BATHING
We labour in the trenches with rifle, maul and spade,
We're soldiers, cooks and carpenters, and everything to trade;
We stand on sentry-go all night and turn to kip at dawn,
But when we're dropping off to sleep it's "Up and carry on"--
For it's carry on and carry on and carry on all day;
They'll make us carry on until they carry us away;
It's carry on the whole day through, at dusk as well as dawn--
Oh blimey! will they never stop their blooming Carry On!
(_From "Carry On."_)
The road by La Bassée Canal was gritty and dry and shone like a thread
of gold in the afternoon sunlight. The Canal, dark and oily, was broken
by hundreds of little petulant ripples; its banks were red with poppy
flowers. Quiet reigned in the village of Gorre, where the London Irish
were quartered. They had been out digging trenches at Cambrin the night
before. Having been relieved from the fighting line, two nights after
Reynolds' death, they were now supplying working parties to the trenches
near La Bassée. In the present war the pick and shovel are as important
as the rifle and bayonet.
Bubb, Flanagan and Bowdy had just got up from the straw on which they
had been lying.
"Let's have a bloomin' dip in the briny," said Bubb.
"Let's," said Bowdy and Flanagan.
The trio made their way out into the village. It was a glorious day. The
sky was a tender blue, the green branches of the poplars which lined the
street waved sleepily, the shadows of many little clouds glided across
the cobbled pavement. To eastward other little clouds formed suddenly
and as suddenly paled away, and the men knew that an artillery duel of
slight intensity was in progress by Cuinchy.
"This ain't a bad place for a billet," said Bubb. "I could stick 'ere
for duration."
"We'll soon be out of it now," said Flanagan, handing round a packet of
cigarettes. "Captain Thorley said this morning that we are going to trek
to the Somme. Big doings down that way."
"We're always in it when there's a row on," said Bubb. "It's no sooner
see and like a place 'ere than you're out't next day. There are some
fine birds in this 'ere place too.... Look there are the cooks gettin'
dinner ready. Gawd they're sweatin' at the job too."
A field kitchen stood in the church square and the smoke curled up from
the sooty funnel and paled away in the clear air. Here the company cooks
were busy preparing dinner. Facing the Canal was a row of red-roofed
houses, with a wealth of summer flowers round the doors, the windows
looked out coquettishly through roses, and green ivy clambered up the
walls.
To the left of the church was a snug little graveyard hidden in a
spinney, and here a number of English soldiers were buried. Under a
large tree stood a broken and rusty pump which was out of action. A
large shell had fallen there and after the explosion some soldiers found
a robin, dead. They buried it and were moved to poetry in inscribing the
little bird's epitaph. The epitaph, written in large black letters, hung
from the handle of the pump. This was the verse:--
"Cock Robin lies beside this pump,
A coal-box hit him such a thump,
And this is all we've got to tell,
We'll lick the swine that fired the shell."
Bubb looked at the epitaph.
"Mind the one over Sergeant Slade at Maroc?" he remarked.
"'Ere lies the remains of Sergeant Slade,
As was slow at frowin' a 'and grenade."
"Not as good as the one at the Cabaret Rouge up at Souchez," said
Flanagan, and quoted:--
"This marks the fallen dug-out
Where seven heroes fell,
Strafed in a bomb-proof shelter
By a high velocity shell."
"Well, we'll go into the café and have a drink," said Bowdy. "Bubb
won't refuse to go in, I know. He wants to see Emily."
"It's yourself as wants to see the bird," said Spudhole. "I don't mind
sayin' that I kind o' like 'er. She's not bad lookin', almost as nice as
Fifi. Mind Fifi, Bowdy?"
"Poor old Fifi," said Bowdy. "Fitz was fond of her. I remember one night
seeing him kissing her over the window."
"Git out."
"True," said Bowdy. "That was when we were at Y---- Farm, and I was
lying in the straw up in the barn. Snogger and Fitz and Spud and myself
came in from the café and all went to bed, except my bold Fitz. He sat
up and I watched him. After a while he thought everyone was sleeping and
up he gets and goes downstairs. I waited for ten minutes, but he didn't
come back, so out I goes and down to see what he was up to. And what
would it be but Fitz at the back of the farmhouse speaking to Fifi and
kissing her. Well, it wasn't my business to spy on him, so back I comes
to my roost and I was asleep before he came back."
"I always knew that 'e was a devil," said Bubb. "Pity that 'e went
west.... 'Ere, can yer smell the roses."
They came to the door of the café and entered. Emilie was inside
sitting at a table writing a letter. She smiled at the soldiers and
went on with her work. Bubb lit a cigarette, sat on a chair and mumbled
a song.
"Woola woo donna maw,
Siv woo play,
Pan ay burr
Ay cawfee ah lay."
The girl raised her head and laughed, disclosing her pearly white teeth
and red lips. Emilie was a well-made girl with dark hair, white brow,
thick, strongly arched eyebrows, a charming chin and a full throat. She
was of medium height, full of vitality and fun, a coquette every inch
of her. Bubb was in love with her, just as he had been in love with
dozens of other French girls. A billet and a bird, and no man out of
the trench area could be happier than Bubb.
Having drunk their coffee, the soldiers made their way to the Canal.
Bubb's face was brimming over with good nature and vitality. Now and
again he would jump into the air, cut a caper with his feet, hop to
earth as gracefully as a bird, kick a pebble along the roadway, and
afterwards lift the pebble in his hand and fling it into the water.
A boy, wearing a pair of English puttees drove two lean cows along the
Canal bank and stopped for a moment to speak to an elderly female who
was washing her household linen in the cool water. Heedless of the
woman's presence, Bowdy and Flanagan undressed and flung themselves
into the Canal. The swim from bank to bank was very exhilarating, the
coolness warmed the heart and imparted a strange exhilaration to the
body. A swim in the cold water always gave the two men the same
sensation as good news that is unexpected. Bubb sat on the bank looking
at the swimmers.
"Come into the water, my man," they shouted. "It's glorious."
"'Twon't be so glorious when yer get out again," said Bubb.
"Why?" Flanagan enquired.
"'Cos yer clo'es are right top o' a hant-'eap."
"An ant-heap!" ejaculated Flanagan. "Oh, my God!"
"I'm not goin' ter leave my clo'es wiv yours," said Bubb. "I'm goin'
ter leave 'em where there's no bloomin' hants."
"We'll get stung to death," Bowdy said. "Bubb, put our clothes along
with yours," he called.
"No blurry fear," shouted Bubb, who was undressing further along. "I
don't want to get no hants."
The swimmers only ceased in their endeavours to drench him when he
flung half-a-dozen bricks into the water perilously close to their
heads, but it was only Bubb's trudgeon stroke that saved him from a
combined attack when he dived into the Canal. Bubb was a graceful
swimmer.
Bowdy was just clambering up on the bank when he heard it coming,
rumbling in from the Unknown. He was back in the water immediately,
beating it with his hands as he waited. The shell burst near the bank
and a hundred splinters whizzed into the Canal. A second shell
followed, and a third. Then it was that Bubb's clothes, caught fair,
were blown in pieces.... For ten minutes the men kept in the water, but
when no further shells came across from the Germans, they clambered out
on to the bank.
"All hail, thou twentieth century Adam!" said Flanagan, looking at Bubb
and shaking the ants from the bundle of khaki clothing. "It will be
splendid to see you march through Gorre on your way back.... And all
the young girls...."
Bubb looked round in agony; Bowdy shook with laughter.
"And French girls, too," said Flanagan. "They're very rude sometimes."
"We'll have a little procession," Bowdy suggested. "Bubb leading."
"It's a sad plight for a bashful man," said Flanagan. "An exhibition in
the nude."
Bubb opened his mouth and shut it again. Bowdy and Flanagan put their
boots on.
"If only I 'ad a sandbag," said Bubb.
"We'll get back now," Bowdy said. "Come along, Spudhole."
"No blurry fear," said the Cockney. "I'd drown myself 'fore I'd go back
through Gorre like this. I'm not a girl in a revue. I'm a soldier, not
a hactress. Will one o' you run back and get a pair o' trousers and a
shirt for me?"
"No."
"No-o!"
"Callin' yerselves mates!" shrieked Bubb. Then his voice became
coaxing. "Look 'ere, Flan, you go back and get me even a shirt; or
Bowdy.... Any of you. Be pals."
"Who stood by and let the ants run over our clothes?" asked Flanagan.
"Bubb," Bowdy replied. "Our pal, Spudhole."
"That was a joke," said Bubb, "but this is past a joke. It's 'ell
'avin' no clothes."
"But you wouldn't wear clothes with ants running over them, would you?"
asked Bowdy.
"I must go on in front," said Flanagan. "I'll ask Emilie to come down
and have a look at you. She's up to any kind of devilment, that same
girl."
"Flan-a-gan," said Bubb in a slow voice, hoarse with decision, "if
you'd do a thing like that, I'd cut yer blurry froat." Then he stooped
down, picked up a pebble and flung it into the water.
"'Ere, wot's this?" he exclaimed suddenly. "This, in the Canal."
They looked in. A stretcher, to which a ground sheet was bound by a
leathern thong, drifted slowly down the Canal. Quick as a flash, Bubb
dived in and brought the stretcher to the bank.
"Carry me 'ome on this," he said. "Put the ground sheet over me."
He lay down on the wet stretcher and his mates covered him over with
the sheet and raised the burden to their shoulders. Spudhole regained
his good humour and began to sing. He was in the throes of a rag-time
chorus when Flanagan and Bowdy halted opposite the Café Calomphie and
placed the stretcher on the pavement.
Flanagan knocked at the door. Emilie came out. Bubb sweated terror from
every pore.
"Take me away!" he yelled, wrapping himself very tightly in his sheet.
"For Gawd's sake take me back to the billet!"
Agitation and confusion distorted his countenance; at that moment he
longed for the ground to open and swallow him. Flanagan, who knew
French like a native, was speaking to the girl.
"What are you saying?" Spudhole called.
"She wants the ground sheet," said Flanagan. "I'm going to make her a
present of it."
"For Gawd's sake----"
"She's going to take it off herself, with her own two hands," Flanagan
remarked.
"Oh, blimey!" groaned Bubb; then, in an excess of rage, "I'll kill 'er
if she comes near me. I'll strangle 'er, then I'll strangle you."
But Bubb's violent gestures did not deter Emilie from approaching the
stretcher. She knew all about Bubb's mishap. Flanagan had explained his
mate's woeful plight. Emilie bent down and raised the lower part of the
ground sheet, disclosing Bubb's toes.
Spudhole curled up like a hedgehog. The girl gave the sheet a slight
tug.
"Pour moi!" she said.
"Git out!" yelled Bubb. "Clear off ter 'ell. Damn yer, don't yer know
wot shame is! Ally voos ong."
"Pull it off, Emilie," roared Flanagan, holding his sides.
The girl gave the sheet another tug. She did not want to take it off,
but Bubb's terror amused her.
The boy could stand it no longer. He got to his feet, wrapped the sheet
round his waist and fled up the street. The village came out to see him
careering along; all laughed at the escapade but few were surprised at
the spectacle.
"It's only the mad English," the old women said. "They are always up to
mischief."
That night the London Irish set out on their trek to the Somme.