Part 23

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.

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.

"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."

A man who had been in the war from the beginning answered:

"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."

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."

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 anaesthetic 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 anaesthetist, 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.

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.

In a few minutes it was finished. The wound was dressed and bandaged and the patient carried away.

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.

"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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

If only the trains would halt somewhere else at night-time!

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.

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.

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.

"There 'e is! There 'e is!" someone shouted in an excited voice.

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.

"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."

A flashing star suddenly seemed to envelop the aeroplane.

"Got 'im that time--bloody good shot--'e's comin' down, look, look, 'e's comin' down! Look, 'e's all in flames!"

But the aeroplane sped on, growing smaller and smaller. Then the white beam swung back and was extinguished, while the guns ceased firing.