"When this bloody war is over,
O how happy I shall be,
When I get my civvy clothes on,
No more soldiering for me."
and all the other songs familiar to every soldier in the British army.
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.
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.
The rumble of the cannonade sounded faintly in the far distance.
"I reckon it's a bloody shame to let the other Tommies and the
Frenchies...."
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.