolved in air. Sepia-coloured puffs appearing in the +sky above were followed by sharp explosions and the rattle of descending +shrapnel.</p> + +<p>For several hours the tumult continued unabated and then the whistle of +German shells became less frequent until at last it died down +altogether.</p> + +<p>Towards noon about a hundred German prisoners passed by under armed +escort.</p> + +<p>The ridges had been taken.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Our new camp lay at the foot of a gloomy hill. A disused trench ran +right across it. Rifles, bayonets, bandoliers, grenades, water-bottles, +packs, articles of clothing and bits of equipment lay scattered +everywhere. Barbed wire rusted in coils or straggling lengths. Rusty +tins and twisted, rusty sheets of shrapnel-riddled corrugated iron +littered the sodden mud. Water, rust-stained or black and fetid, +stagnated in pools and shell-holes. The sides of the trench were moist +with iridescent slime. Dead soldiers lay everywhere with grey faces, +grey hands and mouldering uniforms. Their pockets were turned inside out +and mud-stained letters and postcards, and sometimes a mildewed +pocket-book or a broken mirror, were dispersed round every rotting +corpse. In front of my tent the white ribs of a horse projected from a +heap of loose earth. Near by a boot with a human foot inside emerged +from the black scummy water at the bottom of a shell-hole. An evil +stench hovered in the air.</p> + +<p>We buried all the dead that lay within the camp-lines. Then darkness +descended and we crept into our tents.</p> + +<p>We were lying on wet, oozy clay, thinly covered with wisps of soaked +grass and decaying straw—there had been a cornfield here a year ago.</p> + +<p>There were thirteen of us in one tent. We were wedged in tightly, +shoulder to shoulder, our feet all in one bunch.</p> + +<p>Candles were lit and some of the men sat up and searched their clothes. +I was conscious of a slight irritation, but was so tired and depressed +that I resolved to ignore it and postpone my usual search to the +following day.</p> + +<p>But as I lay still, trying hard to fall asleep, the irritation +increased. At last it became so maddening that I started up in bitter +rage. I lit my candle and pulled off my shirt.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Lousy.</div> +<p>"Chatty* are yer?" said someone in an amused tone.</p> + +<p>"I've got a big one crawling about somewhere," I answered. None of us +ever admitted that we had more than one or two, even when we knew we +had a great many. It was also considered less disreputable to have one +"big one" than two small ones.</p> + +<p>"It's the Gink's fault—'e swarms with 'em. I was standin' be'ind 'im in +the ranks the other day an' I saw three of 'em crorlin' out of 'is +collar up 'is neck. 'E never washes and never changes 'is clothes, so +what can yer expect?"</p> + +<p>The "Gink" flared up at once:</p> + +<p>"Yer god-damn son of a bitch—it's youss guys that never washes. I bet +yer me borram dollar I ant got a god-damn chat on me...."</p> + +<p>A long wrangle ensued. Wild threats and foul insults were flung about. +But the quarrel, like nearly all our quarrels, did not go beyond violent +words.</p> + +<p>I began to search and soon found a big swollen louse. I crushed it with +my thumb-nail so that the blood spurted out. I heard several faint +cracks coming from the opposite side of the tent and knew that others +were also hunting for vermin.</p> + +<p>I examined the seams of my shirt and found two or three more. Then, to +my dismay, I discovered several eggs. They are so minute that some are +sure to escape the most careful scrutiny. The presence of eggs is always +a warning that many nights of irritation will have to pass by before the +young grow sufficiently big to be discovered easily.</p> + +<p>I thought I had looked at every square inch of my shirt, but I looked at +it a second time in order to make sure. I soon found a whitish elongated +body clinging tightly to the cloth. Then I found another wedged into the +seam.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, my neighbour, who had been tossing about restlessly and +scratching himself and sighing with desperate vexation, lit his candle +and began to search busily. The sound of an occasional crack showed how +successful he was.</p> + +<p>The night was warm and sultry. A storm threatened and it was necessary +to close the tent flap. I blew out my candle and wrapped myself in my +blankets. I was unable to stretch my legs because others were in the +way. I was hemmed and pressed in on all sides. I felt an impulse to kick +out savagely, but was able to control myself.</p> + +<p>The stifling heat became unbearable, and at the same time the cold, +clammy moisture from the soft sodden mud underneath began to penetrate +ground-sheet and blankets.</p> + +<p>The irritation recommenced. A louse so big that I could feel it crawling +along stopped and drew blood. I tried in vain to go to sleep. I heard my +neighbour scratching himself steadily. Nor could he find a comfortable +position to lie in and kept twisting and turning and moaning. The other +men were snoring or fidgeting restlessly.</p> + +<p>At length a fitful slumber came upon me and a confusion of rotting +bodies swarming with monstrous lice passed before my closed eyes. I was +fully awake long before reveillé, sleepy and unrefreshed, and when +reveillé came we received orders to move within two hours.</p> + +<p>Four of us and one N.C.O. were left behind to load a lorry. And then we, +too, packed up and set out to follow the unit.</p> + +<p>Thinking to take a short cut across country we ascended the hill-slope, +jumping and clambering across shell-holes and striding through long +grass and weeds. Now and again we would chance upon some narrow winding +track that soon lost itself again amid the tangled growth.</p> + +<p>Low clouds burdened the sky and a fine rain began to fall. The top of +the hill was hidden in grey mist.</p> + +<p>We passed a heap of broken concrete blocks from which the twisted ends +of iron rods projected. A little further on a concrete shelter stood +intact except for deep vertical fissures. I peered into the narrow +entrance that sloped steeply down. I slipped in the soft mud, but by +stretching out my arms and clasping the outer wall I just saved myself +from falling flat on to a rotting corpse that lay half-immersed in +greenish-black water. I drew slowly back, feeling sick with horror.</p> + +<p>As we climbed the hill-side the devastation increased. The trees and +bushes were torn, splintered and uprooted. Only a few grey trunks +remained standing like scarred, bare poles. We approached the summit and +crossed shell-hole next to shell-hole, for not a square yard of ground +had remained untouched. Some of the holes were wide and deeply +funnel-shaped, others were shallow, and others were hardly +distinguishable, the earth having been churned and tossed up time after +time. On the very top of the hill, there was nothing left of the trees +that had densely clothed it a few months before, except fragments of +wood and stringy lengths of root. Even the grass and weeds had been +destroyed and blasted by the bursting of innumerable shells.</p> + +<p>We walked along the crest between upright bundles of splinters that +projected from the ground in two parallel rows—all that remained of an +avenue of pines and larches.</p> + +<p>We descended the further slope by a narrow gulley. Here the shell-holes +were less frequent. A miry path led through an abandoned camp—a chaos +of riddled and shattered boards and contorted iron sheeting. Dead +Frenchmen were lying everywhere. From a drab heap of mud and clothing a +human arm projected. The terminal finger-joints had dropped off. The +blackened skin was drawn tightly over the back of the hand which seemed +to clutch frantically at some invisible object.</p> + +<p>A little further on two soldiers were scraping the soil with sticks.</p> + +<p>"Gorblimy—'e ain't 'alf rotten—puh—don't 'e stink! I 'ope 'e's got +summat in 'is pockets arter we've bin takin' all this trouble."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Money, pay.</div><p>"Yer never find much on these 'ere Froggies, the rotten bastards. They +don't 'ardly get no dibs.* Canadians and Aussies—them's the blokes +yer want ter look for. Fritz ain't so bad neither. I got a bloody fine +watch orf a Fritz last year down on the Somme—sold it to an orficer for +thirty bleed'n' francs!"</p> + +<p>"Put yer stick under 'im an' 'eave 'im out!"</p> + +<p>One of the men pushed his stick obliquely into the ground and levered up +the putrefying corpse. The other turned the pockets inside out. A few +soiled and mouldy bits of paper came to light, but nothing of any value.</p> + +<p>"Just our bastard bleed'n' luck! Let's see if we can't find a Fritz or a +Tommy!"</p> + +<p>Robbing the dead was always a recognized thing at the front, but our +Corporal, who was rather an unsoldierly individual, did not seem to +think it quite the proper thing, and shouted:</p> + +<p>"What d'you want to rob the dead for? Why don't you leave them alone?"</p> + +<p>"What's it got ter do wi' you?" answered one of the treasure-seekers. +"Why don't yer mind yer own bleed'n' business? What's the use o' lettin' +good stuff go west? A dead un can't do nothin' wi' watches an' rings an' +five-franc notes! Gorblimy, 'ave a bit o' sense! It's allus your class +o' blokes what makes a bleed'n' fuss!"</p> + +<p>Having thus vindicated their rights, the two men turned away in order to +continue their search for the legitimate spoils of war.</p> + +<p>We walked on and the gulley widened out into a level crater-field. The +hill loomed dimly behind us, and, looking ahead through the rain and +mist, we could see the reddish blur of a ruined village.</p> + +<p>Near a small shell-hole were the remains of a German who had been blown +to bits. The clothes, limbs and trunk were in one confused heap. The +head lay some distance off; it was quite undamaged. The skin was black +and drawn tightly over the skull. The hair was matted, but the short, +blonde moustache had been neatly trimmed. The lips were shrivelled, +exposing two perfect rows of white teeth, giving the dead face a +horrible expression of ferocity. The eyelids were closed and taut, the +cracks near the nose revealed the dark, empty eye-cavities underneath.</p> + +<p>A little further on lay another head. The face had been smashed and no +features were recognizable except the lobe of one ear, behind which +there was a deep triangular hole. Two or three yards away there was a +booted leg and beyond that a severed hand lying beside a heap of rotting +flesh, bone and sodden clothing, all covered with thick brown masses +made up of the innumerable empty cases of maggot chrysalids.</p> + +<p>We struck a main road. It was dotted with shell-holes that had recently +been filled in with bricks and pieces of stone. To the left of the road +were many scarred tree-trunks. Some were still erect, others were +aslant, while others lay prone, having been broken off short or torn up +by the roots. They were all dead and ashen grey. Behind them was a broad +ring of stagnant water covered with duckweed. On the island within the +ring was a huge heap of loose bricks—a few months ago this had been a +picturesque château with gabled roofs, surrounded by gardens and a +wooded park. Amongst the shell-holes and scattered branches and twisted +lengths of white railing, a few michaelmas daisies, chrysanthemums, +dahlias, and other garden flowers were in bloom.</p> + +<p>Further on, to the right of the road, stood the ruins of the church. A +few thick pieces of wall were still standing and a part of the steeple +pointed upwards like a jagged finger. Heaped up inside were +brick-fragments and tiles, together with splintered beams and rafters, +riddled sheets of lead and zinc, broken chairs, twisted brass +candlesticks, bits of stained glass, and here and there chunks of +coloured plaster, the remains of apostolic or saintly images. One of +the confessionals was still visible, although all the woodwork was +shattered. Of the altar nothing could be seen. Behind a crumbling +fragment of brick wall was a band of machine-gun ammunition and a heap +of empty cartridge cases.</p> + +<p>The big bronze bell lay outside the church in two pieces. The cemetery +had been churned by shell-fire. The tombstones were chipped and broken. +One big block of granite had been overturned by a bursting shell and the +inscription was so scarred as to be illegible. The stone Christ had been +hit in many places. His left hand was gone, so that He hung aslant by +the other. Both His legs had been blown off at the knees and His nose +and mouth had been carried away by some flying shell-fragment or +shrapnel-ball. All the graves had been thrown into confusion by the +violence of innumerable explosions. Bits of bone—femurs, ribs, lower +jaws—lay scattered about. The hip of a soldier who had been buried in +his clothes projected from the soil with the brown mass of maggot +chrysalids still clinging to it. Two bent knees of a greenish-grey +colour, that had only begun to decay, emerged from a patch of trodden +mud.</p> + +<p>Beyond the church, by the roadside, were the dwelling-houses. Some of +them were a tangle of rafters mixed up with heaps of brick and +miscellaneous rubbish—stoves, pots and pans, chair-legs, pictures, +bedding, boxes, and all kinds of household articles. Others had been +dispersed around. Others seemed to have been tipped up bodily, so that +all their contents had been spilt into the street, and then to have been +dropped back again with such an impact that they had collapsed on their +own foundations. The sweet, sickly smell of bodies that had not been +decaying long, and the rank, pungent smell of those that were +approaching total dissolution emanated from under heaps of wreckage and +from hidden cellars.</p> + +<p>The devastation increased with every mile and the shell-holes came +closer and closer together. Dead horses, shattered guns, wagons, and +limbers lay overturned in the ditches. At one spot on the roadside the +legs and buttocks of a man, all brown and shrivelled, slanted upwards +from a deep, wide rut, many heavy wheels having passed across the small +of his back.</p> + +<p>Gradually houses, trees and bushes disappeared entirely. We reached the +site of a village that before the war had sheltered several thousands of +people. Nothing remained except small bits of brick mingling with the +bare soil, piled up and scooped and churned and tossed by shell-fire.</p> + +<p>Here, too, there were many dead. A little way off the road lay an +Englishman who could not have fallen more than a few days before. His +hands were clenched, his mouth wide open, his eyes fixed and staring. +Near him was a tall German. He lay at full length with arms outstretched +and legs crossed. His left hand, immersed in a pool, was white and +puffy. His right hand was half closed and only slightly wrinkled. His +side had been ripped open and fragments of entrail projected from the +rent. The water beneath and around him was stained with blood. His +pockets were turned inside out and papers and postcards lay scattered +around in the usual manner. His cloak had been thrown across his face.</p> + +<p>Other bodies had lain unburied for several months; others for several +years, and of these only the mud-stained bones were left.</p> + +<p>We reached the highest point in the series of so-called ridges. The +desolate country spread out before us—miles and miles of low +undulations ploughed by shell-fire and bared of everything except an +occasional concrete shelter or the splintered stump of a dead tree.</p> + +<p>We marched in silence through this dismal land of ruin and desolation. +At length, in the distance, we saw a solitary fragment of a brick wall +standing in a wide hollow, a sign that we were nearing a habitable +region once again.</p> + +<p>We passed by riddled German sign-boards—Vormarschstrasse, +Hohenzollernstrasse, Kaiserstrasse, Mackensenstrasse, Admiral +Scheerstrasse. We came to a litter of wreckage that had once been a +village and then we left the main road and entered a little wood, or +rather an assembly of scarred tree-trunks leaning at all angles. It was +crossed by a zig-zag trench and all the refuse of battle lay scattered +about.</p> + +<p>An Australian soldier lay on a low mound. His head had dropped off and +rolled backwards down the slope. The lower jaw had parted from the +skull. His hands had been devoured by rats and two little heaps of clean +bones were all that remained of them. The body was fully clothed and the +legs encased in boots and puttees. One thigh-bone projected through a +rent in the trousers and the rats had gnawed white grooves along it. A +mouldy pocket-book lay by his side and several postcards and a soiled +photograph of a woman and a child.</p> + +<p>An attempt had been made to bury some of the dead, and several lay +beneath heaps of loose earth with their boots projecting. But the rats +had reached them all, and black, circular tunnels led down into the +fetid depths of the rotting bodies. The stench that filled the air was +so intolerable that we hastened to get out of this dreadful place.</p> + +<p>Soon we perceived a church steeple far away. It brought some relief to +the feeling of oppression and despair which had begun to burden us. We +struck the road once again.</p> + +<p>We passed houses of which the scarred walls were still standing, but +with their bare, splintered rafters, empty windows, and riddled doors +they looked more gloomy and forlorn than complete ruins. There were more +concrete shelters and then some rusty iron cranes and the site of a +"Munitionslager" from which every shell had been removed. We approached +a small town. Many of the houses were intact except for scattered tiles +and broken windows. The stately church was full of huge holes. All the +streets were deserted.</p> + +<p>Beyond the town, on either side of the road, was a series of dumps, +collecting stations, R.E. parks, workshops, and woodyards—Mastenlager, +Pi-Park, Gruppenwegebaustofflager, Pferdesammelstelle, and others. Then +a German military cemetery, beautifully kept and planted all over with +shrubs and flowers. We had never seen a military cemetery like it +before.</p> + +<p>A bend of the road, as it topped a gentle slope, revealed an expanse of +smooth green fields dotted with groups of trees. It did our eyes good to +see trees that were alive and unharmed. Their foliage was +autumn-tinted—until now we had hardly realized that autumn was with us. +A placid river flowed through the meadows. On the far shore was a town, +beyond it a hill crowned by a fine château.</p> + +<p>As we walked on, the scattered houses drew closer and closer together +until they formed continuous rows. A civilian passed by, pushing a +wheelbarrow that clattered over the cobbles. Then there followed a woman +with a bundle on her back.</p> + +<p>There was something peculiar about the houses. They were not damaged in +the same way as the others we had seen. They were all roofless and +floorless, but the walls were unharmed except for occasional holes and +scars. Then we suddenly realized that the Germans had stripped the +entire street of all woodwork—of floor-boards, of beams and rafters, of +doors and window-frames, leaving only the bare, empty shells of brick.</p> + +<p>We turned a corner and entered another street in which the houses had +not been rifled. Several were occupied by civilians.</p> + +<p>Before us, in an open field, lay our camp. Scribbled in chalk on a +piece of board nailed across a broken window were the words:</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Peace is expected every hour.</div><p>"Der Friede wird stündlich erwartet."*</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h2>THE ARMISTICE</h2> + + +<p>Ever since we had received news of the German peace offers and President +Wilson's replies, rumours had multiplied enormously—the Kaiser had been +assassinated, the German Fleet had surrendered, German troops were +deserting in masses, German submarines were floating on the surface and +flying white flags, a German Republic had been proclaimed with +Liebknecht as President.</p> + +<p>One evening after a day of unusually hard labour, we were lying +exhausted in our tent. Suddenly the flap was thrown open, a man pushed +his head in and shouted excitedly:</p> + +<p>"I say, you chaps, the Armistice has been signed—it's official!"</p> + +<p>"Who says so? Did you see it in print?"</p> + +<p>"No, I just heard it from a despatch rider. He got it from his +C.O.—it's official."</p> + +<p>"Don't believe it. We've heard that tale too often."</p> + +<p>"All right, then, don't!" the man shouted angrily and walked off.</p> + +<p>No sooner had he gone when our Corporal said:</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't surprise me if he were right. In any case, even if the +Germans haven't signed yet, they'll have to do so soon. Bulgaria, +Turkey, and Austria have collapsed. The Germans have decreasing +resources and no reserves. The Allies have increasing resources and +unlimited reserves. The longer the war goes on, the more desperate is +Germany's position. She must accept our terms, she can't help herself."</p> + +<p>"I do not think they will sign," I replied. "I think we can expect at +least another year of war. I know Germany is in a bad way, but our terms +mean unconditional surrender. The Germans will not be silly enough to +imagine that, once they are disarmed and helpless, we shall stick to the +Fourteen Points or be bound by any promises of any kind. No, the Germans +will fight on, they will shorten their front, and they will at least +keep the Allies off German territory for an indefinite period until they +can secure better terms."</p> + +<p>"You overrate the strength of the Germans. I think the German army is +becoming completely demoralized. I also think that the blockade has done +its work amongst the civilian population. We shall have an armistice +within the next few days. Perhaps rumour is correct for once and the war +is already over. We haven't heard any guns for a long time—the front is +extraordinarily quiet."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but we would have heard officially—news like that would never be +kept from us."</p> + +<p>"That's true enough—I expect the thing is being discussed and a +decision will be reached before long."</p> + +<p>We all agreed that as soon as the fighting ceased, we would be informed. +The news of the Armistice would be telegraphed to every unit and it +would reach us within a few minutes from the actual signature. And then, +what would we do then? How would our feelings find an outlet? It was +impossible to say. Shouting, singing, dancing, would they give us +relief? Speculation was useless, painfully useless. And yet what else +could we think about?</p> + +<p>Peace—peace did not matter so very much, if only the slaughter would +stop. To us soldiers, and most of all to soldiers in the line, an +Armistice would mean more than any words could tell. And, therefore, we +would be the first to receive the news. Bad as the army was, it was not +so bad as to keep such tidings from us. Besides, everybody would rejoice +so much, that all distinctions of rank would disappear and the general +would be no more privileged than the private. Still, the war was not +over yet, and it would be better not to hope too much.</p> + +<p>It was Sunday, the 10th of November. We had no work to do and wandered +restlessly round the town. An official communique was posted up outside +the Mairie, but it contained nothing new. There was a crowd of soldiers +round a Belgian boy who was selling English papers. We bought the last +copies, but they were of the previous Thursday and did not add to our +knowledge. The suspense was becoming unbearable. My conviction that the +Germans would reject the terms of the Allies was shaken—not by any +further evidence, but by the general atmosphere of excitement and +hopeful expectation which communicated itself to me. I kept on repeating +to myself, "They will not sign, they will not sign," and intellectually +I believed my own words. And yet I was continually imagining the war +already over and what I merely thought seemed unessential and +irrelevant. The stress of wild hopes and mental agitation became almost +a physical pain.</p> + +<p>Darkness came on and we retired to our tents. I gradually became aware +of a faint noise, so faint that I hardly knew whether it was real or +not. As soon as I listened intently I could hear nothing. Then one of us +said: "What's that funny noise?" There it was again, a low, hollow sound +like that of a distant sea. It grew louder and then ceased. Then it +became audible once more and grew louder and still louder. Suddenly we +realized what it was—it was the sound of cheering. It came nearer and +nearer, gathering speed. It flooded the whole town with a great rush, +paused a moment, and then burst over our camp.</p> + +<p>Everybody went mad. The men rushed out of the tents and shouted: "It's +over—it's over—it's over!" I could hear one shrill voice screaming +wildly: "No more bombs—no more shells—no more misery." The deafening +clamour from innumerable throats was topped by the piercing blasts of +whistles and the howling of catcalls. A huge bonfire was lit in the camp +and sheets of flame shot skyward. The brilliant stars of signal-rockets +rose and fell in tall parabolæ and lit up all the neighbourhood. The +Sergeant-Major blew his whistle with the intention of restoring order. +He was answered by a hullabaloo of derisive hoots and yells. He gave up +the attempt and instead he headed a procession that marched into the +town, banging empty tins and whirling trench-rattles. An anti-aircraft +battery opened fire with blank charges. Aeroplanes flew overhead with +all lights on.</p> + +<p>Many of us went back into our tents and sang with all the power of our +lungs.</p> + +<p>So the war was over! The fact was too big to grasp all at once, but +nevertheless I felt an extraordinarily serene satisfaction. Then someone +said: "The people who've lost their sons and husbands—now's the time +they'll feel it." The truth of this remark struck me with sudden +violence. My serenity was broken and I looked into the blackness beneath +it. I knew what I was going to see, but, nevertheless, I looked, in +spite of myself, and saw innumerable rotting dead that lay unburied in +all postures on the bare, shell-tossed earth. A horror of death such as +I had never known before came upon me—a crushing, annihilating horror +that seemed to impart a fiendish character to the shouting and singing +in the camp, as though millions of demoniac spirits were howling and +dancing with devilish glee over the accomplishment of the greatest +iniquity ever known. At the same time I felt ashamed of not joining in +the general jubilation, and bitterly disappointed that my own +thoughts—always my worst enemies—should obsess me at this supreme +hour. But I knew that the war had lasted too long and that the world's +misery had been too great ever to be shaken off. I also knew that all +the dead had died in vain. In order to escape from my intolerable +meditations I sat up and began to talk to my neighbour:</p> + +<p>"I suppose it'll be read out officially to-morrow morning?"</p> + +<p>"Sure—and we'll get a day off at least."</p> + +<p>We continued to talk of commonplace things. It was several hours after +midnight and the uproar was dying down a little. I felt sleepy and +something like contentment was beginning to steal over me once again.</p> + +<p>Reveillé did not sound until nine o'clock on the Monday morning. The +whistle blew for parade. There would, of course, be an official +announcement that the Armistice had been signed and perhaps a letter of +thanks to the "splendid troops who had won the war" (which would bore us +extremely) and a holiday (which would be welcomed with loud cheers).</p> + +<p>We paraded. The Sergeant-Major addressed us:</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, boys, but nothing official's coom through. You must go to +work as usual. It's a damned shame, I know, but I can't help it. I +expect the message'll coom during the day and you're sure to get +to-morrow off."</p> + +<p>There was a murmur in the ranks, but bewilderment deprived us of the +power of taking concerted action. A sudden fear seized me—could last +night's celebrations have been the result of a false alarm?</p> + +<p>We marched off. But no one did a stroke of work the whole day. All +discipline had gone. The N.C.O.'s had no vestige of authority left. Men +from other units whom we met knew no more than we did. They said the +Armistice had been signed, but there had been no official announcement.</p> + +<p>We got back to camp in the afternoon. No official news.</p> + +<p>In the evening the celebrations were renewed. I was troubled by an +intense anxiety which began to spread to the others. Still, there would +certainly be an announcement the following morning.</p> + +<p>We paraded on Tuesday morning. No announcement of any kind. We marched +off to work as usual, but again no work was done. Suddenly I caught +sight of a soldier walking along the road a long way off with a +newspaper in his hand. I ran after him and caught him up.</p> + +<p>"Any news?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He gave me the paper. It was dated Monday, the 11th November—only a day +old. The headline ran: "No Armistice yet."</p> + +<p>So Sunday's demonstration had been a sham and a fraud!</p> + +<p>I rejoined the others. They, too, had heard that no Armistice had been +signed by Sunday midnight from a despatch rider who had, however, added +that signature was expected every minute.</p> + +<p>We were back in camp. Many new rumours were circulating—the Germans had +rejected the terms, the Italians had renewed the offensive. In the +evening some of us thought they could hear distinct gunfire. We listened +carefully, but our mental tension destroyed our power of hearing very +faint sounds.</p> + +<p>Wednesday morning, and still no definite news. The suspense was becoming +unbearable. No work was done. I questioned men from five other units, +but none of them were any better informed than we were.</p> + +<p>The expectation of peace had made us forget our bitterness towards the +army, but it began to show itself again:</p> + +<p>"They don't want us to know!"</p> + +<p>"They're damned sorry it's all over!"</p> + +<p>"There's too many of 'em wi' soft jobs what wants the war to go on for +ever!"</p> + +<p>"What are you grumbling about? What has the Armistice got to do with us? +The Armistice concerns the Staff, not us. It's not our business—we're +only common soldiers."</p> + +<p>When we got back to camp a boy was selling papers at the entrance. I +bought a <i>Times</i>. It was Tuesday's. The Armistice had been signed on the +Monday morning!</p> + +<p>I went to my tent and sat down and thought it over. The terms were +ominous. There was no doubt about it this time—the war had come to an +end. I thought of home and of freedom. It almost seemed as though +army-life had been a dream. I was still in the army, but a few months +more or less would make no difference, for my thoughts would be all in +the future.</p> + +<p>Then I pondered over the last insult the army had given us—the insult +of not even telling us when the war was over, and making no concessions +to allow us time for rejoicing or reflection. After having slaved and +suffered all these years we were ignored as though we did not exist. +Still, one insult more or less did not matter, for we would be out of it +soon.</p> + +<p>In the evening the celebrations were resumed. They lacked the +spontaneity of those that were held on the Sunday night. Nevertheless, +the rejoicing was genuine, for our suspense had been followed by an +immense relief.</p> + +<p>As I lay in my tent amid the shouting and singing I again felt that +bitter thoughts were gathering, but I was distracted by a man sitting +two places from me, who said:</p> + +<p>"It's a bloody shame we can't get any wine or spirits and get bloody +well drunk to-night."</p> + +<p>A man lying near him, who had kept very quiet all the evening, suddenly +sat up erect, glaring with fury, and shouted:</p> + +<p>"That's all you can think about, getting drunk—you dirty little +blackguard! You don't deserve to have peace, you don't! Bloody lot of +fools—all shouting and singing and wanting to get drunk! They ought to +have more respect for the dead! The war's over, and we're bloody lucky +to get out of it unharmed, but it's nothing to shout about when there's +hundreds and thousands of our mates dead or maimed for life."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk bloody sentimental rot—call yourself a soldier? You ought +to be a bloody parson!"</p> + +<p>"I don't call myself a soldier—it's a bloody insult to be called a +soldier. I'm not a bloody patriot either—I reckon patriotism's a bloody +curse. I kept out of the army as long as I could, but they combed me out +(that's their polite way of putting it!), and shoved me into khaki, but +they never made a soldier of me! I've never been any use to them! I only +worked when they forced me to. I've been more expense and trouble to +them than I'm worth. I haven't helped to win this wicked war, and I'm +proud of it too! Sentimental rot be damned—if everyone had been my way +of thinking there wouldn't have been a war, no, not in any country. The +war's won, I know, and I'm sorry for it. But Fritz has come off best, +not us. He's lost the war, but he's found his bloody soul! I'll tell the +civvies something about war when I get home—I'll tell 'em we rob the +dead, I'll tell 'em...."</p> + +<p>"For God's sake chuck it...."</p> + +<p>"All right, I'll chuck it—I know it's no bloody good talking to fellows +like you. Go and get drunk, then, do as you bloody well please. That's +all you're fit for...."</p> + +<p>He flung himself back into bed and wrapped himself up in his blanket and +did not say another word.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h5>GARDEN CITY PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCHWORTH, HERTS.</h5> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMBED OUT***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 16355-h.txt or 16355-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/3/5/16355">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/3/5/16355</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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