“Two hours’ pack drill, and pay for a new handle,” I said.
“Right—Turn!” said the sergeant1-major. “Right—Wheel—Quick—March! Get your equipment on and join your platoon at once.”
This last sentence was spoken in a quick undertone, as the prisoner stepped out of the door into the road. I was filling up the column headed “Punishment awarded” on a buff-coloured Army Form, to which I appended my signature. The case just dealt with was a very dull and commonplace one, a man having “lost” his entrenching2 tool handle. Most of these “losses” occurred in trenches4, and were dealt with the first morning in billets at company orderly-room. This man had been engaged on special fatigue5 work the last few days; hence the reason why the loss had not been checked before, and came up on this last morning in billets.
“No more prisoners?” I asked the company sergeant-major.
“No more prisoners, sir,” he answered. I then 230 rather hurriedly signed several returns made out by Sergeant Roberts, the company quartermaster-sergeant, and promised to come in later and sign the acquittance rolls. These are the pay-lists, made out in triplicate, which are signed by each man as he draws his pay. The original goes to the Paymaster in England, one carbon copy to the adjutant, and one is retained by the company-commander. We had paid out the first day in billets. This time “working-parties” had been tolerable. We had arrived back in billets about half-past three in the afternoon; the next morning had been spent in a march to the divisional baths at Treux (two miles away), in cleaning up, kit6-inspection7, and a little arm-drill and musketry practice; in the afternoon we paid out. Then followed three days of working-parties, up on the support line at Crawley Ridge8; and now, we had this last day in which to do a little company work. There had been running parade at seven-thirty. Owen had taken this, and I confess that I had not yet breakfasted. So I hurried off now at 9.10 to gulp9 something down and be at battalion10 orderly-room at 9.30 sharp.
The company office was a house of two rooms; one was the “office” itself, with a blanket-clad table and a couple of chairs in the middle, and all around were strewn strange boxes, and bundles of papers and equipment. On the walls were pictures from illustrated11 English papers; one of Nurse 231 Cavell, another of howitzers firing; and several graphic12 bayonet-charges at Verdun, pictured by an artist who must have “glowed” as he drew them in his room in Chelsea. In the other room slept the C.S.M. and C.Q.M.S. (more familiar as the “sergeant-major” and the “quartermaster”).
From this house, then, I stepped out into the glaring street. It was the end of May, and the day promised to be really quite hot. I have already explained how completely shut off from the trenches one felt in Morlancourt, sheltered as it was in a cup of the hills and immune from shelling. Now as I walked quickly along the street, past our battalion “orderly-room,” and returned the immaculate salute13 of Sergeant-Major Shandon, the regimental sergeant-major, who was already marshalling the prisoners ready for the Colonel at half-past nine, I felt a lightness and freshness of body that almost made me think I was free of the war at last. My Sam Browne belt, my best tunic14 with its polished buttons, and most of all, I suppose, the effect of a good sleep and a cold bath, all contributed to this feeling, as well as the scent16 from the laburnum and lilac that looked over the garden wall opposite the billet that was our “Mess.”
I found Edwards just going off to inspect “B” Company Lewis gunners, whom he was taking on the range the first part of the morning.
“Hullo!” he said, “you’ve not got much time.” 232
“No,” said I. “My own fault for getting up late. Got a case for the C.O. too. Is my watch right? I make it seventeen minutes past.”
“Nineteen, I make it.”
“Wish I hadn’t asked you,” I laughed. “No porridge, Lewis. Bring the eggs and bacon in at once. This tea’ll do. There’s no milk, though. What?”
Edwards had asked something. He repeated his question, which was whether I wanted Jim, the company horse, this afternoon. I thought rapidly, and the scent of the lilac decided17 me.
“Yes,” I answered. “Sorry, but I do.”
“Oh, all right; I expect I can get old Muskett to let me have one.”
Muskett was the transport officer.
“Righto,” said I. “Go teach thy Lewis gunners how to drill little holes in the chalk-bank.”
He clattered18 off over the cobbles of the garden path, and in a few minutes I followed suit, running until I rounded a corner and came into view of the orderly-room, when I altered my gait to a dignified19 walk and arrived just as the Colonel appeared from the opposite direction.
“Parade! Tchern!!” shouted Sergeant-Major Shandon; and a moment later the four company commanders came to attention and saluted20 as the Colonel passed in, sprinkling “Good mornings” to right and left.
I had one very uninteresting case of drunkenness; 233 “A” had a couple of men who had overstayed their pass in England; “C” had a case held over from the day before for further evidence, and was now dismissed as not proven; while “D” had an unsatisfactory sergeant who was “severely reprimanded.” All these cases were quickly and unerringly disposed of, and we company commanders saluted again and clattered down the winding21 staircase out into the sunshine.
I had to pass from one end of the village to the other. The orderly-room was not far from our company “Mess” and was at a cross-roads. Opposite, in one of the angles made by the junction22 of the four roads, was a deep and usually muddy horse-pond. But even here the mud was getting hard under this spell of warm May weather, and the innumerable ruts and hoof-marks were crystallising into a permanent pattern. As I walked along the streets I passed sundry23 Tommies acting24 as road-scavengers; “permanent road fatigue” they were called, although they were anything but permanent, being changed every day. Formerly25 they had seemed to be engaged in a Herculean, though unromantic, task of scraping great rolling puddings of mud to the side of the road, in the vain hope that the mud would find an automatic exit into neighbouring gardens and ponds; for Morlancourt did not boast such modern things as gutters26. To-day there were large pats of mud lining27 the street, but these were now caked and hard, and even crumbling28 234 into dust, that whisked about among the sparrows. The permanent road fatigue was gathering29 waste-paper and tins in large quantities, but otherwise was having a holiday.
Women were working, or gossiping at the doorsteps. The estaminet doors were flung wide open, and the floors were being scrubbed and sprinkled with sawdust. A little bare-legged girl, in a black cotton dress, was hugging a great wide loaf; an old man sat blinking in the sunshine; cats were basking30, dogs nosing about lazily. A party of about thirty bombers32 passed me, the sergeant giving “eyes right” and waking me from meditations33 on the eternal calm of cats. Then I reached the headquarter guard, and the sentry34 saluted with a rattling35 clap upon his butt15, and I did my best to emulate36 his smartness. So I passed along all the length of the shuttered houses of Morlancourt.
“A great day, this,” I thought, as I came to the small field where “B” Company was paraded; not two hundred and fifty men, as you will doubtless assume from the text-books, but some thirty or forty men only; one was lucky if one mustered37 forty. Where were the rest, you ask? Well, bombers bombing; Lewis gunners under Edwards; some on “permanent mining fatigue,” that is, carrying the sand-bags from the mine-shafts to the dumps; transport, pioneers, stretcher-bearers, men under bombing instruction, officers’ servants, headquarter orderlies, men on leave, etc. etc. The company 235 sergeant-major will make out a parade slate38 for you if you want it, showing exactly where every man is. But here are forty men. Let’s drill them.
Half were engaged in arm-drill under my best drill-sergeant; the other half were doing musketry in gas-helmets, an unpleasant practice which nothing would induce me to do on a sunny May morning. They lay on their fronts, legs well apart, and were working the bolts of their rifles fifteen times a minute. After a while they changed over and did arm-drill, while the other half took over the gas-helmets, the mouthpieces having first been dipped in a solution of carbolic brought by one of the stretcher-bearers in a canteen. These gas-helmets were marked D.P. (drill purposes), and each company had so many with which to practise.
When both parties were duly exercised, I gave a short lecture on the measures to be adopted against the use of Flammenwerfer, which is the “Liquid Fire” of the official communiqués. I had just been to a demonstration39 of this atrocity40 in the form of a captured German apparatus41, and my chief object in lecturing the men about it was to make it quite clear that the flaming jets of burning gas cannot sink into a trench3, but, as a matter of fact, only keep level so long as they are propelled by the driving power of the hose apparatus; as water from a hose goes straight, and then curves down to the ground, so gas, even though it be incandescent42, goes straight and then rises. In the trench you are unscathed, as we 236 proved in the demonstration, when they sprayed the flaming gas over a trench full of men. Indeed, the chief effect of this flammenwerfer is one of frightfulness43, as the Germans cannot come over until the flames have ceased. The men were rather inclined to gape44 at all this, but I found the words had sunk in when I asked what should be done if the enemy used this diabolical45 stuff against us. “Get down at the bottom of the trench, sir, and as soon as they stop it, give the ——’s ’ell!”
The rest of the morning we spent “on the range,” which meant firing into a steep chalk bank at a hundred yards. Targets and paste-pot had been procured46 from the pioneers’ shop, and after posting a couple of “look-out” men on either side, we started range practice. The men are always keen about firing on the range, and it is really the most interesting and pleasant part of the infantryman’s training. I watched these fellows, hugging their rifle-butt into their shoulder, and feeling the smooth wood against their cheeks; they wriggled48 their bodies about to get a comfortable position; sometimes they flinched49 as they fired and jerked the rifle; sometimes they pressed the trigger as softly, as softly.... And gradually, carefully, we tried to detect and eliminate the faults. Then we ended up with fifteen rounds rapid in a minute. The “mad minute” it used to be called at home. After which we fell the men in, and Paul marched them back to the company “alarm post” outside the company 237 office, where “B” Company always fell in; while Owen, Nicolson, and I walked back together.
II. Afternoon
“I still maintain,” said I, an hour later, as we finished lunch, “that bully50-beef, some sort of sauce or pickle51, and salad, followed by cheese, and ending with a cup of tea, is the proper lunch for an officer. I don’t mind other officers having tinned fruit, though, if they like it,” I added with a laugh.
Owen and Syme were newly joined officers for whom the sight of tinned pears or apricots had not yet lost a certain glamour52 that disappeared after months and months. They were just finishing the pear course. Hence my last remark.
“I bet if we allowed you to have bully every day,” came from Edwards, our Mess president, “you’d soon get sick of it.”
“Try,” said I, knowing that he never would. I always used to eat of the hot things that would appear at lunch, to the detriment53 of a proper appreciation54 of dinner; but I always maintained the position laid down in the first sentence of this section.
I lit a pipe and strolled out into the garden. This was undoubtedly55 an ideal billet, and a great improvement on the butcher’s shop, where they used always to be killing56 pigs in the yard and letting the blood run all over the place. It was a long, one-storied house, set back about fifty yards from the road; 238 this fifty yards was all garden, and, at the end, completely shutting off the road, was a high brick wall. On each side of the garden were also high walls formed by the sides of stables and outhouses; the garden was thus completely walled round, and the seclusion57 and peace thus entrapped58 were a very priceless possession to us.
The garden itself was full of life. There were box-bordered paths up both sides and down the centre, and on the inner side of the paths was an herbaceous border smelling very sweet of wallflowers and primulas of every variety. Although it was still May, there were already one or two pink cabbage-roses out; later, the house itself would be covered with them; already the buds were showing yellow streaks59 as they tried to burst open their tight green sheaths. In the centre of the garden ran a cross path with a summer-house of bamboo canes60 completely covered with honeysuckle; that, too, was budding already. The rest of the garden was filled with rows of young green things, peas, and cabbages, and I know not what, suitably protected against the ravages61 of sparrows and finches by the usual miniature telegraph system of sticks connected by cotton decorated with feathers and bits of rag. Every bit of digging, hoeing, weeding and sowing were performed by Madame and her two black-dressed daughters in whose house we were now living, and who were themselves putting up in the adjoining farmhouse62, which belonged to them. 239
I said that they had done all the digging in the garden. I should make one reservation. All the potato-patch had been dug by our servants, with the assistance of Gray, the cook. Nor did they do it in gratitude63 to Madame, as, doubtless, ideal Tommies would have done. A quarter of it was done by Lewis, for carelessness in losing my valise; nearly half by the joint64 effort of the whole crew for a thoroughly65 dirty turn-out on commanding officer’s inspection; and the rest for various other defalcations! We never told Madame the reasons for their welcome help; and I am quite sure they never did!
“The worst of this war,” said I to Edwards, puffing66 contentedly67 at a pipeful of Chairman, “is this: it’s too comfortable. You could carry on like this for years, and years, and years.”
“Wasn’t so jolly last time in,” muttered the wise Edwards.
“That’s exactly the point,” I answered; “life in the trenches we all loathe68, and no one makes any bones about it or pretends to like it—except for a few rare exciting minutes, which are very few and far between. But you come out into billets, and recover; and so you can carry on. It’s not concentrated enough.”
“It’s more concentrated for the men than for us.”
“Well, yes, very often; but they haven’t the strain of responsibility. Yes, you are right though; and it’s less concentrated for the C.O., still less for the Brigadier, and so on back to the Commander-in-Chief; 240 and still further to men who have never seen a trench at all.”
“I dare say,” said Edwards; “but, as the phrase goes, ‘What are you going to do abaht it?’ Here’s Jim. Old Muskett’s going to send me a nag69 at five, so I’m going out after tea. Will you be in to tea?”
“Don’t know.”
As I tightened70 my puttees preparatory to mounting the great Jim, Edwards started his gramophone; so leaving them to the strains of Tannh?user, I bestrode my charger and steered71 him gracefully72 down the garden path, under the brick archway, and out into the street.
Myself on a horse always amused me, especially when it was called an “officer’s charger.” Jim was not fiery74, yet he was not by any means sluggish75, and he went fast at a gallop76. He suited me very well indeed when I wanted to go for an afternoon’s ride; for he was quite content to walk when I wanted to muse73, and to gallop hard when I wanted exhilaration. I hate a horse that will always be trotting77. I know it is best style to trot78; but my rides were not for style, but for pleasure, exercise, and solitude79. And Jim fell in admirably with my requirements. But, as I say, the idea that I was a company-commander on his charger always amused me.
I rode, as I generally did, in a south-easterly direction, climbing at a walk one of the many roads that led out of Morlancourt towards the Bois des Tailles. When I reached the high ground I made 241 Jim gallop along the grass-border right up to the edge of the woods. There is nothing like the exhilaration of flying along, you cannot imagine how, with the great brown animal lengthening80 out under you for all he is worth! I pulled him up and turned his head to the right, leaving the road, and skirting the edge of the wood. At last I was alone.
In the clearings of the wood the ground was a sheet of blue hyacinths, whose sweet scent came along on the breeze; their fragrance81 lifted my spirit, and I drank in deep breaths of the early summer air. I took off my cap to feel the sun full on my face. On the ground outside the wood were still a few late primroses82 interspersed83 with cowslips, stubborn and jolly; and as I rounded a bend in the wood-edge, I found myself looking across a tiny valley, the opposite face of which was a wooded slope, with all the trees banked up on it as gardeners bank geraniums in tiers to give a good massed effect. So, climbing the hill-side, were all these shimmering84 patches of green, yellow-green, pea-green, yellow, massed together in delightful85 variety; and dotted about in the middle of them were solitary86 patches of white cherry-blossom, like white foam87 breaking over a reef, in the midst of a great green sea. And across this perfect softness from time to time the bold black and white of magpies88 cut with that vivid contrast with which Nature loves to baffle the poor artist.
“Come on, old boy,” I said, as I reached the bottom of this little valley; and trotting up the 242 other side, and through a ride in the wood, I came out on the edge of the Valley of the Somme. I then skirted the south side of the wood until I reached a secluded89 corner with a view across the valley: here I dismounted, fastened Jim to a tree, loosened his girths, and left him pulling greedily at the grass at his feet. Then I threw myself down on the grass to dream.
My thoughts ran back to my conversation with Edwards. Perhaps it was best not to think too hard, but I could no more stifle90 my thoughts than can a man his appetite. Responsibility. Responsibility. And those with the greatest responsibility endure and see the least; no one has more to endure than the private soldier in the infantry47, and no one has less responsibility or power of choice. I thought of our last six days in the trenches. When “A” Company were in the line, the first three days, we had been bombarded heavily at “stand-to” in the evening. In Maple91 Redoubt it had been bad enough. There was one sentry-post a little way up Old Kent Road; by some mistake a bomber31 had been put on duty there, whereas it was a bayonet-man’s post, the bombers having a special r?le in case of the enemy attacking. I found this mistake had been made, but did not think it was worth altering. And that man was killed outright92 by a shell.
In the front line “A” Company had had several killed and wounded, and I had had to lend them half my bombers; as I had placed two men on one 243 post, a canister had burst quite a long way off, but the men cowered93 down into the trench. I cursed them as hard as I could, and then I saw that in the post were the two former occupants lying dead, killed half an hour ago where they lay, and where I was placing my two men. I stopped my curses, and inwardly directed them against myself. And there I had to leave these fellows, looking after me and thinking, “He’s going back to his dug-out.” Ah! no, they knew me better than to think like that. Yet I had to go back, leaving them there. I should never forget that awful weight of responsibility that suddenly seemed visualised before me. Could I not see their scared faces peering at me, even as now I seemed to smell the scent of pear-drops with which the trench was permeated94, the Germans having sent over a few lachrymatory shells along with the others that night?
Ah! Why was I living all this over again, just when I had come away to get free of all this awhile, and dream? I had come out to enjoy the sunshine and the peace, just as Jim was enjoying the grass behind me. I listened. There was a slight jingle95 of the bit now and again, and a creaking of leather, and always that drawing sound, with an occasional purr, as the grass was torn up. I could not help looking round at last. “You pig,” I said; but my tone did not altogether disapprove96 of complacent97 piggishness.
In front of me lay the blue water of the Somme Canal, and the pools between it and the river; long 244 parallel rows of pale green poplars stretched along either bank of the canal; and at my feet, half hidden by the slope of the ground, lay the sleepy little village of Etinehem. There was a Sunday afternoon slumber98 over everything. Was it Sunday? I thought for a moment. No, it was Thursday, and to-morrow we went “in” again. I deliberately99 switched my thoughts away from the trenches, and they flew to the events of the morning. I could see my fellows lying, so keen—I might almost say so happy—blazing away on the range. One I remembered especially. Private Benjamin, a boy with a delicate eager face, who came out with the last draft: he came from a village close up to Snowdon; he was shooting badly, and very concerned about it. I lay down beside him and showed him how to squeeze the trigger, gradually, ever so gradually. Oh! these boys! Responsibility. Responsibility.
“This is no good,” I said to myself at last, and untied100 Jim and rode again. I went down into the valley, and along the green track between an avenue of poplars south of the canal until at last I came to Sailly-Laurette, and so back and in to Morlancourt from the south-west. It was six o’clock by the time I stooped my head under the gateway101 into our garden, and for the last hour or so I had almost forgotten war at last.
“Hullo,” was the greeting I received from Owen. “There’s no tea left.” 245
“I don’t want any tea,” I answered. “Has the post come?”
There were three letters for me. As I slept at a house a little distance away, I took the letters along with me.
“I’m going over to my room to clean up,” I shouted to Owen, who was reading inside the Mess-room. “What time’s old Jim coming in?”
“Seven o’clock!”
“All right,” I answered. “I’ll be over by seven.”
III. Evening
As I walked up the garden path a few minutes before seven, I had to pass the kitchen door, where the servants slept, lived, and cooked our meals. I had a vision of Private Watson, the cook, busy at the oven; he was in his shirt-sleeves, hair untidy, trousers very grimy, and altogether a very unmartial figure. There seemed to be a dispute in progress, to judge from the high pitch to which the voices had attained102. On these occasions Lewis’ piping voice reached an incredible falsetto, while his face flushed redder than ever.
Watson, Owen’s servant, had superseded103 Gray as officers’ mess cook; the latter had, unfortunately, drunk one or two glasses of beer last time in billets, and, to give his own version, he “somehow felt very sleepy, and went down and lay under a bank,” and could remember nothing more until about ten o’clock, when he humbly104 reported his return to me. 246 Meanwhile Watson had cooked the dinner, which was, of course, very late; and as he did it very well, and as Gray’s explanation seemed somewhat vague, we decided to make Watson cook, let Gray try a little work in the company for a change, and get the sergeant-major to send Owen another man for servant. Watson had signalised the entry to his new appointment by a quarrel with Madame (the Warwicks had managed to “bag” this ideal billet of ours temporarily, and we were in a much less comfortable one the last two occasions out of trenches); eventually Madame had hurled105 the frying-pan at him, amid a torrent106 of unintelligible107 French; neither could understand a word the other was saying, of course. Gray had been wont108, I believe, to “lie low and say nuffin,” like Brer Fox, when Madame, who was old and half-crazed, came up and threw water on the fire in a fit of unknown anger. But Watson’s blood boiled at such insults from a Frenchwoman, and hence had followed a sharp contention109 ending in the projection110 of the frying-pan. Luckily, we were unmolested here: Watson could manage the dinner, anyway.
I entered our mess-room, which was large, light, and boasted a boarded floor; it was a splendid summer-room, though it would have been very cold in winter. There I found a pile of literature awaiting me; operation orders for to-morrow, giving the hour at which each company was to leave Morlancourt, and which company of the Manchesters it was 247 to relieve, and when, and where, and the route to be taken; there were two typed documents “for your information and retention111, please,” one relating to prevention of fly-trouble in billets, the other giving a new code of signals and marked “Secret” on the top, and lastly there was Comic Cuts. Leaving the rest, I hastily skimmed through the latter, which contained detailed112 information of operations carried out, and intelligence gathered on the corps113 front during the last few days. At first these were intensely interesting, but after seven months they began to pall114, and I grew expert at skimming through them rapidly.
Then Jim Potter came in, and Comic Cuts faded into insignificance115.
“Here, Owen,” said I, and threw them over to him.
Captain and Quartermaster Jim Potter was the Father of the battalion. He had been in the battalion sixteen years, and had come out with them in 1914; twice the battalion had been decimated, new officers had come and disappeared, commanding officers had become brigadiers and new ones taken their place, but “Old Jim” remained, calm, unaltered, steady as a rock, good-natured, and an utter pessimist116. I first introduced him in Chapter I, when I spent the night in his billet prior to my first advent117 into the trenches. I was a little perturbed118 then by his pessimism119. Now I should have been very alarmed if he had suddenly burst into a fit of optimism. 248
“Well, Jim,” we said, “how are things going? When’s the war going to end?”
“Oh! not so very long now.” We gaped120 at this unexpected reply. “Because,” he added, “you know, Bill, it’s the unexpected that always happens in this war. Hullo! You’ve got some pretty pictures, I see.”
We had been decorating the walls with the few unwarlike pictures that were still to be found in the illustrated papers.
“Not a bad place, Blighty,” he resumed, gazing at a picture entitled “Home, Sweet Home!” There had been a little dispute as to whether it should go up, owing to its sentimental121 nature. At last “The Warwicks will like it,” we had said, and up it had gone. The Warwicks had our billet, when we were “in.”
“Tell us about your leave,” we said, and Jim began a series of delightful sarcastic122 jerks about the way people in England seemed to be getting now a faint glimmering123 conception that somewhere there was a war on.
The joint was not quite ready, Edwards explained to me, drawing me aside a minute; would old Jim mind? The idea of old Jim minding being quite absurd, we decided on having a cooked joint a quarter of an hour hence, rather than a semi-raw one now; and we told Jim our decision. It seemed to suit him exactly, as he had had tea late. There never was such an unruffled fellow as he; had we 249 wanted to begin before the time appointed, he would have been ravenous124. So he continued the description of his adventures on leave. Meanwhile I rescued Comic Cuts from the hands of Paul, and despatched them, duly initialled, by the trusty Davies to “C” Company. Just as I had done so the sergeant-major appeared at the door.
“You know the time we move off to-morrow?” I said.
Yes, he had known that long before I did, by means of the regimental sergeant-major and the orderly sergeant.
“Fall in at 8.15,” I said. “Everything the same as usual. All the officers’ servants, and Watson, are to fall in with the company; this straggling in independently, before or after the company, will stop once and for all.” Lewis’ face, as he laid the soup-plates, turned half a degree redder than usual.
“There’s nothing more?” I said.
“No, that’s all, sir.”
The sergeant-major drained off his whiskey with a dash of Perrier, and prepared to go. Now was the psychological moment when one learnt any news there was to learn about the battalion.
“No news, I suppose?” I asked.
“The fellows are still talking about this ‘rest,’ sir. No news about that, I suppose?” said the sergeant-major.
“Only that it’s slightly overdue,” I answered, 250 with a laugh. “What do you think, Jim? Any likelihood of this three weeks’ rest coming off?”
“Oh, yes; I should think so,” said the quartermaster. “Any time next year.”
“Good night, sir,” said Sergeant-Major Brown, with a grin.
“Good night, Sergeant-Major,” came in a chorus as he disappeared into the garden.
“Soup’s ready, sir,” said Lewis. And we sat down to dine.
The extraordinary thing about having Jim Potter in to dinner was that an extra elaborate menu was always provided, and yet old Jim himself always ate less than anyone else; still, he did his share nobly with the whiskey, so that made up for it, I suppose. To-night Edwards planned “sausages and mash” as an entrée; but, whether through superior knowledge or a mere125 misunderstanding, the sausages arrived seated carefully on the top of the round of beef, like marrons-glacés stuck on an iced cake. As the dish was placed, amid howls of execration126, on the table, one of the unsteadier sausages staggered and fell with a splash into the gravy127, much to everyone’s delight; Edwards, wiping the gravy spots off his best tunic, seemed the only member of the party who did not greet with approbation128 this novel dish.
After soup, sausages and beef, and rice-pudding and tinned fruit, came Watson’s special dish—cheese au gratin on toast. This was a glutinous129 concoction130, and a little went a long way. Then followed café au 251 lait made in the teapot, which was the signal for cigarettes to be lit up, and chairs to be moved a little to allow of a comfortable expansion of legs. Owen proposed sitting out in the summer-house, but on going outside reported that it was a little too chilly131. So we remained where we were.
Edwards was talking of Amiens: he had been there for the day yesterday, and incidentally discovered that there was a cathedral there.
“I know it,” said I. “I used to go there every Saturday when I was at the Army School.”
“You had a good time at the Army School, didn’t you?” asked Jim.
“Tip-top time,” said I. “It’s a really good show. The Commandant was the most wonderful man we ever met. By the way, that concert Tuesday night was a really good show.”
Jim Potter and Edwards had got it up; it had been an al fresco132 affair, and the night had been ideally warm for it. Edwards had trained a Welsh choir133 with some success. Several outsiders had contributed, the star of the evening being Basil Hallam, the well-known music-hall artist, whose dainty manner, reminding one of the art of Vesta Tilley, and impeccable evening clothes had produced an unforgettably bizarre effect in the middle of such an audience and within sound of the guns. He was well known to most of the men as “the bloke that sits up in the sausage.” For any fine day, coming out of trenches or going in, you could see high 252 suspended the “sausage,” whose home and “base” was between Treux and Mericourt, and whose occupant and eye was Basil Hallam. And so the “sausage bloke” was received enthusiastically at our concert.
As we talked about the concert, Owen began singing “Now Florrie was a Flapper,” which had been Basil Hallam’s most popular song, and as he sang he rose from his chair and walked about the room; he was evidently enjoying himself, though his imitation of Basil Hallam was very bad indeed. As he sang, we went on talking.
“A good entry in Comic Cuts to-night,” I remarked. “‘A dog was heard barking in Fricourt at 11 p.m.’ Someone must have been hard up for intelligence to put that in.”
“A dog barking in Fricourt,” said old Jim, warming up. “‘A dog barking in Fricourt.’ What’s that—Corps stuff? I never read the thing; good Lord, no! That’s what it is to have a Staff—‘A dog barking in Fricourt!’”
“The Corps officer didn’t hear it,” said I. “It was some battalion intelligence officer that was such a fool as to report it.”
“Fool?” said old Jim. “I’d like to meet the fellow. He’s the first fellow I’ve ever met yet who has a just appreciation of the brain capacity of the Staff. You or I might have thought of reporting a dog’s mew, or roar, or bellow134; but a dog’s bark we should have thought of no interest whatever to the—er—fellows 253 up there, you know, who plan our destinies.” And he gave an obsequious135 flick136 of his hand to an imaginary person too high up to see him at all.
“He’s a good fellow,” he repeated, “that intelligence officer. Ought to get a D.S.O.”
Old Jim had two South African medals, a D.C.M. and a D.S.O.
“The Staff,” he went on, with the greatest contempt he could put into his voice. “I saw three of them in a car to-day. I stood to attention: saluted. A young fellow waved his hand, you know; graciously accepted my salute, you know, and passed on leaning back in his limousin. The ‘Brains of the British Army,’ I thought. Pah!”
We waited. Jim on the Staff was the greatest entertainment the battalion could offer. We tried to draw him out further, but he would not be drawn137. We tried cunningly, by indirect methods, enquiring138 his views on whether there would be a push this year.
“Push!” he said. “Of course there will be a push. The Staff must have something to show for themselves. ‘Shove ’em in,’ they say; ‘rather a bigger front than last time.’ Strategy? Oh, no! That’s out of date, you know. Five-mile front—frontal attack. Get a few hundred thousand mown down, and then discover the Boche has got a second line. The Staff. Pah!!” And no more would he say.
Then Clark came in, and the Manchester Stokes 254 gun officer. Clark immediately joined Owen in a duet on “Florrie.” Then we went through the whole gamut139 of popular songs, with appropriate actions and stamping of feet upon the floor. Meanwhile the table was cleared, only the whiskey and Perrier remaining. Soon there were cries of “Napoleon—Napoleon,” and Owen, who bears a remarkable140 resemblance to that great personage, posed tragically141 again and again amid great applause. And then, in natural sequence, I, as “Bill, the man wot won the Battle of Waterloo,” attacked him with every species of trench-mortar I could lay hands on, my head swathed in a remarkable turban of Daily Mail. At last I drove him into a corner behind a table, and bombarded him relentlessly142 with oranges until he capitulated! All the time Edwards had been in fear and trembling for the safety of his gramophone.
At length peace was signed, and we grew quiet again beneath the soothing143 strains of the gramophone, until at last Jim Potter said he must really go. Everyone reminding everyone else that breakfast was at seven, we broke up the party, and Owen, Paul, Jim Potter and I departed together. But anyone who knows the psychology144 of conviviality145 will understand that we had first to pay a visit to a neighbouring Mess for one last whiskey-and-soda before turning in.
As I opened the door of my billet, I heard a “strafe” getting up. There was a lively cannonade 255 up in the line; for several minutes I listened, until it diminished a little, and began to die away. “In” to-morrow, I thought. My valise was laid out on the floor, and my trench kit all ready for packing first thing next morning. I lost no time in getting into bed. And yet I could not sleep.
I could not help thinking of the jollity of the last few hours, the humour, the apparently146 spontaneous outburst of good spirits; and most of all I thought of old Jim, the mainspring somehow of it all. And again I saw the picture of the concert a few nights ago, the bright lights of the stage, the crowds of our fellows, all their bodies and spirits for the moment relaxed, good-natured, happy, as they stood laughing in the warm night air. And lastly I thought again of Private Benjamin, that refined eager face, that rather delicate body, and that warm hand as I placed mine over his, squeezing the trigger. He was no more than a child really, a simple-minded child of Wales. Somehow it was more terrible that these young boys should see this war, than for the older men. Yet were we not all children wondering, wondering, wondering?... Yes, we were like children faced by a wild beast. “Sometimes I dislike you almost,” I thought; “your dulness, your coarseness, your lack of romance, your unattractiveness. Yet that is only physical. You, I love really. Oh, the dear, dear world!”
And in the darkness I buried my face in the pillow, and sobbed147.
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1
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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entrenching
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| v.用壕沟围绕或保护…( entrench的现在分词 )；牢固地确立… | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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13
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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14
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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27
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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28
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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29
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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31
bomber
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| n.轰炸机，投弹手，投掷炸弹者 | |
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32
bombers
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| n.轰炸机( bomber的名词复数 )；投弹手；安非他明胶囊；大麻叶香烟 | |
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33
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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34
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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35
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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36
emulate
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| v.努力赶上或超越，与…竞争；效仿 | |
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mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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38
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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39
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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40
atrocity
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| n.残暴，暴行 | |
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41
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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42
incandescent
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| adj.遇热发光的， 白炽的，感情强烈的 | |
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43
frightfulness
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| 可怕； 丑恶； 讨厌； 恐怖政策 | |
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44
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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46
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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47
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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48
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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49
flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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51
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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52
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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53
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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54
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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55
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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56
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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57
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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58
entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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60
canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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61
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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62
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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64
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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65
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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66
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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67
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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68
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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69
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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70
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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71
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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72
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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73
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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74
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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75
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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76
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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77
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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78
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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79
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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80
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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81
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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82
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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83
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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84
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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85
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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86
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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87
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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88
magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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89
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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91
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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92
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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93
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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94
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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95
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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96
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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97
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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98
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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99
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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100
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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101
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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102
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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retention
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| n.保留，保持，保持力，记忆力 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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execration
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| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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glutinous
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| adj.粘的，胶状的 | |
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concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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fresco
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| n.壁画；vt.作壁画于 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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144
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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conviviality
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| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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