Chapter 6 AIR-RAIDS

It was a warm, sunny afternoon. About a dozen of us were pitching a marquee in leisurely fashion, when suddenly there was a shout of "Fritz up!"

We gazed at the sky, and, after searching for a while, saw a tiny white speck moving slowly across the blue at an immense height. Then, at some distance from it, a small white puff, like a little ball of cotton-wool, appeared. A few seconds passed and we heard a faint pop. More puffs appeared around the moving speck, each one followed by a pop. All at once, behind us, a bright tongue of flame flashed out above a group of bushes. There was a sharp report and a whizzing, rustling noise that died down gradually. Then another puff and another pop. The bright flames flashed out again in rapid succession. The little speck moved on and on. Grouped closely round it were compact little balls of cotton-wool, but trailing behind were thin wisps and semi-transparent whitish blurs. Above a belt of trees in the distance we observed a series of rapid flashes followed by an equal number of detonations. The upper air was filled with a blending of high notes-a whizzing, droning, and sibilant buzzing, and pipings that died down in faint wails. The little white speck moved on. It entered a film of straggling cloud, but soon re-emerged. It grew smaller and smaller. Our eyes lost it for a moment and found it again. Then they lost it altogether and nothing remained save the whitish blurs in the blue sky and a hardly audible booming in the far distance.

"I bet 'e's took some photographs-'e'll be over to-night. I reckon we're bloody lucky to be at a C.C.S."

"D'yer think 'e wouldn't bomb a C.C.S.?"

"Course 'e wouldn't-'e knows as well as what we do that there's some of 'is own wounded at C.C.S.'s."

"Yer've got some bleed'n' 'opes-do anythink, 'e would. Didn't yer see it in the papers? 'E bombed a French C.C.S. at Verd'n an' knocked out umpteen wounded."

"I bet that's all bloody lies-yer can't believe nothin' what's in the papers."

"Can't yer! If yer don't it's because yer don't want ter. I believe yer a bleed'n' Fritz yerself, always stickin' up fer the bastard. Everythink what's in the papers is true-the Government wouldn't allow it if it wasn't! That's got yer, ain't it?"

"Yer want ter look at it a bit more broad-minded. Course 'e makes mistakes sometimes like anybody else-'ow do 'e know it's a C.C.S.-'e can't see no Red Crorss at night?"

"Mistakes be blowed-'e knows what's what, you take my word for it ..."

We gathered idly round the disputants, glad of a distraction that would help to pass the time. A third person joined in the argument:

"If 'e bombs 'orspitals an' C.C.S.'s it's our own bloody fault. Look at our C.C.S. 'ere. There's a ordnance park and a R.E. dump up the road. There's a railway in front an' a sidin' where troops is always detrainin'. Then there's a gas dump over yonder. An' if we're bloody fools an' leave the lights on at night, 'ow can 'e tell what's what when everything's mixed up together? Why the bloody 'ell don't they put C.C.S.'s away from dumps an' railways? Why don't they stick 'em right in the fields somewhere? I bet we'll cop it one o' these nights, an' serve us right too."

German aeroplanes had passed overhead almost every clear windless night, but the buzz of propellers, that often went on for hours, and the dull boom of bombs exploding far away had never caused anything more than slight uneasiness and apprehension.

One night, after we had been at the C.C.S. for about a month, we heard the uproar of a distant air-raid. Early the next morning a number of motor-ambulances arrived with their loads of wounded men. A camp, a mile or two from the station, had been bombed and fifty men had been killed and many more wounded. One of the "cases" brought into the theatre had been hit on the forehead. The bomb-fragment had not penetrated the skull, but had passed along its surface. The scalp hung over the forehead loosely like an enormous flap, the red, jagged edge nearly touching the eyebrows. Since then I thought of this man every time there was an air-raid.

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 an?sthetic 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 an?sthetist, 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.

"Fine lot o' gunners we got-couldn't 'it a Zep 'alf a yard orf! They ain't worth the grub they get!"

We returned to our marquee and sat down on our kits. My friend Private Black came in after us, smiling ruefully. I asked him what was the matter.

"I was playing the piano in the Sergeants' Mess when the first one dropped. We all jumped up together and rushed out. Then the second one burst and I lost my head and didn't know where I was going. I darted to and fro, tripping over tent-ropes and dashing up against revetments. I never had the wind up so much in all my life. I couldn't get my breath, there was a kind of weight on my stomach and a tightness round my chest and throat, and my knees kept on giving way all the time. The third one burst and I fell down and crawled under some ropes and lay flat against some sand-bags, trembling all over and feeling as though I was going to choke. I waited for a long time, but nothing happened, so I got up and looked round. Lucky escape for us! There's a terrific hole by the Red Cross and another one behind the bath-house. The third's in the next field. Only two men hit. O'Neil's got it in the elbow-he's all right for Blighty. Poor old Hartog's badly hurt-a frightful gash in the thigh with the piece still in it. I hope he won't have to lose his leg. Christ, I'm glad it's all over-I wouldn't like to go through that again."

There was silence for a while, but soon the silence was broken by the distant muttering of anti-aircraft fire.

"Jesus Christ Almighty-'e's comin' again-O God, why can't 'e leave us alone."

We stood outside the marquee and anxiously watched the horizon. We heard a faint humming noise. It grew louder and louder until it became a deep, droning buzz that rose and fell in regular pulsation. Then boom-boom-boom-three times the sullen roar of distant explosions sounded. Then there came the familiar rushing, whistling noise of a descending bomb. We flung ourselves down in the wet grass. I felt every muscle in my body contract as though I were trying to make myself as small as a pin point in expectation of the terrible moment. There was a dull thud close by and I felt the earth vibrate. The bomb had fallen a few yards away, but had merely buried itself in the earth without exploding.

There was no anti-aircraft fire, but the droning noise continued loudly, rising and falling. Private Trotter, who was lying beside me, was drawing his breath in sharply between his lips. Our fear of impending disaster was prolonged intolerably. The droning propeller seemed to be directly above us. I tried to analyse my feelings. If one finger is held close to the middle of the forehead a curious sensation of strain seems to gather in that spot. That was precisely the sensation I had at the back of my head and neck, only with far greater intensity. It was the concentrated, agonizing consciousness of the swift descent of a huge iron mass that will strike the base of the head and blow the whole body to pieces. In the region of the solar-plexus I had a feeling of oppression such as one often has before an examination, before jumping into an icy river, before opening a letter that may contain bad news. I also breathed more heavily than usual. I made no attempt to master these sensations. It occurred to me that fear is merely a physical reaction that cannot be avoided. If a man reacts so violently that he is overcome and rushes about as though he were demented, it is no more his fault than if he shivers with cold. A man can stop shivering by an effort of the will, but only to a certain extent. And no effort of the will can prevent him from feeling cold. In the same way, no effort of the will can prevent him from feeling fear, and only to a limited extent can the will control the outward manifestations of fear. Nevertheless, some distraction may enable a man to forget his fear for a while, just as it may enable him to forget the cold. I was so intent upon self-analysis that I lost consciousness of everything except my mental concentration, even of those sensations I was trying to analyse, for the very act of analysis was destroying them. As they grew weaker, the effort of my will increased. It became so great that I grew conscious of great mental tension and at the same time I realized that my fear had vanished altogether. For a brief space I had a sensation of vacuity as though I could neither think nor feel. Then my mental effort suddenly collapsed, I once more became aware of the droning overhead, and with a rush my former fears were upon me again. I pressed myself flat to earth. I heard the descent of a bomb. I trembled and tried to shrink to nothing. There was a deafening thunder-clap and the ground shook. A quantity of loose earth came down upon us. Another bomb descended-every muscle in my body tightened and I stopped breathing altogether. But the explosion that followed was fainter than the last. Then there was another, still further off. All my muscles gradually relaxed and a delicious feeling of relief pervaded my whole being. The buzzing noise became more and more feeble. I got up and walked back to the marquee, trembling and weak at the knees. The others followed.

Most of us went to bed, but a few continued to pace up and down in great agitation. One man picked up his blankets in a bundle and went off in order to sleep in the open fields, far away from the camp.

An hour had hardly passed before distant anti-aircraft fire broke out again. Anxiety began to renew its tortures. We heard the dull, sullen roar of bombs exploding at intervals. Then fourteen burst in rapid succession as though a gigantic ball of solid iron had bounced fourteen times with thundering reverberations on a resonant surface. But the sound of firing died down and soon all was quiet. And then sleep came upon us and our troubles were over for a time.

The next morning was windless and clear. All day we kept looking at the sky, but not a cloud was to be seen.

The evening approached, darkness fell, and the stars shone. "Lights Out" was sounded and we extinguished our candles. None of us said a word, but everybody knew what everybody else was thinking of. And soon we heard the familiar buzz. At first it only came from one propeller, but others arrived and the sound multiplied and increased in volume, and at the same time it rose and fell in irregular gusts and regular pulsations. Anti-aircraft firing burst out suddenly and for a few minutes there was a blending of whining, whistling, rushing sounds overhead punctuated by faint reports. The firing ceased, but the droning noises continued louder than ever. The German aeroplanes seemed to be above us like a swarm of angry wasps, and above us they seemed to remain, hovering and circling. We awaited the downward rush and the deafening thunder-clap that would destroy us all. One man was groaning loudly. Another shivered. I could hear the chattering of many teeth. My neighbour trembled violently and cowered beneath his blankets. But his fear grew so strong that he could not bear it any longer. He got up and said in a strained voice, trying to appear calm, "I'm goin' to 'ave a look at 'em." He ran out of the marquee and disappeared. I found my powers of resistance ebbing. I was unable to control my imagination. I saw my comrades and myself blown to pieces. I saw the clerk in the office of the C.C.S. write out the death-intimations on a buff slip and filling in a form. I saw a telegraph boy taking the telegram to my home. He stopped on the way in order to talk to a friend. Then he whistled and threw a stone at a dog. He sauntered through the garden gate and knocked at the front door. The door opened ... but I could not face the rest, and with a tremendous mental impulse I turned my mind away to other things. But my terrible thoughts lay in wait for me like tigers ready to rush upon me as soon as my will relaxed its efforts. I tried to compromise, and I imagined myself killed and invented all the details of a post-mortem examination and burial. I found some relief in these imaginings, but soon that implacable telegram claimed my attention once more and drew me on to what I dared not face. I sought distraction by muttering some verses of poetry to myself. They had no meaning to me, they were just empty sound and their rhythm had a hideous pulsation like that other pulsation overhead:

"He above the rest

In shape and gesture proudly eminent

Stood like a tower...."

and so on, line after line. The dreariness of the verses grew so intense as to be almost intolerable. At the same time I was dimly conscious of the fact that at one time I thought this passage beautiful. But the beat of the blank verse carried me on. Sometimes it seemed to blend with the buzzing of those angry wasps above and sometimes the two rhythms would vie with each other for speed, so that they hurried along each alternately ahead of the other. I came to a line where my memory failed me. I faltered for a moment, but the droning sound seemed to grow into an enormous roar, and I leapt back to the beginning:

"He above the rest...."

and then on and on a second time until my head throbbed with the double pulsation.

Suddenly a man who had been lying on the far side of the marquee got up and said:

"I've had enough of this, I'm going to sleep in a ditch."

He went off. The wasps were still buzzing, but the interruption had broken the spell. I felt a sense of relief. I became conscious of intense weariness and felt ashamed of my fears. I cursed the German aeroplanes and thought, "Let them do their worst, I don't care." I made up my mind to go to sleep and resolutely buried my face in my pillow. Then it occurred to me that I would never be able to enjoy Paradise Lost again, and I was half-amused and agreeably distracted by the trivial thought.

But the wasps were still buzzing. Another man began to groan loudly:

"Gawd-this is bloody awful-why the bloody 'ell can't they leave us alone!"

Thereupon his neighbour tried to create an impression by appearing calm and philosophical. He said in a strained, breaking voice:

"Think of all the waste in life and treasure this frightful war involves. Think of the moral degradation. Think of the widows and orphans. Think of the...." He was unequal to the effort and his voice trailed away and then seemed to catch in his throat. But he recovered and with a kind of gasp he squeezed out a few more words: "Bill, forgive me for insulting you to-day-I didn't mean it, Bill. Forget it, Bill, forget it! If you get killed without forgiving me, my conscience will always torture...."

"For Christ's sake shut up, yer bleed'n' 'ypocrite," interrupted the gruff voice of "Bill" somewhere out of the darkness. "Yer always bleed'n' well preachin'-it's bad enough 'avin' Fritz over us without you bloody well rubbin' it in. If yer don't shut yer mouth, I'll come over an' shut it for yer, 'struth I will."

The philosopher said no more, but another voice made itself heard, that of a good-natured, elderly bachelor, who said with melancholy resignation:

"It's jolly hard, all the same, to be knocked out like this. You're so helpless-no dug-outs, no shelters anywhere...."

"It's doubly hard when you're married," said another. "I haven't got the wind up about myself at all, but I can't help thinking about my wife.... They're going away now, thank the Lord. You never know when they won't be coming back though-that's just the worst of it."

The noise of the propellers was indeed dying away.

Several voices muttered "Thank God," but one man's teeth were still chattering as though he was so absorbed by his own fear that he had not noticed the disappearance of its cause. Soon there was complete silence and one by one we fell asleep.

Another clear day and another clear night. We lay awake listening anxiously to the bursting of bombs and the muttering of anti-aircraft fire. But we went to sleep in the end and felt drowsy all the following day-a clear day. Casualties came in from a camp that had been bombed overnight, and we saw shattered limbs, smashed heads, and lacerated flesh. Several of our men were looking pale through lack of sleep and had dark rings round their eyes.

Another clear night. The agonizing vigil began again, but I was so weary that I went to sleep a few minutes after lights out. Sullen thunders mingled with my dreams and did not wake me up.

Another clear day. Would the fine weather never end? Late in the afternoon, however, a few clouds collected on the horizon. In the evening the entire sky was overcast and not a star was to be seen. And as we went to bed we heard the rain swishing down upon the canvas roof. The unspeakable joy we all felt at the prospect of an untroubled night!

"Bloody fine, this rain: we'll get some proper sleep now, thank God. I never had the wind up so much in all my life, and I've been out here since '15 and in some pretty hot places too."

"I reckon the longer yer out 'ere the windier yer get. I joined up in '14 like a bloody fool. At first I didn't care a damn for anything. Then I was wounded on the Somme an' sent across to Blighty. I dreaded comin' back agin. I only 'ad a little wound in me 'and, an' I used ter plug it wi' dubbin' an' boot-polish ter keep it raw. It didn't 'alf 'urt, but it gave me a extra week or two in 'orspittle. I 'ad to go in the end though-the M.O. didn't 'alf give me a tellin' orf. Jesus Christ, didn't I 'ave the wind up when we went up the line! An' now I'm scared at the slightest sound, an' I sometimes wake up out o' me sleep shiverin' all over. When I was on leave a motor-car backfired in the street-it didn't 'alf make me jump; me mate 'oo was with me said I looked as white as a sheet. The longer yer out 'ere the worse yer get-it's yer nerves, yer know, they can't stand it. In the line it's always the new men what's the most reliable...."

"That's a bloody fact. When we first come out, I thought all the Belgian civvies a lot o' bloody cowards takin' cover whenever Fritz came over. We used to stand an' look at 'im. They wasn't cowards, it was us who was bloody fools. They knew summat about it, we didn't. All the same, I know one or two old reg'lars 'oo was in it from the first an' never 'ad the wind up any time-there's not many like that though, generally it's the old soldiers what's the worst o' the lot for wanglin' out o' risky jobs."

"Napoleon was right," observed a small, red-haired lance-corporal, whose remarks generally had a sardonic touch, "when he said the worse the man the better the soldier. It's only people who have no imagination and no intelligence who are courageous in modern war. Nobody with any sense would expose himself unnecessarily and rush a machine-gun position or do the sort of thing they give you a V.C. for. Of course, there are a few cases where it's deserved, and it isn't always the one who deserves it that gets it. I'm quite certain the refined, sensitive, imaginative kind of man is no good as a soldier. He may be able to control himself better than the others at first-educated people are used to self-control-but in the long run his nerves will give way sooner. Moral courage is a thing I admire more than anything, but there's no use for it in the army, in fact it's worse than useless in the army. The man who's too servile to be capable of feeling humiliation and too stupid to understand what danger is-that's the man who makes a good, steady soldier. We've seen men so horribly smashed up by bombs that it makes you sick to look at them, and then people expect us not to be afraid of air-raids. The civvies haven't seen that sort of thing, so they may well show plenty of pluck, although I believe there are a good many with enough imagination to have the wind up when there's an air-raid on."

"Bloody true. You know, if there was a lot o' civvies an' a lot of Tommies in a Blighty air-raid, I reckon the civvies'd show more pluck than the Tommies. My mate who's workin' on munitions told me 'e saw 'underds o' soldiers rushin' to take shelter in the last raid on London. O' course there was crowds o' civvies doin' the same, but 'e says there was a lot what didn't seem to care a damn. The other day we 'ad a bloody parson spoutin' to us-'e said war brings out a man's pluck an' makes an 'ero of 'im. I reckon that's all bloody tosh! War makes cowards of yer, that's the 'ole truth o' the matter, I don't care what yer say. I didn't know what fear was afore I joined the army. I know now, you bet! I'm a bloody coward now-I don't mind admittin' it. There's things I used ter do what I wouldn't dare do now. When we go up the line I'm in a blue funk from the time I 'ears the first shell burst to the time we goes over the top. An' when we goes over I forgets everythink an' don't know what I'm doin'. P'raps I'll get a V.C. some day wi'out knowin' what I done ter get it. And I'm not the only one like that. Anyone 'oo's bin out 'ere a few months an' says 'e ain't windy up the line's a bloody liar, there now...."

"By the way," I interrupted, "how did that orderly who works in the theatre get his Military Medal-he had the wind up more than any of us the other night?"

"I know whom you mean," answered a private of the R.A.M.C. "He got it that bombing-stunt a few months ago. It was bloody awful too-the worst thing I've ever been in. I was standing next to him when the first one exploded. He flopped down and lay flat on the ground, but I rushed away into the fields with a lot of others. When it was all over we went back and heard the wounded crying out in a way that was dreadful to hear. This fellow was still lying on the ground by the duckboards, trembling all over and paralysed with fear. We went to help the wounded, but he was in such a state that he could not come with us, so we left him behind. There was an inquiry afterwards and we got into a frightful row for running away. He got the M.M. for sticking to his post!"

* * *