Part 20

But a third man, bringing the argument back to its original subject, said:

"I reckon it's all bloody lies what's in the papers. The Belgies is a damn sight worse'n Jerry. [The Germans.] 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."

"Go on--tell us another!"

"I bet yer it's true, now then!"

"How much do you bet?"

"Fifteen bloody francs!"

"All right, I'll take yer on!"

"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! They 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!..."

The shout of "Next man" sounded across from the theatre, and the would-be destroyer of the social order got up and walked across.

"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.

"Near Eeps, [Ypres] 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!"

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.

"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!"

"I think it's a damned shame to kill a man after he's surrendered," said a tall Corporal.

"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!"

"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 Graphic 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 his 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...."

"'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!"

"Next three men," shouted the theatre orderly.

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.

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.

"Ask 'em if they're glad to be out of it."

I put the question and there was a chorus of fervent "Ja's" and "Gott sei Dank's."

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.

"Ask him what he thinks of Hindenburg."

A cheerful youngster from East Prussia answered: "Der's' nicht besser als wir--He's no better than we are!"

"Did you ever see him?"

"Yes, he came into the trenches a week ago and gave us cakes and cigars."

"But that was jolly sporting of him, wasn't it?"