Part 22

"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.

"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...."

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."

We were scared and sent three men across. When they had gone, we asked to hear the end of the story.

"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."

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:

"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!"

"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."

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.

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.

The mortuary attendant came walking along the duckboards.

As he passed by me he growled:

"There's a 'ell of a stunt on--there'll be umpteen slabs for the mortuary."

AIR-RAIDS

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!"

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.

"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."

"D'yer think 'e wouldn't bomb a C.C.S.?"

"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."

"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."

"I bet that's all bloody lies--yer can't believe nothin' what's in the papers."

"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?"

"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?"

"Mistakes be blowed--'e knows what's what, you take my word for it ..."

We gathered idly round the disputants, glad of a distraction that would help to pass the time. A third person joined in the argument:

"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."

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.

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.