Chapter 5 WALKING WOUNDED

"The war is doing me good as though it were a bath-cure."

(Field Marshal Von Hindenburg.)

Some had dirty bandages round their heads. Some had their arms in slings. Others had hands so thickly swathed that they looked like the huge paws of polar-bears. Many were caked with mud and wore tattered uniforms. Some limped or hobbled along. Others could walk unaided. Some leaned heavily on our shoulders and some we had to carry on our backs.

As each one entered the waiting-room-a little wooden shed opposite the swing-doors of the operating theatre-we took off his boots and tunic and made him sit down in front of the glowing stove. From time to time an orderly would shout across from the theatre:

"Next man!"

And we would take the "next man" over and help him to mount one of the tables.

They were all very quiet at first and many sat with bowed heads. Some were dreading the operation, others, who were not badly wounded, looked bright and cheerful, as well they might, for they were going to have a holiday, perhaps in England, but anyhow at the Base, where they would enjoy a respite from danger, hardship, and misery-a respite that might last for weeks. And in the meantime the war might come to an end-one could never tell.

Two infantrymen with packs and rifles passed by. They had been discharged from the C.C.S. and were going to rejoin their units. They stopped outside the waiting-room for a few minutes and looked enviously at the wounded sitting round the stove inside, and murmured with deep conviction: "Lucky devils."

A patient came out of the theatre with bandaged arm. He held a large, semi-circular piece of iron in his hand.

"Is that what they took out o' yer arm?" said one of the infantrymen.

"Yes-decent bit, isn't it!"

"Gorblimy, I wish I could 'ave a bit like that, in me knee or somewhere, to lay me up for months."

His comrade added in a voice full of hopeless longing:

"I wish I were in his shoes. Anything to keep out of that hell up the line!"

"'E's a sure Blighty, ain't 'e?"

"Sure!"

The man with the injured arm put on his boots and threw his tunic over his shoulders and walked off, smiling happily.

A German, looking weak and pale, came in. He was in great agony and had received permission to enter the theatre with the British wounded, so that his pain might be relieved as soon as possible.

"'Ullo, Fritzie," said someone in a cheerful voice. "Got a Blighty?"

The German did not understand and looked utterly miserable. He sat down timidly with the others. The room was dark except for the glow given out by the stove that lit up the hands and faces of those around it. Suddenly a man shouted from the background:

"Them bastard Fritzes-I'd poison the 'ole lot." And that started the argument.

"I reckon one man's as good as another."

"I reckon a Tommy's worth a dozen Fritzes. The bleeders ought ter be wiped orf the face o' the bleed'n' earth. I see 'em do a thing or two, I tell yer-me an' my mate was in the line down Plugstreet way when they crucified a Canadian. I see the tree what they did it on wi' me own eyes-dirty lot o' swine!"

"Bloody lies! Yer read it in the paper!"

"Wha' if I did?"

"Yer said yer saw it yerself!"

"Well, I read it in the papers and then I see the tree what they did it on arterwards. The nails was still there. An' what d'you know about it? Yer in the artillery, yer don't see no fightin'!"

"Don't see no fightin'! Gorblimy, I reckon the infantry wouldn't be much bleedin' cop wi'out the artillery."

"I'll tell yer what the artillery do-blow up their own mates what's in the front line, there now!"

"If we'd 'ad artillery in August, 1914, the war'd 'a' bin over in three weeks!"

"Don't yer believe it! It's the infantry what 'as all the danger an' gits all the rotten jobs. The artillery's cushey compared wi' the infantry."

"The artillery 'as a bloody sight 'eavier losses!"

"Go on-tell us another! It's no good arguin' wi' yer, yer won't see any side 'cept yer own."

But a third man, bringing the argument back to its original subject, said:

The Germans.

"I reckon it's all bloody lies what's in the papers. The Belgies is a damn sight worse'n Jerry.* Yer know that there gun what used to shell Poperinge-well, they never knew where the shells came from till they found it was a Belgian batt'ry 'id in a tunnel. They caught the gunners when they was telephonin' to Jerry. They stood the 'ole bleed'n' lot up aginst a wall an' shot 'em-serve 'em right too."

"Go on-tell us another!"

"I bet yer it's true, now then!"

"How much do you bet?"

"Fifteen bloody francs!"

"All right, I'll take yer on!"

"I reckon the Froggies is the worst," said a man who had not spoken before. "I was out 'ere in 1914 an' they didn't 'alf let us down. I was a bloody fool ter join up though-I'd like to strangle meself for it. They won't catch me volunteerin' for the next war, not this child, no bloody fear! Look at the way they treat yer-like bleed'n' pigs. There ain't no justice anywhere. There's strong an' 'ealthy fellers at the Base just enjoyin' theirselves. Then there's the 'eads what 'as servants to wait on 'em-d'yer think French or Duggie 'Aig ever 'as shells burstin' round 'em? Then there's the Conchies what 'as a easy time in clink-if I see a Conchy in civvy life, I'll knock 'is bloody 'ead orf, struth I will. And the civvies-gorblimy-when I was 'ome on leave they kep' on arstin' me, 'Ain't yer wounded yet?' an' 'When are yer goin' back?' But d'yer think they care a damn-Not they, you bet yer life on it! They don't want the war to stop-they're earnin' good money an' go to dances an' cinemas. They'd start cryin' if we 'ad peace-I tell yer, I was glad when me leave was over an' I was back wi' me mates. I won't 'alf throw me weight about when I gits out o' the army! I won't 'alf raise 'ell-I'll 'ave a bloody revverlution, you see if I don't!..."

The shout of "Next man" sounded across from the theatre, and the would-be destroyer of the social order got up and walked across.

"Where were you wounded?" asked one of the soldiers of his neighbour who was drawing his breath in sharply between his lips, evidently being in great pain.

Ypres.

"Near Eeps,* by the Canal. A shell busted in front o' me an' a bit copped me in the shoulder. Fritz was sending 'em over by the 'undreds, whizz-bangs an' 'eavy stuff all mixed up-gorblimy, 'e don't 'alf give yer what for!"

There was a temporary lull in the conversation and then a small, wiry, spiteful looking Cockney spoke. He had reddish hair and big round spectacles of the army pattern.

"I didn' 'alf do it on a Fritz afore I was wounded! 'E give 'isself up an' I takes 'im along-I makes 'im walk in front o' me-yer can't take no risks wi' them bastards. 'E turns rahnd an' says ter me in English-'e must 'a' bin a clurk or a scholard-'e says, sarcastic like, 'I s'pose yer think yer goin' ter win the war!' I gets me rag out an' tells 'im ter mind 'is own bleed'n' business. I tells 'im if I catch 'im lookin' rahnd agin I'll kill 'im! We walks on a bit an' suddenly I throws a Mills at 'im-gorblimy, it wasn't 'alf a fine shot, it busted right on 'is shoulder. It didn' 'alf make a mess of 'im-I bet 'is own mother wouldn't 'a' rekkernized 'im as 'e lay there wi' 'is clock all smashed up!"

"I think it's a damned shame to kill a man after he's surrendered," said a tall Corporal.

"I wasn't goin' ter stand no bleed'n' sarcasm! An' Fritz does the same to our blokes! It's 'e what started it! We learnt it orf of 'im!"

"Yes, that's what they all say. It's always the other man who's done it first. There's been many a fellow who's quite decent at heart who's murdered a helpless prisoner thinking to avenge some abominable outrage that was never committed, but only dished up by some skunk of a pen-pusher who's never seen any fighting in his life. I don't know much about Fritz, he may be worse than us or he may be better, but I've seen our fellows do some bloody awful things. Anyhow, I know the German soldier's doing his bit just as we are. He thinks he's in the right and we think we're in the right, and he's just as much entitled to his opinion as we are to ours. And I tell you straight, if I had the choice between killing a German soldier and killing Lord Northcliffe, I'd shake hands with the German and ask him to help me kill Lord Northcliffe and a few others like him. And I'm not the only one who's that way of thinking, I can tell you. We call ourselves sportsmen, but have we ever recognized that we got a brave enemy? Say what you like about Fritz, he may be a brute, but he's got some pluck-he's up against the world, he is. He'll be beaten in the end, that's a cert, but he's putting up a bloody hard fight. I didn't think much of him before I came out, but it's hats off to him now! But d'you think the civvies or the papers admit it? No bloody fear! The other day I saw a picture of the grenades we use-I think it was in the Graphic or one of these illustrated rags. It was headed, 'Ferreting Fritz out of his Funk Holes.' I know the man who wrote that hasn't been in the trenches himself! He's never seen a lot of Germans lying dead round their machine-gun after fighting to the last, as I have! He hasn't even seen a shell burst, not he! I bet he slipped into his funk hole, though, when there was an air-raid on! Dirty, filthy swine! When I was home on leave I got so wild at the way the civvies talked that I gave them a piece of my mind and told them a thing or two. And one of them called me a pro-German! He, of course, was a patriot. He was making money out of the war and wanted a fight to a finish. Well, I got my rag out properly and I caught him by the throat and shook him till he was blue in the face. It was in the street too, and a lot of people standing about. They didn't say anything more after that, though! I felt I'd done a good deed. I was really glad to feel I'd clutched his windpipe with all my strength. I expect he still wears the marks of my finger-nails, although it happened months ago...."

"'Ere, 'ere! That's the stuff to give 'em! I reckon Fritz is a bloody good sport. We ought ter shake 'ands an' make peace now. Peace at any price, that's what I say.... I tell yer a thing what 'appened when I was in the line. We 'ad a little dog wi' us an' one night she must 'a' strayed inter Fritz's trenches. The next mornin' she came back wi' a card tied round 'er neck an' on the card it 'ad: 'To our comrades in misfortune-What about Peace.' I reckon that was a jolly decent thing ter say. Jerry wants ter get 'ome to 'is missis an' kiddies just as much as what we do!"

"Next three men," shouted the theatre orderly.

The next three were light cases. They were dealt with very quickly. Then the German hobbled across and several English wounded followed in rapid succession. When the waiting-room was empty we went over to the Prep. and fetched the other Germans along. There were no wounded arriving at the station at that moment, but we knew from the distant rumble of the bombardment that the Prep. would soon be crowded once again.

A number of British soldiers gathered round the entrance of the waiting-room, curious to see the prisoners and hear what they had to say.

"Ask 'em if they're glad to be out of it."

I put the question and there was a chorus of fervent "Ja's" and "Gott sei Dank's."

They were all glad to be out of it. No more fighting for them, Gott sei Dank! War was no good, at least not for the common soldier.

"Ask him what he thinks of Hindenburg."

A cheerful youngster from East Prussia answered: "Der's' nicht besser als wir-He's no better than we are!"

"Did you ever see him?"

"Yes, he came into the trenches a week ago and gave us cakes and cigars."

"But that was jolly sporting of him, wasn't it?"

"He can keep his cigars-he doesn't have to lie in shell holes for days on end."

"War's no good," said a small man with a protruding forehead and keen eyes and wearing a red-cross on his arm. "Ich danke meinem Gott-I thank my God that I've never taken up a rifle during the whole war, and I've been in it since the beginning. No human being has lost his life through me, thank God."

"Was für'n Zweck hat es-What's the good of shooting each other like this? The heads ought to come and fight it out amongst themselves."

"It's good for politicians and profiteers-für die ist's gut."

"Ask them what they think of the submarines."

A Lieutenant of the Prussian Guard answered contemptuously that he didn't think much of them. He didn't believe stories of food-shortage in England, he didn't believe anything the papers said, they were all full of lies.

"Ask them if they're satisfied with their treatment."

Yes, they were all satisfied. The Lieutenant pronounced it "blendend" (dazzling). They had not eaten so much and such good food for months and months. Oh it was good to be out of the fighting. Yes, their treatment was perfect-except for the thieving. Why were British soldiers allowed to steal the buttons, caps, rings, and watches belonging to their prisoners?

A German private, a tall thin man with bushy eyebrows, who had not spoken hitherto, said he didn't mind losing a few buttons-but to rob a man of his marriage ring, that was very mean-eine Gemeinheit-his marriage ring had been taken from him: he would have lost anything rather than that, for it always reminded him of home.

The boy from East Prussia said he didn't care what they took from him as long as they didn't take his life. He was safe now and nothing else mattered. He spoke with a Polish accent.

I asked him what town he came from.

"Allenstein."

"Did you see anything of the Russians in 1914?"

"Jawohl"-he had seen plenty of Russian troops. They behaved very well. "Die sind besser als die Deutschen-They're better than the Germans...."

But the theatre orderly interrupted us and asked us to "send two or three across."

I went to the Prep. to see if there were any new arrivals. It was full once again and the wounded were streaming into the station.

It was quite dark outside. The duckboards were lit up by rows of hurricane lamps. The bombardment was still going on.

When I got back to the waiting-room all the prisoners were gone and English wounded were taking their places. Soon the benches round the stove were crowded with dark figures whose hands and faces were lit up by the glow.

A man with haggard features and a bandage round his head began to talk in a mournful voice:

Got wounded.

Hospital.

Dead drunk.

"Oh, it's 'ard ter lose yer mates. There was three of us-we was always together-we couldn't bear the idea o' separatin'. One of us copped a packet* about three months ago an' went inter dock*-'e wasn't 'alf upset when 'e left us, though 'e was a sure Blighty-'e was afeard they'd send 'im to another mob when 'e got well agin. But 'e came back to us arter all-we didn't 'alf 'ave a bust up that evenin'. The two of us was absolutely canned to the wide*-'e wasn't though, 'e didn' drink much-'e was better'n what we was-well-spoken like-didn' go arter no tarts-didn' do no swearin'. Yer never came acrorst a better mate'n what 'e was! We was goin' over the top when a shell busted in front of us. It blinded me for a moment and then when I could see agin-gorblimy-it must 'a' copped 'im in the stomach an' ripped it open-ugh!-'e was rollin' over wi' all 'is guts 'angin' out-ugh!-yer should 'a' 'eard 'im groan. 'Me own mate,' I says ter 'im, but 'e didn't rekkernize nothin' and then we 'ad to go on-yer can't stop when yer goin' over! Soon arter me other mate copped it too. Somethin' bowled 'im clean over, but 'e gets up again an' shows me 'is arm. 'There's a bastard,' 'e says, as cool as yer like-'is 'and was blown clean orf at the wrist! He just turned round an' was walkin' orf to the dressin' station when a shell busted atween us. It copped me in the 'ead an' knocked me senseless. Arterwards I 'eard me mate 'ad bin blowed ter bits. Oh, it's 'ard when yer've bin together all the time an' shared everythink."

He buried his face in his hands and made no further sound except an occasional sniff and a hasty drawing in of the breath through trembling lips.

Killed.

"It's bloody murder up the line," said a full Corporal. "We were in a trench four feet deep and up to our waist in water. A Jerry sniper spotted us and one man got biffed,* and then the next, and then the next all along the trench. We were packed together like sardines and had no cover at all for our heads and shoulders. I got the wind up terribly 'cause I knew my turn was coming. He only gave me a Blighty though-I reckon I'm bloody lucky!"

"We was ready for to go over the top an' waitin' for the whistle to blow. We didn't 'alf 'ave the wind up. You could 'ear the teeth chatterin' all along the trench. I was shiverin' all over, I...."

"Next man!" The conversation stopped while the next man went across, but having once begun to tell their experiences, the men would not stop altogether, and after a brief silence an elderly little man with a bandaged foot said:

"What I couldn't get over was insomnia. I could never sleep at the right time and I was always dead tired on duty. Once I worked forty-three hours at a stretch and after that I had to do a guard in our trench. I felt sleepy all of a sudden. I pinched myself and banged the butt of my rifle on my toes, but everything seemed to swim round me. Then, I don't know how, I went off to sleep. I was awakened by an officer who shook me and swore at me. I was a bit dazed at first and then suddenly it struck me what had happened. I never had the wind up so much in all my life and I implored him not to report me. I don't remember what happened next, I was in such a state. But he did report me. I got a court martial and was sentenced to death for sleeping at my post. They put me into the guard-room and I expected to be shot the next day. It was a rotten feeling, I can tell you. I didn't think about myself so much as about the wife and the little boy. I wouldn't go through a night like that again for anything. But I went to sleep all the same. I woke up the next morning when someone came into the guard-room. I didn't know where I was for a second or two, and then in a flash I realized I'd got to die. I don't mind admitting that I rested my face against the wall and blubbered like a kid. Anyone would have done the same, I don't care what you say. But the man who'd just come in said:

"'Pull yourself together, old chap-you're all right for to-day, anyhow.' I sat bolt upright and stared at him.

"'They're not going to shoot me?'

"'Not to-day,' he answered. 'Cheer up, all sorts of things might happen before to-morrow.'

"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."

* * *