The gun detachment were curled up and dozing on the damp straw of their
dug-out behind the gun when the mail arrived. The men had had an early
turn-out that morning, had been busy serving or standing by the gun all
day, and had been under a heavy shell fire off and on for a dozen hours
past. As a result they were fairly tired--the strain and excitement of
being under fire are even more physically exhausting somehow than hard
bodily labour--and might have been hard to rouse. But the magic words
'The mail' woke them quicker than a round of gun-fire, and they sat up
and rubbed the sleep from their eyes and clustered eagerly round the
Number One (sergeant in charge of the detachment) who was 'dishing out'
the letters. Thereafter a deep silence fell on the dug-out, the
recipients of letters crowding with bent heads round the guttering
candle, the disappointed ones watching them with envious eyes.
An exclamation of deep disgust from the Signaller brought no comment
until the last letter was read, but then the Limber Gunner remembered
and remarked on it.
'What was that you was rearin' up an' snortin' over, Signals?' he
asked, carefully retrieving a cigarette stump from behind his ear and
lighting up.
The Signaller snorted again. 'Just 'ark at this,' he said, unfolding
his letter again. 'I'll just read this bit, an' then I'll tell you the
sort of merry dance I've 'ad to-day. This is from an uncle o' mine in
London. 'E grouses a bit about the inconvenience o' the dark streets,
an' then 'e goes on, "Everyone at 'ome is wonderin' why you fellows
don't get a move on an' do somethin'. The official despatches keeps on
sayin' 'no movement,' or 'nothin' to report,' or 'all quiet,' till it
looks as if you was all asleep. Why don't you get up an' go for 'em?"'
The Signaller paused and looked up. 'See?' he said sarcastically.
'Everyone at 'ome is wonderin', an' doesn't like this "all quiet"
business. I wish everyone at 'ome, including this uncle o' mine, 'ad
been up in the trenches to-day.'
'Have a lively time?' asked the Number One. 'We had some warmish
spells back here. They had the range to a dot, and plastered us
enthusiastic with six- an' eight-inch Johnsons an' H.E. shrapnel. We'd
three wounded an' lucky to get off so light.'
'Lively time's the right word for my performance,' said the Signaller.
'Nothin' of the "all quiet" touch in my little lot to-day. It started
when we was goin' up at daybreak--me an' the other telephonist wi' the
Forward Officer. You know that open stretch of road that takes you up
to the openin' o' the communication trenches? Well, we're just nicely
out in the middle o' that when Fizz comes a shell an' Bang just over
our 'eads, an' the shrapnel rips down on the road just behind us. Then
Bang-Bang-Bang they come along in a reg'lar string down the road. They
couldn't see us, an' I suppose they was just shooting on the map in the
hopes o' catching any reliefs o' the infantry on the road. Most o' the
shells was percussion, after the first go, an' they was slam-bangin'
down in the road an' the fields alongside an' flinging dirt and gravel
in showers over us. "Come on," sez the Forward Officer; "this locality
is lookin' unhealthy," an' we picked up our feet an' ran for it. Why
we wasn't all killed about ten times each I'll never understand; but we
wasn't, an' we got to the end o' the communication trench an' dived
into it as thankful as any rabbit that ever reached 'is burrow with a
terrier at 'is tail. After we got a bit o' breath back we ploughed
along the trench--it was about ankle deep in bits--to the Infantry
Headquarters, an' the F.O. goes inside. After a bit 'e comes out an'
tells me to come on wi' him up to the Observation Post. This was about
eight ac emma [A.M.], an' just gettin' light enough to see. You know
what that Observin' Post of ours is. The F.O. 'as a fond de-looshun
that the Germs can't see you when you leave the support trench an'
dodge up the wreckage of that hedge to the old house; but I 'ave my own
opinions about it. Anyway I've never been up yet without a most
un-natural lot o' bullets chippin' twigs off the hedge an' smackin'
into the ditch. But we got into the house all right an' I unslings my
Telephone--Portable--D Mark III., an' connects up with the Battery
while the F. O. crawls up into the top storey. 'E hadn't been there
three minutes when smack . . . smack, I hears two bullets hit the tiles
or the walls. The F. O. comes down again in about ten minutes an' has
a talk to the Major at the Battery. He reports fairly quiet except
some Germ Pip-Squeak shells droppin' out on our right, an' a good deal
o' sniping rifle fire between the trenches in front of us. As a
general thing I've no serious objection to the trenches snipin' each
other, if only the Germs 'ud aim more careful. But mostly they aims
shockin' an' anything that comes high for our trench just has the right
elevation for our post. There's a broken window on the ground floor
too, lookin' out of the room we uses straight at the Boshies, an' the
F.O. wouldn't have me block this up at no price. "Concealment," sez
he, "is better than protection. An' if they see that window sandbagged
up it's a straight tip to them this is a Post of some sort, an' a
hearty invitation to them to plunk a shell or two in on us." Maybe 'e
was right, but you can't well conceal a whole house or even the four
walls o' one, so I should 'ave voted for the protection myself.
Anyhow, 'e said I could build a barricade at the foot o' the stairs,
where I'd hear him call 'is orders down, an' I'd be behind some cover.
This motion was seconded by a bullet comin' in the window an' puttin' a
hole in the eye o' a life-size enlargement photo of an old lady in a
poke-bonnet hangin' on the wall opposite. The row of the splinterin'
glass made me think a Jack Johnson had arrived an' I didn't waste time
gettin' to work on my barricade. I got a arm-chair an' the half of a
sofa an' a broken-legged table, an' made that the foundation; an' up
against the outside of them I stacked a lot o' table linen an' books
an' loose bricks an' bottles an' somebody's Sunday clothes an' a fender
an' fire-irons an' anything else I thought any good to turn a bullet.
I finished up by prizin' up a hearthstone from the fireplace an'
proppin' it up against the back o' the arm-chair an' sittin' down most
luxurious in the chair an' lighting up my pipe. That's a long ways the
most comfortable chair I've ever sat in--deep soft springy seat an'
padded arms an' covered in red velvet--an' I was just thinkin' what a
treat it was when I hears the rifle fire out in front beginnin' to
brisk up, an' the Forward Officer calls down to me to warn the Battery
to stand by because o' some excitement in the trenches. "Major says
would you like him to give them a few rounds, sir," I shouts up, an'
the F.O. says, "Yes--three rounds gun-fire, on the lines the guns are
laid." So off goes your three rounds, an' I could hear your shells
whoopin' along over our heads.
'"Number One gun add twenty-five yards," calls down the F.O., an' then
gives some more corrections an' calls for one round battery fire. By
this time the rifle fire out in front was pretty thick and the bullets
was hissin' an' whinin' past us an' crackin' on the walls. Another one
came through the window an' perforated the old lady's poke-bonnet, but
none o' them was comin' near me, an' I was just about happily
concludin' I wasn't in the direct line o' fire an' was well covered
from strays. So I was snuggin' down in my big easy chair with the D
Mark III. on my knee, puffin' my pipe an' repeatin' the F.O.'s orders
as pleasant as you please when crack! a bullet comes with an almighty
smack through the back o' the arm-chair, bare inches off my ear.
Comfort or no comfort, thinks I, this is where I resign the chair, an'
I slides out an' squats well down on the wet floor. It's surprisin'
too the amount o' wet an ordinary carpet can hold, an' the chap that
designed the pattern o' this one might 'ave worked in some water lilies
an' duckweed instead o' red roses an' pink leaves if he'd known 'ow it
would come to be used. This 'ouse 'as been rather a swagger one,
judgin' by the style o' the furniture, but one end an' the roof 'aving
gone west with the shellin' the whole show ain't what it might be. An'
when the missus as it belongs to returns to 'er 'appy 'ome there's
going to be some fervent remarks passed about the Germs an' the war
generally.
'But to get on wi' the drill--the row in the trenches got hotter an'
hotter, an' our house might 'ave been a high-power magnet for bullets,
the way they was comin' in, through that open window special. The old
lady lost another eye an' half an' ear, an' 'er Sunday gown an' a big
gold brooch was shot to ribbons. A bullet cut the cord at last, an'
the old girl came down bump. But I'd been watchin' 'er so long I felt
she oughtn't to be disgraced lyin' there on 'er face before the German
fire. So I crawled out an' propped 'er up against the wall with 'er
face to the window. I 'ope she'd be glad to know 'er photo went down
with flyin' poke-bonnet.'
'It was shortly after this our wire was first cut--about ten ac emma
[A.M.] that would be. I sings out to the F.O. that I was disc[1], but
what wi' the bullets smackin' into the walls, the shells passin' over
us, the Coal-Boxes bursting around, an' the trenches belting off at
their hardest, the F.O. didn't 'ear me an' I 'ad to crawl up the stairs
to 'im. Just as I got to the top a shrap burst, an' the bullets came
smashin' an' tearin' down thro' the tiles an' rafters. The bullets up
there was whistlin' an' whinin' past an' over like the wind in a ship's
riggin', an' every now an' then _whack!_ one would hit a tile, sending
the dust an' splinters jumpin'. The F.O. was crouched up in one corner
where a handful o' tiles was still clingin', an' he was peepin' out
through these with 'is field glasses. "Keep down," 'e sez when 'e saw
me. "There's a brace o' blanky snipers been tryin' for a cold
'alf-hour to bull's-eye on to me. There they go again----," an' _crack
. . . smack_ two bullets comes, one knockin' another loose tile off, a
foot over 'is 'ead, an' t'other puttin' a china ornament on the
mantel-piece on the casualty list.
'I reported the wire cut an' the F.O. sez he'd come along wi' me an'
locate the break. "We'll have to hurry," he says, "cos it looks to me
as if a real fight was breezin' up." So we crawled out along the ditch
an' down the trench, followin' the wire. We found the break--there was
three cuts--along that bit o' road that runs from the Rollin' River
Trench down past the Bomb Store, an' I don't ever want a more highly
excitin' job than we had mendin' it. The shells was fair rainin' down
that road, an' the air was just hummin' like a harpstring wi' bullets
an' rickos.[2] We joined up an' tapped in an' found we was through all
right, so we hustled back to the Post. That 'ouse never was a real
'ealth resort, but today it was suthin' wicked. They must 'ave
suspicioned there was a Post there, an' they kep' on pastin' shells at
us. How they missed us so often, Heaven an' that German gunner only
knows. They couldn't get a direct with solid, but I must admit they
made goodish shootin' wi' shrapnel, an' they've made that 'ouse look
like a second-'and pepper-caster. The F.O. was 'avin' a most unhappy
time with shrapnel an' rifle bullets, but 'e 'ad 'is guns in action, so
'e just 'ad to stick it out an' go on observin', till the wires was cut
again. This time the F.O. sez to look back as far as the wire ran in
the trench, an' if I didn't find the break up to there come back an'
report to 'im. But I found the break in the hedge jus' outside, an'
mended it an' went back, the bullets still zipping down an' me breakin'
all the hands-an'-knees records for the fifty yards. I found the F.O.
'ad reined back a bit from 'is corner an' was busy wi' the bedroom
poker breakin' out a loophole through the bricks of the gable-end wall.
'E came down an' told the Major about it. It was getting too hot, 'e
said, an' the two snipers must 'ave 'im located wi' field-glasses. One
bullet 'ad nearly blinded 'im wi' broken-tile dust, an' another 'ad
tore a hole across the side of 'is "British warm"[3]; so he was goin'
to try observin' through a couple of loopholes. Then 'e went up an'
finished 'is chippin' an' brought the guns into action again. Just in
the middle o' a series I feels a most unholy crash, an' the whole house
rocked on its toe an' heel. The brickdust an' plaster came rattlin'
down, an' when the dust cleared a bit an' I got my sense an' my
eyesight back, I could see a splintered hole in the far corner of my
ceilin'. I made sure the F.O. upstairs was blotted out, 'cos it was
that corner upstairs where 'is loophole was; but next minute 'e sings
out an' asks was I all right. I never felt less all right in my life,
but I told 'im I was still alive, far as knew. I crawled up to see
what 'ad 'appened, an' there was 'im in one corner at 'is peep-'ole,
an' the floor blowed to splinters behind 'im an' a big gap bust in the
gable wall at the other corner. A shell had made a fair hit just about
on 'is one loophole, while he was lookin' thro' the other. "I believe
we'll 'ave to leave this," he sez, "an' move along to our other post.
It's a pity, 'cos I can't see near as well."
'"If we don't leave this 'ouse, sir," I sez, "seems to me it'll leave
us--an' in ha'penny numbers at that."
'So he reports to the Major, an' I packs up, an' we cleared. The
shelling had slacked off a bit, though the trenches was still slingin'
lead hard as ever.
'"We must hurry," sez the F.O. "They're going to bombard a trench for
ten minutes at noon, and I must be in touch by then."
'We scurried round to the other post, and just got fixed up before the
shoot commenced. And in the middle of it--phutt goes first one wire
an' then the other. The F.O. said things out loud when I told him.
"Come along," he finished up; "we must mend it at once. The infantry
assault a trench at the end of the ten minutes. There they go now,"
and we heard the roar of the rifles swell up again. He took a long
stare out through his glasses and then we doubled out. The Germs must
have thought there was a big assault on, and their gunners were putting
a zone of fire behind the trenches to stop supports coming up. An' we
had to go through that same zone, if you please. 'Strewth, it was hot.
There was big shells an' little shells an' middle-sized shells, roarin'
an' shrieking up and bursting H.E. shrapnel or smashing into the
ground. If there was one threw dirt over us there was a dozen. One
buzzed close past and burst about twenty feet in front of the F.O., and
either the windage or the explosion lifted him off his feet and clean
rolled him over. I thought he was a goner again, but when I came up to
him he was picking himself up, an' spittin' dirt an' language out
between his teeth, an' none the worse except for the shakin'. We
couldn't find that break. We had to tap in all along the wire to
locate it and all the time it was a race between us finding the break
and a shell finding us. At last we got it, where we'd run the wire
over a broke-up shed. The F.O. was burnin' to talk to the Battery,
knowing they'd be anxious about their shoot, so he picked a spot in the
lee of a wall an' told me to tap in on the wire there. Just as he
began talkin' to the Battery a Coal-Box soars up an' bumps down about
twenty yards away and beyond us. The F.O. looks up, but goes on
talkin'; but when another shell, an' then another, drops almost on the
exact same spot, he lifted the 'phone closer in to the wall and stoops
well down to it. I needn't tell you I was down as close to the ground
as I could get without digging. "I think we're all right here," sez
the F.O., when another shell bust right on the old spot an' the
splinters went singin' over us. "They look like keepin' on the same
spot, and we must be out of the line the splinters take."
'It looked like he was right, for about three more fell without
touchin' us, and I was feeling a shade easier in my mind. There was
some infantry comin' up on their way to the support trenches, an' they
filed along by the wall that was coverin' us. Just as they was passin'
another shell dropped. It was on the same spot as all the others, but
blow me if it didn't get three of them infantry. They fell squirmin'
right on top o' us an' the instrument, so I concluded that spot wasn't
as safe as the F.O. had reckoned, an' there was a flaw in 'is argument
somewheres that the Coal-Box 'ad found out. The F.O. saw that too, an'
we shifted out quick-time. After that things quietened down a bit, an'
the short hairs on the back o' my neck had time to lie down. They
stood on end again once or twice in the afternoon, when we'd some more
repairin' under fire to do; an' then to wind up the day they turned a
maxim on just as we was comin' away from the post, an' we had to flop
on our faces with the bullets zizz-izz-ipping just over us. We took a
trench, I hear; an' the Jocks in front of us had thirty casualties, and
the Guards on our left 'ad some more, 'cos I seed 'em comin' back to
the ambulance.
'On the 'ole, it's been about the most unpleasantest day I've spent for
a spell. What wi' wadin' to the knees in the trench mud, getting
soaked through wi' rain, not 'aving a decent meal all day, crawlin'
about in mud an' muck, an' gettin' chivvied an' chased all over the
landscape wi' shells an' shrapnel an' machine-guns an' rifles, I've
just about 'ad enough o' this King an' Country game.'
The Signaller paused a moment. But his gaze fell on the letter he
still held in his hand, and he tapped it with a scornful finger and
burst out again violently: 'King an' Country--huh! An' a bald-'eaded
blighter sittin' warm an' dry an' comfortable by 'is fireside at 'ome
writes out an' tells me what the Country's thinkin'. I come in 'ere
after a day that's enough to turn the 'air of a 'earse-'orse grey, an'
I'm told about my pals bein' casualtied; an' to top it all I gets a
letter from 'ome--"why don't you do somethin'? Why don't you get up
an' go for 'em?" Ar-r-rh!!'
''Ome,' remarked the Limber Gunner. ''Ome don't know nuthin' about it.'
'They don't,' agreed the Signaller. 'But what I wants to know--an'
there's a many 'ere like me--is why don't somebody let 'em know about
it; let 'em really know.'
[1] Disconnected.
[2] Ricochets.
[3] Overcoat.