NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
 
 LX^rduiu^i:
 
 NOTHING 
 OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 A RECORD OF EIGHT MONTHS AT THE 
 
 FRONT WITH A WELSH BATTALION 
 
 OCTOBER, 1915, TO JUNE, 1916 
 
 BY 
 
 BERNARD ADAMS 
 
 WITH A PORTBAIT AND THREE MAPS 
 
 METHUEN & CO. LTD. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. 
 
 LONDON
 
 First Published in igij
 
 CNiy. PI CAUF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES 
 
 TO 
 
 T. R. G. 
 
 WHO TAUGHT ME HOW TO THINK 
 
 <^ X /»G Cl'-O v>'<J
 
 In Memoriam 
 BERNARD ADAMS 
 
 JOHN BERNARD PYE ADAMS was born on 
 November 15th, 1890, at Beckenham, Kent. 
 From his first school at Clare House, Becken- 
 ham, he obtained an entrance scholarship to 
 Malvern, where he gained many Classical and 
 English prizes and became House Prefect. In 
 December, igo8, he won an open Classical scholar- 
 ship at St John's College, Cambridge, where he 
 went into residence in October, 1909. He was 
 awarded in 1911 Sir William Browne's gold medals 
 (open to the University) for a Greek epigram and 
 a Latin ode, and in 1912 he won the medal for the 
 Greek epigram again, and graduated with a First 
 Class in the Classical Tripos. In his fourth year he 
 read Economics. 
 
 On leaving Cambridge he was appointed by the 
 India Office to be Warden and Assistant Educational 
 Adviser at the Hostel for Indian Students at 
 Cromwell Road, South Kensington. " He threw 
 himself," writes Dr. T. W. Arnold, CLE., Secretary 
 of Indian Students, " with the enthusiasm of his 
 
 vii
 
 viii NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 ardent nature into the various activities connected 
 with 21 Cromwell Road, and endeared himself both 
 to the Indian students and to his colleagues." 
 Adams was always a quiet man, but his high 
 abilities, despite his unobtrusiveness, could not be 
 altogether hidden ; and in London, as in Cambridge, 
 his intellect and his gift for friendship had their 
 natural outcome. Mr. E. W. Mallet, of the India 
 Office, bears testimony to " the very high value 
 which we all set on his work. He had great gifts 
 of sympathy and character, strength as well as 
 kindHness, influence as well as understanding ; 
 and these qualities won him — in the rather diffi- 
 cult work in which he helped so loyally and well — 
 a rare and noticeable measure of esteem," On 
 his side, he felt that the choice had been a right 
 one ; he liked his work, and he learned a great deal 
 from it. 
 
 His ultimate purpose was missionary work in 
 India, and the London experience brought him 
 into close touch with Indians from every part of 
 India and of every religion. 
 
 In November, 1914, he joined up as lieutenant 
 in the Welsh regiment with which these pages 
 deal, and he obtained a temporary captaincy in the 
 following spring. When he went out to the front 
 in October, 191 5, he resumed his lieutenancy, but 
 was very shortly given charge of a company, a 
 position which he retained until he was wounded 
 in June, 1916, when he returned to England. He
 
 BERNARD ADAMS ix 
 
 only went out to the front again on January 31st 
 of this year. In the afternoon of February 26th he 
 was wounded while leading his men in an attack 
 and died the following day in the field hospital. 
 
 These few sentences record the bare landmarks 
 of a career which, in the judgment of his friends, 
 would have been noteworthy had it not been so 
 prematurely cut short. For instance, here is what 
 his friend, T. R, Glover, of St John's, wrote in 
 The E.igle (the St John's College magazine) and 
 elsewhere : 
 
 " Bernard Adams was my pupil during his 
 Classical days at St John's, and we were brought 
 into very close relations. He remains in my mind 
 as one of the very best men I have ever had to teach 
 — best every way, in mind and soul and all his 
 nature. He had a natural gift for writing — a 
 natural habit of style ; he wrote without artifice, 
 and achieved the expression of what he thought 
 and what he felt in language that was simple and 
 direct and pleasing. (A College Prize Essay of his 
 of those days was printed in The Eagle (vol. xxvii, 
 47-60) — on Wordsworth's Prelude.) He was a 
 man of the quiet and reserved kind, who did not 
 talk much, for whom, perhaps, writing was a more 
 obvious form of utterance than speech. 
 
 It was clear to those who knew him that he 
 put conscience into his thinking — ^he was serious, 
 above all about religion, and he was honest with
 
 X NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 himself. Other people will take religion at second- 
 hand ; he was of another type. He thought things 
 out quietly and clearly, and then decided. His 
 choice of Economics as a second subject at Cam- 
 bridge was dictated by the feeling that it would 
 prepare him for his life's work in the Christian 
 ministry. There was little hope in it of much 
 academic distinction — but that was not his object. 
 A man who had thought more of himself would have 
 gone on with Classics, in the hope (a very reason- 
 able one) of a Fellowship. Adams was not working 
 for his own advancement. The quiet simple way 
 in which, without referring to it, he dismissed 
 academic distinction, gives the measure of the 
 man — clear, definite, unselfish, and devoted. His 
 ideal was service, and he prepared for it — at Cam- 
 bridge, and with his Indian students in London. 
 
 When the war came he had difficulties of decision 
 as to the course he should pursue. Like others 
 who had no gust for war, and no animosity against 
 the enemy, he took a commission, not so much to 
 fight against as to fight for ; the principles at stake 
 appealed to him, and with an inner reluctance 
 against the whole business he went into it — once 
 again the quiet, thought-out sacrifice." 
 
 In this phase of his career his characteristic con- 
 scientiousness was shown by the thoroughness and 
 success with which he performed his military duties 
 " He is a real loss to the regiment," wu'te a senior
 
 BERNARD ADAMS xi 
 
 officer ; " everybody who knew him had a very high 
 opinion of his miHtary efficiency." 
 
 As is so often the case, a quiet and reserved 
 manner hid a brave heart. When it came to per- 
 sonal danger he impressed men as being uncon- 
 scious of it. "I never met a man who displayed 
 coolly more utter disregard for danger." And in 
 this spirit he led his men against the enemy — and 
 fell. From the last message that he gave the nurse 
 for his people, " Tell them I'm all right," it is clear 
 that he died with as quiet a mind and as surrendered 
 a will as he lived. 
 
 " What we have lost who knew him," writes Mr. 
 Glover, " these Unes may hint — I do not think we 
 really know the extent of our loss. But we keep 
 a great deal, a very great deal — quidquid ex illo 
 amavimus, quidquid mirati sumus, manet man- 
 surumque est. Yes, that is true ; and from the first 
 my sorrow (it may seem an odd confession) was for 
 those who were not to know him, whose chance was 
 lost, for the work he was not to do. For himself, if 
 ever a man Uved his life, it was he ; twenty-five or 
 twenty-six years is not much, perhaps, as a rule, 
 but here it was hfe and it was lived to some pur- 
 pose ; it told and it is not lost."
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 XV 
 
 Preface ..... 
 
 I. First Impressions 
 
 II. CUINCHY AND GiVENCHY 
 
 III. Working-Parties .... 
 
 IV. Rest 
 
 V. On the March .... 
 
 VI. The Bois Fran(^ais Trenches 
 
 VII. More First Impressions 
 
 VIII. Sniping ..... 
 
 IX. On Patrol 
 
 X. " Whom the gods love " 
 
 XI. " Whom the gods love " — {continued) 
 
 XII. Officers' Servants 
 
 XIII. Mines . 
 
 XIV. Billets 
 
 XV. " A certain Man drew a Bow at a 
 Venture 
 
 XVI. Wounded 
 
 XVII. Conclusion 
 
 I 
 
 19 
 
 42 
 
 64 
 
 87 
 
 96 
 
 117 
 
 133 
 
 154 
 
 163 
 
 181 
 
 195 
 212 
 229 
 
 256 
 268 
 294
 
 xiv NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 MAPS 
 
 FACING PACSE 
 
 I. Bethune and La Bass^e, Neighbour- 
 hood OF ...... 9 
 
 II. Fricourt and Neighbourhood ... 97 
 
 III. The Trenches near Fricourt . . . 103 
 
 ILLUSTRATION 
 
 Portrait of Author .... Frontispiece
 
 PREFACE 
 
 "'"I "^HEN," said my friend, " what is this war 
 
 I like ? I ask you if it is this, or that ; and 
 
 JL you shake your head. But you will not 
 
 satisfy me with negatives. I want to know the 
 
 truth ; what is it like ? " 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 " Express that silence ; that is what we want to 
 hear." 
 
 " The mask of glory," I said, " has been stripped 
 from the face of war." 
 
 " And we are fighting the better for that," con- 
 tinued my friend. 
 
 " You see that ? " I exclaimed. " But of course 
 you do. We know it, and you at home know it. 
 And you want to know the truth ? " 
 
 " Of course," was the reply. 
 
 " I do not say that what you have read is not 
 true," said I ; " but I do say that I have read 
 nothing that gives a complete or proportioned 
 picture. I have not yet found a perfect simile for 
 this war, but the nearest I can think of is that of a 
 pack of cards. Life in this war is a series of events so 
 utterly different and disconnected, that the effect
 
 xvi NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 upon the actor in the midst of them is like receiving 
 a hand of cards from an invisible dealer. There are 
 four suits in the pack. Spades represent the dull- 
 ness, mud, weariness, and sordidness. Clubs stand 
 for another side, the humour, the cheerfulness, the 
 jolUty, and good-fellowship. In diamonds I see the 
 glitter of excitement and adventure. Hearts are 
 a tragic suit of agony, horror, and death. And to 
 each man the invisible dealer gives a succession of 
 cards ; sometimes they seem all black ; sometimes 
 they are red and black alternately ; and at times 
 they come red, red, red ; and at the end is the ace 
 of hearts." 
 
 " I understand," said my friend. " And now tell 
 me your hand." 
 
 " It was a long hand," I replied ; " I think I had 
 better try and write it down in a book. I have never 
 written a book. I wonder how it would pan out ? 
 At first my hand was chiefly black with a sprinkHng 
 of diamonds ; later I received more diamonds, but 
 the hearts began to come as well ; at last the 
 hearts seemed to be squeezing out the clubs and 
 diamonds. There were always plenty of spades." 
 
 There was another silence. 
 
 " There was one phrase," I resumed, " in the 
 daily communiques that used to strike us rather 
 out there ; it was, " Nothing of importance to 
 record on the rest of the front." I believe that a 
 hundred years hence this phrase will be repeated in 
 the history books. There will be a passage like
 
 PREFACE xvii 
 
 this : " Save for the gigantic effort of Germany 
 to break through the French Hnes at Verdun, 
 nothing of importance occurred on the western 
 front between September, 1915, and the opening 
 of the Somme offensive on the ist of July, igi6," 
 And this will be beheved, unless men have learnt 
 to read history aright by then. For the river of 
 history is full of waterfalls that attract the day 
 excursionist — such as battles, and laws, and the 
 deaths of kings ; whereas the spirit of the river is 
 not in the waterfalls. There are men who were 
 wounded in the Somme battle, who had only seen 
 a few weeks of war. I have yet to see a waterfall ; 
 but I have learned something of the spirit of the 
 deep river in eight months of " nothing of import- 
 ance." 
 
 This, then, is the book that I have written. It 
 is the spirit of the war as it came to me, first in big 
 incoherent impressions, later as a more intelligible 
 whole. Perhaps it will seem that the first chapters 
 are somewhat Ught in tone and incUned to gloss 
 over the terrible side of War. But that is just 
 what happens ; at first, the interest and adventure 
 are paramount, and it is only after a time, only after 
 all the novelty has worn away, that one gets the 
 real proportion. If the first chapters do not bite 
 deep, remember that this was my experience. 
 This book does not claim to be always sensational 
 or thrilling. One claim only I make for it : from 
 end to end it is the truth.
 
 xviii NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 The events recorded are real and true in every 
 detail. I have nowhere exaggerated ; for in this 
 war there is nothing more terrible than the truth. 
 
 All the persons mentioned are also real, though 
 I have thought it better to give them pseudonyms. 
 
 January^ 1917.
 
 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
 
 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 
 
 GOOD-BYE ! " 
 "Good-bye. Don't forget to send me 
 that Hun helmet!" 
 " All right ! Good-bye ! " 
 
 The train had long ago recovered from the shock 
 of its initial jerk ; a long steady grinding noise came 
 up from the carriage wheels, as though they had 
 recovered breath and were getting into their stride 
 for Folkestone, regardless of the growing clatter of 
 the South-Eastern rhythm ; — if, indeed, so noble a 
 word may be used for the noise made by the wheels 
 as they passed over the rail-joints of this distin- 
 guished line, 
 
 " Don't believe it's a good thing having one's 
 people to see you off," said Terry, whose people had 
 accompanied him in large numbers to Charing Cross. 
 
 " They will come, though," remarked Crowley 
 very wisely.
 
 2 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " I tried to persuade my people not to come," said 
 I ; " but they think you like it, I suppose. I would 
 certainly rather say good-bye at home, and have no 
 one come to the station." 
 
 And so I started off my experience of " the great 
 adventure " with a "lie direct " : but it does not 
 weigh very heavily upon my conscience. 
 
 Six of us sat in a first-class carriage on the morn- 
 ing of the 5th of October, 1915 : for months we 
 had been together in a reserve battalion waiting to 
 go out to the front, and now at last we had received 
 marching orders, and were bound for Folkestone, 
 and thence for France. For which battalion of our 
 regiment any or all of us twelve officers were 
 destined, we had no knowledge whatever ; but even 
 the most uncongenial pair of us would, I am sure, 
 have preferred each other's company to that of 
 complete strangers. I, at any rate, have never in 
 my life felt more shy and self-conscious and full of 
 stupid qualms : unless, indeed, it was on the occa- 
 sion, ten months before, when I had stood shaking 
 in front of a platoon of twenty men ! 
 
 The last few days I had gone about feeling as 
 though the news that I was going to the front were 
 printed in large letters round my cap. I felt that 
 people in the railway carriages, and in the streets, 
 were looking at me with an electric interest ; and 
 the necessary (and unnecessary !) purchases, as well 
 as the good-byes, were of the kind to make one feel 
 placed upon a pedestal of importance ! Now, in
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 8 
 
 company with five other officers in like predicament, 
 I felt already that I had climbed down a step from 
 that pedestal ; in fact, the whole experience of the 
 first few days was one of a steady reduction from 
 all-importance to complete insignificance 1 
 
 As soon as we had recovered from the silence that 
 followed my remarks upon the disadvantages of 
 prolonged valedictions, we commenced a critical 
 survey of our various properties and accoutrements. 
 Revolvers leapt from brand new holsters ; feet were 
 held up to show the ideal trench-nails ; flash lamps 
 and torches, compasses, map-cases, pocket medicine- 
 cases, all were shown with an easy confidence of 
 manner that screened a sinking dread of disapproba- 
 tion. The prismatic compass was regarded rather 
 as a joke by some of us ; its use in trench warfare 
 was a doubtful quantity ; yet there were some of us 
 who in the depths of our martial wisdom were half 
 expecting that the Battle of Loos was the prelude 
 of an autumn campaign of open-country warfare. 
 There was only one man whose word we took for 
 law in anything, and that was Barrett. He had 
 spent five days in the trenches last December ; he 
 had then received his commission in our battalion. 
 He was the " man from the front." And I noticed 
 with secret misgivings that he had not removed the 
 badges of rank from his arm, or sewed his two stars 
 upon his shoulder-straps ; he had not removed his 
 bright buttons, and substituted for them leather 
 ones such as are worn on golfing-jackets ; and in
 
 4 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 his valise, he told us, he had his Sam Browne 
 belt. 
 
 " But you never wear Sam Brownes out there," 
 I said : "all officers now dress as much as possible 
 like the men," 
 
 That was so, we were informed ; but officers used 
 to wear them in billets, when they were out of the 
 firing-line. 
 
 " Well," said Crowley, " we could get them sent 
 out, I expect." 
 
 " Yes," said I ; "I expect they would arrive 
 safely." 
 
 But this infantile conversation is not worthy of 
 record ! Suffice to say we knew nothing about war, 
 and were just beginning to learn that fact ! 
 
 The first check to our enthusiasm was at Folke- 
 stone. We reported to the railway transport officer, 
 whom we then regarded as a little demi-god ; he 
 told us to report in time for the boat at a certain 
 hour. This we did, signed our names with a feeling 
 of doing some awful and irrevocable deed, and then 
 were told to wait another three hours : there was 
 no room for us on this boat ! We retired to an hotel 
 with a feeling that perhaps after all there was no 
 such imperious shouting for our help over in France, 
 such as we had all, I think (save only Barrett, who 
 was cynical and pessimistic !) secretly imagined. 
 
 Darkness came ere we started. The crossing did 
 not seem long, and I stood up on deck with Barrett 
 most of the time. Two destroyers followed a Uttle
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 5 
 
 astern, one on either side ; and there were lights 
 right across the Channel. We were picked out by 
 searchHghts more than once, although all lights were 
 forbidden on board. I felt that I was now fair game 
 for the Germans ; and it was exciting to think that 
 they would give anything to sink me ! At last I was 
 in for " the great adventure." 
 
 At Boulogne we had to wait a long time on a 
 dismal quay and in a drizzUng rain to interview an 
 irritated and sleepy railway transport officer. 
 After a long, long queue had been safely negociated 
 
 we were given tickets to ; and then again we 
 
 had to wait quite an hour on the platform. Some of 
 our party were excited at their first visit to a foreign 
 soil ; but their enthusiasm abated when at the 
 buffet they were charged exorbitant prices and 
 their Enghsh money was rejected as " dam fool 
 money." 
 
 Then there came a long jerky journey through 
 the night in a crowded carriage. (As I am out for 
 confessions, I will here state that I did not think 
 this could be an ordinary passenger train, and I 
 wondered vaguely who these men and women were 
 who got in and out of other carriages !) At Staples 
 there was a still longer wait, and a still longer queue ; 
 but, fortunately, my signature had not lengthened. 
 I remember sitting tired and dazed on the top of a 
 valise, and asking Barrett what the time was. 
 
 " Three forty-five ! " 
 
 " What a time to arrive ! " I replied. But in war
 
 6 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 three forty-five is as good a time as any other, I 
 was soon to discover. 
 
 We walked to a camp a mile distant from the 
 station ; our arrival seemed quite unlooked for, and 
 a quartermaster-sergeant had to be procured, by 
 the officer who was our guide, in order to gain access 
 to the tent that contained the blanket stores. 
 Wearily, at close on five o'clock, we fell asleep on 
 the boarded bottom of a bell-tent. 
 
 It must have been about lo a.m. on the 6th when 
 we turned out and found ourselves in a sandy 
 country ; behind us was a small ridge, crowned by 
 a belt of fir trees ; the sun was well up and shone 
 warm on the face as we washed and shaved in the 
 open. The feeling of camp was exhilarating, and I 
 was in good spirits. 
 
 But two blows immediately damped my ardour 
 most effectively. When I learned that I was posted 
 to our first battahon, and I alone of all of us twelve, 
 the thought of my arrival among the regulars, with 
 no experience, and not even an acquaintance, far 
 less a friend, was distinctly chilling ! To add to my 
 discomfiture there befell a second misfortune : my 
 valise was nowhere to be seen ! 
 
 Indeed, the rest of the day was chiefly occupied 
 in searching for my valise, but to no purpose what- 
 ever. I did not see it until ten days later, when by 
 some miracle it appeared again ! I can hardly 
 convey the sense of depression these two facts cast 
 over me the next few days ; the interest and novelty
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 7 
 
 of my experiences made me forget for short periods, 
 but always there would return the thought of my 
 arrival alone into a Hne regiment, and with the 
 humiliating necessity of borrowing at once. Un- 
 known and inexperienced I could not help being ; 
 but as a fool who lost all his property the first day, 
 I should not cut a brilhant figure ! 
 
 We obtained breakfast at an estaminet by the 
 station ; omelettes, rolls and butter, and cafe noir. 
 I bought a French newspaper, and thought how 
 finely my French would improve under this daily 
 necessity ; but I soon found that one could get the 
 Paris edition of the Daily Mail, and my French is 
 still as sketchy as ever ! I remember watching the 
 French children and the French women at the doors 
 of the houses, and wondering what they thought of 
 this war on their own soil ; I knew that the wild 
 enthusiasms of a year ago had died down ; I did not 
 expect the shouting and singing, the souvenir-hunt- 
 ing, and the generous impulses that greeted our 
 troops a year ago ; but I felt so vividly myself the 
 fact that between me and the Germans lay only a 
 Uving wall of my own countrymen, that I could not 
 help thinking these urchins and women must feel it 
 too ! The very way in which they swept the door- 
 steps seemed to me worth noting at the moment. 
 
 In the course of my wild peregrinations over the 
 camp in search of my valise, I came upon a group of 
 Tommies undergoing instruction in the machine-gun. 
 Arrested by a familiar voice, I recognised as in-
 
 8 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 stnictor a man I had known very weU at Cambridge ! 
 He recognised me at the same moment, and in a few 
 seconds we parted, after an invitation from him to 
 dinner that evening ; he was on " lines of com- 
 munication " work, he told me. 
 
 Sitting in his tent after Mess, I was amazed at the 
 apparent permanence of his abode ; shelves, made 
 out of boxes ; novels, an army list, magazines, maps ; 
 bed, washstand, candlesticks, a chair ; baccy, and 
 whisky and soda ! It was all so snug and comfort- 
 able. I was soon to find mj^self accumulating a very 
 similar collection in billets six miles behind the firing- 
 line, and taking most of it into the trenches ! I 
 remember being impressed by the statement that 
 the cannonade had been heard day after day since 
 the 25th, and still more impressed by references to 
 " the plans of the Staff ! " 
 
 I left Staples early on the morning of the 7th, 
 after receiving instructions, and a railway warrant 
 for " Chocques," from a one-armed major of the 
 Gordons. Of our original twelve only Terr}' and 
 Crowley remained with me ; with a young Scot, 
 we had a grey-upholstered first-class carriage to 
 ourselves. 
 
 In the train I commenced my first letter home ; 
 and I should here hke to state that the reason for 
 the inclusion in these first chapters of a good many 
 extracts from letters is that they do really represent 
 my first vague, rather disconnected, impressions, 
 and are therefore truer than any more coherent
 
 e 
 
 r
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 9 
 
 account I might now give. First impressions of 
 people, houses, places, are always interesting ; I 
 hope that the reader will not find these without 
 interest, even though he may find them at times 
 lacking in style. 
 
 " I am now in the train. We are passing level- 
 crossings guarded by horn-blowing women ; the 
 train is strolling leisurely along over grass-grown 
 tracks, and stopping at platformless stations. It is 
 very hot. At midday I shall be about ten miles from 
 the firing-line, and I expect the cannonade will be 
 pretty audible. I feel strangely indifferent to things 
 now, though I have the feeUng that all this will be 
 stamped indelibly on my memory." How well I 
 remember the thrill of excitement when I found the 
 name Chocques on my map, quite close to the 
 firing-line ! And as we got nearer, and saw R.A.M.C. 
 and cavalry camps, and talked to Tommies guarding 
 the line, saw aeroplanes, and yes ! a captive balloon, 
 excitement grew still greater ! At last we reached 
 Chocques, and the railway transport officer calmly 
 informed us that we had another four miles to go. 
 He brilHantly suggested walking. But an A. B.C. 
 lorry was there, and in we climbed, only to be ejected 
 by the corporal ! Eventually we tramped to Bethune 
 with very full packs in a hot sun. 
 
 Walking gave us opportunity for observation ; 
 and that road was worth seeing to those who had 
 not seen it before. There were convoys of A.S.C. 
 lorries, drawn up (or " parked ") in twenties or
 
 10 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 thirties alongside the road, each with its mystical 
 marking, a scarlet shell, a green shamrock, etc., 
 painted on its side ; Red Cross ambulances passed, 
 impelling one to turn back and look in them, some- 
 times containing stretcher-cases (feet only visible), 
 or sitting cases with bandaged head or arm in sling. 
 Then there were motor-cars with Staff officers ; 
 motor-cars with youthful officers in immaculate 
 Sam Brownes and " slacks " ; and as we drew 
 nearer Bethune, we saw canteens with Tommies 
 standing and lounging outside, small squads of men, 
 English notices, and boards with painted inscriptions. 
 
 such as 
 
 BILLETS. 
 
 Officers — 2 
 Men — 30 
 
 or 
 
 H.Q. 
 117th Inf. Bde. 
 
 and in the distance loomed the square tower of the 
 cathedral, which I thought then to be a decapitated 
 spire. 
 
 And so we came into the bustle of a French city. 
 
 I had never heard of Bethune before. As the 
 crow flies it is about five to six miles from the front 
 trenches. The shops were doing a roaring trade, 
 and I was amazed to see chemists flaunting auto- 
 strop razors, stationers offering " Tommy's writing- 
 pad," and tailors showing English officers' uniforms 
 in their windows, besides all the goods of a large and 
 populous town. We were very hungry and tired, 
 and fate directed us to the famous tea-shop, where, 
 at dainty tables, amid crowds of officers, we obtained
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 11 
 
 an English tea ! I was astounded ; so were we all. 
 To think that I had treasured a toothbrush as a 
 thing that I might not be able to replace for months ! 
 Here was everything to hand. Were we really with- 
 in six miles of the Germans ? Yet officers were dis- 
 cussing " the hot time we had yesterday " ; while 
 " we only came out this morning," or " they whizz- 
 banged us pretty badly last night," were remarks 
 from officers redolent of bath and the hairdresser ! 
 Buttons brilliantly polished, boots shining like 
 advertisements, swagger-canes, and immaculate 
 collars, gave the strangest first impression of 
 " active service " to us, with our leather equipment, 
 packs, leather buttons, and trench boots ! 
 
 " Old Barrett was right about the Sam Brownes," 
 I said to Terry, vainly trying to look at my ease. 
 
 " Let's look at your map," he answered. Then, 
 after a moment : 
 
 " Oh, we're not far from the La Bassee Canal. 
 I've heard of that often enough ! " 
 
 " So have I," I replied. " Is La Bassee ours or 
 theirs ? " 
 
 " Ours, of course " ; but he borrowed the map 
 again to make sure ! 
 
 Refreshed, but feeling strangely " out " of every- 
 thing, we eventually found our way to the town 
 major. Here my letter continues : 
 
 " I was told an orderly was coming in the evening 
 to conduct me to the trenches, to my battahon ! 
 Suddenly, however, we were told to go off — seven of
 
 12 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 us in the same division — to our brigades in a motor- 
 lorry. So we are packed off. I said good-bye to 
 Crowley and Terry. This was about 7 p.m. We 
 went rattling along till within a short distance of 
 our front trenches. There was a lot of cannonading 
 going on around and behind us, and star-shells 
 bursting continuously, with Crystal-Palace-firework 
 pops ; we could hear rifles cracking too. At length 
 we got to where the lorry could go no further, and 
 we halted for a long time at a place where the houses 
 were all ruins and the roofs like spiders '-webs, with 
 the white glare of the shells silhouetting them 
 against the sky. The houses had been shelled 
 yesterday, but last night no shells were coming our 
 way at all. My feehngs were exactly like they are 
 in a storm — the nearer and bigger the flashes and 
 bangs the more I hoped the next would be really big 
 and really near." Of course, all this cannonade was 
 our artillery ; at the time we were quite muddled up 
 as to what it all was ! The snarling bangs were the 
 i8-pounders quite close to us, about one thousand 
 yards behind our front line ; the cracking bullets 
 were spent bullets, though it sounded to us as if they 
 were from a trench about twenty yards in front of 
 us ! Nothing is more confusing at first than the 
 different sounds of the different guns. I think 
 several of us would have been ready to say we had 
 been under shell-fire that night ! The " star-shells " 
 should be more accurately described as " flares '* 
 or " rockets." But to continue my letter :
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 13 
 
 " Well, the next few hours were a strange mixture 
 of sensations. We could nowhere find our brigades, 
 and after ten hours in the lorry we landed here at a 
 place sixteen miles back from the firing line ; here 
 our division had been located by a signaller, whom 
 we had consulted when wc stopped by the cross- 
 roads ! We were left by the lorry at 5.0 a.m. at a 
 field ambulance station ' close to H.Q.,' where we 
 slept wearily till 8.0, to awake and find ourselves 
 miles from our division,which is really, I believe, quite 
 near where we had been in the firing-Hne ! Now we 
 are sitting in a big old chateau awaiting a telephone- 
 message ; we are in a dining-room, walls peeUng, 
 and arm-chairs reduced to legless deformities ! It 
 is a jolly day : sun, and the smell of autumn." I 
 shall not forget that long ride. I was at the back, 
 and could see out ; innumerable villages we passed ; 
 innumerable mistakes we made ; innumerable stops, 
 innumerable enquiries ! But always there was the 
 throbbing engine while we halted, and the bump 
 and rattle as we plunged through the night. Eight 
 officers and seven vaUses, I think we were ; one or 
 two were reduced to grumbhng ; several were 
 asleep ; a few, like myself, were awake, but all 
 absolutely tired out. It was too uncomfortable to 
 rest, cramped up among bulky valises and all sorts 
 of sprawling limbs ! Once, at about four o'clock, we 
 halted at a house with a light in the window, and 
 found a miner just going off to work. An old woman 
 brewed some very black coffee, and we hungrily
 
 14 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 devoured bits of bread and butter, coffee, and 
 cognac ; while the old woman, fat and smiling, 
 gabbled incessantly at us ! A strange weird picture 
 we must have made, some of us in kilts and bonnets, 
 standing half -awake in the flickering candle-light. 
 
 We were at the Chateau all the morning. " The 
 R.A.M.C. fellows were very decent to us ; gave us 
 breakfast (eggs, bread and butter, and tinned jam) 
 and also lunch (bully-beef, cheese, bread and butter, 
 and beer). These were eaten off the dining-room 
 table in style. I explored the Chateau during the 
 morning ; just a big ordinary empty house inside ; 
 outside, it is white plaster, with steep slate roofs, 
 and a few ornamental turrets. The garden is mostly 
 taken up with lines of picketed horses ; outside the 
 orchards and enclosures the country is bare and fiat ; 
 it is a mining district, and pyramids of slag stand up 
 all over the plain." 
 
 I cannot do better than continue quoting from 
 these first letters of mine ; of course, I did not 
 mention places by name : 
 
 " Well, at 2.0 p.m. the same old lorry and corporal 
 turned up and took us back to B6thune. I gather 
 he got considerable ' strafing ' for last night's per- 
 formance, although I think he was not given clear 
 enough instructions. Then, with seven other officers, 
 we were sent off again in dayhght, and dropped by 
 twos and threes at our various Brigade Head- 
 quarters. Our " Brigade H.Q." was in one of the 
 few houses left standing. Here I reported, and was
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 16 
 
 told that an orderly would take me to my battalion 
 transport. In half an hour the orderly arrived on a 
 bicycle, and by 6.0 p.m. I was only half a mile from 
 our transport. We were waUving along, when sud- 
 denly there was a scream like a rocket, followed by a 
 big bang, and the sound of splinters falling all about. 
 I expected to see people jump into ditches ; but 
 they stood calmly in the street, women and all, and 
 watched, while several shells (whizz-bangs, I 
 believe) " — No, dear innocence, High-Explosive 
 Shrapnel — " burst just near the road about a 
 hundred yards ahead. We were four miles back 
 from the firing-hne. It was just the ' evening hate,' 
 I expect. It didn't last long. Just near us was one 
 of our own batteries firing intermittently." 
 
 This was my first experience of being under fire. 
 I hadn't the least idea what to do. The textbooks, 
 I believe, said " Throw yourself on the ground." I 
 therefore looked at my orderly ; but he was ducking 
 behind his bicycle, which I am sure is not recom- 
 mended by any manual of miHtary training ! I 
 ducked behind nothing, copying him. This all took 
 place in the middle of the road. But when I saw 
 women opening the doors of their houses and stand- 
 ing calmly looking at the shells, ducking seemed out 
 of the question ; so we both stood and watched the 
 bursting shells. Then the salvo ceased, and I, think- 
 ing I must show some sort of a lead, suggested that 
 we should proceed. But my orderly, wiser by 
 experience, suggested waiting to see if another salvo
 
 16 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 were forthcoming. After ten minutes, however, it 
 was clear that the Germans had finished, and we 
 resumed our journey in peace. 
 
 My letter continues : "At the transport I had a 
 very comfortable billet. The quartermaster and 
 two other new officers and myself had supper in an 
 upstairs room. The quartermaster seemed very 
 pessimistic, and told us a lot about our losses. We 
 turned in at ten o'clock, and I slept well. It was 
 ' very quiet ' ; that is to say, only intermittent 
 bangs such as have continued ever since the begin- 
 ning of the war, and will continue to the end there- 
 of ! 
 
 " October 9th. This morning a cart took us at nine 
 o'clock to within about a mile of the firing-line, 
 putting us down at the corner of a street that has 
 
 been renamed ' H Street.' The country was 
 
 dead flat ; the houses everywhere in ruins, though 
 some were untouched and still inhabited. Thence 
 an orderly conducted us to H.Q., where we reported 
 to the Adjutant and the CO. (who is quite young 
 by the way) ; they were in the ground-floor room 
 of a house, to which we came all the way from 
 
 H Street along a communication trench about 
 
 seven feet deep. These trenches were originally dug 
 by the French, I believe. I was told I was posted to 
 ' D ' Company, so another orderly took me back 
 
 practically to H Street, which must be six or 
 
 seven hundred yards behind the firing-line. ' D ' 
 is in reserve ; I am attached to it for the present.
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS 17 
 
 There are two other officers in it, Davidson and 
 Symons. Both have only just joined." 
 
 So at last I was fairly lodged in my battalion. I 
 had been directed, dumped, shaken, and carried, 
 in a kindly, yet to me most amazingly haphazard, 
 way to my destination, and there I found myself 
 quite unexpected, but immediately attached some- 
 where until I should sort myself out a httle and find 
 my feet. I had a servant called Smith, In the after- 
 noon I went with Davidson to supervise a working 
 party, which was engaged in paving a communica- 
 tion trench with tiles from the neighbouring houses. 
 In the evening I set to and wrote letters. I will close 
 this chapter with yet one more quotation : 
 
 " Now I am in the ground-room of one of the few 
 
 standing houses in H Street. Next door is a 
 
 big ' Ecole des filles,' which I am quite surprised to 
 find empty ! Really the way the people go about 
 their work here is amazing. Still, I suppose to carry 
 on a girls' school half a mile from the Boche is just 
 beyond the capacity of even their indifference ! 
 I've already got quite used to the noise. There are 
 two guns just about forty yards away, that keep on 
 firing with a terrific bang ! I can see the flashes just 
 behind me. I think the noise would worry you, 
 if you heard these blaring bangs at the end of the 
 back garden, which is just about the distance this 
 battery is from me ! We are messing here in this 
 room ; half a table has been propped up, and three 
 chairs discovered and patched up for us. All the
 
 18 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 windows facing the enemy have been blocked up 
 with sand-bags. I sleep here to-night. If the house 
 is shelled, I shall flee to the dug-out twenty yards 
 away. Orders have not yet come, but I believe we 
 go back to billets to-morrow. 
 
 A free issue of ' Glory Boys ' cigarettes has just 
 arrived : two packets for each officer and man. 
 Please don't forget to send my Sam Browne belt."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 CUINCHY AJ^D GIVENCHY 
 
 THROUGHOUT October and November our 
 battaUon was in the firing-line. This meant 
 that we spent life in an everlasting alterna- 
 tion between the trenches and our billets behind, 
 just far enough behind, that is, to be out of the 
 range of the light artillery ; always, though, liable 
 to be called suddenly into the firing-line, and never 
 out of the atmosphere of the trenches. Always 
 before us was dangled a promised " rest," and 
 always it was being postponed. Rumours were 
 spread, dissected, laughed at, and eventually 
 treated with bored incredulity. The battalion had 
 had no rest, I believe, since May. Men, and espe- 
 cially N.C.O.'s, who had been out since October, 
 1914, were tired out in body and spirit. 
 
 With the officers and certain new drafts of men, 
 it was different. We came out enthusiastic and 
 keen. On the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed those 
 first two months. I am surprised now to see how 
 much detail I wrote in my letters home. Every- 
 thing was fresh, everything new and interesting. 
 And things were on the whole very quiet. We had 
 a few casualities, but underwent no serious bom- 
 
 19
 
 20 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 bardment. And, most important to us, of course, 
 we had no casualties among the officers. 
 
 Givenchy and Cuinchy are two small villages, 
 north and south, respectively, of the La Bassee 
 Canal, which runs almost due east and west between 
 La Bassee and Bethune. Givenchy stands on a 
 slight rise in the flattest of flat countries. A church 
 tower of red brick must have been the most notice- 
 able feature as one walked in pre-war days from 
 the suburbs of Bethune along the La Bassee road. 
 Cuinchy is a village straggling along a road. Both 
 are as completely reduced to ruins as villages can 
 be, the firing-line running just east of them. Between 
 them flows the great sluggish canal. 
 
 During an afternoon in Bethune one could do all 
 the shopping one required, and get a hair-cut and 
 shampoo as well. Expensive cocktails were obtain- 
 able at the local bar ; there was also a famous tea- 
 shop. We were billeted in one of the small villages 
 around. Sometimes we only stayed one night at 
 a billet : there was always change, always move- 
 ment. Sometimes I got a bed ; often I did not ; but 
 a vaHse is comfortable enough, when once its tricks 
 are mastered. Anyhow it is " billets " and not 
 " trenches," that is the point ; a continuous night's 
 rest in pyjamas, the faciUties of a bath, very often 
 a free afternoon and evening, and no equipment and 
 revolver to carry night and day ! It was in billets 
 the following letters were written, which are really 
 the best description of my life at this period.
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 
 
 21 
 
 " 19th October, 1915. Our battalion went into 
 the trenches on the 14th and came out on the 17th. 
 Our company, ' B,' was in support. The front Hne 
 was about 300 yards ahead, and we held the second 
 line, everything prepared to meet an attack in case 
 the enemy broke through the first Une. Half- 
 way between our first and second lines was a kind 
 of redoubt, to be held at all costs. Here you are : 
 
 'T 
 
 ^-^VO^T TRENCH 
 
 The arrows indicate the direction in which the fire-trenches point. 
 
 The line here forms a big salient, so that we often 
 used to get spent bullets dropping into the redoubt, 
 from right behind, it seemed. Here, another 
 drawing will show what I mean :
 
 22 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 The dotted line is the German front trench. If 
 the enemy A fires at the EngHsh B, the bullet 
 will go on and fall at about C, who is facing in the 
 direction of the arrow, in the support line. So C 
 has to look out for enfilading spent bullets. 
 
 For three days and nights I was in command of 
 this redoubt, isolated, and ready with stores, am- 
 munition, water, barbed wire and pickets, bombs, 
 and tools, to hold out a little siege for several days 
 if necessary. I used to leave it to get meals at 
 Company H.Q. in the support Une ; otherwise, 
 I had always to be there, ready for instant action. 
 No one used to get more than two or three hours' 
 consecutive sleep, and I could never take off boots, 
 equipment, or revolver. 
 
 Here is a typical scene in the redoubt. 
 
 Scene. A dug-out, 6' X 4' X 4' : smell, earthy. 
 
 Time. 2.30 a.m. 
 
 I awake and listen. Deathly stillness. 
 
 A voice. ' What's the time, kid ? ' 
 
 Another voice. ' Dunno. About 2 o'clock, I 
 reckon.' 
 
 ' Past that.' 
 
 Long silence. 
 
 ' Rum job, this, ain't it, kid ? ' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I reckon if the Huns were coming 
 
 over, we'd know it long afore they got 'ere. I 
 reckon we'd 'ear the boys in front firing.' 
 
 Long pause.
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 23 
 
 ' I dunno. 'Spose there's some sense in it, else 
 we wouldn't be 'ere.' 
 
 Silence. 
 
 ' cold on this fire step. Guess it's time 
 
 they reHeved us.' 
 
 Long silence. 
 
 ' Don't them flares look funny in the mist ? ' 
 
 ' Yus, I guess old Fritz uses some of them every 
 night. Hullo, there they go again. 'Ear that 
 machine-gun ? ' 
 
 Long pause, during which machine-guns pop, and 
 snipers snipe merrily, and flares light up the sky. 
 Trench-mortars begin behind us ' whizz-sh-sh-sh- 
 h-h ' — silence — ' thud.' Then the Germans reply, 
 sending two or three over which thud harmlessly 
 behind. The invisible sentries have now become 
 clearly visible to me as I look out of my dug-out. 
 Two of them are about ten j'-ards apart standing 
 on the fire-platform. Theirs is the above dialogue. 
 
 With a sudden thud, a trench-mortar shell drops 
 fifteen yards behind us. 
 
 ' Hullo, Fritz is getting the wind up.' 
 
 ' Getting the wind up ' is slang for getting 
 nervous : this stoHd comment from a sentry is 
 typical of the attitude adopted towards ' Fritz ' 
 (the German) when he starts shelling or finding. 
 He is supposed to be a bit jumpy ! It seems 
 hard to realise that Fritz is really trying to kill 
 these sentries : the whole thing seems a weird, 
 strange play.
 
 24 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 I make an effort, and crawl out of the dug-out. 
 The ' strafing ' has died down. Only occasional 
 flares climb up from the German lines, and ' pop,' 
 * pop ' in the morning mist. I go round the sentries, 
 standing up by them and looking over the parapet. 
 It is cold and raw, and the sentries are looking for- 
 ward to the next relief. Ah ! there is the corporal 
 on trench duty coming. I can hear him routing 
 out the snoring relief. 
 
 ' Ping-g-g-g ' goes a stray bullet singing by — a 
 ricochet by its sound. 
 
 ' A near one, sir.' 
 
 ' Yes, Evans. Safer in the front line.' 
 
 ' I guess it is, sir.' 
 
 Then, the sentries changed, I turn back again 
 to my dug-out. Sleeping with revolvers and 
 equipment requires some care of position. 
 
 ' Half-past four, sir,' comes after a pause and 
 some sleep. 
 
 Out I get, and everybody ' stands to ' arms 
 for an hour, each man taking up the position 
 allotted to him along the fire-platform. Gradually 
 it gets light. Some brick-stacks grow out of the 
 mist in front, and ruined cottages loom up in the 
 rear, and what was a church. The fire-platform 
 being here pretty high, one can look back over the 
 parados over bare flat country, cut up by trenches 
 and run to waste terribly. ' Parados,' by the way, 
 is the name given to the back of a trench ; here is 
 a drawing in section :
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 25 
 
 A. Bottom of trench. C. Parapet. 
 
 B. Fire-step. D. Paiados. 
 
 At 5.30 ' Stand down and clean rifles ' is the order 
 given, and the cleaning commences — a process as 
 oft-repeated as ' washing up ' in civilised lands, and 
 as monotonous and unsatisfactory, for a few hours 
 later the rifles are a bit rusty and muddy again, and 
 need another inspection. 
 
 7.30. ' Tell Sergeant Summers I'm going down 
 to Company Headquarters.' 
 
 ' Very good, sir.' Then I take a long mazy 
 journey down the communication trench, which is 
 six feet deep at least, and mostly paved with bricks 
 from a neighbouring brick-field. There are an 
 amazing lot of mice about the trenches, and they 
 fall in and can't get out. Most of them get squashed. 
 Frogs too, which make a green and worse mess than 
 the mice. Our CO. always stops and throws a frog 
 out if he meets one. Tommy, needless to say, is 
 not so sentimental. These trenches have been 
 built a long time, and grass-stalks, dried scabious, 
 and plantain-stalks grow over the edges, which 
 
 must make them very invisible from above. ' H 
 
 Street,' ' L Lane,' ' C Road,' ' P Lane '
 
 26 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 are traversed, and so into S Street,' where, in 
 
 the cellar of what was once a house, are two hungry 
 officers already started on bacon and eggs, coffee 
 (with condensed milk), and bread and tinned jam. 
 We are lucky with three chairs and a table, A 
 newspaper makes an admirable tablecloth, and a 
 bottle a good candlestick, and there is room in a 
 cellar to stand up. Breakfast done, a shave is 
 manipulated, Meadows, my servant, getting ready 
 my tackle and producing a mug of hot water. 
 
 9.30 finds me back in the redoubt and starting 
 a ' working party ' on repairing a communication 
 trench and generally improving the trenches. Work- 
 ing parties are unpopular ; Tommy does not believe 
 in improving trenches he may never see again. And 
 so the day goes on. Sentries change and take their 
 place, sitting gazing into a scrap of mirror. Ration 
 parties come up with dixies carried on wooden 
 pickets, and the pioneer generally cleans up, 
 sprinkling chloride of lime about in white showers, 
 which seems as plentiful as the sand of the sea- 
 shore, and the odour of which clings to the trenches, 
 as the smell of seaweed does to the beach. 
 
 The redoubt was in the Cuinchy trenches, and that 
 old cellar was really a delightful headquarters. The 
 first time we were in it we found a cat there ; on 
 the second occasion the same cat appeared with 
 three lusty kittens ! These used to keep the place 
 clear of rats and get sat on every half-hour or so.
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 27 
 
 I soon learned to get used to smoke ; on one occa- 
 sion the smoke from our brazier became so thick 
 that Gray, the cook, threatened to resign. For all 
 the smoke gathers at the top of a dug-out and seems 
 impossibly suffocating to anyone first entering ; 
 yet it is often practically clear two or three feet from 
 the ground, so that when lying or sitting one does 
 not notice the smoke at all ; but a new-comer gets 
 his eyes so stung that it seems impossible that any- 
 one can live in the dug-out at all ! (Gray, by the 
 way, was not allowed to resign.)" 
 
 Here follows a letter describing the front trenches 
 at Givenchy : 
 
 " 7th November. On the 29th we marched off 
 at 9.0 and halted at 11. for dinner. Luckily it 
 was fine, and the piled arms, the steaming dixies, 
 and the groups of men sitting about eating and 
 smoking formed a pleasant sight. Our grub was 
 put by mistake on the mess-cart which went straight 
 on to the trenches ! Edwards, however, our Com- 
 pany mess-president, came up to the scratch with 
 bread, butter, and eggs. Tea was easily procured 
 from the cookers. Then off we went to our H.Q. 
 There we got down into the communication trench, 
 and in single file were taken by guides into our 
 part of the trenches : these guides were sent by 
 the battalion we were relieving. I told you that all 
 the trenches have names (which are painted on 
 boards hung up at the trench corners). The first
 
 28 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 thing done was to post sentries along our company 
 front : until this was done the outgoing battalion 
 could not ' out-go.' Each man has his firing position 
 allotted to him, and he always occupies it at ' stand 
 to ' and ' stand down.' We were three days and 
 three nights in the trenches. Each officer was on 
 duty for eight hours, during which he was responsible 
 for a sector of firing-line and must be actually in the 
 front trench. My watch was 12 to 4, a.m. and p.m. 
 Work that out with ' stand to ' in the morning and 
 also in the evening and you will see that consecu- 
 tive sleep is not easy ! On paper 6-12 (midnight) 
 looks good ; but then, remember, dinner at 7.0 or 
 7.30 according to the fire, while you may have to 
 turn out any time if you are being shelled at all. 
 For instance, one night I was just turning in early 
 at 7.0, when a mine went up on our right, and 
 shelling and general ' strafing ' kept me out till 
 9.30, after which I couldn't sleep ! So at midnight 
 I was tired when I started my four hours, turned 
 in at 4.0, out again for ' stand to,' 8.0 breakfast, 
 9.0 rifle inspection, and so it goes on ! That is 
 why you can appreciate billets, and bed from 9.0 
 to 7.0 if you want it. 
 
 Imagine a cold November night — with a ground 
 fog. What bliss to be roused from a snug dug-out 
 at midnight, and patrol the Company's line for four 
 interminable hours. It is deathly quiet. Has the 
 war stopped ? I stand up on the fire-step beside 
 the sentry and try to see through the fog. ' Pip-
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 29 
 
 pip-pip-pip-pip ' goes a machine-gun. So the war's 
 still on. 
 
 ' Cold ? ' I ask a sentry. ' Only me feet, sir.' 
 ' Why don't you stamp your feet, then ? ' This 
 being equivalent to an order. Tommy stamps 
 feebly a few times until made to do so energetically. 
 Unless you make him stamp, he will not stamp ; 
 would infinitely prefer to let his feet get cold as ice. 
 Of course, when you have gone into the next bay, 
 he immediately stops. Still, that is Tommy. 
 
 I gaze across into No Man's Land. I can just 
 see our wire, and in front a collection of old tins — 
 bully tins, jam tins, butter tins — paper, old bits of 
 equipment. Other regiments always leave places 
 so untidy. You clean up, but when you come into 
 trenches you find the other fellows have left things 
 about. You work hard repairing the trenches : 
 the reheving regiment, you find on your return, 
 has done ' damn all,' which is military slang for 
 'nothing.' And all other regiments, it seems, have 
 the same complaint. 
 
 ' Swish.' A German flare rocket hghts up every- 
 thing. You see our trenches all along. Everything 
 is as clear as day. You feel as conspicuous as a 
 cromlech on a hill. But the enemy can't see you, 
 fog or no fog, if you only keep still. The light has 
 fallen on the parapet this time, and lies sizzling on 
 the sand-bags. A flicker, and it is gone ; and in the 
 fog you see black blobs, the size and shape of the 
 dazzling light you've just been staring at.
 
 30 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 ' Crack — plop.' * Crack — plop.' A couple of 
 bullets bury themselves in the sand-bags, or else 
 with a long-drawn ' ping ' go singing over the 
 top. Why the sentries never get hit seems extra- 
 ordinary. I suppose a mathematician would by 
 combination and permutation tell you the chances 
 against bullets aimed ' at a venture ' hitting sentries 
 exposing one-fourth of their persons at a given 
 elevation at so many paces interval. Personally I 
 won't try, as my whole object is to keep awake till 
 four o'clock. And then I shall be too sleepy. Only 
 remember, it is night and the sentries are invisible. 
 
 ' Tap — tap — tap.' ' There's a wiring party out, 
 sir. I've heard 'em these last five minutes.' Un- 
 doubtedly there are a few men out in No Man's 
 Land, repairing their wire. I tell the sentries near 
 to look out and be ready to fire, and then I send off 
 a ' Very ' flare, fired by a thick cartridge from a 
 thick-barrelled brass pistol. It makes a good row, 
 and has a fair kick, so it is best to rest the butt 
 on the parapet and hold it at arm's length. Even 
 so it leaves your ears singing for hours. The first 
 shot was a failure — only a miserable rocket tail which 
 failed to burst. The second was a magnificent shot. 
 It burst beautifully, and fell right behind the party, 
 two Germans, and silhouetted them, falling and 
 burning still incandescent on the ground behind. 
 A volley of fire followed from our waiting sentries. 
 I could not see if the party were hit ; most of the 
 shots were fired after the light had died out. Any-
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 31 
 
 how, the working party stopped. The two figures 
 stood quite motionless while the flare burned. 
 
 The Gemians opposite us were very lively. One 
 could often hear them whistling, and one night they 
 were shouting to one another hke anything. They 
 were Saxons, who are always at that game. No 
 one knows exactly what it means. It was quite 
 cold, almost frosty, and the sound came across 
 the 100 yards or so of No Man's Land with a strange 
 clearness in the night air. The voices seemed un- 
 naturally near, like voices on the water heard from 
 a chff. ' Tommee — Tommee. Allemands bon — 
 Engleesh bon.' ' We hate ze Kronpiinz.' (I can 
 hear now the nasal twang with which the ' Kron ' 
 
 was emphasised.) ' D the Kaiser.' ' Deutsch- 
 
 land unter Alles.' I could hear these shouts most 
 distinctly : the same sentences were repeated again 
 and again. They shouted to one another from one 
 part of the hne to another, generally preceding 
 each sentence by ' Kamerad.' Often you heard 
 loud hearty laughter. As ' Comic Cuts ' (the name 
 given to the daily Intelligence Reports) sagely 
 remarked, ' Either this means that there is a spirit 
 of dissatisfaction among the Saxons, or it is a ruse 
 to try and catch us unawares, or it is mere foolery.' 
 Wisdom in high places ! 
 
 Really it was intensely interesting. ' Come 
 over,' shouted Tommy. ' We — are — not — coming — 
 over,' came back. Loud clapping and laughter 
 followed remarks like ' We hate ze Kronphnz.'
 
 82 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 Then they would yodel and sing like anything. 
 Tommy replied with ' Tipperary.' They sang, 
 ' God save the King,' or rather their German 
 equivalent of it, to the familiar tune. Then, ' Abide 
 with us ' rose into the night air and starlight. 
 This went on for an hour and a half ; though almost 
 any night you can hear them shout something, 
 and give a yodel — 
 
 m 
 
 w 
 
 ~^~ 
 
 r=-—^=r. 
 
 It is the strangest thing I have ever experienced. 
 The authorities now try and stop our fellows answer- 
 ing. The entente of last Christmas is not to be re- 
 peated ! One of the officers in our battalion has 
 shown me several German signatures on his pay- 
 book (he was in the ranks then), given in friendly 
 exchange in the middle of No Man's Land last 
 Christmas Day. 
 
 I have had my baptism of mud now. It tires me 
 to think of it, and I have not the effort to write 
 fully about it ! The second time we were in these 
 trenches the mud was two feet deep. Even our 
 Company Headquarters, a cellar, was covered with 
 mud and slime. Paradoses and communication 
 trenches had fallen in, and the going was terrible. 
 The sticky mud yoicked one's boots off nearly, and 
 it felt as if one's foot would be broken in extricating 
 it. We all wore gum-boots, of blue-black rubber.
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 
 
 88 
 
 that come right up to the waist Uke fishermen's 
 waders. But the mud is everywhere, and we get 
 our arms all plastered with it as we Uterally " reel 
 to and fro " along the trench, every now and again 
 steadying ourselves against slimy sand-bags. One 
 or two men actually got stuck, and had to be helped 
 out with spades ; one fellow lost heart and left one 
 of his gum-boots stuck in the mud, and turned up 
 in my platoon in a stockinged foot, of course plas- 
 tered thick with clay ! We worked day and night. 
 Gradually the problem is being tackled. Trench- 
 boards, or ' mats/ are the best, like this : 
 
 They are put along the bottom of the trench, the 
 long ' runners ' resting on bricks taken from ruined 
 houses, so as to raise the board and allow drainage 
 underneath. If possible, a deep sump-pit is dug 
 under the centre of the board. (The shaded part 
 represents the sump-pit : the dotted lines are the 
 sides of the trench ; the whole drawing in plan.)" 
 
 Weariness. Mud. The next experience (not 
 mentioned in my letter) was Death. On our im- 
 mediate right was " C " Company. Here our 
 3
 
 34 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 trench runs out like this y\_, more or less, 
 
 and the opposite trenches are very close together. 
 Consequently it is a great place for " mining 
 activity." One evening we put up a mine ; 
 the next afternoon the Germans put up a counter- 
 mine, and accompanied it with a hail of trench- 
 mortars. I was on trench duty at the time, 
 and had ample opportunity of observing the genus 
 trench-mortar and its habits. One can see them 
 approaching some time before they actually fall, 
 as they come from a great height (in military terms, 
 " with a steep trajectory "), and one can see them 
 revolving as they topple down. Then they fall 
 with a ^/^n^^.and black smoke comes up and mud 
 spatters all about. Most of them were falling in 
 our second line and support trenches. I was patrol- 
 ling up and down our front trench. We were 
 " standing to " after the mine, and for half an hour 
 it was rather a " hot shop." I was delighted to 
 find that I rather enjoyed it : seeing one or two of 
 the new draft with the " wind up " a bit steadied 
 me at once. I have hardly ever since felt the 
 slightest nervousness under fire. It is mainly 
 temperament. Our company had four casualties : 
 one in the front trench, the three others in the 
 platoon in support. " C " Company suffered more 
 heavily. At 6.0 Edwards came on duty, and I was 
 able to go in quest of two bombers who were said 
 to be wounded. Getting near the place I came on 
 a man standing half-dazed in the trench. " Oh,
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 35 
 
 sirrh," he cried, in the burring speech of a true 
 Welshman. " A terench-mohrterh hass fall-en 
 ericht in-ter me duck-out." For the moment I felt 
 like laughing at the man's curious speech and look, 
 but I saw that he was greatly scared : and no 
 wonder. A trench mortar had dropped right into the 
 mouth of his dug-out, and had half buried two of his 
 comrades. We were soon engaged in extricating them. 
 Both had bad head wounds, and how he escaped is a 
 miracle. I helped carry the two men out and over 
 the debris of flattened trenches to Company Head- 
 quarters. So, for the first time I looked upon two 
 dying men, and some of their blood was on my 
 clothes. One died in half an hour — the other early 
 next morning. It was really not my job to assist : 
 the stretcher-bearers were better at it than I, yet 
 in this first little bit of " strafe " I was carried away 
 by my instinct, whereas later I should have been 
 attending to the living members of my platoon, and 
 the defence of my sector. I left the company 
 sergeant-major in difficulties as to whether Randall, 
 the man who had so miraculously escaped, and 
 who was temporarily dazed, should be returned 
 as " sick " or " wounded." 
 
 Another death that came into my close experience 
 was that of a lance-corporal in my platoon. I had 
 only spoken to him a quarter of an hour before, 
 and on returning found him lying dead on the fire- 
 platform. He had been killed instantaneously by 
 a rifle grenade. I lifted the waterproof sheet and
 
 Se NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 looked at him. I remember that I was moved, 
 but there was nothing repulsive about his recum- 
 bent figure. I think the novelty and interest of 
 these first casualties made them quite easy to bear. 
 I was so busy noticing details : the silence that 
 reigned for a few hours in my platoon ; the details 
 of removing the bodies, the collecting of kit, etc. 
 These things at first blunted my perception of the 
 vileness of the tragedy ; nor did I feel the cruelty 
 of war as I did later. 
 
 Weariness. Mud. Death. So it was with great 
 joy that we would return to billets, to get dry and 
 clean, to eat, sleep, and write letters ; to drill, and 
 carry out inspections. Company drill, bayonet- 
 fighting, gas-helmet drill, musketry, and lectures 
 were usually confined to the morning and early 
 afternoon. We thought that we had rather an 
 overdose of lecturing from our medical officer (the 
 M.O.) on sanitation and the care of the feet, " Trench 
 feet," one lecture always began, " is that state pro- 
 duced by excessive cold or long standing in water 
 or liquid mud." We soon got to know too much, 
 we felt, about the use of whale-oil and anti-frostbite 
 grease, the changing of socks and the rubbing and 
 stamping of feet. We did get rather " fed up " 
 with it ; yet I believe we had only one case of 
 trench feet in our battalion throughout the winter ; 
 so perhaps it was worth our discomfort of attending 
 so many lectures ! Our C.O.'s lectures on trench 
 warfare were always worth hearing : he was so
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 87 
 
 tremendously keen and such a perfect and whole- 
 hearted soldier. 
 
 A chapter might be written on billet-Hfe. Here 
 are a few more extracts from letters : 
 
 " Oct. 13th. All day long this little inn has 
 shaken from top to bottom : there is one battery 
 about a hundred yards away that makes the whole 
 house rattle Uke the inside of a motor-bus. The 
 Germans might any time try and locate the battery, 
 and a shell would reduce the house to ruins. Yet 
 the old woman here declares she will not leave the 
 house as long as she lives ! 
 
 It is a strange place, this belt of land behind the 
 firing-Une. The men are out of the trenches for 
 three days, and it is their duty, after perhaps a 
 running parade before breakfast and two or three 
 hours' drill and inspection in the morning, to rest 
 for the remainder of the day. In the morning you 
 will see all the evolutions of company drill carried 
 out in a small meadow behind a strip of woodland ; 
 in the next field an old man and woman are uncon- 
 cernedly hoeing a cabbage-patch ; then behind here 
 are a battalion's transport lines, with rows of horses 
 picketed. Along the road an A.S.C. convoy is 
 passing, each lorry at regulation distance from the 
 next. In the afternoon you will see groups of 
 Tommies doing nothing most religiously, smoking 
 cigarettes, writing letters home. From six to eight 
 the estaminets are open, and everyone flocks to 
 them to get bad beer. They are also open an hour
 
 38 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 at midday, and then the orderly officer, accom- 
 panied by the provost-sergeant, produces an electric 
 silence with ' Any complaints ? ' It does not pay 
 an esta^ninet-keeper to dilute his beer too much, 
 or else he will lose his licence. 
 
 I often wonder if these peasants think much. 
 Think they must have done at the beginning, when 
 their men were hastily called up. But now, after 
 fifteen months of war ? It is the children, chiefly, 
 who are interested in the aeroplanes, shining hke 
 eagles silver-white against the blue sky ; or in the 
 boom from the battery across the street. But for 
 their mothers and grandparents these things have 
 settled into their lives ; they are all one with the 
 canal and the poplar trees. If a squad starts drilling 
 on their lettuces, they are tremendously alert ; but 
 as for these other things, they are not interested, 
 only unutterably tired of them. And after awhile 
 you adopt the same attitude. The noise of the guns 
 is boring and you hardly look up at an aeroplane, 
 unless it is shrapnelled by the ' Archies ' (anti-air- 
 craft guns) ; then it is worth watching the pin-prick 
 flashes dotting the sky all round it, leaving little 
 white curls of smoke floating in the blue." 
 
 That billet was close to the firing-line. Here is 
 a letter from a village, eight miles back : 
 
 " 2oth Oct., 1915. We came out here on Mon- 
 day. The whole division marched out together. 
 It was really an impressive sight, over a mile of
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 39 
 
 troops on the march. Perfect order, perfect arrange- 
 ment. Where the road bent you could often see 
 the column for a mile in front, a great snake curHng 
 along the right side of the road. Occasionally an 
 adjutant would break out of the line to trot back 
 and correct some straggHng ; or a CO. would emerge 
 for a gallop over the adjacent ploughland. 
 
 Our company is billeted in a big prosperous farm. 
 The men are in a roomy barn and look very comfort- 
 able. We are in a big room, on the right as you 
 enter the front door of the farm : on a tiled floor 
 stands a round table with an oilcloth cover, originally 
 of a bright red pattern, but now subdued by con- 
 stant scrubbings to the palest pink with occasional 
 scarlet dottings. There are big tall windows, a 
 wardrobe and sideboard, a big chimney-place fitted 
 with a coke stove, and on the walls hang three very 
 dirty old prints. The only war touch (beside our 
 scattered possessions) is a picture from a French 
 Illustrated of L'Assaut de Vermelles. Outside is a 
 yard animated by cows, turkeys, geese, chicken, 
 and ducks : also a donkey and a peacock, not to 
 mention the usual dogs and cats. At 5 a.m. I am 
 awakened by an amazing chorus. 
 
 The ' patron ' is a strong, competent man, with 
 many fine buxom daughters, who do the farm work 
 with great capacity and energy. Henriette with a 
 pitchfork is strength and grace in action. Tommy 
 is much in awe of her. She hustles the pigs relent- 
 lessly. The sons are at the war. Etienne and Mar-
 
 40 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 celle, aged ten and eight respectively, complete the 
 family ; with Madame, of course, who makes in- 
 imitable coffee ; and various grandparents who 
 appear in white caps and cook and bake all day. 
 
 I have just ' paid out ' — all in five and twenty- 
 franc notes. ' In the field ' every man has his own 
 pay book which the officer must sign, while the 
 company quartermaster-sergeant sees that his ac- 
 quittance roll is also signed by Tommy. We had 
 a small table and chair out in the yard, and in an 
 atmosphere of pigs and poultry I dealt out the blue- 
 and-white oblongs which have already in many 
 cases been converted into bread. For that is where 
 most of the pay money goes, there and in the 
 estaminets. The bread ration is always small, the 
 biscuit ration overflowing. Bully beef, by the way, 
 is simply ordinary corned beef. I watched cooking 
 operations yesterday, and saw some fifty tins cut 
 in half with an axe, clean hewn asunder, and the 
 meat deftly hoicked with a fork into the field- 
 kitchen, or ' cooker,' which is a range and boiler 
 on wheels. This was converted into a big stew, and 
 served out into dixies (camp kettles) and so to the 
 men's canteens. 
 
 This afternoon our company practised an attack 
 over open country. I was surprised to find the men 
 so well trained. I had imagined that prolonged 
 trench-warfare would have made them stale. The 
 country is very flat. There are no hedges. The 
 only un-Enghsh characteristics are the poplar rows,
 
 CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 41 
 
 the dried beans tied round poles like mother-gamp 
 umbrellas, and the wayside chapels and crucifixes. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon Edwards and I got in a little 
 revolver practice just near ; and afterwards we 
 had an energetic game of hockey, with sticks and 
 an empty cartridge-case." 
 
 Altogether, billet life was very enjoyable. On 
 November ist Captain Dixon joined our battaUon 
 and took over " B " Company. For over four 
 months I worked under the most good-natured and 
 popular officer in the battaHon. We were always 
 in good spirits while he was with us. "I can't 
 think why it is," he used to say, "I'm not at all a 
 jolly person, yet you fellows are always laughing ; 
 and in my old regiment it was always the same ! " 
 He was a fearful pessimist, but a fine soldier. His 
 delight used to be to get a good fire blazing in 
 billets, sit in front of it with a novel, and then 
 deliver a tirade against the discomfort of war ! 
 The great occasion used to be when the arch- 
 pessimist, our quartermaster, was invited to dinner. 
 Then Edwards, the Mess president, would produce 
 endless courses, and the two pessimists would warm 
 to a deUghtful duologue on the fatuity of the Staff, 
 the Army, and the Government. 
 
 " By Jove, we are the biggest fools on this 
 earth ! " Dixon would say at last. 
 
 " We're fools enough to be led by fools," Jim 
 Potter would reply. 
 
 And somehow we were all more cheerful than ever!
 
 CHAPTER III 
 WORKING-PARTIES 
 
 FALL in the brick-party." 
 The six privates awoke from a state of 
 inert dreaming, or lolHng against the barn 
 that flanked the gateway of battahon headquarters, 
 to stand in two rows of three and await orders. At 
 last the A.S.C. lorry had turned up, an hour late, and 
 while it turned round I despatched one of the 
 privates to our transport to get six sand-bags. By 
 the time he returned the lorry had performed its 
 about-wheel, and, all aboard, myself in front and 
 
 the six behind, we are off for C . 
 
 We pass through Bethune. As we approach 
 through the suburbs, we rattle past motor despatch 
 riders, A.S.C. lorries. Red Cross carts, columns of 
 transport horses being exercised, officers on horse- 
 back, officers in motor-cars, small unarmed fatigue 
 parties, battalions on the march ; then there are 
 carts carrying bricks, French postmen on bicycles, 
 French navvies in blue uniforms repairing the road, 
 innumerable peasant traps, coal waggons, women 
 with baskets, and children of course everywhere. 
 " Business as usual " — yet, but for a line of men 
 not so many miles away the place would be a 
 
 42
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 48 
 
 desolate ruin like the towns and villages that chance 
 has doomed to be in the firing-hne. 
 
 So I morahse. Not so the Tommies, sprawHng 
 behind, inside the lorry, and caring not a jot for 
 anything save that they are on a " cushy " or soft 
 job, as the rest of the battalion are doing four hours' 
 digging under R.E. supervision. A good thing to be 
 a Tommy, to be told to fall in here or there, and not 
 to know whether it is for a bayonet-charge, or a job 
 of carting earth ! 
 
 " Bang — Bang-bang." We are nearing the firing- 
 line, having left Bethune, where mihtary police 
 stand at every corner directing the traffic with flags, 
 one road "up," another " down " : we are once 
 more within the noisy but invisible chain of batteries. 
 " Lorries 6 miles per hour." The shell-holes in the 
 road, roughly filled with stones, would make quicker 
 
 going impossible anyhow. We are entering C , 
 
 and I keep an eagle eye open for ruined houses, and 
 soon stop by a house with two walls and half a roof. 
 Out come the six Tommies and proceed to fill a sand- 
 bag each with bricks and empty it into the lorry. 
 The supply is inexhaustible, and in half an hour the 
 A.S.C. corporal refuses to take more, declaring we 
 have the regulation three-ton load, so I stop work 
 and prepare to depart. 
 
 The corporal, however, has heard of a sister- 
 lorry near by, which has unfortunately shpped into 
 a ditch and, so to speak, sprained its ankle. Though 
 extraordinarily unromantic in appearance, the
 
 44 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 corporal shows himself imbued with a spirit of 
 knight errantry, and, having obtained my per- 
 mission to rescue the fair damsel, sets off for what 
 he declares cannot take more than ten minutes. 
 As I thought the process would take probably more 
 Uke twenty minutes, I let the men repair to a house 
 on the opposite side of the road, where was a rather 
 more undamaged piece of roof than usual (it was now 
 raining), and myself explored the place I happened 
 to be in. 
 
 Occasionally, at home one comes across a deserted 
 cottage in the country ; a most desolate spirit per- 
 vades the place. Imagine, then, what it is hke in 
 these villages half a mile or a mile behind what has 
 been the firing-hne for now twelve months. A few 
 steps off the main road brought me into what had 
 formerly been a small garden belonging to a farm. 
 There had been a red-brick wall all along the north 
 side with fruit trees trained along it. Now, the wall 
 was mostly a rubble-heap, and the fruit trees dead. 
 One sickly pear tree struggled to exist in a crumpled 
 sort of heap, but its wilted leaves only added to the 
 desolation of the scene. An iron gate, between red 
 brick pillars, was still standing, strangely enough ; 
 but the little lawn was run to waste, and had a 
 crater in the middle of it about five feet across, 
 inside of which was some disintegrating animal, 
 also empty tins, and other refuse. Trees were 
 broken, weeds were everywhere. I tried to re- 
 construct the place in my imagination, but it was a
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 45 
 
 chaotic tangle. I came across a few belated rasp- 
 berries, and picked one or two ; they were taste- 
 less and watery. Rubbish and broken glass were 
 strewn everywhere. It was a dreary sight in the 
 grey rain ; the only sign of life a few chattering 
 blue-tits. 
 
 The house was an utter ruin, only a ground-room 
 wall left standing ; some of the outhouses had not 
 suffered so much, but all the roofs were gone. I 
 saw a rusty mangle staring forlornly out of a heap 
 of debris ; and a manger and hayrack showed what 
 had been a stable. The pond was just near, too, and 
 gradually I could piece together the various elements 
 of the farm. Who the owners were I vaguely 
 wondered ; perhaps they will return after the war ; 
 but I doubt if they could make much of the old 
 ruins. These villages will most likely remain a 
 bhghted area for years, hke the villages reclaimed 
 by the jungle. Already the Virginia creeper and 
 woodbine are trying to cover the ugliness. . . . 
 
 The Tommies meanwhile had been smoking Gold 
 Flakes, and one or two had also been exploring ; one 
 had discovered a child's elementary botany book, and 
 was studying the illustrations when I came up. Our 
 combined view now was " Where is the lorry ? " 
 and this view held the field, with increasing curiosity, 
 annoyance, and vituperation, for one solid hour and 
 a half. It was dinner-time, and a common bond of 
 hunger held us, until at last in exasperation I 
 marched half the party in quest of our errant con-
 
 46 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 veyance. I was thoroughly annoyed with the 
 gallant corporal. Three-quarters of a mile away I 
 found the two lorries. My Httle corporal had rescued 
 his lorn princess, but she, being a buxom wench, had 
 brought her rescuer into like predicament ! And so 
 we came up just in time to see the rescue of our lorry 
 from the treacherous ditch ! I felt I could not curse, 
 especially as the little corporal had winded himself 
 somehow in the stomach during the last bout. It 
 had been a feeble show ; yet there was the lorry, 
 and in it the bricks, on to which the fellows climbed 
 deliberately as men who recover a lost prize. And 
 so we arrived at our transport (the bricks were for a 
 horse-stand in a muddy yard) at half-past two ; 
 after which I dismissed the party to its belated 
 dinner. 
 
 The above incident hardly deserves a place in a 
 chapter headed " working-parties," being in almost 
 every respect different from any other I have ever 
 conducted. I think the " working-party " is realised 
 less than anything else in this war by those who 
 have not been at the front. It does not appeal to 
 the imagination. Yet it is essential to realise, if one 
 wants to know what this war is like, the amount of 
 sheer dogged labour performed by the infantry in 
 digging, draining, and improving trenches. 
 
 The " working-party " usually consists of seventy 
 to a hundred men from a company, with either one 
 or two officers. The Brigadier going round the 
 trenches finds a communication trench falling in.
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 47 
 
 and about a foot of mud at the bottom. " Get a 
 working-party on to this at once," he says to his 
 Staff Captain. The Staff Captain consults one of 
 the R.E. officers, and a note is sent to the Adjutant 
 of one of the two battaUons in billets : " Your 
 battalion will provide a working party of . . . 
 officers . . . full ranks (sergeants and corporals) 
 and . . . other ranks to-morrow. Report to Lt. 
 . . ., R.E., at ... at 5.0 p.m. to-morrow for work 
 on . . . Trench, Tools will be provided." The 
 Staff Captain then dismisses the matter from his 
 head. The Adjutant then sends the same note to 
 one or more of the four company commanders, de- 
 taihng the number of men to be sent by the com- 
 panies specified by him. (He is scrupulously careful 
 to divide work equally between the companies, by 
 the way.) The company commander on receiving 
 the note curses volubly, declares it a " d — d shame 
 the hardest worked battahon in the brigade can't 
 be allowed a moment's rest, feels sure the men will 
 mutiny one of these days," etc., summons the 
 orderly, who is frowsting in the next room with the 
 officers' servants, and says, " Take this to the 
 sergeant-major," after scribbHng on the note 
 " Parade outside Company H.Q. 3.30 p.m.," and 
 adding, as the orderly departs, " Might tell the 
 quartermaster-sergeant I want to see him." Mean- 
 while the three subalterns are extraordinarily 
 engrossed in their various occupations, until the 
 company commander boldly states that it is
 
 48 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " rotten luck, but he supposes as So-and-so took 
 the last, it is So-and-so's turn, isn't it ? " and details 
 the officers ; if they are new officers he tells them 
 the sergeants will know exactly what to do, and if 
 they are old hands he tells them nothing whatever. 
 The " quarter " (company quartermaster-sergeant) 
 then arrives, and is told the party will not be back, 
 probably, till lo.o p.m., and will he make sure, 
 please, that hot soup is ready for the men on return, 
 and also dry socks if it turns out wet ; he is then 
 given a drink, and the company commander's work 
 is finished. 
 
 Meanwhile the company sergeant-major has 
 received the orders from the orderly, and summons 
 unto him the orderly-sergeant, and from his 
 " roster," or roll, ticks off the men and N.C.O.'s to 
 be warned for the working party. This the orderly- 
 sergeant does by going round to the various barns 
 and personally reading out each man's name, and 
 on getting the answer, saying, " You're for working 
 party, 3.15 to-day." The exact nature of the 
 remarks when he is gone are beyond my province. 
 Only, as an officer taking the party, one knows that 
 at 3.25 p.m. the senior sergeant calls the two lines 
 of waiting " other ranks " to attention, and with a 
 slap on his rifle, announces " Working-party present, 
 Sir," as you stroll up. Working-parties are dressed 
 in " musketry order " usually — that is to say, with 
 equipment, but no packs ; rifles and ammunition, 
 of course, and waterproof sheets rolled and fastened
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 49 
 
 to the webbing belt. The officer then tells the 
 sergeant to " stand them easy," while he asks one 
 or two questions, and looks once more at " orders " 
 which the senior sergeant has probably brought on 
 parade, and at 3.30, with a " Company- Shern ! 
 Slo-o-ope hip ! Right-in-fours : form-fors ! Right ! 
 By the right, Quick march ! " leads off his party, 
 giving " March at ease, march-easy ! " almost in one 
 breath as soon as he rounds the corner. Then there 
 is a hitching of rifles to the favourite position, and a 
 buzz of remarks and whistles and song behind, 
 while the sergeant edges up to the officer or the 
 officer edges back to the sergeant, according to their 
 degree of intimacy, and the working-party is on its 
 way. 
 
 One working-party I remember very well. We 
 
 were in billets at , and really tired out. It was 
 
 Nov. 6th, and on looking up my letters I find 
 our movements for the last week had been as 
 follows : 
 
 Oct. 29th. 9.0 a.m. Moved off from billets. 
 12.0 midday. Lunch. 
 3.0 p.m. Arrived in front trenches. 
 Oct. 30th. Front trenches. 
 Oct. 31st. Front trenches. 
 
 Nov. ist. Reheved at 3.0 p.m. (The Devons 
 were very late relieving us, owing to 
 bad rain and mud.) 
 5.30 p.m. Reached billets.
 
 50 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 Nov. 2nd. Rain all day. Morning spent by men 
 in trying to clean up. Afternoon, 
 baths. 
 
 Nov, 3rd. 9.0 a.m. Started off for trenches 
 again. It had rained incessantly. 
 Mud terrible, 
 i.o p.m. Arrived in front trenches. 
 
 Nov. 4th. Front trenches. Rained all day. 
 
 Nov. 5th. 2.30 p.m. Relieved late again. Mud 
 colossal. Billets 5.0 p.m. 
 
 Nov. 6th. Morning. Cleaning up. Inspection by 
 CO. 
 Afternoon. Sudden and unexpected 
 Working-Party. 3.0 p.m. — ii.o 
 p.m. ! ! 
 
 Yet I thoroughly enjoyed those eight hours, I 
 remember. There were, I suppose, about eighty 
 N.C.O.'s and men from " B " Company. I was in 
 charge, with one other officer. We halted at a place 
 whither the " cooker " had been previously des- 
 patched, and where the men had their tea. Luckily 
 it was fine. The men sat about on lumps of trench- 
 boards and coils of barbed wire, for the place was an 
 " R.E. Dump," where a large accumulation of R.E. 
 stores of all description was to be found. I apolo- 
 gised to the R.E. officer for keeping him a few 
 minutes while the men finished their tea ; he, how- 
 ever, a second-lieutenant, was in no hurry whatever,
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 61 
 
 it seemed, and waited about a quarter of an hour 
 for us. Tlien I fell the men in, and they " drew 
 tools," so many men a pick, so many a shovel (the 
 usual proportion is one pick, two shovels), and we 
 splodged along through whitish clay of the stickiest 
 calibre in the gathering twihght. An R.E. corporal 
 and two R.E, privates had joined us mysteriously 
 by now, as well as the second-heutenant, and cross- 
 ing H Street we plunged down into a communi- 
 cation trench, and started the long mazy grope. 
 The R.E. corporal was guide. The trench was all 
 paved with trench-mats, but these were not "laid," 
 only " shoved down " anyhow ; consequently they 
 wobbled, and one's boot slipped off the side into 
 squelch, rubbing the ankle. Continually came up 
 the message from behind, " Lost touch, Sir ! " 
 This involved a wait — one, two minutes — until the 
 " All-up " or " All-in " came up. (One hears it 
 coming in a hoarse whisper, and starts before it 
 actually arrives. Infinite patience is necessary. 
 R.E. officers are sometimes eager to go ahead ; but 
 once lose the last ten men at night in an unknown 
 trench, and it may take three hours to find them.) 
 The other officer was bringing up the rear. 
 
 At last we reached our destination, and the R.E. 
 officer and myself told off the men to work along the 
 trench. This particular work was clearing what is 
 known as a " berm," that is, the flat strip of ground 
 between the edge of the trench and the thrown-up 
 earth, each side of a C.T. (communication trench).
 
 52 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 When a trench is first dug, the earth is thrown up 
 each side ; the recent rains were, however, causing 
 the trenches to crumble in everywhere, and the 
 weight of the thrown-up earth was especially the 
 cause of this. Consequently, if the earth were 
 cleared away a yard on each side of the trench, and 
 
 ^r" Tmmt^ ^^''^ '^''°^" ''^ 
 
 thrown further back, the trench would probably be 
 saved from falling in to any serious extent, and the 
 light labour of shovelhng dry earth a yard or so back 
 would be substituted for the heart-breaking toil of 
 throwing sloppy mud or sticky clay out of a trench 
 higher than yourself. 
 
 The work to be done had been explained to the 
 sergeants before we left our starting-point. As we 
 went along, the R.E. officer told off men at ten or 
 five yards' interval, according to the amount of earth 
 to be moved. Each man stopped when told off, and 
 the rest of the company passed him. Sergeants and 
 corporals stopped with their section or platoon, and 
 got the men started as soon as the last man of the 
 company had passed. At last up came the last man, 
 sergeant, and the other officer, and together we went 
 back all along. The men were on top (that is why 
 the working-party was a night one) ; sometimes
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 58 
 
 they had not understood their orders and were doing 
 something wrong (a slack sergeant would then 
 probably have to be routed out and told off). The 
 men worked like fun, of course, it being known, to 
 every one's joy, that this was a piece-job, and that 
 we went home as soon as it was finished. There was 
 absolute silence, except the sound of faUing earth, 
 and an occasional chink of iron against stone ; or a 
 swish, and muttered cursings, as a bit of trench fell 
 in with a shde, dragging a man with it ; for it is not 
 always easy to clear a yard-wide " berm " without 
 crumbling the trench-edge in. One would not think 
 these men were " worn out," to see them working 
 as no other men in the world can work ; for nearly 
 every man was a miner. The novice will do only 
 half the work a trained miner will do, with the same 
 effort. 
 
 Sometimes I was appealed to as to the " yard." 
 Was this wide enough ? One man had had an un- 
 lucky bit given him with a lot of extra earth from a 
 dug-out thrown on to the original lot. So I re- 
 divided the task. It is amazing the way the time 
 passes while going along a line of workers, noticing, 
 talking, correcting, praising. By the time I got to 
 the first men of the company, they were half-way 
 through the task. 
 
 At last the job was finished. As many men as 
 space allowed were put on to help one section that 
 somehow was behind ; whether it was bad luck in 
 distribution or slack work no one knew or cared.
 
 54 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 The work must be finished. The men wanted to 
 smoke, but I would not let them ; it was too near 
 the front trenches. And then I did a foohsh thing, 
 which might have been disastrous ! The R.E. 
 corporal had remained, though the officer had left 
 long ago. The corporal was to act as guide back, 
 and this he was quite ready to do if I was not quite 
 sure of the way. I, however, felt sure of it, and as 
 the corporal would be saved a long tramp if he could 
 go off to his dug-out direct without coming with us, 
 I foolishly said I had no need of him, and let him go. 
 I then lost my way completely. We had never been 
 in that section before, and none of the sergeants 
 knew it. We had come from the " R.E. Dump," 
 and thither we must return, leaving our tools on the 
 way. But I had been told to take the men to the 
 Divisional Soup Kitchen first, which was about 
 four hundred yards north of X, the spot where we 
 entered the C.T. and which I was trying to find. 
 For all I knew I was going miles in the wrong direc- 
 tion. My only guide was the flares behind, which 
 assured me I was not walking to the Germans but 
 away from them. The unknown trenches began to 
 excite among the sergeants the suspicion that all was 
 not well. But I took the most colossal risk of stating 
 that I knew perfectly well what I was doing, and 
 strode on ahead. 
 
 There was silence behind after that, save for 
 splashings and splodgings. My heart misgave me 
 that I was coming to undrained trenches of the
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 55 
 
 worst description, or to water-logged impasses ! 
 Still I strode on, or waited interminable waits for the 
 " All up " signal. At last we reached houses, grim 
 and black, new and awfully unknown. I nearly 
 tumbled down a cellar as a sentry challenged. I was 
 preparing for humble questions as to where we were, 
 the nearest way to X, and a possible joke to the 
 sergeant (this joke had not materiahsed, and seemed 
 unhkely to be of the easiest), when I recovered my- 
 self from the cellar, mounted some steps, and found 
 myself on a road beside a group of Tommies emerging 
 from the Soup Kitchen ! My star (the only one 
 visible, I believe, that inky night) had led me there 
 direct ! I said nothing, as every one warmed up in 
 spirits as well as bodies with that excellent soup ; 
 and no one ever knew of the quailings of my heart 
 along those unknown trenches ! To lead men wrong 
 is always bad ; but when they are tired out it is un- 
 pardonable, and not quickly forgotten. As it was, 
 canteens were soon brimming with thick vegetable 
 soup, filled from a bubbling cauldron with a mighty 
 ladle. In the hot room men glistened and perspired, 
 while a regular steam arose from muddied boots and 
 puttees ; every one, from officer to latest joined 
 private, was sipping with dangerous avidity the 
 boihng fluid. Many charges have been laid against 
 divisional staffs, but never a complaint have I heard 
 against a soup kitchen ! So in good spirits we 
 tramped along, and dumped our tools in the place 
 where we had found them. " Clank-clank, clank,"
 
 56 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 as spade fell on spade. Then, " You may smoke " 
 was passed down. The sergeant reported " All 
 correct, Sir ! " and we tramped along in file. Soon 
 the bursts of song were swallowed up in a great 
 whistUng concert, and we were all merry. The fit 
 passed, and there was silence ; then came the singing 
 again, which developed into hymns, and that took 
 us into our billets. Here we were greeted with the 
 most abominable news of reveille at 5.0 a.m., but I 
 think most of the men were too sleepy to hear it ; 
 we two officers deplored our fate while eating a 
 supper set out for us in a greenhouse, our temporary 
 mess-room ! 
 
 That is a working-party : interesting as a first 
 experience to an officer ; but when multiplied ex- 
 ceedingly, by day, by night, in rain, mud, sleet, and 
 snow, carrying trench boards, filling sand-bags, 
 digging clay, bailing out liquid mud, and returning 
 cold and drenched, without soup — then, working- 
 parties became a monotonous succession of dis- 
 comforts that wore out the spirit as well as the 
 body. 
 
 The last six nights before the promised rest were 
 spent in working-parties at Festubert. There the 
 ground was low and wet, and it was decided to build 
 a line of breastwork trenches a few hundred yards 
 behind the existing line, so that we could retire on 
 to dry ground in case of getting swamped out. For 
 six nights in succession we left billets at 10. o p.m. 
 and returned by 4.0 a.m. The weather was the
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 57 
 
 coldest, it turned out eventually, that winter. It 
 started with snow ; then followed hard frost for 
 four nights ; and, last but not least, a thaw and 
 incessant sleet and rain. I have never before ex- 
 perienced such cold ; but, on the other hand, I have 
 never before had to stand about all night in a severe 
 frost (it was actually, I believe, from io° to 15° 
 below freezing point). At 2.0 a.m. the stars would 
 gUtter with relentless mirth, as the cold pierced 
 through two cardigans and a sheepskin waistcoat. 
 I have skated at night, but always to return 
 by midnight to fire and bed. Bed ! At home 
 people were sleeping as comfortably as usual ; a 
 few extra blankets, perhaps, or more coals in the 
 grate ! 
 
 I was out five nights of the six. Captain Dixon 
 was on leave, so we only had three officers in " B," 
 and two had to go every night. Every night at 9.30 
 the company would be fallen in and marched off to 
 the rendezvous, there, at 10. o, to join the rest of the 
 battaUon. There was no singing ; very little talking. 
 In parts the road was very bad, and we marched in 
 file. The road was full of shell-holes, and bad gener- 
 ally ; the ice crackled and tinkled in the ruts and 
 puddles ; the frozen mud inchned you to stumble 
 over its ridges and bumps. It took us the best part 
 of an hour to reach our destination. The first night 
 we must have gone earlier than the other nights, as 
 I distinctly remember viewing by daylight those 
 most amazing ruins. There was a barrier across the
 
 58 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 road just before you entered the village ; (a barrier 
 is usually made like this — 
 
 you can defend the road without blocking it to 
 traffic ; at the same time it cannot be rushed by 
 motor-cycles or armoured cars) ; then just opposite 
 were the few standing fragments of the church ; 
 bits of wall and mullion here and there ; and all 
 around tombstones leaning in every direction, 
 rooted up, shattered, split. There was one of the 
 crucifixes standing untouched in the middle of it all, 
 about which so much has been written ; whether it 
 had fallen and been erected again I cannot say. 
 The houses were more smashed, crumpled, and 
 chaotic than even Cuinchy or Givenchy 
 
 I remember that corner very vividly, because at 
 that spot came one of the few occasions on which 
 I had the " wind up " a little. Why, I know not. 
 We were halted a few moments, when two whizz- 
 bangs shot suddenly into a garden about twenty 
 yards to our right, with a vicious " Vee-bm . . . 
 Vee-bm." We moved on, and just as we got round 
 the corner I saw two flashes on my left, and two 
 more shells hissed right over us and fell with the 
 same stinging snarl into the same spot, just twenty 
 yards over us this time. I was, luckily, marching at 
 the rear of the company at the time, as I ducked and 
 almost sprawled in alarm. For the next minute or
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 59 
 
 two I was all quivery. I am glad to know what it 
 feels like, as I have never experienced since such an 
 abject windiness ! I believe it was mainly due to 
 being so exposed on the hard hedgelcss road ; or, 
 perhaps that last pair did actually go particularly 
 near me. At any rate, such was my experience, and 
 so I record it. 
 
 At the entrance to the communication trench 
 R.E. officers told us off : "A " Company, " carrying 
 party " ; " B " Company to draw shovels and picks 
 and " follow me." Then we started off along about 
 a mile and a half of communication trenches. I 
 have already said that Festubert is a very wet 
 district, and it can easily be imagined that the 
 drainage problem is none of the easiest. This long 
 communication trench had been mastered by 
 trench-mats fastened down on long pickets which 
 were driven deep down into the mud. The result 
 was that the trench floor was raised about two feet 
 from the original bottom, and one walked along a 
 hollow-sounding platform over stagnant water. 
 The sound reminded me of walking along a wooden 
 landing-stage off the end of a pier. Every few 
 hundred yards were " passing points," pre- 
 
 sumably to facihtate passing other troops coming 
 in the other direction ; but as I never had the 
 good fortune to meet the other troops at these 
 particular spots, though I did in many others, I
 
 60 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 cannot say they were particularly useful. Another 
 disadvantage about these water-logged trenches 
 was that the bad rains had made the water rise in 
 several places even over the raised trench-board 
 platform ; others were fastened on top ; but even 
 these were often not enough. And when the frost 
 came and froze the water on top of the boards, the 
 procession became a veritable cake-walk, humorous 
 no doubt to the stars and sky, but to the performers, 
 feeling their way in the thick darkness and ever 
 slipping and plunging a boot and puttee into the icy 
 water at the side, a nightmare of painful and jarring 
 experiences. 
 
 There was one junction of trenches where one had 
 to cross a dyke full of half-frozen water ; there was 
 always a congestion of troops here, ration-parties, 
 reHeving-parties, and ourselves. All relieving had 
 to be done at night, as the trenches with their arti- 
 ficially raised floors were no longer deep enough to 
 give cover from view. This crossing had to be 
 negociated in a most gingerly fashion, and several 
 men got wet to their waists when compelled to cross 
 while carrying an awkward-shaped hurdle. After 
 this, the trench was worse than ever ; in parts it 
 was built with fire-steps on one side, and one could 
 scramble on to this and proceed on the dry for 
 awhile ; but even here the slippery sand-bags would 
 often treacherously slide you back into the worst 
 part of the iced platform, and so gave but a doubtful 
 advantage At last the open was gained ; then
 
 WORKING-PARTIES 61 
 
 came the crossing of the old Gennan trench, full of 
 all kinds of grim relics from the spring fighting. 
 And so to our destination. 
 
 On the open ground lay a tracing of white tape 
 like this — 
 
 forming a serpentine series of contacting squares ; 
 in the blackness only two white-bordered squares 
 were visible from one position. Each man was given 
 a square to dig. I forget the measurements ; about 
 two yards square, I think, and two feet deep. The 
 earth had to be thrown about eight yards back 
 against a breastwork of hurdles. These hurdles 
 were being brought up by the " carrying-parties " 
 and fastened by wires by the R.E.'s ; the R.E. 
 officers had, of course, laid our white tapes for us 
 previously. Eventually the sentries will stand 
 behind the hurdle breastwork with a water-ditch 
 ten yards in front of them, which obstacle will be 
 suitably enhanced by strong wire entanglements. 
 
 But all this vision of completion is hid from the 
 eyes of Private Jones, who only knows he has his 
 white-taped square to dig. Arms and equipment 
 are laid carefully on the side of the trench furthest 
 from the breastwork ; and nothing can be heard 
 but the hard breathing and the shovelhng and scrap- 
 ing of the " other ranks." For two hours those men
 
 62 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 worked their hardest ; indeed, it was much the best 
 job to have on those cold nights. I did more digging 
 then than I have ever done before or since. " Come 
 on, Davies, you're all behind," and for ten minutes 
 I would do an abnormal amount of shovelhng, until, 
 out of breath, I would hand the boy back his shovel, 
 and tell him to carry on, while all aglow I went 
 along the Hne examining the progress of the work. 
 We had quite a number of bullets singing and crack- 
 ing across, and there were one or two casualties 
 every night. Sometimes flares would pop over, and 
 every one would freeze into static posture ; but on 
 the whole things were very quiet, the enemy doubt- 
 less as full of water as ourselves. 
 
 That intense cold ! Yet I did not know then that 
 it is far worse being on sentry in the frost than 
 marching and digging. And I am not sure that the 
 last night, when it rained incessantly, was not worse 
 than all the rest. We had a particularly bad piece 
 of ground that night, pitted with shell-holes, full of 
 frozen water : you were bound to fall in one at last, 
 and get wet to the waist ; but even if you did escape 
 that sticky humiliation, the driving sleet and rain 
 were bad enough in themselves. That was a night 
 when I found certain sergeants sheltered together 
 in a corner ; and certain other sergeants in the 
 middle of their men and the howling gale. I soon 
 routed the former out, but did not forget ; and have 
 since discovered how valuable a test of the good and 
 the useless N.C.O. is a working.party in the rain.
 
 WORKING-PARTIES C3 
 
 Never have I longed for 2.0 a.m. as I did that 
 night ! My feet were wet, my body tired, my whole 
 frame shivering with an approaching cold. The 
 men could do nothing any longer in that stinking 
 slush (for these old shell-holes of stagnant water 
 were, to say the least of it, unsavoury !). I was so 
 heavy with sleep I could scarce keep my eyes open. 
 But when at last the order came from our second-in- 
 command " Cease work," I was filled with a dogged 
 energy that carried me back to billets in the best of 
 spirits, though I actually fell asleep as I marched 
 behind the company, and bumped into the last four, 
 when they halted suddenly half-way home ! And 
 so at four o'clock the men tumbled upstairs to 
 breakfast and braziers (thanks to a good quarter- 
 master-sergeant). I drank Bovril down below, and 
 then, in pyjamas, sweaters, and innumerable 
 blankets, turned in till ii.o a.m. Next afternoon 
 we left Rue de I'Epinette and halted at a village on 
 the road to Lillers, whence we were to train to " a 
 more northern part of the line," and enjoy at last 
 our long-earned rest.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 REST 
 
 RUMOURS were rife again, and mostly 
 right this time. " The CO. knew the part 
 ^we were going to : a chalk country . . . 
 rolling downs . . . four or five weeks' rest . . . field 
 training thirty miles from the firing-line." Chalk 
 downs ! To a Kentish man the words were magic, 
 after the dull sodden flats of Flanders. I longed 
 for a map of France, but could not get hold of one. 
 As we marched to Lillers I looked at the flat straight 
 roads and the ditches, at the weary monotony, 
 uninspired by hill or view, at the floods on the roads, 
 and the uninteresting straightness of the villages ; 
 and I felt that I was at the end of a chapter. Any 
 change must be better than this. And chalk ! 
 chalk ! short dry turf, and slopes with purple 
 woods ! I had forgotten these things existed. 
 
 I forget the name of the village where we halted 
 for two nights. I had a little room to myself, 
 reached by a rickety staircase from the yard. One 
 shut the staircase door to keep out the yard. Here 
 several new officers joined us, Clark being posted 
 to our company, and soon I began to see my last 
 
 64
 
 REST 65 
 
 two months as history. For we began to tell our 
 adventures to Clark, who had never been in the 
 firing-line ! Think of it ! He was envious of our 
 experiences ! So I listened in awe and heard a 
 tale develop, a true tale, the tale of the night 
 the mine went up. It was no longer a case of 
 disputing how many trench-mortars came over, but 
 telHng an interested audience that trench-mortars 
 did come over ! Clark had never seen one. And 
 I hstened agape to hear myself the hero of a 
 humorous story. When the mine went up, I had 
 come out of my dug-out rather late and asked if 
 anything had happened. This tale became elabor- 
 ated : I was putting my gloves on calmly, it seems, 
 as I strolled out casually and asked if anyone had 
 heard a rather loud noise ! And so stories crystal- 
 lised, a word altered here and there for effect, but 
 true, and as past history quite interesting. 
 
 The move was made the occasion, by our CO., 
 of very elaborate and careful operation orders. No 
 details were left to chance, and a conference of 
 officers was called to explain the procedure of 
 getting a battahon on a train and getting it off 
 again. As usual, the officers' valises had to be 
 ready at a very early hour, and the company mess- 
 boxes packed correspondingly early. Edwards, I 
 think, was detailed as O.C. loading-party. Every- 
 thing like this was down in the operation orders. 
 The adjutant had had a time of it. 
 
 Certainly the entraining went Hke clockwork, and 
 5
 
 66 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 once more I was seated in a grey-upholstered 
 corridor carriage ; the men were in those useful 
 adaptable carriages inscribed " Chevaux lo. Hommes 
 30." Our Tommies were evidently a kind of centaur 
 class, for they went in by twenties. As far as I 
 can remember, we entrained at 10. o a.m. ; we 
 arrived at a station a few miles from Amiens at 
 g.o p.m. A slow journey, but I felt excited like a 
 child. I must keep going to the corridor to put 
 my head out of the window. It was a sparkling, 
 nippy air ; the smell of the steam, the grit of the 
 engine — these were things I had forgotten ; and 
 soon there were rolling plains, hills, clustering 
 villages. The route, through St. Pol, DouUens, 
 and Canaples, is ordinary enough, no doubt ; and 
 so, too, the gleam of white chalk that came at last. 
 But if you think that ordinary things cannot be 
 wonderful beyond measure, then go and live above 
 ground and underground in Flanders for two months 
 on end in winter ; then, perhaps, you will under- 
 stand a Uttle of my good spirits. 
 
 It was quite dark when we arrived. Then for 
 three and a half hours we waited in a meadow out- 
 side the station, arms piled, the men sitting about 
 on their waterproof sheets. Meanwhile the trans- 
 port detrained, a lengthy business. Tea was pro- 
 duced from those marvellous field-kitchens. The 
 night was cold, though, and it was too damp to 
 sit down. For hours we stood about, tired. Then 
 came the news that our six-mile march would be
 
 REST 67 
 
 more like double six ; that the billets had been 
 altered ! ... At half-past twelve we marched off. 
 It was starUght, but pretty dark. Eighteen miles 
 we marched, reaching Montagne at half-past seven ; 
 every man was in full marching kit, and most of 
 them carried sandbagfuls of extras. It was a big 
 effort, especially as the men had done nothing in 
 the nature of a long march for months. Well I 
 remember it — the tired silence, the steady tramp, 
 along the interminable road. Sometimes' the band 
 would strike up for a little, but even bands tire, 
 and cannot play continuously. Mile after mile of 
 hard road, and then the hedges would spring up 
 into houses, and from the opened windows would 
 gaze down awakened women. Hardly ever was a 
 hght shown in any house. Then the village would 
 be left behind, and men shifted their packs and 
 exchanged a sand-bag, unslung a rifle from one 
 shoulder to the other, and settled down to another 
 stretch, wondering if the next village would be 
 the last. 
 
 So it went on interminably all through the winter 
 night. Once we halted in a village, and I sat on 
 a doorstep with O'Brien discussing methods of 
 keeping our eyes open. Edwards had been riding 
 the horse, and had nearly tumbled off asleep. At 
 another halt, half-way up a hill, I discovered a 
 box of beef lozenges and distributed it among No. 6 
 platoon. All the last ten miles I was carrying a 
 rifle and a sand-bag. Sergeant Callaghan had the
 
 68 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 same, besides all his own kit. Sergeant Andrews 
 kept on as steady as a rock. There were falterers, 
 but we kept them in ; only in the last two miles 
 did one or two drop out. And all the while I was 
 elated beyond measure ; partly at seeing men like 
 Ginger Joe, with his dry wit flashing, and Tudor, 
 with his stolid power ; but partly, too, at the 
 climb uphill, the swing down, mysterious woods, 
 and the unmistakable trunks of pines. And all 
 the time we were steadily climbing ; we must be 
 upon a regular tableland. 
 
 Dawn broke, and it got lighter and lighter — and 
 so we entered Montagne. The quartermaster had 
 had a nice job billeting at 2.0 a.m., but he had done 
 it, and the men dropped on to their straw, into 
 outhouses, anywhere. The accommodation seemed 
 small and bad, but that could be arranged later. 
 To get the men in, that was the main thing. One 
 old woman fussed terribly, and the men looked like 
 bayoneting her ! We soon got the men in some- 
 how. Then for our own billets. We agreed to have 
 a scratch breakfast as soon as it could be procured. 
 Meanwhile I went to the end of the village and 
 found myself on the edge of the tableland ; before 
 me was spread out a great valley, with a poplar- 
 lined road flung right across it ; villages were 
 dotted about ; there were woods, and white ribbon 
 by-roads. And over it all glowed the slant morning 
 sun. I was on the edge of a chalky plateau ; it 
 was all just as I had imagined. I slept from 11.
 
 REST 69 
 
 a.m. to 7.0 p.m., when I got up for a meal at which 
 we were all short-tempered ! And at 9.0 p.m. 
 I retired again to sleep till 7.0 next morning. 
 
 Montagne — How shall I be able to create a picture 
 of Montagne ? As I look back at all those eight 
 months, the whole adventure seems unreal, a dream ; 
 yet somehow those first few days in the httle village 
 had for me a dream-hke quahty, unlike any other 
 time. I think that then I felt that I was living in 
 an unreahty ; whereas at other times life was real 
 enough ; and it is only now, afterwards, that these 
 days are gradually melting through distance into 
 dreams. At any rate, if the next few pages are 
 dull to the reader, let him try and weave into them 
 a sort of fairy glamour, and imagine a kind of spell 
 cast over everything in which people moved as in 
 a dream. 
 
 First, there was the country itself. The next 
 day (after a day's sleep and a night's on top of it) 
 was, if I remember right, rather wet, and we had 
 kit inspection in billets, and tried to eke out the 
 hours by gas-helmet drill, and arm-drill in squads 
 distributed about the various farmyards and barns. 
 Then Captain Dixon decided to take the company 
 out on a short route march, and as it was raining 
 very steadily we took half the company with two 
 waterproof sheets per man. One sheet was thrown 
 round the shoulders in the usual way ; the other 
 was tied kilt-wise round the waist. The result was 
 an effective rainproof, if unmiUtary-looking dress !
 
 70 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 We set off and soon came to a large wood with a 
 broad ride through it. 
 
 Along this ride we marched, two-deep now, and 
 I at the rear as second-in-command. Here I felt 
 most strongly that strange glamour of unreality. 
 It was but three months ago, and I was in the heart 
 of Wales, yet such was the effect of a few months 
 that I looked on everything with the most exuberant 
 sense of novelty. The rain-beads on the red-brown 
 birch trees ; the ivy ; the oaks ; the strange still- 
 ness in the thick wood after the gusts of wind and 
 slashes of rain ; especially the sounds — chattering 
 jays, invisible peeping birds, the squelching of boots 
 on a wet grass track — everything reminded me of 
 a past world that seemed immeasurably distant, 
 of past winters that had been completely forgotten. 
 Then we emerged into a wide clearing along the 
 edge of the wood, full of stunted gorse and junipers. 
 Long coarse grass grew in tussocks that matted 
 under foot ; and now I could see the whole com- 
 pany straggling along in front of me, slipping and 
 sliding about on the wet grass in their curious kilt- 
 like costumes, some of which were now showing 
 signs of uneasiness and tending to slip in rings to 
 the ground. Everyone was very pleased with life. 
 A halt was called at length, and while officers dis- 
 cussed buying shot-guns at Amiens, or stalking the 
 wily hare with a revolver, Tommy, I have reason 
 to believe, was planning more effective means of 
 snaring Brer rabbit. Next day in orders appeared
 
 REST 71 
 
 an extract from corps orders re prohibition of poach- 
 ing and destruction of game. It was all part of 
 the dream that we were surprised, almost shocked, 
 at this unwarranted exhibition of property rights ! 
 Not that there was much game about, anyhow. 
 
 The next day we did an advance guard scheme, 
 down in the plain. It was a crisp winter day, and 
 I remember the great view from the top of the hill, 
 on the edge of the plateau as you leave Montagne. 
 It was all mapped out, with its hedgeless fields, 
 its curUng white roads, and its few dark triangles 
 and polygons of fir woods. But we had not long 
 to see it, for we came into observation then (so 
 this dream game pretended !) and were soon in 
 extended order working our way along over the 
 plain. It all came back to one, this " open warfare " 
 business, the advancing in short rushes, the flurried 
 messages from excited officers to stolid platoon- 
 sergeants, the taking cover, the fire-orders, the 
 rattling of the bolts, the lying on the belly in a 
 ploughed field ; and yes ! the spectator, old man 
 or woman, gazing in stupid amazement at the 
 khaki figures rushing over his fields. Then came 
 the assault, bayonets fixed, and the C.O.'s whistle, 
 ending the game for that day. " Game," that was 
 it : it is all a game, and when you get tired you 
 go home to a good meal, and discuss the humour 
 of it, and probably have a pow-wow in the evening 
 in which the O.C. " A " is asked why he went off 
 to the left, the real answer being that he lost
 
 72 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 direction badly, but the actual answer given ex- 
 plaining the subtlety of a detour round a piece of 
 dead ground ! Which is the dream ? this, or the 
 mud-slogging in the trenches and the interminable 
 nights ? 
 
 For, every night we went to bed ! Think of it ! 
 Every night ! Always that bed, that silence, that 
 priceless privacy of sleep ! I had a rather cold 
 ground-floor billet with a door that would not shut ; 
 yet it was worth any of your beds at home ! And 
 I should be here for a month, perhaps six weeks ! 
 I wrote for my basin and stand, for books, for all 
 sorts of things. I felt I could accumulate, and 
 spread myself. It was Uke home after hotels ! 
 For always we had been moving, moving ; even 
 our six days out were often in two or even three 
 different billets. 
 
 So, too, with our mess. The dream here consisted 
 of a jolly little parlour that was the envy of all 
 the other company messes. As usual, the rooms 
 led into one another, the kitchen into the parlour, 
 the parlour into a bedroom ; I might almost con- 
 tinue, and say the bedroom into a bed ! For the 
 four-poster, when curtained off, is a little room in 
 itself. It was a good billet, but best of all was 
 Madame herself. Suffice it to say she would not 
 take a penny for use of crockery ; and she would 
 insist on us making full use of everything ; she 
 allowed all our cooking to be done in her kitchen ; 
 and on cold nights she would insist on our servants
 
 REST 73 
 
 sitting in the kitchen, though that was her only 
 sitting-room. Often have I come in about seven 
 o'clock to fmd our dinner frizzling merrily on the 
 fire under the supervision of Gray, the cook, while 
 Madame sat humbly in the corner eating a frugal 
 supper of bread and milk, before retiring to her 
 little room upstairs. Ah, Madame ! there are many 
 who have done what you have done, but few, I 
 think, more graciously. If we tried to thank her 
 for some extra kindness, she had always the same 
 reply " You are welcome, M. I'Officier. I have 
 heard the guns, and the Germans passed through 
 Amiens ; if it were not for the English, where 
 should we be to-day ? " 
 
 So we settled down for our " rest," for long 
 field days, lectures after tea, football matches, and 
 week-ends ; I wrote for my Field Service Regula- 
 tions, and rubbed up my knowledge of outposts 
 and visual training. But scarcely had I been a 
 week at Montague when off I went suddenly, on a 
 Sunday morning, to the Third Army School. I 
 had been told my name was down for it, a few days 
 before, but I had forgotten all about it, when I 
 received instructions to bicycle off with Sergeant 
 Roberts ; my kit and servant to follow in a Hmber. 
 I had no idea what the " Third Army School " 
 was, but with " note-book, pencil, and protractor " 
 I cycled off at ii.o a.m. " to fields and pastures 
 new." 
 
 Most people, I imagine, have had the following
 
 74 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 experience. They have a great interest in some 
 particular subject, yet they have somehow not got 
 the key to it. They regret that they were never 
 taught the elements of it at school ; or it is some 
 new science or interest that has arisen since their 
 schooldays, such as flying or motoring. They are 
 really ashamed of asking questions ; and all books 
 on the subject are technical and presuppose just 
 that elementary knowledge that the interested 
 amateur does not possess. Then suddenly he 
 comes on a book with those delicious phrases in 
 the preface promising " to avoid all technical 
 details," apologising for " what may seem almost 
 childishly elementary," and containing at the end 
 an expert bibliography. These are the books 
 written by very wise and very kind men, and 
 because they are worth so much they usually cost 
 least of all ! 
 
 Such was my delightful experience at the Army 
 School. I will confess to a terrible ignorance of 
 my profession — I did not know how many brigades 
 made up a division ; " the artillery " were to me 
 vague people whom the company commander rang 
 up on the telephone, and who appeared in gaiters in 
 Bethune ; a bomb was a thing I avoided with a 
 peculiar aversion ; and as to the general conduct 
 of the war I was the most ignorant of pawns. The 
 wildest things were said about Loos ; the Daily 
 Mail had just heard of the Fokker, and I had not 
 the remotest idea whether we were hopelessly out-
 
 REST 75 
 
 classed in the air, or whether perhaps after all 
 there were people " up top " who were not so 
 surprised or disconcerted at the appearance of the 
 Fokker as the Northcliffe Press. Moreover, I had 
 been impressed with the reiteration of my CO., 
 that my battalion was the finest in the Army, 
 and that my division was likewise the best. Yet 
 I had always felt that there were other good 
 battahons, and that " K.'s Army " was, to say the 
 least of it, in a considerable majority when com- 
 pared with the contemptible Httle original which 
 I had had the luck to join ! 
 
 Imagine my delight, then, at finding myself one 
 of over a hundred captains and senior subalterns 
 representing their various battahons. Regulars, 
 Territorials, and Kitcheners, we were all there 
 together ; one's vision widened like that of a boy 
 first going to school. Here at least was a great 
 opportunity, if only the staff was good. And any 
 doubt on that question was instantly set at rest 
 by the Commandant's opening address, explaining 
 that the instructors were all picked men with a 
 large experience in this war, that in the previous 
 month's course mostly subalterns had been sent and 
 this time it had been the aim to secure captains 
 only (oh ! balm in Gilead this !) and that apologies 
 were due if some of the lectures and instructions 
 were elementary ; that bombing experts, for 
 instance, must not mind if the bombing course 
 started right at the very beginning, as it had been
 
 76 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 found in the previous course that it was wrong to 
 presume any military knowledge to be the common 
 possession of all officers in the school. Those who 
 understood my simile of the expert's kind book to 
 the amateur will understand that there were few 
 of us who did not welcome such a promising bill 
 of fare. 
 
 I do not intend to say much about the instruc- 
 tion at the Army School — a good deal of what I 
 learnt there is unconsciously embodied in the rest 
 of this book — but it is the spirit of the place that 
 I want to record. I can best describe it as the 
 opposite of what is generally known as academic. 
 Theories and text-books about the war were at a 
 discount : here were men who had been through 
 the fire, every phase of it. It was not a question 
 of opinions, but of facts. This came out most 
 clearly in discussions after the lectures ; a point 
 would be raised about advancing over the open : 
 " We attacked at St. Julien over open ground 
 under heavy fire, and such and such a thing was 
 our experience " would at once come out from 
 someone. And there was no scoring of debating 
 points ! We were all out to pool our knowledge 
 and experience all the time. 
 
 The Commandant inspired in everyone a most 
 tremendous enthusiasm. His lectures on " Morale " 
 were the finest I have ever heard anywhere. " Put 
 yourself in your men's position on every occasion ; 
 continually think for them, give them the best
 
 REST 77 
 
 possible time, be in the best spirits always ; " " long 
 faces " were anathema ! No one can forget his 
 tale of the doctor who never laughed, and whom 
 he put in a barn and taiiglit him how to ! " ' Hail 
 fellow well met ' to all other officers and regiments " 
 was another of his great points. " Give 'em a 
 d — d good lunch — a d — d good lunch." " Get a 
 good mess going." " Ask your Brigadier into lunch 
 in the trenches : make him come in." " Concerts ? 
 — plenty of concerts in billets." " An extra tot of 
 rum to men coming off patrol." All this was a 
 " good show." But long faces, inhospitality, men 
 not cheerful and singing, officers not seeing that their 
 men get their dinners, after getting into billets, 
 before getting their own ; officers supervising 
 working-parties by sitting under haystacks instead 
 of going about cheering the men ; brigadiers not 
 knowing their officers ; poor lunches — all these 
 things were a " bad show, a d — d bad show ! " 
 These lectures were full of the most dehcious 
 anecdotes and thriUing stories, and backed up by 
 a huge enthusiasm and a most emphatic practice 
 of his preaching. We had a concert every Wednes- 
 day, and every Saturday the four motor-buses took 
 the officers into Amiens, and the sergeants on 
 Sundays — week-ends were in fact " good shows." 
 Then there were the lectures. The second week, 
 for instance, was a succession of lectures on the 
 Battle of Loos. These lectures used to take place 
 after tea, and the discussion usually lasted till
 
 78 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 dinner. First was a lecture by an infantry major 
 of the Seventh Division (who needless to say had 
 been very much in it !). Then followed one by 
 an artillery officer, giving his version of it ; then 
 followed an R.E. officer. There was nothing hidden 
 away in a corner. It was all facts, facts, facts. 
 An enlarged map of our own and the German 
 trenches was most fascinating to us who had for 
 the most part never handled one before. I remember 
 the Major's description of the fighting in the 
 Quarries ; it was one of the most vivid bits of 
 narrative I have ever heard. Then there were other 
 fascinating lectures — Captain Jefferies, the big 
 game hunter, on Sniping : the Commandant again 
 on Patrol work and discipHne, and Dealing with 
 prisoners : two lectures from the Royal Flying 
 Corps, perhaps most fascinating of all. 
 
 We drilled hard with rifles : we took a bombing 
 course and threw live bombs : we went through 
 the gas, and had a big demonstration with smoke 
 bombs : we went to a squadron of the R.F.C., 
 inspected the sheds, saw the aeroplanes, and had 
 anything we liked explained : we went out in 
 motor-buses and carried out schemes of attack and 
 defence : we did outpost schemes : drew maps : 
 dug trenches and revetted them. In short, there 
 was very little we did not do at the School. 
 
 It was, in fact, a " good show." The School was 
 in a big white chateau on the main road — a new 
 house built by the owner of a factory. The village
 
 REST 79 
 
 really lies like a sediment at the bottom of a basin, 
 with houses clustering and scrambling up the sides 
 along the high road running out of it east and west, 
 getting thinner and fewer up the hill, to disappear 
 altogether on the tableland. The jute factory was 
 working hard night and day : we used to have 
 hot baths in the long wooden troughs that are used 
 for dyeing long rolls of matting, and I know no 
 hot baths to equal those forty-footers ! 
 
 Needless to say, we took advantage of our com- 
 mandant's arrangement for free 'bus rides into 
 Amiens every Saturday. Christmas Day falhng on 
 a Saturday, we all had a Christmas dinner at the 
 Hotel de TUnivers. This, needless to say, was a 
 " good show." It was a pity, though, that turkey 
 had been insisted on, as turkey with salad, minus 
 sausages, bread-sauce, and brussels sprouts did not 
 seem somehow the real thing ; the chef had jibbed 
 at sausages especially ! Better at Rome to have 
 done completely as Rome does. After all we cannot 
 give the French much advice in cooking or in war. 
 Otherwise the dinner was good, and unhke our 
 folk at home we had a merry Christmas. 
 
 Of course I went to see the Cathedral that Ruskin 
 has claimed to be the most perfect building in the 
 world ; indeed, each Saturday found me there ; 
 for like all true beauty the edifice does not attract 
 merely by novelty but satisfies the far truer test 
 of familiarity. Yet I confess to a thrill on first 
 entering that dream in stone, which could not come
 
 80 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 a second time. For down in the mud I had for- 
 gotten, in the obsession of the present, man's dreams 
 and aspirations for the future. Now, here again 
 I was in touch with eternal things that wars do 
 not affect. I remember once at Malvern we had 
 been groping and choking in a thick fog all day ; 
 then someone suggested a walk, and three of us 
 ventured out and cUmbed the Beacon. Half-way 
 up the fog began to thin, and soon we emerged 
 into a clear sunshine. Below lay all the plain 
 wrapped in a great level blanket of white fog ; 
 here and there the top of a tall tree or a small 
 hill protruded its head out of the mist and seemed 
 to be laughing at its poor hidden companions ; 
 and in a cloudless blue the sun was smiling at 
 mankind below who had forgotten his very existence. 
 So in Amiens Cathedral I used to get my head out 
 of the thick fog of war for a time, and in that 
 stately silence recover my vision of the sun. 
 
 The cathedral is a building full of all the fresh- 
 ness of spring. I was at vespers there on Christmas 
 afternoon, and was then impressed by the wonderful 
 hghtness of the building : so often there is gloom 
 in a cathedral, that gives a heavy feeling. But 
 Amiens Cathedral is perfectly Ughted, and in the 
 east window glows a blue that reminded me of 
 viper's bugloss in a Swiss meadow. My imagina- 
 tion flew back to the building of the cathedral, 
 and to the brain that conceived it, and beyond 
 that again to the tradition that through long years
 
 REST 81 
 
 moulded the conception ; and behind all to the 
 idea, the ultimate birth of this perfect creation. 
 And one seemed to be straining almost beyond 
 humanity, to see the first spring flowers looking up 
 in wonder at the sky. The stately pillars were 
 man's aspiration towards his Creator, the floating 
 music his attempt at praise. 
 
 Yet it was only as I left the building that I 
 found the key to the full understanding of this 
 perfect expression of an idea. Round the chancel 
 is a set of bas-rehefs depicting a saint labouring 
 among his people. But what people ! They live, 
 they speak ! The relief is so deep, that some of 
 the figures are almost in the round, and several 
 come outside the slabs altogether. They are the 
 people of mediaeval Amiens ; they are the very 
 people who were living in the town while their 
 great cathedral rose stone by stone to be the wonder 
 of their city, the pride of all Picardy, Almost 
 grotesque in their vivid humanity, they are the 
 same people who walk outside the cathedral to-day. 
 The master-artist, greater in his dreams than his 
 fellow men, was yet blessed with that divine sense 
 of humour that made him love them for their quaint 
 smallnesses ! So in Amiens I felt a double inspira- 
 tion : there was man's offering of his noblest and 
 most beautiful to his Creator, and there was also 
 the reminder, in the saint among the Amiens 
 populace, that God's answer was not a proud bend 
 of the head as He deigned to accept the offering 
 6
 
 82 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 of poor little man, but a coming down among 
 them, a claiming of equality with them, even 
 though they refuse still to reaHse their divinity, 
 and choose to live in a self-made suffering and to 
 degrade themselves in a fog of war. 
 
 All too quickly the month went by. The enthu- 
 siasm and interest of everybody grew in a steady 
 crescendo, and no one, I am sure, will ever forget 
 the impression left by the Major-General who was 
 deputed to come and " tell us one or two things " 
 from the General Staff. In a quiet voice, with a 
 quiet smile, he compared our position with that 
 of a year ago ; told us facts about our numbers 
 compared with the enemy's ; our guns compared 
 with his ; the real position in the air, the temporary 
 superiority of the Fokker that would vanish com- 
 pletely and finally in a month or so ; in everything 
 we were now superior except heavy trench-mortars, 
 and in a month or so we should have a big supply 
 of them too, and a d — d sight heavier ! And we 
 could afford to wait. One got the impression that 
 all our grousings and doubtings were completely 
 out of date, that up at the top now was a unity 
 of command that had thought everything out and 
 could afford to wait. Later on I forgot this impres- 
 sion, but I remember it so well now. Even through 
 Verdun we could afford to wait. We had all the 
 cards now. There was a sort of breathless silence 
 throughout this quiet speech. And when it ended 
 with a " Good luck to you, gentlemen," there was
 
 REST 88 
 
 applause ; but one's chief desire was to go outside 
 and shout. It was a bonfire mood : best of all 
 would have been a bonfire of Daily Mails ! 
 
 We returned to our units on Sunday, 9th January, 
 1916, by motor-bus, which conveyed us some sixty 
 or seventy miles, when we were dropped, Sergeant 
 Roberts, myself, and Lewis, my servant. Leaving 
 Lewis with my vaUse, we walked in the moonlight 
 up to Montague, where I got the transport officer 
 to send a limber for my valise. " O'Brien on leave " 
 was the first thing I grasped, as I tried to acclimatise 
 myself to my surroundings. Leave ! My three 
 months was up, so I ought to get leave myself in 
 a week or so ; in a few days in fact. My first 
 leave ! The next week was rosy from the prospect. 
 My second impression was like that of a poet full 
 of a great sunset and trying to adjust himself to 
 the dry unimaginative remarks of the rest of the 
 community who have relegated sunsets to perdition 
 during dinner. For every one was so dull ! They 
 groused, they mahgned the Staff, they were pessi- 
 mistic, they were ignorant, oh ! profoundly 
 ignorant ; they were in fact in a state of not 
 having seen a vision ! I could not beheve then 
 that the time would come when I, too, should 
 forget the vision, and fix my eyes on the mud ! 
 Still, for the moment, I was immensely surprised, 
 though I was not such a fool as to start at once 
 on a general reform of everyone, starting with the 
 Brigadier. For under the Commandant's influence
 
 84 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 one felt ready to tell off the Brigadier, if he didn't 
 get motor-'buses to take your men to a divisional 
 concert instead of saying the men must march three 
 miles to it. But, as I say, I restrained myself. 
 
 A week of field days, of advance guards and 
 attacks in open order, of battalion drill, company 
 drill, arm-drill, gas-helmet drill ; lectures in the 
 school in the evening, and running drill before 
 breakfast. Yet all the time I felt chafing to get 
 back into the firing-line. I felt so much better 
 equipped to command my men. I wanted to 
 practise all my new ideas. Then my leave came 
 through. 
 
 Leave " comes through " in the following manner. 
 The lucky man receives an envelope from the 
 orderly room, in the corner of which is written 
 " Leave." Inside is an " A " Form (Army Form 
 C 2121) with this magic inscription : " Please note 
 
 you will take charge of other ranks proceeding 
 
 on leave to-morrow morning, 17th inst. They will 
 parade outside orderly room at 7.0 a.m. sharp." 
 Then follow instructions as to where to meet the 
 'bus. " Take charge ! " If you blind-folded those 
 fellows they would find their way somehow by 
 the quickest route to Blighty ! The officer is then 
 an impossible person to live with. He is con- 
 tinually jumping about, upsetting everybody, getting 
 sandwiches, and discussing England, looking at the 
 paper to see " What's on " in town, talking, being 
 unnecessarily bright and cheery. He is particularly
 
 REST 85 
 
 offensive in the eyes of the man just come back 
 from leave. Still, it is his day ; abide with him 
 until he clears off ! So they abode with me until 
 the evening, and next morning Oliver and I started 
 off in the darkness with our four followers. As we 
 left the village it was just beginning to Hghten a 
 little, and we met the drums just turning out, cold 
 and sleepy. As we sprang down the hill, leaving 
 Montague behind us, faintly through the dawn we 
 heard reveill6 rousing our unfortunate comrades to 
 another Monday morning ! 
 
 Then came the long, long journey that nobody 
 minds really, though every one grumbles at it. 
 
 At B an hour's halt for omelettes and coffee 
 
 and bread and jam, while the Y.M.C.A. stall supplied 
 
 tea and buns innumerable. B will be a station 
 
 known for all time to thousands. " Do you remem- 
 ber B ? " we shall ask each other. " Oh ! yes. 
 
 Good omelettes one got there." Then the port, 
 and fussy R.T.O's again. Why make a fuss, when 
 everyone is magnetised towards the boat ? Under 
 the hght of a blazing gas-jet squirting from a 
 pendant ball, we crossed the gangway. 
 
 There were men of old time who fell on their 
 native earth and kissed it, on returning after exile. 
 We did not kiss the boards of Southampton pier-head, 
 but we understood the spirit that inspired that 
 action as we steamed quietly along the Solent over
 
 86 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 a grey and violet sea. There were mists that 
 morning, and the Hampshire coast was grey and 
 vague ; but steadily the engine throbbed, and we 
 gUded nearer and nearer, entered Southampton 
 Water, and at last were near enough to see houses 
 and fields and people. People. English women. 
 
 We disembarked. But what dull people to meet 
 us ! Officials and watermen who have seen hundreds 
 of leave-boats arrive — every day in fact ! The last 
 people to be able to respond to your feelings. Still, 
 what does it matter ? There is the train, and an 
 English First ! Some one started to run for one, 
 and in a moment we were all running ! . . . 
 
 But you have met us on leave.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 ON THE MARCH 
 
 ON this leave I most religiously visited 
 relations and graciously received guests. 
 For one thing, I felt it my duty to dispel 
 all this ignorant pessimism that I found rolling 
 about in large chunks, like the thunder in Alice in 
 Wonderland. I exacted apologies, humble apologies 
 from them. " How can we help it ? " they pleaded. 
 " We have no means of knowing anything except 
 through the papers." 
 
 " No, I suppose you can't help it," I would 
 reply, and forgive them from my throne of optimism. 
 Eight days passed easily enough. 
 
 After dinner sometimes comes indigestion : people 
 enjoy the one and not the other. So after leave 
 comes the return from leave, the one in Tommy- 
 French bon, the other no ban. I hope I do not 
 offend by calling the state of the latter a mental 
 indigestion ! It was with a kind of fierce joy that 
 we threw out our bully and biscuits to the crowds 
 of French children who lined the railway banks 
 crying out, " Bullee-beef," " Biskeet." The custom 
 of supplying these rations on the leave train has 
 
 87
 
 88 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 long since been discontinued now, but in those 
 days the little beggars used to know the time of 
 the train to a nicety, and must have made a good 
 trade of it. 
 
 As soon as I got back to Montague I heard a 
 " move " was in the air, and I was delighted. I was 
 fearfully keen to get back into the firing-line again. 
 I was full of life, and in the mood for adventure. 
 I started a diary. Here are some extracts. 
 
 " 29th January, 191 6. Lewis (my servant) 
 brought in a bucket of water this morning which 
 contained 10% of mud. As the mud dribbled 
 on to the green canvas of my bath during the end 
 of the pouring, he saw it for the first time. Ap- 
 parently the well is running dry. . . . He managed 
 to get some clean water at length and I had a great 
 bath. Madame asked me as I went in to breakfast 
 why I whistled getting up that morning. I tried 
 to explain that I was in good spirits. It was an 
 exhilarating morning ; outside was a great cawing of 
 rooks, and the slant sunlight lit up everything with 
 a rich colour ; the mouldy green on the twigs of 
 the apple trees was a joy to see. Later in the day 
 I noticed how all this delicious morning light had 
 gone. 
 
 "7 p.m. Orders have just come in for the move 
 to-morrow. Loading party at 6.0 a.m. under 
 Edwards, who is inwardly fed up but outwardly 
 quite pleased. Valises to be ready by 6.45 a.m. 
 Dixon grouses as usual at orders coming in late.
 
 ON THE MARCH 89 
 
 These moves always try the tempers of all concerned. 
 O'Brien and Edwards are now on the rustle, collect- 
 ing kit. We have accumulated rather a lot of 
 papers, books, tins of ration, tobacco, etc." 
 
 Madame was genuinely sorry to see us go. We 
 gave her a large but beautiful ornament for her 
 mantelpiece, suitably inscribed. The dear soul was 
 overwhehned, and drew cider from a cellar hitherto 
 unknown to us, which she pressed on our servants 
 as well as on us. We made the fellows drink it, 
 though they were not very keen on it ! 
 
 " 30 Jan., 1916. Montague — Vaux-en-Amienois. 
 I found myself suddenly detailed as O.C. rear party, 
 in lieu of Edwards, who has to remain in Montague 
 and hand over to the incoming battalion. At 9.30 
 three A.S.C. lorries arrived, and we loaded up. I 
 had about forty men for the job. It was good to see 
 these boys heaving up rolls of many-coloured 
 blankets, which filled nearly two lorries ; the third 
 was packed with a mixture of boilers, dixies, brooms, 
 spades, lamps, etc. The leather and skin waist- 
 coats had to be left behind for a second journey : 
 I left the shoemaker-sergeant and four men with 
 these to await the return of one of the lorries. As 
 we worked a fog rolled up, which was to stay all day. 
 Edwards meanwhile saw to it that all the odd coal 
 and wood left at the transport was taken to our good 
 Madame ; this much annoyed the groups of women 
 who peered like vultures from the doorways, ready
 
 90 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 to squabble over the pickings as soon as the last of 
 us had departed. 
 
 Farewell to Montagne. All the fellows were dull. 
 Even Sawyer the smiling, who had been prominent 
 with his cheery face in the loading-up, was silent 
 and dull. No life. No spirit. A mournful lot, save 
 for the plum-pudding dog that galloped ahead and 
 on either flank, smelling and pouncing and tossing 
 his mongrel ears in delight. He belonged to one 
 of the men, a gift from a warm-hearted daughter 
 of France. 
 
 A dull lot, I say. I rallied them. I persuaded. 
 I whistled, hoping to put a tune into their dull 
 hearts ; and as we swung downhill into Riencourt 
 they began to sing. It was but a sorry thin sort of 
 singing though, like a winter sunshine ; there was 
 no power behind it, no joy, no spontaneity. Sud- 
 denly, however, as we came into the village, there 
 was a company of the Warwicks falling in, and 
 everyone sang like fury. Baker, one of the last 
 draft, was the moving spirit. But he is young to 
 this life, and later on, when the fog had entered 
 their souls again, he said he could not well sing with 
 a pack on. Yet is not that the very time to sing, is 
 not that the very virtue of singing, the conquest 
 of the poor old body by the indomitable spirit ? 
 
 It was a fifteen-mile march. At the third halt 
 I gave half an hour for the eating of bread and 
 cheese. Then was the hour of the plum-pudding 
 hound ; also appeared a sort of Newfoundland
 
 ON THE MARCH 91 
 
 collie, very big in the hind-quarters, and very dirty 
 as well as ill-bred. Between them they made rich 
 harvest of crusts and cheese. We sat on a bank 
 along the road, but after half an hour we were all 
 getting cold in the raw air, and I fell them in again, 
 and we got on our way. Soon they warmed up 
 and whistled and sang for a quarter of an hour ; 
 then silence returned, and eyes turned to the ground 
 again. This march began to tell on the older men. 
 Halford fell out, and I sent Corporal Dewey to bring 
 him along, hastily scribbling the name of our 
 destination on a shp torn from my field-message 
 book, and giving it to him. Then Riley fell out, 
 and Flynn. I began to dread the appearance of 
 Sergeant Hayman from the rear, to tell me of some 
 one else. They were men, these, who had been 
 employed on various jobs ; the older and weaker 
 men. There was no skrim-shanking, for there was 
 no Red Cross cart behind us. But no one else fell 
 out ; the pace was steady and they were as fit as 
 anything, these fellows. Then happened an inci- 
 dent. We had just turned off the main Amiens 
 road, and come to a forked road. I halted a moment 
 to make sure of the way by the map, and while I did 
 so apparently some sergeant from a regiment 
 billeted in the village there told Sergeant Hayman 
 that the battalion had taken the left road. The way 
 was to the right, and as I struck up a steep hill, 
 Sergeant Hayman ran up and told me the battahon 
 (which had started nearly two hours before us)
 
 92 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 had gone to the left. ' I'm going to the right, ser- 
 geant,' said I. And the sergeant returned to the 
 rear. Up, up, up. Grind, grind, grind. I began to 
 hear signs of doubt behind. ' Did you hear that ? 
 Said the battahon went t'other way,' and so on. 
 ' Ain't 'e got a map all right ? ' from a beHever. 
 ' Three kilos more,' I said at the next stop. But 
 some of the fellows had got it into their heads, I 
 could see, that we were wrong. I studied the map ; 
 there was no doubt we were all right. Yet a mis- 
 take would be calamitous, as the men were very 
 
 done. Ah ! a kilo-stone ! ' Two kilos to ,' a 
 
 place not named on the map at all. This gave me 
 a qualm ; and behind came the usual mispro- 
 nunciations of this annoying village on the stone. 
 But lo ! on the left came a turning as per map. 
 Round we swung, downhill, and suddenly we were 
 in a village. Another qualm as I saw it full of Jocks. 
 The doubters were just beginning to reahse this 
 fact, when we turned another corner, and almost 
 fell on top of the CO. ! In five minutes we were 
 in billets. . . ." 
 
 The next day we marched to the village of Quer- 
 rieux. There I heard the guns again after two 
 months. 
 
 "31st January. This evening was full of the 
 walking tour spirit, the spirit of good company. 
 We were billeted at a farmhouse, and the farmer
 
 ON THE MARCH 98 
 
 showed Captain Dixon and me all round his farm. 
 He was full of pride in everything ; of his horses first 
 of all. There were three in the first stable, sleek and 
 strong ; then we saw la mere, a beautiful mare in 
 foal ; then lastly there was ' Piccaninny,' a yearUng. 
 All the stables were spotlessly clean, and the animals 
 well kept. But to see him with his lambs was best 
 of all. The ewes were feeding from racks that ran 
 all along both sides of the sheds, and his lantern 
 showed two long rows of level backs, solid and uni- 
 form and dull ; while in the middle of the shed 
 was a jocund company of close-cropped lambs, 
 frisking, pushing, jostling, or pulHng at their dams ; 
 as lively and naughty a crew as you could imagine. 
 ' Ah ! voleur,' cried our friend, picking up a lamb 
 that was stealing a drink from the wrong tap, and 
 pointing to its dam at the other end of the shed ; he 
 fondled and stroked it like a puppy, making us 
 hold it, and assuring us it was not mediant ! 
 
 At 7.0 we had our dinner in the kitchen. The 
 farmer, his wife, and the domestique (a manservant, 
 whose history I will tell in a few minutes) had just 
 finished, and were going to clear off ; but we asked 
 them to stay and let us drink their health in whiskey 
 and soda. The farmer said this was wont to make 
 the domestique go ' zigzag ' ; for himself, he would 
 drink, not for the inherent pleasure of the whiskey, 
 which was a strong drink to which he was unused, 
 he being of the land of light wines, but to give us 
 pleasure ! So the usual healths were given in
 
 94 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 Old Orkney and Perrier. Then we were told the 
 history of the domestique, which brought one very 
 close to the spirit in which France is fighting. He 
 had eight children in Peronne, barely ten miles the 
 other side of the line. Called up in September, 1914, 
 he was in the trenches until March, 1915, when he 
 was released on account of his eight children. But 
 by then the living line had set between them in 
 steel and blood, and never a word yet has he heard 
 of his wife and eight children, the youngest of whom 
 he left nine days old ! There are times when our 
 cause seems clouded with false motives ; but there 
 seemed no doubt on this score to-night, as we 
 watched this man in his own land, creeping up, as 
 it were, as near as possible to his wife and children 
 and home, and yet barred from his own village, and 
 without the knowledge even that his own dear ones 
 were alive. The farmer told us he had gone half 
 crazed. Yet he had a fine face, though furrowed 
 with deep lines down his forehead. ' Ten minutes 
 in the yard with the Germans — ah ! what would 
 he do ! ' And vividly he drew his hand across his 
 throat. But the Germans would never go back : 
 that was another of his opinions. No wonder he 
 told us he doubted the hon Diat : no wonder he 
 sometimes went zigzag. 
 
 The farmer was well educated, and had very in- 
 telligent views on the war ; one son was a captain ; 
 the other was also serving in some capacity. The 
 wife made us good coffee, but got very sleepy. I
 
 ON THE MARCH 95 
 
 learnt she rose every morning at 4.0 a.m. to milk 
 the cows. 
 
 To-night wc can hear the guns. There seems a 
 considerable liveHness at several parts of the line, 
 and strange rumours of the Germans breaking 
 through, which I do not believe. To-morrow we 
 shall be within the shell-zone again." 
 
 " Feb. ist. To-day we marched to Morlancourt 
 and are spending the night in huts. It is very cold, 
 and we have a brazier made out of a biscuit tin, 
 but it smokes abominably. We are busy getting 
 trench-kit ready for the next day. From outside the 
 hut I can see star-lights, and hear machine-guns 
 tapping. It thrills like the turning up of the foot- 
 lights." 
 
 And it was a long act. The curtain did not fall 
 till June.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE BOIS FRANQAIS TRENCHES 
 
 THIS is a chapter of maps, diagrams, and 
 technicalities. There are people, I know, 
 who do not want maps, to whom maps 
 convey practically nothing. These people can skip 
 this chapter, and (from their point of view) they 
 will lose nothing. The main interest of life lies in 
 what is done and thought, and it does not much 
 matter exactly where these acts and thoughts take 
 place. Maps are like anatomy : to some people it 
 is of absorbing interest to know where our bones, 
 muscles, arteries and all the rest of our interior 
 lie ; to others these things are of no account what- 
 ever. Yet all are alike interested in human people. 
 And so, quite understanding (I think you are really 
 very romantic in your dislike of maps : you associate 
 them with the duller kind of history, and examina- 
 tion papers !), I bid you mapless ones farewell till 
 page 117, promising you (again) that you shall lose 
 nothing. 
 
 Now to work. We understand each other, we 
 map-lovers. The other folk have gone on to the 
 next chapter, so we can take our time. 
 
 96
 
 r
 
 THE BOIS FRANQAIS TRENCHES 97 
 
 Now look at Map II. The River Ancrc runs down 
 west of the Thiepval ridge, through Albert, and then 
 in a south-westerly course through Mericourt-l'abb^ 
 down to Corbie, where it joins the Somme on its 
 way to Amiens. On each side of the Ancre is high 
 ground of about lOO metres. The high ground 
 between the Ancre and the Somme forms a long 
 tableland. There is no ridge, it is just high fiat 
 country, from three hundred and thirty to three 
 hundred and forty feet, cultivated and hedgeless. 
 Now look at Fricourt. It is a break in this high 
 ground running on the left bank of the Ancre, and 
 this break is caused by a nameless tributary of that 
 river, that joins it just west of Meaulte. And now 
 you will see that this little streamlet was for over 
 a year and a half the cause of much thought and 
 labour to very many men indeed : for this stream 
 formed the valley in which Fricourt lies ; and right 
 across this valley, just south of that unimportant 
 little village, ran for some twenty months or so 
 the Franco-German and later the Anglo-German 
 lines. 
 
 Now look at the dotted line ( ) which repre- 
 sents the trenches. From Thiepval down to Fricourt 
 they run almost due north and south ; then they run 
 up out of the valley on to the high ground at Bois 
 Fran^ais (a small copse, I suppose, once ; I have 
 never discovered any vestige of a tree-stump among 
 the shell-holes), and then abruptly run due east. 
 It is as though someone had appeared suddenly on 
 7
 
 98 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 the corner of the shoulder at Bois Fran9ais, and 
 pushed them off, compeUing them to make a detour. 
 After five miles they manage to regain their direc- 
 tion and run south again. 
 
 It is these trenches at Bois Fran^ais that we held 
 for over four months. I may fairly claim to know 
 every inch of them, I think ! It is obvious that if 
 you are at Bois Frangais, and look north, you have 
 an uninterrupted view not only of both front lines 
 running down into Fricourt valley, but of both 
 lines running up on to the high ground north of 
 Fricourt, and a very fine view indeed of Fricourt 
 itself, and Fricourt wood. It is also quite clear that 
 from their front lines north of Fricourt the Germans 
 had a good view of otir front lines and communica- 
 tions in the valley ; but of Bois Fran^ais and our 
 trenches east of it they had no enfilade view, as all 
 our communications were on the reverse slope of 
 this shoulder of high ground. So as regards observa- 
 tion we were best off. Moreover, whereas they 
 could not possibly see our support lines and com- 
 munications at Bois Frangais, we could get a certain 
 amount of enfilade observation of their trenches 
 opposite from point 8y, where was a work called 
 Boute Redoubt and an artillery observation post. 
 
 The position of the artillery immediately becomes 
 clear, when the lie of the ground is once grasped. 
 For field artillery enfilade fire is far most effective, 
 as the trajectory is lower than that of heavy artillery. 
 That is to say, a whizz-bang (the name given to an
 
 THE BOIS FRANQAIS TRENCHES 99 
 
 i8-lb. shell) more or less skims along the ground 
 and comes at you ; whereas howitzers fire up in 
 the air, and the shell rushes down on top of you. 
 To be exphcit at the risk of boring : — 
 
 If a battery of eighteen-pounders can fire up a 
 trench like this : — 
 
 [a) n=D ~ - _ _ 
 
 it has far more effect against the nine men in that 
 trench than if it fires like this : 
 
 {h) r=o > 
 
 The same apphes of course to howitzers, but as 
 howitzers drop shells down almost perpendicularly, 
 they can be used with great effect traversing along 
 a trench, that is to say, getting the exact range of 
 the trench in sketch (6), and dropping shells methodi- 
 cally from right to left, or left to right, so many to 
 each fire-bay, and dodging about a bit, and going 
 back on to a bit out of turn so that the enemy cannot 
 tell where the next coal-box is coming. Oh ! it is 
 a great game this for the actors, but not for the 
 unwilling audience. 
 
 So you can see now why a battery of field artillery
 
 100 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 was stationed in the gully called Gibraltar, and 
 another just west of Albert (at B) : each of these 
 batteries could bring excellent enfilade fire on to 
 the German trenches. There was another battery 
 that fired from the place I have marked C, and 
 another at D. The howitzers lived in all sorts of 
 secret places, as far back as Morlancourt some of 
 them. One never worried about them. They knew 
 their own business. Once, in June, on our way into 
 the trenches we halted close by a battery at E, 
 and I looked into one of the gun-pits and saw the 
 terrible monster sitting with its long nose in the 
 air. And I saw the great shells (it was a 9-6) waiting 
 in rows. But I felt like an interloper, and fled at 
 the approach of a gunner. All these howitzers you 
 see firing on the Somme films, we never saw or 
 thought about ; only we loved to hear their shells 
 whistHng and " griding " (if there is no such word, 
 I cannot help it : there is an " r " and a " d " in 
 the sound anyway !) over our head, and falling 
 " crump," " crump," " crump " along the German 
 support trenches. There were a lot of batteries in 
 the Bois des Tallies ; the woods were full of them, 
 and grew fuller and fuller. I do not know what they 
 all were. 
 
 As one brigade contains four battalions, we almost 
 invariably had two battahons in the line, and two 
 " in billets." So it was usually " six days in and 
 six days out." During these six days out we also 
 invariably supplied four working-parties per com-
 
 THE BOIS FRANCAIS TRENCHES 101 
 
 pany, which lasted nine hours from the time of 
 falhng in outside company headquarters to dis- 
 missing after marching back. Still, it was " billets." 
 One slept uninterruptedly, and with equipment and 
 boots off. Now we were undeniably lucky in being 
 invariably (from February to June, 1916) billeted 
 in Morlancourt, which, as you can see from the map, 
 is situated in a regular cup with high ground all 
 round it. I have put in the 50-metre contour line 
 to show exactly how the roads all run down into it 
 from every quarter. It was a cosy spot, and a very 
 jolly thing after that long, long weary grind up 
 from Meaulte at the end of a weary six days in, to 
 look down on the snug little village waiting for you 
 below. For once over the hill and " swinging " 
 down into Morlancourt, one became, as it were, 
 cut off from the war suddenly and completely. It 
 was somewhat Uke shutting the door on a stormy 
 night : everything outside was going on just the 
 same, but with it was shut out also a wearing, 
 straining tension of body and mind. 
 
 Yes, we were very lucky in being billeted at Mor- 
 lancourt. It was just too far off to be worth shelling, 
 whereas Bray was shelled regularly almost every 
 day. So was Meaulte. And there were brigades 
 billeted in both Bray and Meaulte. There were 
 troops in tents in the Bois des Tailles, and this too 
 was sometimes shelled. 
 
 Now just look, please, at the two thick lines, 
 which represent alternative routes to the trenches.
 
 102 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 We were always able to relieve by day, thanks to 
 the rolling nature of the country. (Where the line 
 is dotted, this represents a trench.) We always used 
 to go by the route through Meaulte at one time, 
 until they took to sheUing the road at the point I 
 have marked Z ; whether they could see us from 
 an observation post up la-Boiselle way, or whether 
 they spotted us by observation balloon or aeroplane, 
 one cannot say. But latterly we always used the 
 route by the Bois des Tallies and Gibraltar. In 
 both cases we had to cross the high ground S.W. 
 of point 71 by trench, but on arrival at that point 
 we were again in a valley and out of observation. 
 All along this road were a series of dug-outs, and 
 here were companies in reserve, R.E. headquarters, 
 R.A.M.C. dressing-station, field kitchens, stores, 
 etc. And here the transport brought up rations 
 every evening via Bray. One could walk about 
 here, completely secure from view ; but latterly 
 they took to shelling it, and it was not a healthy 
 spot then. It was also enfiladed occasionally by 
 long-range machine-gun fire. But on the whole it 
 was a good spot, and one had a curious sensation 
 being able to walk about on an open road within a 
 thousand yards of the Germans. The dug-outs 
 called " 71 North " were the best. The bank 
 sloped up very steeply from the road, thus protect- 
 ing the dug-outs along it from anything but shell- 
 fire of very high trajectory. And this the Germans 
 never used. However, one did not want to walk
 
 THE BOIS FRAN^AIS TRENCHES 103 
 
 too far along the road, for it led round the corner 
 into full view of Fricourt at X. There was a trench 
 at the side of the road that ought to be hopped 
 down into, but it could easily be missed, and there 
 was no barrier across the road ! I saw a motor- 
 cychst dash right along to the corner once, and 
 return very speedily when he found himself gazing 
 full view at Fricourt ! 
 
 Map III is an enlargement of the area in Map II, 
 and gives details of our trenches and the German 
 trenches opposite. I wish I could convey the sense 
 of intimacy with which I am filled when I look at 
 this map. It is something like the feelings I should 
 ascribe to a farmer looking at a map of his property, 
 every inch of which he knows by heart ; every 
 field, every copse, every lane, every hollow and hill 
 are intimate things to him. With every corner he 
 has some association ; every tree cut down, every 
 fence repaired, every road made up, every few 
 hundred yards of shaw grubbed up, every acre of 
 orchard enclosed and planted — all these he can call 
 back to memory at his will. So do I know every 
 corner, every turning in these trenches ; every 
 traverse has its peculiar familiarity, very often 
 its peculiar history. This traverse was built the 
 
 night after P 's death ; this trench was dug 
 
 because " 75 Street " was so marked down by the 
 enemy rifle-grenades ; another was a terrible straight 
 trench till we built those traverses in it ; another
 
 104 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 was a morass until we boarded it. How well I 
 remember being half buried by a canister at the 
 corner of "78 Street " ; and the night the mine 
 blew in all the trench between the Fort and the 
 Loop ; what an awful dug-out that was at Trafalgar- 
 Square ; how we loathed the straightness of Watling 
 Street. And so on, ad infinitum. We were in those 
 trenches for over four months, and I know them as 
 one knows the creakings of the doors at home, the 
 subtle smell of the bath-room, the dusty atmosphere 
 of the box-room, or the lowness of the cellar door. 
 Particularly intimate are the recollections of dug- 
 outs, with their good or bad conveniences in the 
 way of beds and tables, their beams that smote you 
 on the head as regularly as clockwork, or their 
 peculiarly musty smell. One dug-out invariably 
 smelt of high rodent ; another of sand-bag, nothing 
 but sand-bag. 
 
 From February, then, to June we kept on going 
 into these trenches drawn on Map III, and then 
 back to Morlancourt for rest and working-parties, 
 all as regular as clockwork. Once or twice the actual 
 front line held by our battalion was altered, so that 
 I have been in the trenches all along from the 
 Cemetery (down in the valley) to the end of the 
 craters opposite Danube Trench. But every time 
 except twice my company held part of the trench 
 between 83 B (the end of the craters) and the Lewis 
 gun position to the right of 76 Street. The usual 
 distribution of the battalion was as follows : —
 
 THE BOIS FRANCAIS TRENCHES 105 
 
 A Company. From 80 A to L. G. (Lewis gun) 
 on right of 76. 
 
 B „ Maple Redoubt. 
 
 C „ 71 North. 
 
 D ,, L. G. on right of 76 to "j^ Street. 
 
 (After three days A and B, and C and D, 
 
 reheved each other.) 
 
 Battahon Headquarters, -v 
 
 Headquarter Bombers, I Maple 
 
 M.O. and H.Q. Stretcher-bearers j Redoubt. 
 R.S.M. i 
 
 Maple Redoubt was what is known as a " strong 
 point." In case of an enemy attack piercing our 
 front line, the company in Maple Redoubt held out 
 at all costs to the last man, even if the enemy got 
 right past and down the hill. There was a dug-out 
 which was provisioned full up with bully-beef and 
 water (in empty petrol cans) ready for this emer- 
 gency. There was a certain amount of barbed-wire 
 put out in front of the trenches to N., W., and E. ; 
 and there were two Lewis-gun positions at A and 
 B. Really it was not a bad httle place, although 
 the " Defences of Maple Redoubt " were always 
 looked on by us as rather more of a big joke than 
 anything. No one ever really took seriously the 
 thought of the enemy coming over and reaching 
 Maple Redoubt. Raid the front line he was Uable 
 to do at any moment ; but attack on such a big 
 scale as to come right through, no, no one really
 
 106 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 ever (beneath the rank of battalion commander, 
 anyway) worried about that. Still, if he did, there 
 was the redoubt anyway ; and there was another 
 called " Redoubt A " on the hill facing us, as one 
 looked from Maple Redoubt across the smoke 
 rising from dug-outs which could just not be seen 
 under the bank at 71 North. Here was rumoured 
 to be bully-beef and water also, and the Machine-gun 
 Corps had some positions in it which they visited 
 occasionally ; but even a notice " No one allowed 
 this way," failed to tempt me to explore its in- 
 terior. One saw it, traced out on the hill, from 
 Maple Redoubt, and there I have no doubt it still 
 is, with its bully-beef intact and its water a little 
 stale ! 
 
 So much for Maple Redoubt. In case of attack, 
 as I have said, it was a strong point that must 
 hold out at all costs, while the company at 71 North 
 came up to Rue Albert, and would support either 
 of the front companies as the CO. directed. The 
 front companies of course held the front line to the 
 last man. Meanwhile, the two battalions in billets 
 would be marching up from Morlancourt, to the 
 high ground above Redoubt A (that is, just east of 
 D on Map H). Up there were a series of entrenched 
 " works," known as the " intermediate line." (The 
 " second line " ran a little north of point 90, N.E. 
 of Morlancourt. But no one took that seriously, 
 anyway.) The battalions marching up from billets 
 might have to hold these positions, or, what was
 
 THE BOIS FRAN^AIS TRENCHES 107 
 
 more likely, be ordered to counter-attack immedi- 
 ately. Such was the defence scheme. 
 
 " Six days in billets : three days in support. 
 Not particularly hard, that sounds," I can hear 
 someone say. I tried to disillusion people in an 
 earlier chapter about the easiness of the " rest " in 
 billets, owing to the incessant working-parties. 
 These were even more incessant during these four 
 months. Let me say a few words then, also, about 
 life in support trenches. I admit that for officers 
 it was not always an over-strenuous time ; but 
 look at Tommy's ordinary programme : — 
 This would be a typical day, say, in April. 
 4 a.m. Stand to, until it got light enough to clean 
 
 your rifle ; then clean it. 
 About 5 a.m. Get your rifle inspected, and turn 
 
 in again. 
 6.30 a.m. Turn out to carry breakfast up to 
 company in front Une. (Old Kent Road very 
 muddy after rain. A heavy dixie to be carried 
 from top of We5rmouth Avenue, up via Trafalgar 
 Square, and 76 Street to the platoon holding 
 the trench at the Loop.) 
 7.45 a.m. Get your own breakfast. 
 9 a.m. Turn out for working-party ; spend 
 morning fiUing sandbags for building traverses 
 in Maple Redoubt. 
 11.30 a.m. Carry dinner up to front company. 
 
 Same as 6.30 a.m. 
 I p.m. Get your own dinner.
 
 108 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 I to 4 p.m. (With luck) rest. 
 
 4 p.m. Carry tea up to front company. 
 
 5 p.m. Get your own tea. 
 
 5.15 to 7.15 p.m. (With luck) rest. 
 
 7.15 p.m. Clean rifle. 
 
 7.30 p.m. Stand to. Rifle inspected. 
 
 Jones puts his big ugly boot out suddenly, 
 just after you have finished cleaning rifle, and 
 upsets it. Result — mud all over barrel and 
 nose-cap. 
 
 8.30 p.m. Stand down. Have to clean rifle again 
 and show platoon sergeant. 
 
 9 p.m. Turn out for working-party till 12 mid- 
 night in front line. 
 
 12 midnight. Hot soup. 
 
 12.15 3-"^- Dug-out at last till 
 
 4 a.m. Stand to. 
 
 And so on for three days and nights. This is 
 really quite a moderate programme : it is one that 
 you would aim at for your men. But there are 
 disturbing elements that sometimes compel you to 
 dock a man's afternoon rest, for instance. A couple 
 of canisters block Watling Street ; you must send 
 a party of ten men and an N.C.O. to clear it at once : 
 or you suddenly have to supply a party to carry 
 " footballs " up to Rue Albert for the trench- 
 mortar man. The Adjutant is sorry; he could not 
 let you know before ; but they have just come up 
 to the Citadel, and must be unloaded at once. So
 
 THE BOIS FRANgAIS TRENCHES 109 
 
 you have to find the men for this on the spur of 
 the moment. And so it goes on night and day. 
 Oh, it's not all rum and sleep, is life in Maple 
 Redoubt. 
 
 Three days and nights in support, and then comes 
 the three days in the front Hne. 
 
 Now we will take it that " B " Company is hold- 
 ing from 80 A to the Lewis-gun position to the right 
 of 76 Street. You will notice at once that almost 
 the whole of No Man's Land in front of this sector 
 of trenches is a chain of mine craters. No one can 
 have much idea of a crater until he actually sees 
 one. I can best describe it as a hollow like a quarry 
 or chalk hole about fifty yards in diameter and some 
 forty or fifty feet deep. (They vary in size, of 
 course, but that is about the average.) The sides, 
 which are steepish, and vary in angle between 
 thirty and sixty degrees, are composed of a very 
 fine thin soil, which is, in point of fact, a thick 
 sediment of powdered soil that has returned to 
 earth after a tempestuous ascent into the sky. A 
 large mine always causes a " lip " above the ground 
 level, which appears in section somewhat like 
 this :— 
 
 leve(. 
 
 There is usually water in the bottom of the 
 deeper craters. When a series of craters is formed,
 
 110 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 running into one another, you get a very uneven 
 floor that appears in lengthwise section thus : — 
 
 -U)/t\ 
 
 The dotted hne is the ground level : the uneven 
 line is the course that would be taken by a man 
 walking along the bottom of the chain of craters, 
 and keeping in the centre. Actually, of course, 
 (on patrol) one would not keep in the centre where 
 the crater contained water, but would skirt the 
 water by going to one side of it. The " bridges " 
 are important, as they are naturally the easiest 
 way across the craters ; a bombing patrol, for 
 instance, could crawl over a bridge, without having 
 to go right down to the bottom level, and (which 
 is more important) will not have a steep climb up 
 over very soft and spongy soil. These bridges are 
 
 the " lips " of the larger craters where they join 
 the smaller ; looking at a crater-chain in plan 
 X is a " bridge," whereas Y and Z are " Ups " 
 rising above ground level.
 
 THE BOIS FRANgAIS TRENCHES 111 
 
 This crater-chain being understood, the system 
 of sentries is easily grasped. Originally, before 
 mining commenced, our front line ran (roughly) 
 from left to right along Rue Albert up 80 A Street 
 and along to the top of 76 Street in a straight line. 
 Then began the great game of mining under the 
 enemy parapet and blowing him up ; and its corol- 
 lary countermining, or blowing up the enemy's 
 mine galleries before he reached your parapet. 
 Such is the game as played underground by the 
 tunnelling companies, R.E. To the infantry belongs 
 the work (if not blown up) of consohdating the 
 crater, whether made by your or an enemy mine, 
 that is to say, of seizing your side of the crater and 
 guarding it by bombing-posts in such a way as to 
 prevent the enemy from doing anything except 
 hold his side of the crater. 
 
 (^errncxn -^ront" line 
 
 Our tronl* line 
 
 For instance, take a single crater, caused by us 
 blowing up the German gallery before it reaches 
 our parapet. If we do nothing, the enemy digs a 
 trench into the crater at A, and can get into the 
 crater any time he likes and bomb our front hne.
 
 112 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 and return to his trench unseen. This, of course, 
 never happens, as we dig a sap into the crater from 
 our side, and the result is stale-mate ; each side 
 can see into the crater, so neither can go into it. 
 
 That is all. 83 B, 81 A, the Matterhorn sap, 
 the Loop, the Fort — they are all saps up to crater- 
 edges, in some cases joined up along the edge (as 
 between 83 B and 83 A, or at the Loop and the 
 Fort.) And these saps are held by bombing-posts. 
 Where there are no craters in front (as, for instance, 
 between the Fort and the Loop), there the trench is 
 held by sentry groups in the ordinary way. The 
 most important bombing-posts are at the " bridges," 
 which are the points that most want guarding. 
 
 Each platoon has so many posts to " find " men 
 for. No. 5 Platoon has three posts between the 
 Lewis-gun position and the top of 76 Street ; No. 6 
 finds two in the Fort and one between the Fort 
 and the Loop ; there is another post before you 
 reach the Loop, found by No. 7, who also finds 
 two in the Loop itself ; while No. 8 finds the 
 Matterhorn post and the top of 80 A. All these 
 posts are composed of one bomber, who has a box 
 of bombs with him and his rifle without bayonet 
 fixed, and one bayonet man. There is no special 
 structure about a " post " : it is just the spot in 
 the trench where the sentries are placed. Some- 
 times one or two posts could be dispensed with by 
 day, if one post could with a periscope watch the 
 ground in front of both. The sentry groups are
 
 THE BOIS FRAN^AIS TRENCHES 118 
 
 relieved every two hours by the platoon N.C.O. 
 on trench duty. There is always an N.C.O. on trench 
 duty, going the rounds of his sentry groups, in every 
 platoon ; and one officer going round the groups 
 in the company. Thus is secured the endless chain 
 of unwinking eyes that stretches from Dunkirk to 
 Switzerland. 
 
 There were two Lewis guns to every company. 
 One had a position at the Fort, covering the ground 
 between the Fort and the Loop ; the other was 
 just to the right of 80 A, where it had a good position 
 sweeping the craters. The Lewis-gun teams found 
 their sentries independently of the platoons, and 
 had their dug-outs. A nice compact little affair 
 was a Lewis-gun team ; always very snug and self- 
 contained. 
 
 Company Headquarters were at Trafalgar Square, 
 though later we changed to a dug-out half-way up 
 76 Street. Each platoon had a dug-out about fifty 
 yards behind the front line, and as far as possible 
 one arranged to get the men a few hours' sleep in 
 them every day ; but only a certain percentage at a 
 time. There were four stretcher-bearers and two 
 signallers also at Trafalgar Square. Also a per- 
 manent wiring-party had its quarters here, a cor- 
 poral and five men ; they made up " concertina " 
 or " gooseberry " wire by day, and were out three 
 or four hours every night putting it out. They were, 
 of course, exempt from other platoon duties. Each 
 platoon had a pioneer to attend to sanitary arrange-
 
 114 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 merits, and other odd jobs such as fetching up soup ; 
 and each platoon had an orderly ready to take 
 messages. At Company Headquarters, besides the 
 officers' servants, were the company orderly, and 
 company officers' cook. An officer on trench duty 
 was accompanied by his servant as orderly. 
 
 This was the distribution of the company in the 
 front line. Every morning from 9 to 12 all men 
 not on sentry worked at repairing and improving 
 the trenches ; and the same for four hours during 
 the night. Work done to strengthen the parapet 
 can only be done by night. Every night wire was 
 put out. Every night a patrol went out. Every 
 day one " stood to " arms for an hour before dawn, 
 and an hour after dusk. And day and night there 
 was an intermittent stinging and buzzing of black- 
 winged instruments between the opposing trenches. 
 Of shells I have already spoken ; next in deadliness 
 were rifle-grenades, which are bombs with a rod 
 attachment that is put down the barrel of an ordin- 
 ary rifle. Four of these rifles are stood in a rack 
 fixed to the ground, and fired by a string from a 
 few yards away, at a very high trajectory. They 
 are a very deadly weapon, as you cannot see them 
 dropping on to you. Then there is a multiform 
 genus called " trench-mortar," being projectiles of 
 all kinds and shapes lobbed over from close range. 
 The canister was the most loathed. It was simply 
 a tin oil-can, the size of a lady's muff (large) ; one 
 heard a thud, and watched the beast rising, rising,
 
 THE BOTS FRANQAIS TRENCHES 115 
 
 then stationary, it seemed, in mid-air, and then 
 come toppHng down, down, down on top of one 
 with a crash — three seconds' silence — and then a 
 most colossal explosion, blowing everything in its 
 vicinity to atoms. These canisters were loathed by 
 the men with a most personal and intense aversion. 
 Yet they were really not nearly so dangerous as 
 rifle-grenades, as one had time to dodge them very 
 often, unless enfiladed in a communication trench. 
 They were, moreover, very local in their effects. A 
 shell has sphnters that spread far and wide ; a 
 trench-mortar is a clumsy monster with a thin 
 skin, no sphnters, and an abominable, noisy, vulgar 
 way of making the most of itself. " Sausages " 
 were another but milder form of the vulgar trench- 
 mortar ; aerial torpedoes were daintier people with 
 wings, who looked so cherubic as they came sailing 
 over, that one almost forgot their deadly stinging 
 powers ; they, too, were a species of trench-mortar. 
 
 It is natural to write lightly of these things ; yet 
 they were no light matters. They were the instru- 
 ments of death that took their daily toll of lives. 
 In this chapter describing the system and routine 
 of ordinary trench warfare, I have tried to prepare 
 the canvas for several pictures I have drawn in 
 bold bare lines ; now I am putting in a wash of 
 colour, the atmosphere of Death. 
 
 Sometimes we forgot it in the interest of the 
 present activity ; sometimes we saw it face to face, 
 without a qualm ; but always it was there with
 
 116 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 its relentless overhanging presence, dulling our 
 spirits, wearing out our lives. The papers are 
 always full of Tommy smiling : Bairnsfather has 
 immortalised his indomitable humour. Yes, it is 
 true. We laugh, we smile. But for an hour of 
 laughter, there are how many hours of weariness, 
 strain, and grim agony ! It is great that Tommy's 
 laughter has been immortaHsed ; but do not forget 
 that its greatness lies in this, that it was uttered 
 beneath the canopy of ever-impending Death.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 
 
 IT must not be imagined that I at once grasped 
 all the essential details of our trench system, 
 as I have tried to put them concisely in the 
 preceding chapter. On the contrary, it was only 
 very gradually that I accumulated my intimate 
 knowledge of our maze of trenches, only by degrees 
 that I learnt the lie of the land, and only by per- 
 sonal patrolling that I learnt the interior economy 
 of the craters. At first the front hne, with its loops 
 and bombing-posts, and portions " patrolled only," 
 its sand-bag dumps, its unexpected visions of 
 R.E.'s scurrying like bolted rabbits from mine- 
 shafts, its sudden jerk round a corner that brought 
 you in full view of the German parapet across a 
 crater that made you gaze fascinated several 
 seconds before you realised that you should be 
 stooping low, as here was a bad bit of trench that 
 wanted deepening at once and had not been cleared 
 properly after being blown in last night — all this, 
 I say, was at first a most perplexing labyrinth. 
 It was only gradually that I solved its mysteries, 
 and discovered an order in its complexity. 
 
 117
 
 118 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 I will give a few more extracts from my diary, 
 some of which seem to me now delightfully naive ! 
 Here they are, though. 
 
 " 2nd Feb., 1916. In the trenches. Everything 
 very quiet. We are in support, in a place called 
 Maple Redoubt, on the reverse slope of a big ridge. 
 Good dug-outs {sic), and a view behind, over a big 
 expanse of chalk-downs, which is most exhilarating. 
 A day with blue sky and a tingle of frost. Being 
 on the reverse slope, you can walk about anywhere, 
 and so can see everything. Have just been up in 
 the front trenches, which are over the ridge, and a 
 regular, or rather very irregular, rabbit-warren. 
 The Boche generally only about thirty to forty 
 yards away. The trenches are dry, that is the 
 glorious thing. Dry. Just off to pow-wow to the 
 new members of my platoon." 
 
 Here I will merely remark that the " good " 
 dug-out in which we were living was blown in by 
 a 4-2 shell exactly four days later, killing one 
 officer and wounding the other two badly. With 
 regard to the state of the trenches, it was dry 
 weather, and " when they were dry they were dry, 
 and when they were wet they were wet ! " 
 
 " 3rd Feb. Another beautiful February morn- 
 ing. Slept quite well, despite rats overhead. 
 O'Brien and Dixon awfully dull and heavy ; can't
 
 MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 119 
 
 think why. Everything outside is full of life ; 
 there is a crispness in the air, and a delightful sharp 
 shadow and light contrast as you look up Maple 
 Redoubt. 
 
 Meditations on coldness, and how it unmans 
 — on hunger, and how it weakens — on the art of 
 feeding and warming, and how women realise this, 
 while men do not usually know there is any art in 
 keeping house at all ! 
 
 Meditations, too, on the stupidity, slowness, and 
 clumsiness of officers' servants. 
 
 Dixon's snores make me bucked with life ; so, 
 too, this same clumsiness of the servants. Lewis 
 came in just now. ' Why are you waiting, Lewis ? ' 
 I asked. ' I thought Watson was waiting to-day.' 
 (This after a great strafing of servants for general 
 stupidity and incompetence.) ' None of the others 
 dared come in, sir,' he replied, in his high piping 
 voice, and a broad grin on his face. Oh ! they are 
 good fellows ! Why be fed up with life ? Why 
 long faces ? Long faces, these are the bad things 
 of hfe, the things to fight against. ..." 
 
 So did my vision of the Third Army School bear 
 fruit, I see now ! 
 
 " Philosophy from the trenches. Does it cover 
 everything ? Does it explain the fellows I passed 
 this morning being carried to the Aid Post, one 
 with blood and orange iodine all over his face, and
 
 120 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 the other wounded in both legs ? It always comes 
 as a surprise when the bombs and shells produce 
 wounds and death. . . . 
 
 Watched a mine go up this evening — great 
 yellow-brown mass of smoke, followed by a beauti- 
 ful under-cloud of orange-pink that steamed up in 
 a soft creamy way. No firing and shelling followed 
 as at Givenchy. . . . 
 
 Take over from ' A ' to-morrow morning. 
 
 10 p.m. Great starlight. Jupiter and Venus 
 both up, and the Great Bear and Orion glittering 
 hard and clean in the steely sky. I wish I had a 
 Homer, I am sure he has just one perfect epithet 
 for Orion on a night like this. I shall read Homer 
 in a new light after these times. I begin to under- 
 stand the spirit of the Homeric heroes ; it was all 
 words, words, words before. Now I see. Billet 
 life — where is that in the Iliad ? In the tents, of 
 course. And the eating and drinking, the ' word 
 that puts heart into men,' the cool stolid facing 
 of death, all those gruesome details of wounds and 
 weapons, all is being enacted here every day exactly 
 as in the Homeric age. Human nature has not 
 altered. 
 
 And did not Homer tell, too, how utterly ' fed 
 up ' they were with it all ? Can one not read 
 between the lines and see, besides the glamour of 
 physical courage, the strain, the weariness, the 
 ' fed-upness ' of them all ! I think so. ' NoVro? ' is
 
 MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 121 
 
 a word I remember so well. They were all longing 
 for the day of their return. As here, the big fights 
 were few and far between ; and as here, there were 
 the months and years of waiting. 
 
 And on them, too, the stars looked down, wink- 
 ing alike at Greeks and Trojans ; just as to-night 
 thousands of German and British faces, dull-witted 
 or sharp, sour-faced or smihng, sad or happy, are 
 gazing up and wondering if there is any wisdom in 
 the world yet. 
 
 Four thousand years ago ? And all the time 
 the stars in the Great Bear have been hurtling 
 apart at thousands of miles an hour, and the human 
 eye sees no difference. No wonder they wink 
 at us. . . . 
 
 And our mothers, and wives . . . the women- 
 folk — Euripides understood their views on war. 
 Ten years they waited. . . . 
 
 Must go to bed. D these scuffling rats." 
 
 Frequently I found my thoughts flying back 
 through the years, and more especially on starlit 
 nights, or on a breathless spring evening, to the 
 Greeks and Romans. Life out here was so primi- 
 tive ; so much a matter of eating and drinking, 
 and digging, and sleeping, and so full of the ele- 
 ments, of cold, and frost, and wind, and rain ; 
 there were so many definite and positive physical 
 goods and bads, that the barrier of an unreal 
 civilisation was completely swept away. Under
 
 122 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 the stars and in a trench you were as good as any 
 Homeric warrior ; but you were Httle better. And 
 so you felt you understood him. And here I will 
 add that it was especially at sunset that the pas- 
 sionate desire to live would sometimes surge up, 
 so intense, so clamorous, that it swept every other 
 feeling clean aside for the time. 
 
 But to return to Maple Redoubt, or rather to 
 Gibraltar, where the next entry in my diary was 
 written. 
 
 " 6th Feb. Rather an uncomfortable dug-out 
 in Gibraltar. Yesterday was a divine day. I sat 
 up in ' the Fort * most of the day, watching the 
 bombardment. Blue sky, on the top of a high 
 chalk down ; larks singing ; and a real sunny dance 
 in the air. We watched four aeroplanes sail over, 
 amid white puffs of shrapnel ; and a German 
 'plane came over. I could see the black crosses very 
 plainly with my glasses. Most godlike it must have 
 been up there on such a morning. I felt very pleased 
 with life, and did two sketches, one of Sawyer, 
 another of Richards. . . . 
 
 A dull thud, and then ' there goes another,' 
 shouts someone. It reminds me of Bill the lizard 
 coming out of the chimney-pot in Alice in Wonder- 
 land. Everyone gazes and waits for the crash ! 
 Toppling through the sky comes a big tin oil-can, 
 followed immediately by another ; both fall and 
 explode with a tremendous din, sending up a fifty-
 
 MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 123 
 
 foot spurt of black earth and flying debris, while 
 down the wind comes the scud of sand-bag fluff 
 and the smell of powder. This alternated with the 
 4-2's, which come over with a scream and wait 
 politely a second or two before bursting so inele- 
 gantly." (I seem to have got mixed up a bit here : 
 it was usually the canisters that " waited.") 
 
 " The mining is a great mystery to me at present. 
 One part of the trench is only patrolled, as the 
 Bochc may ' blow ' there at any moment. I must 
 say it is an uncomfortable feeling, this liability to 
 sudden projection skywards ! The first night I 
 had a sort of nightmare all the time, and kept 
 waking up, and thinking about a mine going up 
 under one. The second night I was too tired to 
 have nightmares. 
 
 The rats swarm. I woke up last night, and 
 saw one sitting on Edwards, licking its whiskers. 
 Then it ran on to the box by the candle. It was 
 a pretty brown fellow, rather attractive, I thought. 
 I felt no repulsion whatever at sight of it. . . . 
 
 The front trenches are a 77iaze. I cannot dis- 
 entangle all the loops and saps ; and now we are 
 cut off from ' C,' as the front trench is all blown in ; 
 one has to have a connecting patrol that goes via 
 Rue Albert. A very weird affair. The only conso- 
 lation is that the Boche would be i7iore lost if he 
 got in ! 
 
 I cannot help feeling that ' B ' company has
 
 124 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 been very lucky. We were in Maple Redoubt, 
 Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday ; everything 
 was quite quiet with us, but ' D ' had seven casual- 
 ties in the front trench. On Friday we relieved 
 ' A,' and all Saturday the enemy bombarded a spot 
 just behind our company's left, putting over 4-2's 
 and canisters all day long from 9.0 a.m. onwards, 
 and absolutely smashing up our trenches there. 
 Then Trafalgar Square has been rather a hot shop : 
 two of our own whizz-bangs fell short there, and 
 several rifle grenades fell very close — also, sphnters 
 of the 4-2's came humming round, ending with little 
 plops quite close. O'Brien picked up a large 
 splinter that fell in the trench right outside the 
 dug-out. Again, at ' stand-down,' when Dixon, 
 Clark, Edwards, and I were standing talking to- 
 gether at the top of 76 Street, two canisters fell most 
 alarmingly near us, about ten yards behind, covering 
 us with dirt. Yet we have not had a single casualty. 
 To-day we were to have been relieved by the 
 Manchesters at midday, but this morning at ' stand 
 to ' we heard the time had been altered to 8.0 a.m. 
 ' B ' was duly relieved, and No. 5 Platoon had just 
 changed gum-boots, while 6, 7, and 8 were sitting 
 at the corner of Maple Redoubt enthralled in the 
 same process, when over came two canisters, one 
 smashing in Old Kent Road, down which we had 
 just come, and the other falling right into an ' A ' 
 Company dug-out, twenty yards to my left, killing 
 two men and wounding three others, one probably
 
 MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 125 
 
 mortally. And now I have just had the news that 
 the Manchesters have had twenty-three casualties 
 to-day, including three officers, their R.S.M., and 
 a company sergeant-major." 
 
 As I read some of these sentences, true in every 
 detail as they are, I cannot help smiling. For it 
 was no " bombardment " that took place on our 
 left all day ; it was merely the Germans potting 
 one of our trench-mortar positions ! And Trafalgar 
 Square was really very quiet, that first time in. 
 But what I notice most is the way in which I record 
 the fall of individual canisters and rifle grenades, 
 even if they were twenty yards away ! Never a 
 six days in, latterly, that we did not have to clear 
 Old Kent Road and Watling Street two or three 
 times ; and we used to fire off a hundred rifle 
 grenades a day very often, and received as many 
 in return always. And the record of casualties one 
 did not keep. We were lucky, it is true. Once, and 
 once only, after, did " B " Company go in and 
 come out without a casualty. Those first two days 
 in Maple Redoubt, when " everything was quiet," 
 were the most deceitful harbingers of the future that 
 could have been imagined. " Why long faces ? " 
 I could write. The Manchesters had a ruder but 
 a truer introduction to the Bois Frangais trenches, 
 and especially to Maple Redoubt. For the dug- 
 outs were abominable ; not one was shell-proof ; 
 and there was no parados or traverse for a hun-
 
 126 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 dred and fifty yards. The truth of the matter was 
 that these trenches had been some of the quietest 
 in the hnc ; for some reason or other, when 
 our Division took them over, they immediately 
 changed face about, and took upon themselves the 
 task of growing in a steady relentless crescendo into 
 one of the hottest sectors in the line. 
 
 On the 22nd of February the Germans raided our 
 trenches on the left opposite Fricourt. They did 
 not get much change out of it. I can remember at 
 least four raids close on our left or right during 
 those four months ; they never actually came 
 over on our front, but we usually came in for the 
 bombardment. The plan is to isolate the sector 
 to be raided by an intense bombardment on that 
 sector, and on the sectors on each side ; to " lift " 
 the barrage, or curtain of fire, at a given moment off 
 the front line of the sector raided " what time " 
 (as the old phrase goes) they come over, enter the 
 trench, if they can, make a few prisoners, and get 
 back quickly. All the while the sectors to right 
 and left are being bombarded heavily. It was this 
 isolating bombardment that our front line was 
 receiving, while we were left unmolested in 71 
 North. All this I did not know at the time. Here 
 is my record of it. 
 
 " 25 Feb., 1916. It is snowing hard. We are in 
 a very comfortable tubular dug-out in 71 North. 
 This dug-out is the latest pattern, being on the 
 twopenny-tube model ; very warm, and free from
 
 MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 127 
 
 draughts. It is not shell-proof, but then shells 
 never seem to come near here. 
 
 Let me try and record the raid on our left on 
 the 22nd, before I forget it. 
 
 The Manchesters were in the front line and 
 Maple Redoubt. During the afternoon the Boche 
 started putting heavies on to Maple Redoubt, 
 and the corner of Canterbury Avenue. ' Bad 
 luck on the Manchesters again,' we all agreed — 
 and turned in for tea. There was a wonderful 
 good fire going. 
 
 ' By Jove, they are going it,' I said, as we sat 
 down and Gray brought in the teapot. Thud ! 
 Thud ! Thud — thud ! We simply had to go out 
 and watch. Regular coal-boxes, sending up great 
 columns of mud, and sphnters humming and 
 splashing right over us, a good hundred yards or 
 more. ' Better keep inside,' from Dixon. 
 
 We had tea, and things seemed to quiet down. 
 
 Then about six o'clock the bombardment got 
 louder, and our guns woke up like fun. ' Vee- 
 bm . . . vee-bm ' from our whizz-bangs going over, 
 and then the machine-guns began on our left. 
 Simultaneously, in came Richards (Dixon's ser- 
 vant) with an excited air. ' Gas,' he exclaimed. 
 Instinctively, I felt for my gas helmet. Meanwhile 
 Dixon had gone outside. ' Absurd,' he said in a 
 quiet voice. ' The wind's wrong. Who brought 
 that message ? ' 
 
 Then up came a telephone orderly. I heard
 
 128 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 him running on the hard road. ' Stand to,' he said 
 breathlessly, and Dixon went off to the 'phone 
 with him. Nicolson appeared in a gas helmet. 
 I was looking for my pipe, but could not find it. 
 Then at last I went out without it. 
 
 Outside it was getting dark. It was a fairly 
 nippy air. The bombardment was going strong. 
 All the sky was flickering, and our guns were 
 screaming over. ' Crump, crump,' the Boche 
 shells were bursting up by Maple Redoubt. ' Scream, 
 scream,' went our guns back ; and right overhead 
 our big guns went griding. 
 
 All this I noticed gradually. My first impres- 
 sion was the strong smell of gas helmets in the 
 cold air. The gas alarm had spread, and some 
 of the men had their helmets on. I felt undecided. 
 I simply did not know, whether the men should 
 wear them or not. What was happening ? I 
 wished Dixon would come back. Ah ! there he 
 was. What news ? 
 
 ' I can't get through,' he said, ' but we shall get 
 a message all right if necessary.' 
 
 ' What's happening ? ' I asked. ' Do you think 
 they are coming over.' 
 
 ' No. It won't last long, I expect. Still, just 
 let's see if the men have got their emergency rations 
 with them.' 
 
 A few had not, and were sent into the dug-outs 
 for them. Gas helmets were ordered back into 
 their satchels.
 
 MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 129 
 
 ' No possibility of gas,' said Dixon ; ' wind's 
 dead south.' 
 
 I was immensely bucked now. There was a 
 feehng of tenseness and bracing-up. I felt the 
 importance of essentials — ^rifles and bayonets in 
 good order — the men fit, and able to run. This 
 was the real thing, somehow. 
 
 I made Lewis go in and get my pipe. I found 
 I had no pouch, and stuffed loose baccy in my 
 pocket. 
 
 I realised I had not thought out what I would 
 do in case of attack. I did not know what was 
 happening. I was glad Dixon was there. . . . 
 
 It was great, though, to hear the continuous 
 roar of the cannonade, and the machine-guns 
 rapping, not for five minutes, but all the time. 
 That I think was the most novel sound of all. No 
 news. That was a new feature. A Manchester 
 oflficer came up and said all their communications 
 were cut with the left. 
 
 I was immensely bucked, especially with my 
 pipe. Our servants were good friends to have 
 behind us, and Dixon was a man in his element. 
 The men were all cool. ' Germans have broken 
 through,' I heard one man say. ' Where ? ' said 
 someone rather excitedly. ' In the North Sea,' 
 was the stolid reply. 
 
 At last the cannonade developed into a roar 
 on our left, and we realised that any show was 
 there, and not on our sector. Then up came the 
 9
 
 130 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 quartermaster with some boots for Dixon and me, 
 and we all went into the dug-out, where was a 
 splendid fire. And we stayed there, and certain 
 humorous remarks from the quartermaster sud- 
 denly turned my feelings, and I felt that the ten- 
 sion was gone, the thing was over ; and that 
 outside the bombardment was slackening. In half 
 an hour it was ' stand down ' at 7.40. 
 
 I was immensely bucked. I knew I should be 
 all right now in an attack. And the cannonade 
 at night was a magnificent sight. Of course we 
 had not been shelled, though some whizz-bangs 
 had been fired fifty yards behind us just above 
 ' Redoubt A,' trying for the battery just over the 
 hill. 
 
 My chief impression was, ' This is the real thing.' 
 You must know your men. They await clear 
 orders, that is all. It was dark. I remember 
 thinking of Brigade and Division behind, invisible, 
 seeing nothing, yet alone knowing what was happen- 
 ing. No news, that was interesting. An entirely 
 false rumour came along, ' All dug-outs blown in 
 in Maple Redoubt.' 
 
 I had sent Evans to Bray to try and buy coal : 
 he returned in the middle of the bombardment 
 with a long explanation of why he had been unable 
 to get it. 
 
 ' Afterwards,' I said. Somehow coal could wait. 
 
 All the while I have been writing this, there is 
 a regular blizzard outside."
 
 MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 131 
 
 Such is my record of my first bombardment. 
 The Manchcsters, who were in the front line, 
 suffered rather heavily, but not in Maple Redoubt, 
 No dug-outs were smashed in at all there, though 
 Canterbury Avenue was blocked in two places, 
 and Old Kent Road in one. The Germans came 
 over from just north of Fricourt, but only a very 
 few reached our trenches, and of them about a 
 dozen were made prisoners, and the rest killed. 
 It was a " bad show " from the enemy point of 
 view. 
 
 And now I will leave my diary. These first im- 
 pressions are interesting enough, but later the 
 entries became more and more spasmodic, and 
 usually introspective. The remaining chapters 
 are not exactly, though very nearly, chronological. 
 From February 6th to March 8th I was Sniping 
 and Intelligence officer to the battalion. Chapters 
 VIII, IX, and XII describe incidents in that period. 
 Then on March 8th Captain Dixon was transferred 
 
 as Second-in-Command to our th Battalion, 
 
 and on that date I took over the command of 
 "B" Company, which I held until I was wounded 
 on the 7th of June. These were the three months 
 in which I learnt the strain of responsibility as 
 well as the true tragedy of this war. 
 
 During all these four months I was fortunate 
 in having as a commanding officer a really great 
 soldier. The CO. had inaugurated his arrival by 
 a vigorous emphasis of the following principle :
 
 132 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " No Man's Land belongs to US ; if the Boche 
 dare show his face in it, he's going to be d — d sorry 
 for it. We are top-dogs, and if there is any strafing, 
 the last word must always be ours." Such was 
 the policy of the nian behind me during those 
 four months. Meanwhile, from eight to midnight 
 every night, trenches were being deepened, the 
 parapet thickened, and fire-steps and traverses being 
 put in the front line, which had hitherto been a 
 maze of hasty improvisations ; barbed wire was 
 put out at an unprecedented pace, and patrols were 
 going out every night. If things went wrong, there 
 was the devil to pay ; but if things went well, one 
 was left entirely unmolested ; and if there was a 
 bombardment on, the orders came quick and clear. 
 And any company commander will know that those 
 three qualities in a commanding officer are worth 
 almost anything.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 SNIPING 
 
 THE snow was coming down in big white 
 flakes, whirling and dancing against a grey 
 sky. I shivered as I looked out from the 
 top of the dug-out steps in Maple Redoubt. It was 
 half-past seven, a good hour since the snipers had 
 reported to me before going to their posts. It was 
 quite dark then, for a sniper must always be up on 
 his post a good hour before dawn to catch the 
 enemy working a few minutes too late. It is so 
 easy to miss those first faint glimmerings of twilight 
 when you are just finishing off an interesting piece 
 of wiring in "No Man's Land." I speak from 
 experience. For so a sniper got me. 
 
 " U — u — u — ^gh," I shuddered, " it's no good 
 keeping the men on in this " ; so, putting my 
 whiskey-bottle full of rum in my haversack, I set 
 off up Old Kent Road to visit my posts and with- 
 draw the men pro tcm. I expected to find the 
 fellows unutterably cold, shrivelled up, and bored. 
 To my surprise, at No. i post Thomas and Everton 
 were in a state of huge excitement, eyes glowing,
 
 134 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 and faces full of life. There seemed to be a great 
 rivalry, too, for the possession of the rifle. For the 
 snipers always worked in pairs : a man cannot gaze 
 out at the opposing lines with acute interest for 
 more than about half an hour on end ; so I used to 
 work them by pairs, and give them shifts according 
 to the weather. In summer you could put a pair on 
 for four hours, and they would work well, taking 
 half-hour shifts ; but in cold weather two hours was 
 quite enough. 
 
 " We've got them, sir," from 75 Thomas ; " they 
 was working in the trench over there — by all them 
 blue sand-bags, sir — four of them, sir " 
 
 " Yes, and I saw him throw up his arms, sir," 
 put in Everton, excited for the first time I have ever 
 seen him, and trying to push Thomas out of the box, 
 and have another look. But Thomas would not be 
 pushed. 
 
 " Splendid," I said : "by Jove, that's good work. 
 Can I see ? " But it was snowing hard, and I could 
 see very little. I tried the telescope. " Put it right 
 up to your eye, sir," said Thomas, forgetting that I 
 had myself taught him this in billets as he vainly 
 tried to see through it holding it about four inches 
 from his face, and declaring that he could see every- 
 thing just as well with his own eyes ! 
 
 " Yes, I think I sec where you mean," said I ; "up 
 by that sand-bag dump. There's a mine-shaft there, 
 and they were probably some of their R.E.'s piling 
 up sand-bags, or emptyhig them out. I believe that
 
 SNIPING 185 
 
 is what they usually do now, fill the sand-bags below 
 in their galleries, bring them up, empty them, and 
 use the same ones again." 
 
 Thomas and Everton gaped at this. It had not 
 occurred to them to consider that the Boche had 
 R.E.'s. They were of the unimaginative class of 
 snipers, who " saw, did, and reported," and on the 
 whole I preferred them to those who saw, and im- 
 mediately " concluded." For their conclusions 
 were usually wrong. To men like Thomas I was, 
 I think, looked upon as one who had some slightly 
 supernatural knowledge of the German lines ; he 
 did not realise that by careful compass-bearings I 
 knew the exact ground visible from his post, and 
 that my map of the German lines, showing every 
 trench as revealed by aeroplane photographs, was 
 accurate to a yard. He was like a retriever, who 
 keeps to heel, noses out his bird with unerring skill, 
 and brings it in with the softest of mouths ; yet the 
 cunning and strategy he leaves to his master, who 
 is decidedly his inferior in nose and mouth. So 75 
 Thomas could see and shoot far better than I ; 
 but it was I who thought out the strategy of the 
 shoot. 
 
 " Well," said I, as I doled out a rather more hberal 
 
 rum ration than usual, " that's d good work, 
 
 anyway. Two you got, you say ? Not sure about 
 the second ? Anyway you had two good shots, and 
 remember what I told you, a sniper only shoots to 
 kill. So two it's going to be, anyhow." (They both
 
 136 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 grinned at this, which was the nearest they could 
 get to a wink.) " I'm very pleased about it. Now 
 it's not much good staying up here in this thick snow, 
 so you can go off till I send word to your dug-out 
 for you to go on again." 
 
 I turned to go away, thinking that the other posts, 
 rumless, and in all probability quarryless, must be 
 in a state of exasperating coldness by now. But 
 Thomas and Everton did not move. There was 
 something wanted. 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " 
 
 " Please sir, can we stay on here a bit ? P'raps 
 one of those R.E. fellows may come back for some- 
 thing " 
 
 " Good heavens, yes," I said, " stay on as long as 
 you like," and smiled as I made off to my other posts. 
 (Later I used to get the snipers to report to me com- 
 ing off their posts, and get their rum ration then ; 
 as I found it gave a bad appearance and damaged 
 the reputation of the snipers when people saw me 
 going about with the nose of a bottle of " O.V.H." 
 whiskey sticking out of my haversack !) There, 
 as I expected, I found the men blue and bored. 
 
 " You can't see nothing to-day, sir, at all," was 
 the sentence with which I was immediately greeted. 
 Even the rum seemed to inspire very little outward 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " You can go off to your dug-outs till I send for 
 you," I replied, carefully corking the bottle and not 
 looking at them while I spoke : "if you hke," I
 
 SNIPING 187 
 
 added after a pause, looking up. But the post was 
 empty. 
 
 That afternoon I was up on No. i post, with a 
 sniper who was new to the work. It was still freez- 
 ing, but the snow-clouds had cleared right away, 
 and the wind had dropped. There was a tingle in 
 the air ; everything was as still as death ; the sun 
 was shining from a very blue sky, and throwing 
 longer and longer shadows in the snow as the after- 
 noon wore on. It was a valuable afternoon, the 
 enemy's wire showing up very clearly against the 
 white ground, and I was showing the new sniper 
 how to search the trench systematically from left to 
 right, noting the exact position of anything that 
 looked like a loophole, or steel-plate, and especially 
 the thickness of the wire, what kind, whether it was 
 grey and new, or rusty-red and old ; whether there 
 were any gaps in it, and where. All these things a 
 sniper should note every morning when he comes on 
 to his post. Gaps are important, as patrols must 
 come out through gaps, and the Lewis gunners 
 should know these, and be ready to fire at them if a 
 patrol is heard thereabouts in No Man's Land. 
 Similarly, old gaps closed up must be reported. 
 
 It was very still. " Has the war stopped ? " 
 one felt inclined to ask. No, there is the sound of 
 shells exploding far away on the right somewhere ; 
 in the French lines it must be, somewhere about 
 Frise. Then a " phut " from just opposite, and a 
 long whining " we'oo — we'oo — we'oo — we'-oo . . .
 
 138 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 bzung," and a rifle-grenade burst with a snarl about 
 a hundred yards behind. Then another, and 
 another, and another. " They're trying for Tra- 
 falgar Square," said I. No. i post was a little to the 
 right of the top of 76 Street. I waited. There were 
 no more. It was just about touch and go whether 
 we replied. If they went on up to about a dozen, the 
 chances were that the bombing-corporal in charge 
 of our rifle-grenade battery would rouse himself, and 
 loose off twenty in retaliation. But, no. Perhaps 
 the German had repented him of the evil of desecrat- 
 ing the peace of such an afternoon ; or perhaps he 
 was just ranging, and had an observer away on the 
 flank somewhere to watch the effect of his shooting. 
 Anyway he did not fire again, and the afternoon 
 slumber was resumed, till the evening " strafe " 
 came on in due course. 
 
 " I can see something over on the left, sir. It is 
 a man's head, sir ! Look ! " 
 
 I looked. Yes ! 
 
 " No," I almost shouted. " It's a dummy head. 
 Just have a look. And don't, whatever you do, 
 fire." 
 
 Sure enough, a cardboard head appeared over the 
 front parapet opposite, with a grey cap on. Slowly 
 it disappeared. Without the telescope it would 
 have been next to impossible to see it was not a man. 
 Again it appeared, then slowly sank out of view. It 
 was well away on the left, just in front of where the 
 " R.E.'s " had been hit at dawn. For this post was
 
 SNIPING 
 
 189 
 
 well-sited, having an oblique field of vision, as all 
 good sniping-posts should. That is to say, they 
 should be sited something like this : 
 
 7 
 
 rV^— C| CA^M,a.«A ^rorvl' lint 
 
 T. Ol^.•v furvxb U 
 
 Wo 1 Poit 
 
 The ideal is to have all your posts in the supports, 
 and not in the front line, and at about three hundred 
 yards from the enemy front line. Of course if the 
 ground slopes away behind you, you cannot get 
 positions in the supports unless there are buildings 
 to make posts in. By getting an oblique view, you 
 gain two advantages : 
 
 {a) If A gets a shot at C, C's friends look out for 
 
 " that d d sniper opposite," and look in the 
 
 direction of B, who is carefully concealed from direct 
 view. 
 
 (6) A's loophole is invisible from direct observa- 
 tion by D, as it is pointing slantwise at C. 
 
 All this I now explained to my new sniper. 
 
 " But why not smash up his old dummy, sir ? 
 Might put the wind up the fellow working it."
 
 140 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " No," I explained. " Look at the paper again. 
 (I had drawn it out for him, as I have on the previous 
 page.) Thomas shot at those R.E.'s this morning, 
 don't you see ? He was here (B), and they're at D. 
 Now they're trying to find you, or the man who shot 
 their pal ; and you can bet anything you like they've 
 got a man watching either at C or right away on the 
 left to spot you if you fire at the dummy. No. Lie 
 doggo, and see if you can spot that man on the flank. 
 He's probably got a periscope." 
 
 " Can't see him, sir," at length. 
 
 " No. Never mind ; he's probably far too well 
 concealed. Always remember the Boche is as clever 
 as you, and sometimes cleverer." 
 
 " Ah, but he wants me to shoot, sir, and I won't," 
 came the cheery answer. " What about smashing 
 up his old dummy ? " I reminded him. His face 
 fell. He had forgotten his old un-sniper-like self 
 already. " Never mind," said I. " Now when 
 Thomas and Everton come up here, mind you tell 
 them all about the dummy ; and tell Thomas from 
 me that the Boche doesn't spend his time dummy- 
 wagging for nothing. Probably it was an R.E. 
 sergeant." 
 
 II 
 
 " Swis-s-sh— bang. Swis-s-sh — bdng." 
 " That settles it," said I, as I scrambled hastily 
 down into the trench, preceded by the sniper I had 
 with me that day as orderly. I more or less pushed
 
 SNIPING 141 
 
 him along for ten yards — then halted ; we faced 
 each other both very much out of breath and 
 " blowy." The whole place was reeking with the 
 smell of powder, and the air full of sand-bag fluff. 
 
 " That settles it," I repeated : " I always thought 
 that was a rotten post ; and I object to being whizz- 
 banged. ' A sniper's job is to see and not be seen,' 
 Isn't that right, Morris ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Morris, adding with a sad lack 
 of humour " They must have seen us, sir ! " 
 
 " Exactly : they did. And they weren't very far 
 off hitting one of us into the bargain. As I say, 
 that settles it. We'll leave that post for ever and 
 ever ; and to-night we'll build a new one that they 
 won't see." 
 
 At ten o'clock that night we were well at work. 
 Just on the one hundred metre contour line there 
 was a small quarry, at the west end of which had 
 been the too conspicuous post where the Boche had 
 spotted us. Every loophole must by its very nature 
 be " spottable " ; but when the natural ground is 
 so little disturbed that it looks exactly the same as 
 it did before the post was made, then indeed this 
 " spottability " is so much reduced that it verges on 
 invisibility. So, leaving the old post exactly as 
 before, we were building a new one about twenty 
 yards to the west of it. 
 
 There was a disused support trench running west 
 from the Quarry, and this suited my purpose admir- 
 ably. It ran just along the crest of the hill, and
 
 142 
 
 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 commanded even a better view of Fricourt than the 
 Quarry itself. Moreover, there was enough earth 
 thrown up in front of the trench to enable us to fix 
 in the steel-plate (at an angle of 45° : this increases 
 its impenetrability) on ground level, without the top 
 protruding above the top of the earth. The soil in 
 front was not touched at all until the plate was fixed 
 in, and then enough was carefully scooped away 
 from the front of the actual loophole to secure a fair 
 field of view. The earth in front of the loophole is 
 then exactly like a castle wall, with a splay window. 
 If you think of a Norman castle you will know 
 exactly what I mean. The loophole represents the 
 inch-wide aperture in the inner side of the splay. 
 Similarly an embrasure is built behind the loophole, 
 with room for one man to stand and fire, and the 
 second man to sit by him. A rainproof shelter of 
 corrugated iron is placed over this embrasure, and 
 covered over with earth ; this prevents it being 
 spotted by aeroplane ; also it makes the place habit- 
 able in the rain. Here is a section of a typical sniper's 
 post : 
 
 J^n, 
 
 fiirtti 
 
 CCUUAOQ-tLft Ltirvx /loo/inq 

 
 SNIPING 143 
 
 " Click, click click " went the pick into the chalk, 
 cutting room for the embrasure ; there was a tinny 
 sound as some of the loose surface soil came away 
 with a spurt, spilling on to the two sheets of corru- 
 gated iron waiting to go on to the roof. Added to 
 this were the few quiet whispers, such as " Where's 
 that sand-bag ? " or " Is this low enough, sir ? ", 
 and the heavy breathing of Private Evans as he 
 returned from the Quarry after emptying his sand- 
 bag. For all the chalk cut away had to be carried 
 to the Quarry and emptied there ; new earth on the 
 top there would not give any clue to those gentlemen 
 in Fricourt Wood who put the smell of powder in 
 my nostrils a few hours back. 
 
 It was a darkish night, but not so dark but 
 what you could see the top of the trench. There 
 are very few nights when the sky does not show 
 lighter than the trench-sides. There are a few, 
 though, especially when it is raining ; and they 
 are bad, very bad. But that night I could just 
 distinguish the outline of the big crater-top, half- 
 right, and follow the near skyUne along the Ger- 
 man parapet down into Fricourt valley. I was 
 gazing down into that silent blackness, when a 
 machine-gun started popping ; I could see the 
 flashes very clearly from my position. Somewhere 
 in Fricourt they must be. 
 
 Meanwhile the post was nearly finished ; the 
 corrugated iron was being fixed to the wooden up- 
 right, and Jones was on the parapet sprinkUng earth
 
 144 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 over it. The others were deepening the trench from 
 the Quarry to the post. 
 
 " That's the machine-gun that goes every night, 
 sir," said Jones. " Enfilading, that's what it is." 
 
 " Pop — pop — pop," answered the machine-gun. 
 
 " Look here, Jones," said I. " You know No, 5 
 post, opposite Aeroplane Trench ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " 
 
 " Well, go down there, and see if you can see the 
 flashes from there ; and if you can, mark it down. 
 See ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " and he had his equipment on in no 
 time, and was starting off when I called him back. 
 
 " Be very careful to mark your own position," 
 I warned him. " You know what I mean." 
 
 He knew, and I knew that he knew. 
 
 Meanwhile, I stuck an empty cartridge case in the 
 parados behind my head and waited. 
 
 Five flashes spat out again, and " pop — pop — 
 pop — pop — pop " came up out of the valley : and 
 between me and them in the parapet I stuck a 
 second cartridge case 
 
 I looked at my watch. It was half -past twelve. 
 The post was finished, and the trench deep enough 
 to get along, crawling anyway. 
 
 " Cease work." 
 
 The next day was so misty that you could see 
 practically nothing over five hundred yards, and the 
 newfpost was useless. The following day it had
 
 SNIPING 145 
 
 frozen again, and an inch of snow lay on the ground. 
 It was a sunny morning, and from the new post all 
 Fricourt lay in full view before me. How well I 
 remember every detail of that city of the dead ! In 
 the centre stood the white ruin of the church, still 
 higher than the houses around it, though a stubby 
 stump compared to what it must have been before 
 thousands of shells reduced it to its present state. 
 All around were houses ; roofless, wall-less skeletons 
 all of them, save in a few cases, where a red roof still 
 remained, or a house seemed by some magic to be 
 still untouched. On the extreme right was Rose 
 Cottage, a well-known artillery mark ; just to its 
 left were some large park-gates, with stone pillars, 
 leading into Fricourt Wood ; and just inside the 
 wood was a small cottage — a lodge, I suppose. The 
 extreme northern part of the village was invisible, 
 as the ground fell away north of the church. I 
 could see where the road disappeared from view ; 
 then beyond, clear of the houses, the road re- 
 appeared and ran straight up to the skyline, a mile 
 further on. A communication trench crossed this 
 road : (I remember we saw some men digging there 
 one morning). With my glasses I could see every 
 detail ; beyond the communication trench were 
 various small copses, and tracks running over the 
 field ; and on the skyline, about three thousand 
 yards away, was a long row of bushes. 
 
 And just to the left of it all ran the two white lace- 
 borders of chalk trenches, winding and wobbhng
 
 146 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 along, up, up, up until they disappeared over the 
 hill to La Boiselle. Sometimes they diverged as 
 much as three hundred yards, but only to come in 
 together again, so close that it was hard to see which 
 was ours and which the German. Due west of 
 Fricourt church they touched in a small crater 
 chain. 
 
 It was a fascinating view. I could not realise 
 that there lay a French village ; I think we often 
 forgot that we were on French soil, and not on a 
 sort of unreal earth that would disappear when the 
 war was over ; especially was No Man's Land a kind 
 of neutral stage, whereon was played the great game. 
 To a Frenchman, of course, Fricourt was as French 
 as ever it had been. But I often forgot, when I 
 watched the shells demolishing a few more houses, 
 that these were not German houses deserving of 
 their fate. Perhaps people will not understand this : 
 it is true, anyway. 
 
 I was drawing a sketch of the village, when lo ! 
 and behold ! coolly walking down the road into 
 Fricourt came a solitary man. I had to think 
 rapidly, and decide it must be a German, because 
 the thing was so unexpected ; I could not for the 
 moment get out of my head the unreasonable idea 
 that it might be one of our own men ! However, 
 I soon got over that. 
 
 " Sight your rifle at two thousand yards," said I 
 to Morgan, who was with me. " Now, give it to 
 me."
 
 SNIPING 147 
 
 Carefully I took aim. I seemed to be holding the 
 rifle up at an absurd angle. I squeezed, and 
 squeezed 
 
 The German jumped to one side, on to the grass 
 at the side of the road, and doubled for all he was 
 worth out of sight into Fricourt ! Needless to say, 
 I did not see him again to get another shot ! 
 
 " They've been using that road last night, sir," 
 said 58 Morgan, while I was taking a careful bearing 
 on my empty cartridge case. (A prismatic compass 
 is invaluable for taking accurate cross-bearings.) 
 
 " Yes," I said. " Why yes, of course, they must 
 have used it last night. I never thought of that. 
 Good. We'll get the artillery on there to-night, 
 and upset their ration-carts." 
 
 This pleased the fancy of Sniper 58 Morgan, and 
 a broad grin came over his face at the thought of the 
 Boche losing his breakfast. 
 
 " Maybe, sir, we'll see the sausages on the road 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 For which thought I commended him not a little : 
 a sense of humour is one of the attributes of a good 
 sniper, just as rash conclusions are not. 
 
 I then went down to No. 5 Post, where Jones was 
 awaiting me, according to arrangement. There I 
 took a second bearing, and retired to my dug-out to 
 work out the two angles on the map. " From map 
 to compass add : from compass to map subtract " 
 I repeated to myself, and disposed of the magnetic
 
 148 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 variation summarily. Then with the protractor I 
 plotted out the angles. " Exactly. The small house 
 with the grey roof standing out by itself on the left. 
 So that's where you live, my friend, is it ? " 
 
 Once more I was up at the new post, scrutinising 
 the grey-roofed house with the telescope. After a 
 long gaze, I almost jumped. I gave the telescope to 
 Morgan. He gazed intently for a moment. 
 
 Then, " Is that a hole, sir, over the door, in the 
 shadow, like . . . ? " 
 
 " It is," I answered 
 
 That night the machine-gun started popping as 
 usual, when suddenly a salvo of whizz-bangs 
 screamed over, and H.E.'s joined in the game. All 
 round and about the little grey-roofed house flick- 
 ered the flashes of bursting shells. Then the enemy 
 retaliated, and for a quarter of an hour " a certain 
 liveliness prevailed." Then came peace. But there 
 was no sound all night of a machine-gun popping 
 from Fricourt village ; on the other hand, our 
 machine-guns had taken up the tune, with short 
 bursts of overhead fire, searching for those Boche 
 ration carts. And in the morning the grey-roofed 
 cottage appeared with two tiles left on the right- 
 hand bottom corner of the roof, and the front wall 
 had a huge gap in it big enough to act as a mouth 
 for fifty machine-guns. Only Morgan was dis- 
 appointed : all marks of the sausages had been 
 cleared away before dawn ! After all, are not the 
 Germans pre-eminently a tidy people ?
 
 SNIPING 149 
 
 III 
 
 Private Ellis had hard blue eyes that looked at 
 you, and looked, and went on looking ; they always 
 reminded me of the colour of the sea when a north 
 wind is blowing and the blue is hard and bright. I 
 have seen two other pairs of eyes like them. One 
 belonged to Captain Jefferies, the big game shooter, 
 who lectured on Sniping at the Third Army School. 
 The other pair were the property of a sergeant I met 
 this week for the first time, " Are you a marks- 
 man ? " I asked him. " Yes, sir ! Always a marks- 
 man, sir." 
 
 There is no mistaking those eyes. They are the 
 eyes of a man who has used them all his life, and 
 found them grow steadier and surer every year. 
 They are essentially the eyes of a man who can 
 watch, watch, watch all day, and not get tired of 
 watching ; and they were the eyes of my best 
 sniper. 
 
 For Private EUis had all the instincts of a cunning 
 hunter. I had no need to tell him to keep his tele- 
 scope well inside the loophole, lest the sun should 
 catch on the glass ; no need to remind him to stuff 
 a bit of sand-bag in the loophole when he left the 
 post unoccupied. He never forgot to let the sand- 
 bag curtain drop behind him as he entered the box, 
 to prevent Ught coming into it and showing white 
 through a loophole set in dark earth. There was no 
 need either to make sure that he understood the
 
 150 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 telescopic sights on his rifle ; and there was no need 
 to tell him that the Boches were clever people. He 
 never under-estimated his foe. 
 
 It was a warm day in early March. Private Ellis 
 was in No. 5 Box, opposite Aeroplane Trench. This 
 post was very cunningly concealed. Our front 
 trench ran along a road, immediately behind which 
 was a steep chalk bank, the road having originally 
 been cut out of a rather steep slope. You will see 
 the lie of the ground clearly enough on Map III. 
 Just about five yards behind this bank was cut a 
 deep narrow trench, and in this trench were built 
 several snipers' posts, with loopholes looking out of 
 the chalk bank. These loopholes were almost im- 
 possible to see, as they were very nearly indis- 
 tinguishable from the shadows in the bank. Any- 
 one who has hunted for oyster-catchers' eggs on a 
 pebbly beach knows that black and white is the 
 most protective colour scheme existing. And so 
 these little black loopholes were almost invisible 
 in the black and white of the chalk bank. 
 
 All the morning Private Ellis had been watching 
 out of the corner of his eye a Uttle bit of glass shining 
 in Aeroplane Trench. Now Aeroplane Trench (as 
 you will also see from the map) was a sap running 
 out from the German front trench into a sunken 
 road. From the centre sap two little branch saps 
 ran up and down the road, and then slightly forward; 
 the whole plan of it rather resembled an aeroplane 
 and gave it its name. In it to-day was a Boche with
 
 SNIPING 151 
 
 a periscopic rifle ; and it was this little bit of glass 
 at the top of the periscope, and the nose of the riflc- 
 barrel that Private Ellis was watching. Every now 
 and again the glass and nose-cap would give a little 
 jump, and " plop " a bullet would bury itself in our 
 front parapet. One of our sentries had had his peri- 
 scope smashed during the morning, I was informed 
 by a company commander with rather the air of 
 " What's the use of you and your snipers, if you 
 can't stop them sniping us ? " I told ElUs about 
 the periscope, to which he replied : "It won't break 
 us, I guess, sir — twopenn'orth of new glass for a peri- 
 scope. It's heads that count." In which remark 
 was no little wisdom. 
 
 " Crack — plop," and after a long interval another 
 " Crack — zin — n — n — g," as a bullet ricocheted off 
 a stone, and went away over the ridge and fell with 
 a little sigh somewhere in the ground right away 
 beyond Redoubt A. So it went on all the afternoon, 
 while the sun was warming everyone up and one 
 dreamed of the summer, and warm days, dry 
 trenches, and short nights. Elhs had gone of^ 
 rather reluctantly at midday, and the other reUef 
 was there. There was a slumbrous sensation about 
 that brought on the feeling that there was no one 
 really in the enemy trenches at all. Yet there was 
 the little glass eye looking at us : it reminded one of 
 a snake in the grass. It glittered, unbUnking. 
 
 At about six o'clock I again visited the post. 
 ElUs was back there, and watching as keenly as ever.
 
 152 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " No luck ? " I remarked. "I'm afraid your 
 friend is too wily for you ; he's not going to put his 
 head over, when he can see through a periscope as 
 well." 
 
 Still Private Ellis said little, but his eye was as 
 clear and keen as ever ; and still the periscope 
 remained. 
 
 " We must shell him out to-morrow," I said, and 
 went off. 
 
 At half -past seven we had " stood down," and I 
 was messing with " B " Company, when I heard a 
 voice at the top of the dug-out, and the servant who 
 was waiting — Lewis, I think it was — said a sniper 
 wanted to see me. 
 
 " Tell him to come down." 
 
 Private Ellis appeared at the door. Not a muscle 
 in his body or face moved, but his eyes were glowing 
 and glittering, " Got him, sir," was all he said. 
 
 " What ? " I cried. " Got that Boche in Aero- 
 plane Trench ? By Jove, tell us all about it." 
 
 And so to the accompaniment of a whiskey and 
 Perrier he told us exactly what happened. It was 
 not till well after " stand-to," it appeared, that any 
 change had occurred in Aeroplane Trench. Then 
 the periscope had wobbled and disappeared below 
 ground. Then there had been another long wait, 
 and the outline of the sunken road had begun to get 
 faint. Then slowly, very slowly, a pink forehead 
 had appeared over the top, and as slowly dis- 
 appeared. I wish I had been there to watch Ellis
 
 SNIPING 153 
 
 then. I can imagine him coolly, methodically 
 sighting his rifle on the trench-edge, and waiting. 
 " I had to wait another minute, sir ; then it ap- 
 peared again, the whole head this time. He thought 
 it was too dark to be seen . . . Oh, he won't worry 
 us any more, sir ! I saw one of his arms go up, and 
 I thought I could see him fall against the back of 
 the trench. But it was getting so dark, I couldn't 
 have seen him five minutes later at all." 
 And if Ellis couldn't, who could ? 
 
 Next day, and for many days, there was no sniping 
 from Aeroplane Trench.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 ON PATROL 
 
 HULLO, Bill ! " from Will Todd, as he 
 passed me going up 76 Street. 
 " Hullo," I answered, " where are you 
 off to ? " 
 
 " Going on patrol," was the reply, "Oh, by 
 the way, you probably know something about this 
 rotten sap opposite the Quarry. I'm going out to 
 find out if it's occupied at night or not." 
 
 " Opposite the Quarry ? " said I. " Oh, yes, 
 I know it. We get rather a good view of it from 
 No. I Post." 
 
 " That post up on the right here ? Yes, I was 
 up there this afternoon, but you can't see much 
 from anywhere here. The worst of it is I was going 
 with 52 Jones ; only his leave has just come through. 
 You see, I've never been out before. I'm trying a 
 fellow called Edwards, but I don't know him." 
 
 " If you can't get Edwards," I said suddenly, 
 " I've a good mind to come out with you. Meet me 
 at Trafalgar Square, and let me know." 
 
 As Will disappeared, I immediately repented of 
 my offer, repented heartily, repented abjectly. I 
 had never been on patrol, and a great sinking feeling 
 
 154
 
 ON PATROL 155 
 
 came over me. I hoped with all my might that 
 Edwards would be bubbling over with enthusiasm 
 for patrolUng. I was afraid. With all the indif- 
 ference to shells and canisters that was gradually 
 growing upon me, I had never been out into No 
 Man's Land. And yet I had volunteered to go out, 
 and at the time of doing so I felt quite excited at 
 the prospect. " Fool," I said to myself. 
 
 " Edwards doesn't seem at all enthusiastic about 
 it," said Will. " Will you really come out ? " 
 
 " Yes, rather. I'm awfully keen to go. I've 
 never been before, either. How are you going ? " 
 
 We exchanged views on how best to dress and 
 carry our revolvers, which instantly assumed a new 
 interest. 
 
 " What time are you going out ? " 
 
 " Eight o'clock." 
 
 It was a quarter to already. 
 
 In the dug-out I was emptying my pockets, 
 taking off my equipment, and putting on a cap- 
 comforter. I had my compass with me, and put 
 it in my pocket. I looked on the map and saw 
 that the sap was practically due north of the 
 Quarry. And I took a nip of brandy out of my 
 flask. Will had gone to arrange with Captain 
 Robertson about warning the sentries. I was alone, 
 and still cursing myself for this unnecessary adven- 
 ture. When I was ready, I stodged up 76 Street 
 to the Quarry. It was certainly a good night, very 
 black.
 
 156 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 When I saw Will and Captain Robertson together 
 on the fire-step peering over, I felt rather bucked 
 with myself. Hitherto I had felt like an enthu- 
 siastic bather undressing, nearly everyone else 
 having decided it was not warm enough to bathe ; 
 now it was as if I suddenly found that they were 
 watching me as I ran down the beach, and I no 
 longer repented of my resolution. Next moment 
 I was climbing up on to the slimy sandbag wall, 
 and dropping over the other side. I was surprised 
 to find there was very little drop at all. There 
 was an old ditch to be crossed, and then we came 
 to our wire, which was very thin at this point. 
 While Will was cursing, and making, it seemed to 
 me, rather an unnecessary rattling and shaking of 
 the wire (you know how wire reverberates if you 
 hit a fence by the road), I looked back at our own 
 parapet. I felt it would be a good thing to see 
 on one's return ; again, it struck me how low it 
 was, regarded from this side ; I saw a head move 
 along the top of it. This made me jump. Already 
 our trench seemed immeasurably far off. 
 
 I looked in front again, as the noise of Will's 
 wire-rattHng had ceased. In fact he was clean 
 out of sight. This made me jump again, and I 
 hurried on. It was " knife-rest " wire (see next 
 page). 
 
 I stepped over it, and my foot came down on to 
 more wire, which rattled with a noise that made 
 me stand stock still awaiting something to happen.
 
 ON PATROL 157 
 
 I felt like a cat who has upset a tablecloth and all 
 the tea things. I stood appalled at the unexpected 
 clatter. But really it was hardly audible to our 
 
 sentries, much less to the Germans at least a 
 hundred and twenty yards away. 
 
 At last I got through and flopped down. Im- 
 mediately Will's form showed up dark in front of 
 me. When I was standing up, I had been unable 
 to see him against the black ground. We lay about 
 a minute absolutely quiet, according to arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 I had fairly made the plunge now, and I felt 
 like the bather shaking his hair as he comes up 
 for the first time, and shouting out how glorious 
 it is. I was elated. The feel of the wet grass was 
 good under my hands ; the silence was good ; the 
 immense loneliness, save for Will's black form, ^^^as 
 good ; and a shght rustle of wind in the grass was 
 good also. I just wanted to lie, and enjoy it. I 
 hoped Will would not go on for another minute. 
 But soon he began to crawl. 
 
 Have you done much crawling ? It is slow work.
 
 158 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 You take knee-steps, and they are not like foot- 
 steps : they are not a hundred and twenty to the 
 hundred yards They are more like fifty to ten 
 yards, I should think. Anyway it seemed endless. 
 The end of the sap was, to be precise, just one 
 hundred and twenty-five yards from our front 
 trench. Yet when I had gone, I suppose, forty 
 yards, I expected to be on it any minute. Will 
 must be going wrong. I thought of the map. 
 Could we be going north-east instead of north ? 
 Will halted. I nearly bumped into his right foot, 
 which raised itself twice, signalling a halt. I took 
 out my compass, and looked at it. I shaded it 
 with my hand, the luminous arrow seemed so 
 bright : " rather absurd," I thought immediately, 
 "as if the Boches could possibly see it from the 
 trench." But we were going straight enough. 
 Then the figure in front moved on, and I came 
 up to where he had halted. It was the edge of a 
 big shell-hole, full of water ; I put my left hand 
 in up to the wrist, I don't know why. 
 
 Still the figure crawled on, with a sort of hump- 
 backed sidle that I had got to know by now. It 
 was interminable this crawling . . . 
 
 " Swis — s — sh." A German flare shot up from 
 ever so close. It seemed to be falHng right over us. 
 Then it burst with a " pop." I had my head down 
 on my arms, but I could squint out sideways. It 
 seemed impossible we should not be seen ; for 
 there, hardly twenty yards away, was the German
 
 ON PATROL 159 
 
 wire, as clear as anything. Meanwhile the flare 
 had fallen behind us. Would it never go out ? 
 I noticed the way the blades of grass were lit up 
 by it ; and there was an old tin or something. . . . 
 I started as a rat ran across the grass past me. 
 I wondered if it were a German rat, or one of 
 ours. 
 
 Then at last the flare went out, and the black- 
 ness was intense. For a while longer we lay still 
 as death ; then I saw Will's foot move again. I 
 listened intently, and on my right I heard a metallic 
 sound. Quite close it was ; it sounded Uke the 
 clank of a dixie. I peered hard in the direction of 
 the sound. Faintly I could distinguish earth above 
 the ground-hne. I had not looked to my right 
 when the flare went up, and realised, as Will 
 already had done, that we were out as far as the 
 end of the sap. It was perhaps ten yards off, due 
 right. I lay with my ear cocked sideways to catch 
 the faintest sound. Clearly there was someone in 
 the sap. But there was a wind swishing in the 
 grass, and I could not hear anything more. Then 
 my tense attitude relaxed, and I gradually sank 
 my chin on my arm. I felt very comfortable. I 
 did not want to move . , . 
 
 " Bang ! ! " and then a flame spat out ; then came 
 that gritty metalHc sound I had heard before, and 
 another " Bang ! " I kept my head down and 
 waited for the next, but it did not come. Then I 
 heard a most human scroopy cough, which
 
 160 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 also sounded very near. The " bangs " were 
 objectionably near ; I literally shrank from them. 
 To tell the truth, I had the "wind up" a bit. 
 Those bullets seemed to me vicious personal spits 
 that were distinctly unpleasant and near ; and I 
 wanted to get away from so close a proximity to 
 them. I remembered a maxim of some famous 
 General to the intent that if you are afraid of the 
 enemy, the best thing was to remember that in all 
 probability he was just as afraid of you. The 
 maxim did not seem to apply somehow here. At 
 the first " bang " I had thought we were seen ; 
 but I now realised that the sentry was merely 
 blazing off occasional shots, and that the bullets 
 had just plopped into our parapet. 
 
 Then Will turned round, and I did the same. 
 Our business was certainly ended, for there was 
 no doubt about the sap being occupied. Then I 
 heard a thud behind us, and looking up saw the 
 slow climbing trail of a canister blazing up into 
 the sky ; up it mounted, up, up, up, hovered a 
 moment, then turned, and with a gathering impetus 
 blazed down somewhere well behind our front 
 trench. 
 
 " Trafalgar Square," I thought, as I lay doggo, 
 for the blaze lit up the sky somewhat. 
 
 " Bomp," The earth shook as the canister 
 exploded. 
 
 " Thud," and the process was repeated exactly 
 as before, ending in another quaking " Bomp ! "
 
 ON PATROL 161 
 
 I enjoyed this. It was rather a novel way of 
 seeing canisters, and moreover a very safe way. 
 
 Two more streamed over. 
 
 Then our footballs answered, and burst with a 
 bang in the air not so very far over into the German 
 lines. The trench-mortar fellow was evidently 
 trying short fuses, for usually our trench-mortar 
 shells burst on percussion. 
 
 Then in the distance I heard four bangs, and 
 the Boche 4-2's started, screaming over at Maple 
 Redoubt. I determined to move on. 
 
 Then suddenly came four distant bangs from 
 the right of our lines (as we faced them), and with 
 " wang — wang . . . wang — wang " four whizz- 
 bangs burst right around us, with most appalling 
 flickers. " Bang — bang . . . bang — bang " in the 
 distance again, and I braced every muscle tightly, 
 as you do when you prepare to meet a shock. 
 Behind us, and just in front, the beastly things 
 burst. I lay with every fibre in my body strained 
 to the uttermost. And yet I confess I enjoyed 
 the sensation ! 
 
 There was a lull, and I began crawling as fast 
 as I could. I stopped to see if Will was following. 
 " By God," I heard, " let's get out of this." So 
 I was thinking ! Then as I went on I saw the edge 
 of a crater. Where on earth ? 
 
 I halted and pulled out my compass. Due south 
 I wanted. I found I was bearing off to the right 
 far too much, so with compass in hand I corrected
 
 162 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 my course. Some crawling this time ! It was not 
 long before we could see wire in the distance. Then 
 I got up and ran. How I got through that wire 
 I don't know ; I tore my puttees badly, and must 
 have made a most unnecessary rattling. After 
 which I fell into the ditch. 
 
 " Thank heaven you're all right," was the greeting 
 from Captain Robertson. " I was just coming out 
 after you. Those d — d artillery fellows. I sent 
 down at once to 'phone to them to stop ..." 
 
 And so on, I hardly heard a word. I was so 
 elated, I could not listen. As we went back to 
 Trafalgar Square for dinner, I heard them warning 
 the sentries " The patrol's in." I looked up at the 
 sandbag parapet. " In," I thought. " One does 
 not realise what ' in ' is, till one's been out." 
 
 I have been out several times later. I never had 
 any adventures much. But always, before going 
 out, I felt the shivers of the bather ; and always, 
 after I came in, a most splendid glow.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 "WHOM THE GODS LOVE" 
 
 NO officer wounded since we came out in 
 October," said Edwards : " we're really 
 awfully lucky, you know." 
 " For heaven's sake, touch wood," I cried. 
 We laughed, for the whole of our establishment 
 was wood. We were sitting on a wooden seat, lean- 
 ing our hands against wooden uprights, eating off 
 a wooden table, and resting our feet on a wooden 
 floor. Sometimes, too, we found splinters of wood 
 in the soup — but it was more often straw. For this 
 dining-room in Trafalgar Square was known some- 
 times as the " Summer-house " and sometimes as the 
 " Straw Palace." It was really the maddest so- 
 called " dug-out " in the British lines, I should 
 think ; I might further add, " in any trench in 
 Europe." For the French, although they presum- 
 ably built it in the summer days of 1915 when the 
 Bois Frangais trenches were a sort of summer-rest 
 for tired-out soldiers, would never have tolerated 
 the " Summer-house " since the advent of the 
 canister-age. As for the Boche, he would have 
 merely stared if anyone had suggested him using it 
 
 163
 
 164 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 as a Company Headquarters. " But," he would 
 have said, " it is not shell-proof." 
 
 Exactly. It would not have stood even a whizz- 
 bang. A rifle-grenade would almost certainly have 
 come right through it. As for a canister or H.E., 
 it would have gone through like a stone piercing 
 wet paper. But it had been Company Head- 
 quarters for so long — it was so light and, being 
 next door to the servants' dug-out, so convenient — 
 that we always lived in it still ; though we slept 
 in a dug-out a little way down Old Kent Road, 
 which was certainly whizz-bang — if not canister — 
 proof. 
 
 At any rate, here were Edwards and myself, 
 drinking rather watery ox-tail soup out of very 
 dinted tin-plates — the spoons were scraping noisily 
 on the metal ; overhead, a rat appeared out of the 
 straw thatch, looked at me, blinked, turned about, 
 and disappeared again, sending a little spill of earth 
 on to the table. 
 
 " Hang these rats," I exclaimed, for the tenth 
 time that day. 
 
 Outside, it was brilliant moonhght : whenever 
 the door opened, I saw it. It was very quiet. Then 
 I heard voices, the sound of a lot of men, moving in 
 the shuffling sort of way that men do move at night 
 in a communication trench. 
 
 The door flew open, and Captain Robertson looked 
 in. 
 
 " Hullo, Robertson ; you're early ! "
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 165 
 
 It was not much past half-past seven. 
 
 " You've got those sand-bags up by 78 Street ? " 
 he said, sitting down. 
 
 " Yes, 250 there, and 250 right up in the Loop. 
 The rest I shall use on the Fort. Oh ! by the way, 
 you know we are strafing at 12.5 ? We just had a 
 message up from Dale. I shall knock off at 11.45 
 to-night ! " 
 
 "I'll see how we get on. I want to finish that 
 traverse. Righto. I'm just drawing tools and going 
 up now." 
 
 " See you up there in a few minutes." 
 
 And the muttering stream of " A " Company filed 
 past the dug-out, going up to the front line. The 
 door swung open suddenly, and each man looked in 
 as he went by. 
 
 " Shut the door," I shouted. Our plates them- 
 selves somehow suddenly looked epicurean. 
 
 Soon after eight I was up in the front hne. It was 
 the brightest night we had had, and ideal for sand- 
 bag work. The men were already at it. There was 
 a certain amount of inevitable talking going on, 
 before everyone got really started. We were work- 
 ing on the Fort, completing two box dug-outs that 
 we had half put in the night before ; also, we were 
 thickening the parapet, between the Fort and the 
 Loop, and building a new fire-step. 
 
 " Can't see any b sand-bags here," came from 
 
 one man. 
 
 " We'll have to pick this, sir," from another.
 
 166 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " Where's Mullens gone off to ? " sharply from a 
 sergeant. 
 
 But for the most part the moonlight made every- 
 thing straightforward, and there was only the spit- 
 ting sound of picks, the heavy, smothered noise of 
 men lifting sand-bags, or the " slap, slap " of others 
 patting them into a wall with the back of a shovel, 
 that broke the stillness. On the left " A " Company 
 were working full steam ahead, heightening the 
 parapet and building a big traverse at the entrance 
 
 Good sand-bag work, 
 
 to the Matterhorn sap. " Robertson's traverse " 
 we always called it afterwards. He got his men 
 working in a long chain, passing filled sand-bags 
 along from a big miners' sand-bag dump, the ac- 
 cumulation of months of patient R.E. tunneUing. 
 These huge dumps rose up in gigantic piles where- 
 ever there was a shaft-head ; and they were a wind- 
 fall to us if they were anywhere near where we were 
 working. On this occasion quite a thousand must 
 have been passed along and built into that traverse, 
 and the parapet there, by the Matterhorn. It was
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 167 
 
 fascinating work, passing these dry, small sacks 
 as big as medium-sized babies, only as knobby and 
 angular under their outer cover as a baby is soft and 
 rounded. Meanwhile the builders laid them, like 
 bricks, alternate " headers " and " stretchers." 
 
 And so the work went on under the moon. 
 
 " Davies," I cried, in that low questioning tone 
 that might well be called " trench voice." It is not 
 a whisper ; yet it is not a full, confident sound. If 
 a man speaks loudly in the front trench, you tell him 
 to remember the Boche is a hundred yards away ; 
 if he whispers in a hoarse voice that sounds a little 
 nervy, you tell him that the Boche's ears are not a 
 hundred yards long. The result is a restrained and 
 serious-toned medium. 
 
 " Sirr," answered a voice close beside me, in a 
 pitch rather louder than the usual trench- voice. 
 Davies always spoke clear and loud. He was my 
 orderly. 
 
 " Oh ! there you are." Like a dog he had got 
 tired of standing, and while I stood watching the 
 fascinating progress of the erection of a box dug-out 
 under Sergeant Hayman's direction, he was sitting 
 on the fire-step immediately behind me. Had he 
 been a collie, his tongue would have been out, and he 
 would have yawned occasionally ; or his nose might 
 even have been between his paws. Now he jumped 
 up, giving a hitch to his rifle that was slung over his 
 left shoulder.
 
 168 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 "I'm going round the sentries," I said. 
 
 Davies said nothing, but followed about two paces 
 behind, stopping when I stopped, and gazing at me 
 silently when I got up on the fire-step to look over. 
 
 The low-ground in the quarry was very wet, and 
 the trench there two feet deep in water, so it was 
 temporarily abandoned, and the Uttle trench out of 
 76 Street by No, i Sniping Post was my way to 
 No. 5 Platoon. It was a very narrow bit of trench, 
 and on a dark night one kept knocking one's thighs 
 and elbows against hard corners of chalk-filled sand- 
 bags. To-night it was easy in the white moonlight. 
 It was really not a trench at all, but a path behind 
 a sand-bag dump. Behind was the open field. 
 There was no parados. 
 
 All correct on the two posts in No. 5. It seemed 
 almost unnecessary to have two posts on such a 
 bright night. The outline of the German parapet 
 looked clear enough. Surely the sentries must be 
 almost visible to-night ? Right opposite was the 
 dark earth of a sap-head. Our wire looked very 
 near and thin. 
 
 " Everything all right ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " 
 
 I saw the bombs lying ready in the crease between 
 two sand-bags that formed the parapet top. The 
 pins were bent straight, ready for quick drawing. 
 The bomber was all right ; and there was not much 
 wrong with his pal's bayonet, that gUstened in the 
 moonlight.
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 169 
 
 As usual, I went beyond our right post, until I 
 was met by a peering, suspicious head from the left- 
 hand sentry of " C " Company. 
 
 " Who's that ? " in a hoarse low voice, as the 
 figure bent down off the fire-step. 
 
 " All right. Officer. ' B ' Company." 
 
 Then I passed back along the trench to the top of 
 76 Street ; and so on, visiting all the sentries up to 
 80 A trench, and disturbing all the working-parties. 
 
 " Way, please," I would say to the hindquarters 
 of an energetic wielder of the pick. 
 
 " Hi ! make way there ! " Davies would say in 
 a higher and louder voice when necessary. Then the 
 figure would straighten itself, and flatten itself 
 against the trench, while I squeezed past between 
 perspiring man and sHmy sand-bag. This " pass- 
 ing " was an eternal business. It was unavoidable. 
 No one ever said anything, or apologised. No one 
 ever grumbled. It was Uke passing strap-hangers 
 in the crowded carriage of a Tube. Only it went on 
 day and night. 
 
 Craters by moonlight are really beautiful ; the 
 white chalk-dust gives them the appearance of snow- 
 mountains. And they look much larger than they 
 really are. On this occasion, as I looked into them 
 from the various bombing-posts, it needed little 
 imagination to suppose I was up in the snows of the 
 Welsh hills. There was such a death-like stillness 
 over it all, too. The view from the Matterhorn was 
 across the widest and deepest of all the craters, and
 
 170 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 I stood a long time peering across that yawning 
 chasm at the dark, irregular rim of German sand- 
 bags. I gazed fascinated. What was it all about ? 
 The sentry beside me came from a village near 
 Dolgelly : was a farmer's boy. He, too, was gazing 
 across, hardly liking to shuffle his feet lest he broke 
 the silence. 
 
 " Good God ! " I felt inclined to exclaim. " Has 
 there ever been anything more idiotic than this ? 
 What in the name of goodness are you and I doing 
 here ? " 
 
 So I thought, and so I beHeve he was thinking. 
 
 " Everything all right ? " was all I said, as I 
 jumped back into the trench. 
 
 " Yes, sir," was all the answer. 
 
 About ten o'clock I went back to Trafalgar 
 Square. There I heard that Thompson of " C " 
 Company had been wounded. From what I could 
 gather he had been able to walk down to the dressing- 
 station, so I concluded he was only slightly hit. But 
 it came as rather a shock, and I wondered whether 
 he would go to " Blighty." 
 
 At eleven I started off for the front trench again, 
 via Rue Albert and 78 Street. There was a bit of a 
 " strafe "on. It started with canisters ; it had now 
 reached the stage of whizz-bangs as well. I thought 
 little of it, when " woo — woo — woo — woo," and the 
 Boche turned on his howitzers. They screamed 
 over to Maple Redoubt. 
 
 A pause. Then again, and they screamed down
 
 *' WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 171 
 
 just in front of us, evidently after the corner of 
 78 Street. I did not hesitate, but pushed on. The 
 trench was completely blocked. Rue Albert was 
 revetted with wood and brushwood, and it was all 
 over the place. Davies and I climbed over with 
 great difficulty, the whole place reeking with powder. 
 
 " Look out, sir ! " came from Davies, and we 
 crouched down. There was a colossal din while 
 shells seemed all round us. 
 
 " All right, Davies ? " And we pushed on. At 
 last here was yd) Street, and we turned up to find 
 another complete block in the trench. We again 
 scrambled over, and met " A " Company wiring- 
 party, returning for more wire. 
 
 " The trench is blocked," said I, " but you can 
 get over all right." 
 
 We passed in the darkness. 
 
 Again " Look out ! " from Davies, and we cowered. 
 Again the shells screamed down on us, and burst 
 just behind. 
 
 " Good God ! " I exclaimed, " those wirers ! " 
 
 Davies ran back. 
 
 There was another block in the trench, but no 
 sign of any men. They were well away by now ! 
 But the shell had fallen between us and them before 
 they reached the block in 78 Street ! 
 
 Out of breath we arrived at the top of 78 Street, 
 to find " A " Company just getting going again 
 after a hot quarter of an hour. Luckily they had 
 had no casualties. All was quiet now, and the moon
 
 172 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 looked down upon the workers as before. A quarter 
 past eleven. 
 
 I worked my way along to the Fort and found 
 there a sentry rather excited because, he said, he 
 had seen exactly the spot from which they had fired 
 rifle-grenades in the strafing just now. I got him to 
 point out the place It was half-left, and as I looked, 
 sure enough I saw a flash, and a rifle-grenade whined 
 through the air, and fell with a snarl behind our 
 trench. 
 
 " Davies," I said, " get Lance-Corporal Allan to 
 come here with the Lewis gun." 
 
 Davies was gone Uke a flash. 
 
 The Lewis guns had only recently become com- 
 pany weapons, and were still somewhat of a novelty. 
 The Lewis gunners were rather envied, and also 
 rather " downed " by the sergeant-major for being 
 specialists. But this they could not help ; and they 
 were, as a matter of fact, the best men in my 
 company. 
 
 Allan arrived, with one of the team carrying two 
 spare drums of ammunition. We pointed out the 
 spot, and he laid his gun on the parapet, with the 
 butt against his shoulder, and his finger on the 
 trigger, and waited. 
 
 " Flash ! " 
 
 " There he is, sir ! " from the sentry. 
 
 " Drrrrrr-r-r-r " purred the Lewis gun, then 
 stopped. Then again, ending with another jerk 
 There was a silence. We waited five minutes.
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 178 
 
 " I'll just empty the magazine, sir." 
 
 " Dr-r-r-r-r." 
 
 Lance-Corporal Allan took off the drum, and 
 handed it to the other Lewis gunner. Then he 
 handed down the gun, and we talked a few minutes. 
 He was very proud of his gun. After a time I 
 sent him back, and made my way along to "A" 
 Company. 
 
 There I found Robertson. We talked. A tre- 
 mendous lot of work had been done, and the big 
 traverse was practically finished. 
 
 "I'm knocking off now," said I. It was a quarter 
 to twelve, and I went along with the " Cease work " 
 message. 
 
 " All right," said Robertson, " I'm just going to 
 have another look at my wirers. I'll look in as I go 
 down." 
 
 By the time I had reached the top of 76 Street, 
 the trench was full of the clank of the thermos dixies, 
 and the men were drinking hot soup. The pioneers 
 had just brought it up. I stopped and had a taste. 
 It was good stuff. As I turned off down the trench, 
 I heard the Germans start shelling again on our left, 
 but they stopped almost directly. I thought nothing 
 of it at the time. 
 
 It was just midnight when I reached Trafalgar 
 Square and bumped into Davidson coming round 
 the corner. 
 
 " I was looking for you," said he. " You've 
 heard about Tommy ? "
 
 174 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " But he's not badly hit, is 
 he? " 
 
 " Oh, you haven't heard. He died at eleven 
 o'clock." 
 
 Died ! My God ! this was something new. 
 Briefly, tersely, Davidson told me the details. He 
 had been hit in the mouth while working on the 
 parapet, and had died down at the dressing station. 
 I looked hard at Davidson, as we stood together in 
 the moonlight by the big island traverse at Trafalgar 
 Square. Somehow I felt my body tense ; my teeth 
 were pressed together ; my eyes did not want to 
 blink. Here was something new. I had seen death 
 often : it was nothing new. But it was the first 
 time it had taken one of us. I wondered what David- 
 son felt ; he knew Thompson much better than I. 
 Yet I knew him well enough — only a day or so ago 
 he had come to our billet in the butcher's shop, and 
 we had talked of him afterwards — and now — 
 dead 
 
 All this flashed through my brain in a second. 
 Meanwhile Davidson was saying, 
 
 " Well, I'm just going off for this strafe," when I 
 heard men running down a trench. 
 
 " Quick ! Stretcher-bearers. The Captain's hit," 
 came from someone in a low voice. The stretcher- 
 bearers' dug-out was just by where we were standing, 
 and immediately I heard a stir inside, and a head 
 looked out from the waterproof sheet that acted as 
 curtain in front of it.
 
 *' WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 175 
 
 " Is it a stretcher-case ? " a voice asked. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply, and without more ado two 
 stretcher-bearers turned out and ran up 76 Street 
 after the orderly. At that moment there was a thud, 
 and a blazing trail climbed up the sky from the left. 
 
 " D ," I muttered. " We must postpone this 
 
 strafe. Davidson, we'll iix up later, see ? Only no 
 firing now." As Davidson disappeared to his gun- 
 position, I ran to the telephone. 
 
 " Trench-mortar officer," I said. " Quick ! " 
 
 But there is no " quick " about a signaller. He 
 is always there, and methodically, without haste or 
 flurry, he takes down and sends messages. There is 
 no " quickness " ; yet there is no delay. If the 
 world outside pulses and rocks under a storm of 
 shells, in the signallers' dug-out is always a deep-sea 
 calm. So impatiently I watched the operator beat 
 his httle tattoo on the buzzer ; looked at his face, 
 as the candle-light shone on it, with its ears hidden 
 beneath the receiver-drums, and its head swathed 
 by the band that holds them over the ears. In the 
 comer, the second signaller sat up and peered out of 
 his blanket, and then lay down again. 
 
 " Zx ? Is there an oihcer there ? Hold on a 
 minute, please. The officer's at the gun, sir ; will 
 you speak to the corporal ? " 
 
 " Yes." I already had the receiver to my ear. 
 
 " Is that the trench-mortar corporal ? Well, go 
 and tell Mr. Macfarlane, will you, to stop firing at 
 once, and not to start again till he hears from Mr.
 
 176 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 Adams. Right. Right. Thanks." This last to the 
 signaller as I left the dug-out. 
 
 " Thud ! " and another football blazed through 
 the sky. 
 
 Macfarlane was the officer in charge of the trench- 
 mortar guns of our sector. I knew him well. 
 Davidson was in charge of the Stokes gun, which is 
 a quick-firing trench-mortar gun. Macfarlane's 
 shells were known as " footballs," but as they had 
 a handle attached they looked more like hammers 
 as they slowly curved through the air. 
 
 We had arranged to " strafe " a certain position 
 in the German support line at five minutes after 
 midnight. But I wanted to stop it before retahation 
 started. The doctor had gone up the front line, 
 and Robertson would be brought down any minute. 
 
 Outside I met Brock. He said little, but it was 
 good to have him there. A long while it seemed, 
 waiting. I started up 76 Street. No sooner had I 
 started than I heard footsteps coming down, and to 
 make room I y/ent back. I was preparing to say 
 some cheery word to Robertson, but when I saw 
 him he was lying quite still and unconscious. I 
 stopped the little doctor. 
 
 " Is he bad. Doc? " 
 
 " Well, old man, I can hardly say. He's got a 
 fighting chance," and he went on. Slowly I heard 
 the stretcher-bearers' footsteps growing fainter and 
 fainter, and there was silence. Thank God ! those 
 footballs had stopped now !
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 177 
 
 Did I guess that Robertson too was mortally 
 wounded ? I cannot say — only my teeth were set, 
 and I felt very wideawake. In a minute both 
 Davidson and Macfarlane came up, Davidson down 
 76 Street, and Macfarlane from Rue Albert. I told 
 Macfarlane all about it, and as I did so my blood 
 was up. I swore hard at the devils that had done 
 this ; and we agreed on a " strafe " at a quarter to 
 one. 
 
 I stood alone at Trafalgar Square. There was a 
 great calm sky, and the moon looked down at me. 
 Then with a " thud " the first football went up. 
 Then the Stokes answered. 
 
 "Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!" Up they 
 sailed into the air all together, and exploded with a 
 deafening din. 
 
 " Thud— thud ! " 
 
 " Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang ! " 
 
 Then the Boche woke up. Two canisters rose, 
 streamed, and fell, dropping slightly to my right. 
 
 But still our trench-mortars went on. Two more 
 canisters tried for Davidson's gun. 
 
 I was elated. " This for Thompson and Robert- 
 son," I said, as our footballs went on methodically. 
 
 Then the whizz-bangs began on Trafalgar Square. 
 
 I went to the telephone. 
 
 " Artillery," I said briefly. " Retaliate C i 
 Sector." 
 
 And then our guns began.
 
 178 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " Scream, scream, scream " they went over. 
 
 " Swish — swish " answered the Boche whizz- 
 bangs. 
 
 " Phew," said Sergeant Tallis, the bombing- 
 sergeant, as he looked out of his dug-out. 
 
 " More retaHation," I said to the signaller, and 
 stepped out again. 
 
 A grim exaltation filled me. We were getting our 
 own back. I did not care a straw for their canisters 
 or whizz-bangs. It pleased me to hear Sergeant 
 Tallis say " Phew." My blood was up, and I did 
 not feel like saying " Phew." 
 
 " The officer wants to know if that is enough," said 
 the telephone orderly, who had come out to find me. 
 
 " No," I answered ; " I want more." 
 
 The Boche was sending " heavies " over on to 
 Maple Redoubt. I would go on until he stopped. 
 My will should be master. Again our shells screamed 
 over. There was no reply. 
 
 Gradually quiet came back. 
 
 Then I heard footsteps, and there was Davidson. 
 His face was glowing too. 
 
 " How was that ? " he asked. 
 
 How was that ? He had fired magnificently, 
 though the Boche had sent stuff all round him. 
 How was that ? 
 
 " Magnificent ! We've shut them up." 
 
 " I've got six shells left. Shall I blaze them off ? " 
 
 "Oh, no ! " said I ; "I think we've avenged 
 Tommy."
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 179 
 
 His face hardened. 
 
 " Good night, Bill ! " 
 
 But I did not feel Hke sleep. I still stood at the 
 corner, waiting for I knew not what. 
 
 "Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!" went the 
 Stokes gun. There was a pause, and " bang, bang, 
 bang, bang, bang ! " came the sound of them burst- 
 ing. There was a longer pause. 
 
 " Bang ! " I watched the spark floating through 
 the sky. 
 
 " Bang ! " came the sound back from the German 
 trench. 
 
 I waited. There was no answer. And for the 
 first time that night I fancied the moon smiled. 
 
 [Copy] 
 
 Daily Summary. C i. (Left Company) 
 6 p.m. 18.3. i6 — 3.30 p.m. 19.3. 16 
 
 (a) Operations. 
 
 ii.o p.m. Enemy fired six rifle-grenades 
 from F10/5. The approximate position of the 
 battery was visible from the Fort, and Lewis 
 gun fire was brought to bear on it, which im- 
 mediately silenced it. 
 
 11.30 p.m. Enemy fired several trench-
 
 180 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 mortar shells and H.E. shells on junction of 
 78 Street and Rue Albert (Fio/6), a few falling 
 in our front line trench by the Matterhorn. 
 No damage was done to our trenches. 
 
 12.45 p.m. Our T.M. Battery fired 12 foot- 
 balls, and our Stokes gun 32 shells at enemy's 
 front hne trench in F10/5. The enemy sent a 
 few canisters over, but then resorted to H.E.'s. 
 Our artillery retaUated. Our Stokes gun con- 
 tinued to fire until enemy was silent, no reply 
 being sent to our last 6 shells. 
 
 7.45 a.m. Enemy fired several rifle-grenades 
 and bombs. Our R.G.'s retaliated with 24 
 R.G.'s. 
 
 (b) Progress of Work. 
 
 / 30 yards of parapet thickened two feet. 
 F 10/6 I 25 yards of fire-step built. 
 20 coils of wire put out. 
 
 / 20 yards of parapet thickened two feet. 
 F 10/5 I 2 dug-outs completed. 
 
 ' 20 yards of fire-step built. 
 
 J. B. P. Adams, Lt., 
 
 O.C. " B " Coy.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 "WHOM THE GODS LOVE"— {continued) 
 
 A 
 
 S I write I feel inclined to throw the whole 
 book in the fire. It seems a desecration to 
 tell of these things. Do I not seem to be 
 exulting in the tragedy ? Should not he who feels 
 deeply keep silent ? Sometimes I think so. And 
 yet it is the truth, word for word the truth ; so I 
 must write it. 
 
 In the Straw Palace next morning Davidson and 
 I were sitting discussing last night, when the doctor 
 looked in. He started talking about Vermorel 
 sprayers (the portable tins shaped like large oval 
 milk-cans, filled with a solution useful for clearing 
 dug-outs after a gas attack). One of these was 
 damaged, and I had sent down a note to the M.O. 
 about it. 
 
 " How's Robertson ? " I asked at once. 
 
 " He died this morning, Bill — three o'clock this 
 morning." 
 
 " Good God," I said. 
 
 " Pretty ghastly, isn't it ? Two officers like that 
 in one night. The CO. is awfully cut up about it." 
 
 " Robertson dead ? " said Davidson. 
 
 And so we talked for some minutes. The old
 
 182 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 doctor was used to these things. He had seen so 
 many officers fall out of line. But to us this was 
 new, and we had not gauged it yet. You might have 
 thought from his quiet jerky sentences that the 
 doctor was almost callous. You would have been 
 wrong. 
 
 " Well, I must get on," he said at last. " So 
 long, Bill. Send that Vermorel sprayer down, will 
 you, and I'll see to it, and you'll have it back to- 
 night, probably." 
 
 " Righto." And the doctor and his orderly dis- 
 appeared down the Old Kent Road. 
 
 Davidson and I talked alone. 
 
 " It must be pretty rotten being an M.O.," he 
 remarked. 
 
 Then the " F.L.O." came in. He is the " Forward 
 liaison officer," an artilleiy officer who lives up with 
 the infantry and facilitates co-operation between 
 the two. At the same moment came a cheery 
 Scotch voice outside, and Macfarlane, the " foot- 
 ball " officer, looked in. 
 
 " Come oot a' that ! " he cried. " Sittin' indoors 
 on a fine mornin'." 
 
 " Come in," we said. 
 
 But his will prevailed, and we all came out into 
 the sunshine. I had not seen him since last night's 
 little show. Now he was being relieved by another 
 officer for six days, and I was anxious to know 
 what sort of a man was his successor. But Macfar- 
 lane did not know much about him yet.
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 183 
 
 "Anyway," said 1, "if he'll only fire like you, 
 we don't mind." 
 
 " Och I " grunted Macfarlane. " What's the use 
 of havin' a gun, and no firin' it ? So long as I get 
 ma footballs up, I'll plunk them over aw recht." 
 
 " Yes," I added. " The Boche doesn't approve 
 of your sort." 
 
 For there were other sorts. There was the trench- 
 mortar officer who was never to be found, but who 
 left a sergeant with instructions not to fire without 
 his orders ; there was the trench-mortar officer 
 who "could not fire except by Brigade orders"; 
 there was the trench-mortar officer who was "afraid 
 of giving his position away " ; there was the trench- 
 mortar officer who " couldn't get any ammunition 
 up, you know ; they won't give it me ; only too 
 pleased to fire, if only . . ." ; there was the trench- 
 mortar officer who started firing on his own, without 
 consulting the company commander, just when you 
 had a big working-party in the front trenches ; 
 and lastly there were trench-mortar officers Hke 
 Davidson and Macfarlane. 
 
 " Cheero, then," we said, as Macfarlane went off. 
 " Look us up. You know our billet ? We'll be out 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Then we finished our consultation and divided off 
 to our different jobs. 
 
 All that day I felt that there was in me some- 
 thing which by all rights should have " given " : 
 these two deaths should have made me feel different :
 
 184 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 and yet I was just the same. As I went round the 
 trench, with Da vies at my heels, talking to platoon- 
 sergeants, examining wire through my periscope, 
 all in the ordinary way exactly as before, I forgot 
 all about Tommy and Robertson. Even when I came 
 to the place where Robertson had been hit, and 
 saw the blood on the fire-step, and some scraps of 
 cotton wool lying about, I looked at it as you might 
 look at a smashed egg on the pavement, curiously, 
 and then passed on. " Am I indifferent to these 
 things, then ? " I asked myself. I had not realised 
 yet that violent emotion very rarely comes close 
 upon the heels of death, that there is a numbness, 
 a blunting of the spirit, that is an anodyne to pain. 
 I was ashamed of my indifference ; yet I soon saw 
 that it was no uncommon thing. Besides, one had 
 to " carry on " just the same. There was always a 
 silence among the men, when a pal " goes west " ; 
 so now Edwards and I did not talk much, except 
 to discuss the ordinary routine. 
 
 I did not get much rest that day. In the after- 
 noon came up a message from the adjutant that 
 we were exploding a mine opposite the Matterhorn 
 at 6.30 ; our trench was to be cleared from 80 A 
 to the bombing-post on the left of the Loop in- 
 clusive. Edwards and I were the only officers in 
 the company, so while he arranged matters with 
 the Lewis-gun teams, I went off to see about getting 
 the trench cleared. I had just sent off the " daily 
 summary," my copy of which is reproduced on
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 185 
 
 page 179. As I came back along 78 Street, I met 
 Davidson again. He was looking for a new site 
 for his gun, so as to be able to get a good fire to 
 bear on the German lines opposite the Matterhorn. 
 I went with him, and together we found a place 
 behind the big mine-dump to the left of 78 Street, 
 and close to one of our rifle-grenade batteries. As 
 he went off to get his corporal and team to bring 
 the gun over and fix it in position, he said something 
 in a rather low voice. 
 
 " What ? " I shouted. " Couldn't hear." 
 
 He came back and repeated it. 
 
 " Oh," I said. " Sorry. Yes, all right. I expect 
 I'll hear from the Adjutant. Thanks." 
 
 What he said was that there would be a funeral 
 that night at nine o'clock. Thompson and Robert- 
 son were being buried together. He thought I 
 would like to know. 
 
 It was close on half-past six, and getting dark. 
 The trenches were cleared, and I was waiting at 
 the head of two platoons that strung out along 78 
 Street and behind the Loop. Rifles had been in- 
 spected ; the men had the S.A.A. (small arms 
 ammunition) and bomb boxes with them, ready to 
 take back into the trench as soon as the mine had 
 gone up. I looked at my watch. 
 
 " Another minute," I said. 
 
 Then, as I spoke, the earth shook ; there was a 
 pause, and a great black cloud burst into the air, 
 followed by a roar of flames. I got up on the fire-
 
 186 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 step to see it better. It is a good show, a mine. 
 There was the sound of falHng earth, and then 
 silence. 
 
 " Come on," I said, and we hurried back into the 
 trench. Weird and eerie it looked in the half- 
 light ; its emptiness might have been years old. 
 It was undamaged, as we had expected ; only there 
 was loose earth scattered all over the parapet and 
 fire-step. 
 
 Then hell broke loose, a crashing, banging, flash- 
 ing hell that concentrated on the German front line 
 directly opposite. It seemed like stirring up an 
 ant's nest, and then spraying them with boiling 
 water as they ran about in confusion ! 
 
 " Bang — bang — bang — bang — bang," barked 
 Davidson's gun. 
 
 " Thud," muttered the football-thrower. 
 
 " Wheep ! Wee-oo, wee-oo, wee-oo," went the 
 rifle grenades. And all this splendid rain burst with 
 a glorious splash just over the new crater. It was 
 magnificent shooting, and half of us were up on 
 the fire-step watching the fireworks. 
 
 Then the Boche retaliated, with canisters and 
 whizz-bangs, and " heavies " for Maple Redoubt ; 
 and then our guns joined the concert. It was " hot 
 shop " for half an hour, but at last it died down 
 and there was a great calm. Some of the men were 
 in the trenches for the first time, and had not 
 relished the proceedings overmuch ! They were 
 relieved to get the order " Stand down ! "
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 187 
 
 There were several things to be done, working- 
 parties to be arranged, final instructions given to 
 a patrol, Lewis gunners to be detailed to rake the 
 German parapet opposite the Matterhorn all night. 
 A platoon sergeant was worried about his sentries ; 
 he had not enough men, having had one or two 
 casualties ; and I had to lend him men from a 
 more fortunate platoon. It was quite dark, and 
 nearly half-past seven by the time I got back to 
 Trafalgar Square. Edwards had started dinner, 
 as he was on trench duty at eight o'clock. The 
 sergeant-major was on duty until then. 
 
 Davidson looked in on his way down to Maple 
 Redoubt. 
 
 " I say, your Stokes were bursting top-hole. We 
 had a splendid view." 
 
 "They weren't going short, were they?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "No. Just right. The fellows were awfully 
 bucked with it." 
 
 " Oh, good. You can't see a bit from where we 
 are, and the corporal said he thought they were 
 going short. But I'd worked out the range and was 
 firing well over 120, so I carried on. I'm going down 
 to have dinner with O'Brien. I think we've done 
 enough to-night." 
 
 Then I saw that he was tired out. 
 
 " Rather a hot shop ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he said in his casual way. " They were 
 all round us. Well, cheero ! I shan't be up till
 
 188 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 about ten, I expect, unless there's anything 
 wanted." 
 
 " Cheero ! " 
 
 " It's no joke firing that gun with the Boche 
 potting at you hard with canisters," I said to 
 Edwards, as Davidson's footsteps died away. 
 
 "He's the bravest fellow in the regiment," said 
 Edwards, and we talked of the time when the gun 
 burst in his face as he was firing it, and he told his 
 men that it had been hit by a canister, to prevent 
 their losing confidence in it. I saw him just after- 
 wards : his face was bleeding. It was no joke being 
 Stokes officer ; the Germans hated those vicious 
 snapping bolts that spat upon them " One, two, 
 three, four, five," and always concentrated their 
 fire against his gun. But they had not got him. 
 
 " No, he's inside," I heard Edwards saying. 
 " Bill. Telephone message." 
 
 The telephone orderly handed me a pink form. 
 Edwards was outside, just about to go on trench 
 duty. It was eight. I went outside. It was bright 
 moonlight again. Grimly, I thought of last night. 
 
 "Look here," I said. "There's this funeral at 
 nine o'clock. I've just 'got this message. One 
 officer from each company may go. Will you go ? 
 I can't very well go as O.C. Company." And I 
 handed him the pink form to see. 
 
 So we rearranged the night duties, and Edwards 
 went off till half -past eight, while I finished my 
 dinner. Lewis was hovering about with toasted
 
 "WHOM THE GODS LOVE" 189 
 
 cheese and cajt' au lait. As I swallowed these 
 glutinous concoctions, the candle flickered and 
 went out. I pushed open the door : the moonlight 
 flooded in, and I did not trouble to call for another 
 candle. Then I heard the sergeant-major's voice, 
 and went out. We stood talking at Trafalgar 
 Square. 
 
 " Shan't be sorry to get relieved to-morrow," I 
 said. I was tired, and I wondered how long the 
 night would take to pass. 
 
 Suddenly, up the Old Kent Road I heard a man 
 running. My heart stopped. I hate the sound of 
 running in a trench, and last night they had run 
 for stretcher-bearers when Robertson was hit. I 
 looked at the sergeant-major, who was biting his 
 lip, his ears cocked. Round the corner a man bolted, 
 out of breath, excited. I stopped him ; he nearly 
 knocked into us. 
 
 " Hang you," said I. " Stop ! Where the 
 devil . . . ? " 
 
 " Mr. Davidson, sir . . . Mr. Davidson is killed." 
 
 " Rot I " I said, impatiently^ " Pull yourself 
 together, man. He's all right. I saw him only 
 half an hour ago." 
 
 But as I spoke, something broke inside me. It 
 was as if I were straining, beating against some- 
 thing relentless. As though by words, by the cry 
 '• impossible " I could beat back the flood of con- 
 viction that the man's words brought over me. 
 Dead 1 I knew he was dead.
 
 190 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " Impossible, corporal," I said. " What do you 
 mean ? " For I saw now that it was Davidson's 
 corporal who stood gazing at me with fright in his 
 eyes. 
 
 He pulled himself together at last. 
 
 " Killed, sir. It came between us as we were 
 talking. A whizz-bang, sir." 
 
 " My God ! " I cried. " Where ? " 
 
 " Just at the bottom, sir " — the man jerked his 
 hand back down Old Kent Road. " We were just 
 talking, sir. My leave has come through, and he 
 was joking, and saying his would be through soon, 
 when . . . oh, Jesus ... I was half blinded. . . . 
 I've not got over it yet, sir." And the man was all 
 trembling as he spoke. 
 
 " He was killed instantly ? " 
 
 " Ach ! " said the man. He made a gesture with 
 his hands. " It burst right on him." 
 
 " Poor fellow," I said. God knows what I meant. 
 " Send a man with him, sergeant-major," I added, 
 and plunged up 76 Street. 
 
 " Davidson," I cried. " Davidson dead ! " 
 
 It was close on midnight, as I stood outside the 
 Straw Palace. Lewis brought me a cup of cocoa, 
 I drank it in silence, and ate a piece of cake. I 
 told the man to go to bed. Then, when he had dis- 
 appeared, I climbed up out of the trench, and sat, 
 my legs dangling down into it. Down in the trench 
 the moon cast deep black shadows. I looked around.
 
 "WTIOM THE GODS LOVE" 191 
 
 All was bathed in pale, shimmery moonlight. There 
 was a great silence, save for distant machine-gun 
 popping down in the Fricourt valley, and the very 
 distant sound of guns, guns, guns — the sound that 
 never stops day and night. I pressed on my right 
 hand and with a quick turn was up on my feet out 
 of the trench, on the hill-side ; for I was just over 
 the brow, on the reverse slope, and out of sight of 
 the enemy lines. I took off my steel helmet and put 
 it on the ground, while I stretched out my arms 
 and clenched my hands. 
 
 " So this is War," I thought. I realised that my 
 teeth were set, and my mouth hard, and my eyes, 
 though full of sleep, wide open : silently I took 
 in the great experience, the death of those well- 
 loved. For of all men in the battalion I loved 
 Davidson best. Not that I knew him so wonder- 
 fully well — but . . . well, one always had to smile 
 when he came in ; he was so good-natured, so 
 young, so dehghtfully imperturbable. He used to 
 come in and stroke your hair if you were bad- 
 tempered. Somehow he reminded me of a cat 
 purring ; and perhaps his hair and his smile had 
 something to do with it ? Oh, who can define what 
 they love in those they love ? 
 
 And then my mind went back over all the in- 
 cidents of the last few hours. Together we had 
 been through it all : together we had discussed 
 death : and last of all I thought how he had told 
 me of the funeral that was to be at 9 o'clock. And
 
 192 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 now he lay beside them. All three had been buried 
 at nine o'clock, 
 
 " Dead. Dead," said a voice within me. And 
 still I did not move. Still that numbness, that 
 dulness, that tightening across the brain and 
 senses. This, too, was something new. Then I 
 looked around me, across the moorland. I walked 
 along until I could see down over Maple Redoubt 
 and across the valley, where there seemed a slight 
 white mist ; or was it only moonshine ? 
 
 Suddenly, " Strength." I answered the voice. 
 " Strong. I am strong." Every muscle in my 
 body was tinghng at my bidding. I felt an iron 
 strength. All this tautness, this numbness, was 
 strength. I remembered last night, the feeling of 
 irresistible will-power, and my eyes glowed. I 
 thought of Davidson, and my eyes glistened : the 
 very pain was the birth of new strength. 
 
 Then, even as the strength came, I heard a thud, 
 and away on the left a canister blazed into the air, 
 climbed, swooped, and rushed. And the vulgar 
 din of its bursting rent all the stillness of the night. 
 A second followed suit. And as it, too, burst, it 
 seemed a clumsy mocking at me, a mocking that 
 ran in echoes all along the still valley. 
 
 " Strength," it sneered. " Strength." 
 
 And all my iron will seemed beating against a 
 wall of steel, that must in the end wear me down 
 in a useless battering. 
 
 " War," I cried. " How can my will batter
 
 " WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 193 
 
 against war ? " I thought of Davidson's smiling 
 face ; and then I thought of the bhnd clumsy 
 canister. And I felt unutterably weak and power- 
 less. What did it matter what I thought or did, 
 whether I was weak or strong ? What power had 
 I against this irresistible impersonal machine^ this 
 war ? And I remembered how an hour or so ago 
 the trench-mortar officer had asked me whether I 
 wanted him to fire or not, and I had answered, 
 " Good God ! Do as you d — d well like." What 
 did it matter what he did ? Yet, last night it had 
 seemed to matter everything. 
 
 Slowly there came into my mind that picture 
 that later has come to mean to me the true ex- 
 pression of war. Only slowly it came now, a 
 half-formed image of what my spirit alone under- 
 stood. 
 
 " A certain man drew a bow at a venture," I 
 thought. What of those shells that I had called 
 down last night at my bidding, standing Hke a god, 
 intoxicated with power, and crying " Retaliate. 
 More retaliation." Where did they fall ? Were 
 other men lying as Davidson lay to-night ? Had I 
 called down death ? Had I stricken famihes ? 
 Probably. Nay, more than probably. Certainly. 
 Death. Blind death. That was it. Blind death. 
 
 And all the time above me was the white moon. 
 
 I looked at the shadows of my arms as I held them 
 
 out. Such shadows belonged to summer nights in 
 
 England ... in Kent. . . . Oh ! why was every- 
 
 13
 
 194 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 thing so silent ? Could nothing stop this utter 
 folly, this cruel madness, this clumsy death ? 
 
 And then, at last, the strain gave a little, and my 
 muscles relaxed. I went back and took up my 
 helmet. 
 
 " Dead," the voice repeated within me. And this 
 time my spirit found utterance : 
 
 " Damn ! " I said. " Oh damn ! damn ! Damn ! " 
 
 [Copy] 
 
 Special Report — C i Section (Left 
 Company) 
 
 The mine exploded by us opposite 80 A at 6.30 
 p.m. last night has exposed about 20 yards of 
 German parapet. A working-party attempting to 
 work there about 12.30 a.m. and again at 2 a.m. 
 was dispersed at once by our rifle and Lewis-gun 
 fire. The parapet has been built up sufficiently to 
 prevent our seeing over it, sand-bags having been 
 put up from inside the trench. Our snipers are 
 closely watching this spot. 
 
 J. B. P. Adams, Lieut. 
 
 O.C. " B " Coy. 
 6.30 a.m. 20.3.16.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 
 
 " ¥ A OOR devils on sentry," said Dixon. He 
 I shut the door quickly and came over to 
 
 -»- the fire. Outside was a thick blizzard, 
 and it was biting cold. He sat down on the bed 
 nearest the fire and got warm again. 
 
 " Look here, Bill, can't we possibly get any 
 coal ? " 
 
 " We sent a fellow into Bray," I answered, 
 " but it's very doubtful if he'll get any. Anyway 
 we'll see." 
 
 Tea was finished. The great problem was fuel. 
 There were no trees or houses anywhere near 71 
 North, We had burnt two solid planks during the 
 day ; these had been procured by the simple ex- 
 pedient of getting a lance-corporal to march four 
 men to the R.E. dump, select two planks, and 
 march them back again. But by now the planks 
 had surely been missed, and it would be extremely 
 risky to repeat the experiment, even after dark. 
 So a man had been despatched to Bray to try and 
 purchase a sack of coal ; also, I had told the Mess- 
 sergeant to try and buy one for us, and bring it up 
 with the rations. This also was a doubtful quantity. 
 
 195
 
 196 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 Meanwhile, we had a great blaze going, and were 
 making the most of it. 
 
 I was writing letters ; Dixon was reading ; Nicol- 
 son was seeing to the rum ration ; Clark was 
 singing, " Now Neville was a devil," and showing 
 his servant Brady how to " make " a hammock. 
 Brady was a patient disciple, but his master had 
 slept in a hammock for the first time in his life the 
 night before and consequently was not a very clear 
 exponent of the art. Apparently certain things 
 that happened last night must be avoided to-night ; 
 how they were to be avoided was left to Brady's 
 ingenuity. Every attempt on his part to solve the 
 problems put before him was carefully tested by 
 Clark, and accepted or condemned according to its 
 merit under the strain of Clark's body. At such 
 times of testing the strains of " Neville was a 
 devil " would cease. At last Brady hit on some 
 lucky adjustment, and the occupant pronounced 
 his position to be first rate. Then Brady dis- 
 appeared behind the curtain that screened the ser- 
 vants' quarters, and the song proceeded uninter- 
 ruptedly, 
 
 " Now Neville was a devil 
 A perfect little devil " ; 
 
 and Clark rocked himself contentedly into a state 
 of restful slumber. 
 
 Meanwhile, behind the arras the retainers pre- 
 pared their masters' meal. This dug-out was of 
 the " tubular " pattern, a succession of quarter
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 197 
 
 circles of black iron riveted together at the top, 
 and so forming a long tube, one end of which was 
 bricked up and had a brick chimney with two 
 panes of glass on each side of it ; the other led into 
 a small wooden dug-out curtained off. Here abode 
 five servants and an orderly. I should here state that 
 this dug-out was the most comfortable I have ever 
 lived in ; as a matter of fact it was not a dug-out at 
 all, but being placed right under the steep bank at 
 71 North it was practically immune from shelling. 
 The brick chimney and the glass window-panes were 
 certainly almost unique : one imagined it must 
 have been built originally by the R.E.'s for their own 
 abode ! Along the sides were four beds of wire- 
 netting stretched over a wooden frame with a layer 
 of empty sand-bags for mattress. In the centre was 
 a wooden table. Over this table, in air suspended, 
 floated Clark. 
 
 Meanwhile, as above stated, behind the arras the 
 retainers prepared their masters' meal, with such- 
 like comments — 
 
 " Who's going for rations to-night ? " 
 
 " It's Lewis's turn to-night, and Smith's." 
 
 " All right, sergeant." 
 
 " Gr-r-r " (uninteUigible). 
 
 " Where's Dodger ? " 
 
 " Out chasing them hares. Didn't you hear the 
 Captain say he'd be for it, if he didn't get one ? " 
 
 " Gr-r-r. He won't get any hares." 
 
 Here followed a pause, and a lot of noise of
 
 198 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 plates and boxes being moved. Then there was a 
 continued crackHng of wood, as the fire was made 
 up. Followed a lot of coughing, and muttering, 
 and " Phew ! " as the smoke got too thick even for 
 that smoke-hardened crew. 
 
 " Phew ! Stop it. Jesus Christ." 
 
 More coughing, the door was opened, and soon 
 a cold draught sped into our dug-out. There was 
 but one door for both. 
 
 " Shut that door ! " I shouted. 
 
 " Hi, Lewis, your bloke's calhng. Said, ' Shut 
 that door.' " 
 
 Then the door shut. More coughing ensued, but 
 the smoke was better, apparently, for it soon ceased. 
 We were each, by the way, " my bloke " to our 
 respective retainers. 
 
 The conversation remained for some time at an 
 inaudible level, until I heard the door open again, 
 and a shout of " Hullo ! Dodger. Coo ! Jesus 
 Christ ! He's all right, isn't he ? There's a job for 
 you, sergeant, cooking that bloke. Has the Captain 
 seen him ? Hey ! Look out of that ! You'll have 
 the blood all over the place. Get a bit of paper." 
 
 The " sergeant " (Private Gray) made no com- 
 ments on the prospect of cooking the " Dodger's " 
 quarry, and the next minute Private Davies, 
 orderly, appeared with glowing though rather 
 dirty face holding up a large hare, that dripped gore 
 from its mouth into a scrunched-up ball of Daily 
 Mail held to its nose like a pocket-handkerchief.
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 199 
 
 " Look here, Dixon," I said. 
 
 " Devil's alive," exclaimed Dixon. " Then you've 
 got one. By Jove ! Splendid ! I say, isn't he a 
 beauty ? " And we all went up and examined him. 
 He was a hare of the first order. To-morrow he 
 should be the chef d'cBuvre in " B " Company mess 
 at Morlancourt. For we went out of reserve into 
 billets the next morning. 
 
 " How did you get him, Da vies ? " 
 
 " Oh ! easy enough, sir. I'll get another if you 
 like. There's a lot of them sitting out in the snow 
 there. I was only about fifty yards off. He don't 
 get much chance with a rifle, sir." (Here his voice 
 broke into a laugh.) " It's not what you call much 
 sport for him, sir ! I got this too, sir ! " 
 
 And lo ! and behold ! a plump partridge ! 
 
 " Oh ! they're as tame as anything, and you 
 can't help getting them in this snow," he said. 
 
 At last the dripping hare was removed from the 
 stage to behind the scenes, and Davies joined the 
 smothered babel behind the arras. 
 
 " Wonderful fellow, old Davies," said Dixon. 
 
 " By the way, Bill," he added. " How about 
 getting the little doctor in to-night for a hand of 
 vingt-et-un ? Can we manage it all right ? " 
 
 I was Mess-president for the time, Edwards 
 being away on a course. 
 
 " Oh ! yes," I answered. " Rather. I'll send 
 a note." 
 
 As I was writing a rather elaborate note (having
 
 200 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 nothing better to do) requesting the pleasure of the 
 distinguished presence of the medical officer, the 
 man who had been to Bray for coal came and 
 reported a fruitless errand. He seemed very de- 
 pressed at his failure, but cheered up when we gave 
 him a tot of rum to warm him up. (All rum, by 
 the way, is kept in the company officer's dug-out ; 
 it is the only way.) 
 
 Meanwhile, the problem of fuel must be faced. 
 A log was crackling away merrily enough, but it 
 was the very last. Something must be done. 
 
 " Davies," I called out. 
 
 " Sir ? " came back in that higher key of his. 
 
 He appeared at the door. 
 
 " Are you going down for rations ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, look here. There's a sack of coal ordered 
 from Sergeant Johnson, but I'm none too sure it'll 
 come up to-night. I only ordered it yesterday. 
 But I want you to make sure you get it if it is there ; 
 in fact you must bring it, whether it's there or not. 
 See ? If you don't, you'll be for it." 
 
 This threat Davies took for what it was worth. 
 But he answered : 
 
 " I'll get it, sir. I'll bring something along 
 somehow." 
 
 And Davies never failed of his word. 
 
 " Good ! Do what you can." 
 
 Half an hour later he staggered in with a sack of 
 coal, and plumped it down, all covered \y^ith snow.
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 201 
 
 The fire was burning very low, and we were looking 
 at it anxiously. The sight of this new supply of 
 fuel was wonderful good to the eyes. So busy were 
 we in stoking up, that we forgot to ask Davies if 
 he had had any trouble in getting it. After all, it 
 did not matter much. There was the coal ; that 
 ■was the point. 
 
 Behind the curtain there was a great business. 
 Lewis and Brady had brought up the rations ; 
 Gray was busy with a big stew, and Richards was 
 apparently engaged in getting out plates and knives 
 and forks from a box ; Davies was reading aloud, 
 in the middle of the chaos, from the Daily Mail. 
 Sometimes the Mess-president took it into his head 
 to inspect the servants' dug-out ; but it was an 
 unwise procedure, for it took away the relish of the 
 meal, if you saw the details of its preparation. So 
 long as it was served up tolerably clean, one should 
 be satisfied. 
 
 At half-past seven came in Richards to lay the 
 table. The procedure of this was first to take all 
 articles on the table and dump them on the nearest 
 bed. Then a knife, fork, and spoon were put to 
 each place, and a varied collection of tin mugs and 
 glasses arranged likewise ; then came salt and 
 mustard in glass potted-meat jars ; bread sitting 
 bareback on the newspaper tablecloth ; and a 
 bottle of O.V.H. and two bottles of Perrier to crown 
 the feast. All this was arranged with a dehberate 
 smile, as by one who knew the exact value of
 
 202 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 things, and defied instruction in any detail of laying 
 a table. Richards was an old soldier, and he had 
 won from Dixon at first unbounded praise ; but he 
 had been found to possess a lot too much talk at 
 present, and had been sat on once or twice fairly 
 heavily of late. So now he wore the face of one who 
 was politely amused, yet, knowing his own worth, 
 could forbear from malice. He gave the table a 
 last look with his head on one side, and then de- 
 parted in silence. 
 
 Suddenly the door flew open, and the doctor 
 burst in, shuddering, and knocking the snow oft 
 his cap. 
 
 " By Jove, Dicker," he cried. " A bad night to 
 go about paying joy visits. But, by Jove, I'm jolly 
 glad you asked me. There's the devil to pay up at 
 headquarters. The C.O.'s raving, simply. Some 
 blighter has pinched our coal, and there's none to 
 be got anywhere. Good Lord, it's too hot altogether. 
 I couldn't stand Mess there to-night at any price. 
 I pity old Dale. The C.O.'s been swearing like a 
 trooper ! He's fair mad." 
 
 " Never mind," he added after a pause. " I 
 think we've raised enough wood to cook the dinner 
 all right. See you've got coal all right." 
 
 I hoped to goodness Dixon wouldn't put his foot 
 in it. But he rose to the occasion and said : 
 
 "Oh, yes. We ordered some coal from Sergeant 
 Johnson. Come on, let's start. Hi ! Richards ! " 
 
 And Richards came in with the stew in a tin jug
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 203 
 
 such as is used in civilised lands to hold hot water 
 of a morning. And so the doctor forgot the Colonel's 
 rage. 
 
 Late that night, after the doctor had gone, I 
 called Da vies. 
 
 " Da vies," I said, "where did you get that 
 coal ? " 
 
 " Off the ration cart, sir." 
 
 " Was it ours, do you think ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I don't somehow think it was. You 
 see, the ration cart came up, and the man driving 
 it was up by the horse — and I saw the bag o' coal 
 there, like. So I said to Lewis, ' Lewis, you see to 
 the rations. I'll take the coal up quick ! ' Then 
 I heard the man up by the horse say, ' There's 
 coal there for headquarters.' ' Oh, yes,' I said, 
 * that's all right, but this here was ordered off 
 Sergeant Johnson yesterday,' I said. And I made 
 off quick." 
 
 "Good Lord!" I exclaimed. "Was Sergeant 
 Johnson there ? " 
 
 " No," answered Davies. " He came later. I 
 said to Lewis just now, ' What about that coal ? ' 
 And he said Sergeant Johnson came just after and 
 started kicking up some bit of a row, sir, about 
 some coal ; but Lewis, he said he didn't know 
 nothing about any coal, and the man at the horse 
 be didn't know who I was, sir ; it was quite dark, 
 you see, sir. Lewis said Sergeant Johnson got the 
 wind up a bit, sir, about losing the coal . . ."
 
 204 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " Look here Da vies," I remarked solemnly, " do 
 you realise that that coal was for headquarters . . ." 
 
 " I couldn't say, sir," began Davies. 
 
 " But I can," said I. " Look here, you must 
 just set a limit somewhere. I know I said you must 
 get some coal, somewhere. But I wasn't exactly 
 thinking of bagging the C.O.'s coal. As a matter 
 of fact he was slightly annoyed, though doubtless 
 if he knew it was No. 14 Davies, "B" Company 
 orderly, he would abate his wrath. Do you realise 
 this is a very serious offence ? " 
 
 Davies' mouth wavered. He could never quite 
 understand this method of procedure. He looked 
 at the blazing fire, and his eyes twinkled. Then he 
 understood. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he said. 
 
 " All right," I replied. " Don't let it occur 
 again." 
 
 And it never did — at least, not headquarters coal. 
 
 We did not get back to Morlancourt till nearly 
 half-past three the next day. Things were not 
 going well in our billet at the butcher's shop. 
 Gray, the cook, and two of the servants had been 
 sent on early to get the valises from the quarter- 
 master's stores, and to have a meal ready. We 
 arrived to find no meal ready, and what was worse, 
 the stove not lit. Coal could not be had from the 
 stores, was the statement that greeted us. 
 
 " What the blazes do you mean ? " shouted
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 206 
 
 Dixon. We were really angry as well as ravenous ; 
 for it was freezing hard, and the tiles on the floor 
 seemed to radiate ice-waves. 
 
 " Have you asked Madame if she can lend us a 
 little to go on with ? " I queried. 
 
 No, they had not asked Madame. 
 
 Then followed a blaze of vituperation, and 
 Richards was sent at the double into the kitchen. 
 Soon Madame appeared, with sticks and coal, 
 and lit the fire. We watched the crackles, too cold 
 to do anything else. The adjoining room, where 
 Dixon and I slept, was an ice-house, also tiled. 
 It was too cold to talk even. 
 
 " C'est froid dans les tranches," said I in exe- 
 crable French. 
 
 " Mais oui, m'sieur I'officier," said Madame, 
 deeply sympathising. 
 
 I thought of the blazing fire in 71 North, but it 
 was too cold to say anything more. Wliat matter 
 if Madame imagined us standing in a foot of snow ? 
 So we should have been for the most part had we 
 been in the line the last two days, instead of in 
 reserve. 
 
 Soon it began to get less icy, and the stove looked 
 a little less of the blacklead order. It was a kitchen- 
 range really, with a boiler and oven ; but the 
 boiler was rather leaky. Now, as the coal blazed up, 
 life began to ebb back again. 
 
 Confound it ! The stove was smoking like fury. 
 Pah I The flues were all full of soot. Dixon was
 
 206 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 rather an expert on stoves, and said that all that 
 was needed was a brush. Where had all the ser- 
 vants disappeared to ? Why wasn't someone there ? 
 I opened the door into our bedroom — a cold blast 
 struck me in the face. In the middle of the room, 
 unopened, sat our two valises, like desert islands in 
 a sea of red tiles. 
 
 " Hang it all, this is the limit," I said, and ran 
 out into the street, and into the next house, where 
 the servants' quarters were. And there, in the 
 middle of a pile of half-packed boxes, stood Gray, 
 eating a piece of bread. Now I discovered after- 
 wards that the boxes had just been brought in by 
 Cody and Lewis, that Da vies and Richards had gone 
 after the coal, and were at that moment staggering 
 under the weight of it on their way from the stores, 
 and that Gray could not do anything more, having 
 unpacked the boxes, until the coal came. But I 
 did not grasp these subtle details of the interior 
 economy of the servants' hall, and I broke out into 
 a real hot strafe. Why should Gray be standing 
 there eating, while the officers shivered and starved ? 
 
 I returned to Dixon, and found Clark and Nicol- 
 son there ; and together we all fumed. Then in 
 came the post-corporal with an accumulation of 
 parcels, and we stopped fuming. 
 
 " By Jove," I exclaimed, a few minutes later. 
 " The hare. I had forgotten le — what is it, lievre, 
 levre ? I forget. Never mind. Lewis, bring the 
 hare along, and ask Madame in your best manner
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 207 
 
 if she would do us the honour of cooking it for us. 
 To-night, now," 
 
 Presently Madame came in, with Lewis standing 
 rather sheepishly behind. She delivered a tornado 
 of very fluent French : " eau-de-vie," " eau-de- 
 vie," was all I could disentangle. 
 
 " Eau-de-vie ? " I asked her. " Pourquoi eau- 
 de-vie ? " 
 
 " Brandy," explained Dixon. 
 
 " I know that," said I (who did not know that 
 eau-de-vie was brandy ?) 
 
 " Brandy," said Dixon, " to cook the hare with. 
 That's all she wants. Oui, oui, Madame. Eau-de- 
 vie. Tout de suite. The doctor's got brandy. 
 Send Lewis along to the doctor to ask him to dinner, 
 and borrow a httle brandy." 
 
 So Lewis was despatched, and returned with a 
 little brandy, but the doctor could not come. 
 
 " Never mind," we said. 
 
 Meanwhile some tea was on the table, and bully 
 and bread and butter ; there was no sugar, how- 
 ever. Richards smiled and said the rats had eaten 
 it all in 71 North, but Davies was buying some. 
 Whenever anything was missing, these rats had 
 eaten it, just as they were responsible for men's 
 equipment and packs getting torn, and their 
 emergency rations lost. In many cases the excuse 
 was quite a just one ; but when it came to rats 
 running off with canteen hds, our sympathy for the 
 rat-ridden Tommy was not always very strong.
 
 208 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 To-day, a new reason was found for the loss of 
 three teaspoons. 
 
 " Lost in the scuffle, sir, the night of the raid," 
 was the answer given to the demand for an ex- 
 planation. 
 
 " What scuffle ? " I asked. 
 
 " Why, the box got upset, sir, the night of the 
 raid when we all stood to in a bit of a hurry, sir." 
 
 I remembered there had been some confusion 
 and noise behind the arras that night when the 
 Germans raided on the left ; apparently all the 
 knives and forks had fallen to the ground and 
 several had snapped under the martial trampling 
 of feet when our retainers stood to arms. For many 
 days afterwards when anything was lost, one's 
 anger was appeased by " Lost in the scuffle, sir." 
 At last it got too much of a good thing. 
 
 " Why this new teapot, Da vies ? " I said a few 
 days later. 
 
 " The old one was lost in the scuffle, sir." 
 
 " Look here," I said. " We had the old one 
 yesterday, and this morning I saw it broken on 
 Madame's manure heap. Here endeth ' lost in the 
 scuffle.' See ? Go back to rats." 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 That night, about ten o'clock, when Clark, Nicol- 
 son, and Brownlow (who had been our guest) had 
 gone back to their respective billets, Dixon and I 
 were sitting in front of the stove, our feet up on 
 the brass bar that ran along the top-front of it, on
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 209 
 
 a comfortable red-plush settee. This settee made 
 amends for very many things, such as : a tile 
 floor ; four doors, one of which scraped most 
 excruciatingly over the tiles, and another being 
 glass-panelled allowed in much cold air from the 
 butcher's shop ; no entry for the servants save 
 either through the butcher's shop or through the 
 bedroom via the open window ; very little room to 
 turn round in, when we were all there ; a smell of 
 stale lard that permeated the whole establishment ; 
 and finally, the necessity of moving the settee every 
 time Madame or Mam'selle wanted to get to either 
 the cellar or the stairs. 
 
 But now all these disabilities were removed, 
 everyone else having gone off to bed, and Dixon and 
 I were talking lazily before turning in also. I had 
 a large pan of boihng water waiting on the top of 
 the range, and my canvas bath was all ready in the 
 next room. 
 
 " Ah ! the discomfort of it ! " ejaculated Dixon. 
 " The terrible discomfort of it all ! " 
 
 " How they are pitying us at home," I replied. 
 " ' Those rabbit holes ! I can't think how you keep 
 the water out of them at all ! ' Can't you hear 
 them ? ' And isn't that bully beef most horribly 
 tough and hard ! Ugh ! I couldn't bear it,' " I 
 tried to imitate a lady's voice, but it was not a 
 great success. I was out of practice. 
 
 " Yes," said Dixon, thinking of the extraordinarily 
 good jugged hare produced by Madame. Then 
 14
 
 210 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 his thoughts turned to Da vies, the hunter who was 
 responsible for the feast. 
 
 " Wonderful fellow, old Da vies," he added. " In 
 fact they're all good fellows." 
 
 " He's a shepherd boy," I said. " Comes from 
 Blaenau Festiniog, a little village right up in the 
 Welsh mountains. I know the place. A few years 
 ago he was a boy looking after sheep out on the 
 hills all day ; a wide-eyed Welsh boy, with a sheep- 
 dog trotting behind him. He's rather hke a sheep- 
 dog himself, isn't he ? " 
 
 " Gad, he's a wonderful fellow. But they all 
 are, you know, Bill. Look at your chap, Lewis ; 
 great clumsy red-faced fellow, with his piping voice, 
 that sometimes gets on your nerves." 
 
 "He's too lazy at times," I broke in; "but he's 
 honest, dead honest. He was a farm hand ! Good 
 heavens, fancy choosing a fellow out of the farm- 
 yard to act as valet and waiter ! I remember the 
 first time he waited ! He was so nervous he nearly 
 dropped everything, and his face like that fire! 
 O'Brien said he was tight ! " 
 
 " Richards talks a jolly sight too much, some- 
 times — but after all what does it matter ? They 
 try their best ; and think how we curse them ! 
 Look at the way I cursed about that stove this 
 afternoon : as soon as anything goes wrong, we 
 strafe like blazes, whether it's their fault or not. 
 A fellow in England would resign on the spot. But 
 they don't care a damn, and just carry on. This
 
 OFFICERS' SERVANTS 211 
 
 cursing's no good. Bill. Hang it all, they're doing 
 their bit same as we are, and they have a d — d 
 sight harder time." 
 
 " I don't think they worry much about the 
 strafing," I said. " It's part of the ordinary routine ' 
 Still, I agree, we do strafe them for thousands o^ 
 things that aren't their fault." 
 
 " They're a sort of safety-valve," he answered 
 with a laugh. " I don't know how it is, one would 
 never dream of cursing the men like we do these 
 fellows. You know as well as I do. Bill, the only 
 way to run a company is by love. It's no earthly 
 use trying to get the men behind you, by cursing 
 them day and night. I really must try and stop 
 cursing these servants. After all, they're the best 
 fellows in the world." 
 
 " The men curse all right," I said, " when they 
 don't get their food right. I guess we're all animal, 
 after all. It's merely a method of getting things 
 done quickly. Besides, you know perfectly well 
 you won't be able to stop blazing away when there's 
 no fire or food. It creates an artificial warmth." 
 
 " D — d artificial," laughed he. 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 " By Jove, Bill," he said at last, getting up to go 
 to bed. " When's this war going to end ? " 
 
 To which I made no reply, but moved my bath 
 out of the icy bedroom and dragged it in front of 
 the fire.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 MINES 
 
 THE Colonel wants to speak to O.C. ' B,' 
 sir." It was midday. 
 " It's about that wire," said Edwards. 
 " But we couldn't get any more out without 
 stakes." 
 
 " Oh, I don't expect it's about the wire," I said, 
 as I hurried out of the Straw Palace. " The CO. 
 knows we can't get the stakes." 
 
 No, it was nothing to do with the wire. 
 
 " Just a minute, sir," said the telephone orderly. 
 " Hi ! Headquarters. Is that you, George ? O.C. 
 ' B's ' here now. Just a minute, sir." 
 
 A pause, followed by : 
 
 " Commanding Officer, sir," and I was handed 
 the receiver. 
 
 " Yes, sir," I said. " This is Adams." 
 
 " Oh ! that you, Adams ? Well, look here — 
 about this mine going up to-night. Got your map 
 there ? Well, the mining officer is here now, and 
 he says . . . Look here, you'd better come down 
 here now. Yes, come here now."
 
 MINES 213 
 
 " Very good, sir," but the CO. had rung off with 
 a jerk, and only a singing remained in my ears. 
 
 " Got to go down and explain in person why the 
 officer in charge of ' B ' Company wirers did not 
 get out twenty coils last night," I said to Edwards 
 as I hurried off down Old Kent Road. "The C.O.'s 
 in an ' I gave a distinct order ' mood. Cheero ! " 
 
 On entering the Headquarters' dug-out in Maple 
 Redoubt, I found the CO. engaged in conversation 
 with an artillery officer : there had been another 
 raid last night on the left, and our artillery had 
 sent a lot of stuff over. This was the subject under 
 discussion. 
 
 " I think you did d — d well," said the CO. as 
 the officer left. " Well, Adams, I thought it would 
 be easiest if you came down. Here's our friend 
 from the underworld, and he'll explain exactly 
 what he's going to do " ; and I saw the R.E. 
 officer for the first time. He had been standing 
 in the gloom of the further end of the dug-out. 
 
 " Look here," began the Colonel, as he laid out 
 the trench map on the table. " Here is where we 
 blow to-night at 6.0 " (and he made a pencil dot 
 in the middle of the grass of No Man's Land mid- 
 way between the craters opposite the Loop and 
 the Fort. See Map III). " And here, all round 
 here " (he drew his pencil round and round in a 
 blacker and yet blacker circle) " is roughly where 
 the edge of the crater will come. Isn't that right, 
 Armstrong ? "
 
 214 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " Yes," was the reply, " the crater edge won't 
 come right up to the front trench, but I don't 
 want anyone in the front trench, as it will probably 
 be squeezed up in one or two places." 
 
 " Exactly," said the Colonel. " Do you think 
 this blow will completely connect up the two craters 
 on either side ? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly," was the answer. " There's no 
 question of it. You see, we've put in (here followed 
 figures and explosives incomprehensible to the lay 
 mind). " It'll be the biggest mine we've ever blown 
 in this sector." 
 
 " A surface mine, I suppose ? " I asked. 
 
 " Almost certainly," said the R.E. officer. " You 
 see, their gallery is only ten feet above ours, and 
 they might blow any minute. But they're still 
 working. We wanted to get another twenty feet 
 out before blowing, but it isn't safe. Anyway, we 
 are bound to smash up all their galleries there 
 completely, though I doubt if we touch their 
 parapet at all." He spoke almost impatiently, as 
 one who talks of things that have been his main 
 interest for weeks, and tries to explain the whole 
 thing in a few words. " But," he added, " I don't 
 want any men in that trench." 
 
 The mining officers always presumed that the 
 infantry clung tenaciously like Umpets to their 
 trench, and had to be very carefully removed in 
 case a mine was going up. As a matter of fact, 
 the infantry always made a rule of clearing the
 
 MINES 215 
 
 trench half as far again as the mining officer 
 enjoined, and were always inchned to want to 
 depart from the abhorred spot long before the 
 time decided upon ! 
 
 " That's clear enough," said the Colonel. " Then 
 from here to here (and he made pencil blobs where 
 I have marked A and B on Map III) we will clear 
 the trench. Get your Lewis guns placed at these 
 two points (A and B), ready to open fire as soon 
 as the mine has gone up. And get your bombers 
 ready to seize the crater edge as soon as it's dark 
 enough. You'll want to have some tools and sand- 
 bags ready, and your wirers should have plenty 
 of gooseberries and all the stakes we can get you. 
 Right." 
 
 As I went up 76 Street at half -past five, I reaUsed 
 that I had been rushing about too much, and had 
 forgotten tea. So I sent Davies back and told him 
 to bring up a mug of tea and something to eat. 
 No sooner had he disappeared than I met a party 
 of six R.E.'s, the two leading men carrying canaries 
 in cages. They held them out in front, like you 
 hold out a lantern on a muddy road, and they 
 were covered from head to foot in white chalk- 
 dust. They were doing a sort of half-run down 
 the trench, known among the men as the " R.E. 
 step." It is always adopted by them if there is 
 any " strafing " going on, or on such occasions as 
 the present, when the charge has been laid, the
 
 216 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 match lit, and the mine-shaft and galleries, canaries 
 and all, evacuated. (The canaries are used to 
 detect gas fumes, not as pets.) 
 
 When I reached the Fort, I found No. 7 Platoon 
 already filing out of the trench area that had been 
 condemned as dangerous. 
 
 " You're very early. Sergeant Hayman," I said. 
 
 I looked at my watch. 
 
 " Oh, all right," I added, " it's twenty to six ; 
 very well. Have you got all the bomb boxes and 
 S.A.A. out ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. Everything's clear." 
 
 " Very well, then. All those men not detailed 
 as tool and sand-bag party can get in dug-outs, 
 ready to come back as soon as I give orders. There 
 will probably be a bit of ' strafing.' " 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 The Lewis-gun team emerged from its dug-out 
 twenty yards behind the Fort, in rather a snail- 
 like fashion. I arranged where the N.C.O. and 
 two men should stand, just at the corner of the 
 Fort, but in the main trench (at B in map). The 
 rest of the team I sent back to its burrow. 
 Edwards had made all arrangements for the other 
 team. 
 
 Ten to six. It was a warm evening early in 
 April, and there was a deathly calm. These hushes 
 are hateful and unnatural, especially at " stand to " 
 in the evening. In the afternoon an after-dinner 
 slumber is right and proper, but as dusk creeps
 
 MINES 217 
 
 down it is well known that everyone is alive and 
 alert, and a certain visible expression is natural 
 and welcome. This evening silence is like the pause 
 between the lightning and the thunder ; worst of 
 all is the stillness after the enemy has blown a 
 mine at " stand to," for ten to one he is going to 
 blow another at " stand down." 
 
 The sun set in a blaze of red, and in the south the 
 evening star glowed in a deepening blue. WTiat will 
 have happened by the time the day has returned 
 with its full hght and sense of security ? 
 
 " Here you are, sir," I heard suddenly at my 
 elbow, and found my mug of tea, two large pieces 
 of bread and butter and cake, presented by Davies 
 on a box-lid salver. 
 
 " I don't know if this is enough, sir. Lewus 
 he wanted me to bring along a pot o' jam, sir. 
 But I said Mr. Adams he won't have time for all 
 that." 
 
 " I should think not. Far too much as it is. 
 Here, put the cake on the fire-step, and take hold 
 of this notebook, will you ? " And so, with the 
 mug in one hand, and a piece of bread and butter 
 in the other, Scott found me as he came along at 
 that moment, looking, as he told me afterwards, 
 exactly Like the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland. 
 
 " What's the time ? " I enquired, munching hard. 
 
 " I make it two minutes to six," said Scott. 
 
 " Go up a shixo'-clock," I said, taking a very big 
 mouthful indeed.
 
 218 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " Who put the sugar in this tea ? " I asked 
 Davies a minute later. 
 
 " I did," said Davies. 
 
 " Far too much. I shall never get you fellows 
 to understand ..." 
 
 But the sentence was not finished. There was a 
 faint " Bomp " from goodness knows where, and 
 a horrid shudder. The earth shook and staggered, 
 and I set my legs apart to keep my balance. It 
 felt as if the whole ground were going to be tilted 
 up. The tea splashed all over the fire-step as I 
 hastily put it down. Then I looked up. There 
 was nothing. What had happened ? Was it a 
 camouflet after all ? Then, over the sandbags 
 appeared a great green meadow, slowly, taking its 
 time, not hurrying, a smooth curved dome of grass, 
 heaving up, up, up, like a rising cake ; then, like 
 a cake, it cracked ; cracked visibly with bursting 
 brown seams ; still the dome rose, towering ten, 
 twenty feet up above the surrounding level ; and 
 then with a roar the black smoke hurtled into the 
 air, followed by masses of pink flame creaming up 
 into the sky, giving out a bonfire heat and Ughting 
 up the twilight with a lurid glare ! Then we all 
 ducked to avoid the shower of mud and dirt and 
 chalk that pattered down like hail. 
 
 " Magnificent," I said to Scott. 
 
 " Wonderful," he answered. 
 
 " The mud's all in your tea, sir," said Davies, 
 
 " Dr — r-r-r-r-r," rattled the Lewis guns. The
 
 MINES 219 
 
 Lewis gunners with me had been amazed rather 
 than thrilled by the awful spectacle, but were now 
 recovered from the shock, and emptying two or 
 three drums into the twihght void. I was peering 
 over into a vast chasm, where two minutes ago had 
 been a smooth meadow full of buttercups and 
 toadstools. 
 
 Suddenly I found Sergeant Hayman at my elbow. 
 
 " The trench is all fallen in, sir. You can't get 
 along at all." And so the night's work began. 
 
 At i.o a.m. I was lying flat down on soft spongy 
 grass atop of a large crater-lip quite eight feet 
 higher than the ground level. Beside me lay two 
 bombers and a box of bombs : we were all peering 
 out into a space that seemed enormous. Suddenly 
 a German starlight rocketed up, and as it burst 
 the great white bowl of the crater jumped into 
 view. Then a few rifle-shots sang across the gulf. 
 There followed a deeper darkness than before. 
 Behind me was a wiring-party not quite finished ; 
 also the sound of earth being shovelled by tired 
 men. A strong working-party of " A " Company 
 had been engaged for four hours clearing the trench 
 that had been squeezed up ; all available men of 
 " B " Company not on sentry had been digging a 
 zigzag sap from the trench to the post on the 
 crater-hp where I lay. Two other pairs of bombers 
 lay out on the crater edge to right and left ; behind 
 me the wirers had run out a thin line of stakes 
 and barbed wire behind the new crater ; this wire
 
 220 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 passed over the sap, which would not be held by 
 day. One wirer had had a bullet through the leg, 
 but we had suffered no other casualties. Another 
 hour, and I should be off duty. Altogether, a good 
 show. 
 
 II 
 
 I was reading Blackwood' s in a dug-out in Maple 
 Redoubt. It was just after four, and I was lying 
 on my bed. Suddenly the candle flickered and 
 went out. I had to get up to ring the bell, and 
 when I did get up, the bell did not ring, so I went 
 out and called Lewis. The bell, by the way, was 
 an arrangement of string from our dug-out to the 
 servants' next door. 
 
 " Bring me a candle," I said, as Lewis appeared, 
 evidently flushed and blear-eyed from sleep. " I 
 don't know where you keep them. I can't find one 
 anywhere." 
 
 Lewis fished under the bed and discovered a 
 paper packet of candles, and lit one. " By the by," 
 I added, " tell the pioneer servant (this was Private 
 Davies, my orderly) to fix up that bell, will you ? 
 And I think we'll be ready for tea as soon as you 
 can get it. What do you say, Teddy ? Hullo, 
 Clark ! What are you doing here ? Come in and 
 have tea." 
 
 " Thanks, I will," said Clark, who had just come 
 down Park Lane. " I was coming to invite myself, 
 as a matter of fact."
 
 MINES 221 
 
 " Good man," we said. Clark was no longer of 
 " B " Company, having passed from Lewis-gun 
 officer to tfie Brigade Machine-gun Corps. So we 
 did not see very much of him. 
 
 At that moment Sergeant-Major Brown arrived 
 and stood at the door. He saluted. 
 
 " Come in, sergeant-major." 
 
 " The tea's up, sir." 
 
 " Oh, all right," I said. " I'll go. Don't wait 
 if tea comes in, Edwards. But I shan't be a 
 minute." 
 
 As I went along with that tower of strength, 
 the company sergeant-major, followed by an orderly 
 carrying two rum jars produced from under my 
 bed, I discussed the subject of working-parties for 
 the night, and other such dull details of routine. 
 Also we discussed leave. His dug-out was at the 
 corner of Old Kent Road and Park Lane, and there 
 I found the " Quarter " (Company Sergeant-Major 
 Roberts) waiting with the five dixies of hot tea, 
 just brought up on the ration trolley from the 
 Citadel. 
 
 Sergeant Roberts saluted, and informed me that 
 all was correct. Then the sergeant-major spilled 
 the contents of the two jars into the five dixies, 
 and as he did so the ten orderlies, two from each 
 platoon, and two Lewis gunners, made off with the 
 dixies. Then I made off, but followed by Sergeant 
 Roberts with several papers to sign, and five pay 
 books in which entries had to be made for men
 
 222 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 going on leave. One signed the pay-book, and 
 also a paper to the quartermaster authorising him 
 to pay 125 francs (the usual sum) to the under- 
 mentioned men, out of the company balance which 
 was deposited with him on leaving billets. I signed 
 everything Sergeant Roberts put before me, almost 
 without question. 
 
 " Well, Clark," I said, as we sat down to a tea 
 of hot buttered toast, jam and cake. " How goes 
 it? " 
 
 " I've just been down a mine-shaft with that 
 R.E. officer, I forget his name — the fellow with 
 the glasses." 
 
 " I know," I replied ; "I don't know his name 
 either, but it doesn't matter. Did you go right 
 down, and along the galleries ? How frightfully 
 interesting. I always mean to go, but somehow 
 don't. Well, what about it ? " 
 
 " By Jove," said Clark. " It's wonderful. It's 
 all as white as snow, dazzling white. I never 
 realised that before, although you see these R.E.'s 
 coming out all covered with white chaUc-dust. 
 First of all you go down three or four ladders ; 
 it's awfully tricky work at the sort of halts on the 
 way down, because there's a little platform, and 
 very often the ladder goes down a different side 
 of the shaft after one of these halts ; and if you 
 don't notice, you lower your foot to go on down 
 the same side as you were going before, and there's 
 nothing there. The first time I did this and looked
 
 MINES 228 
 
 down and saw a dim light miles below, it quite 
 gave me a turn. It's a terrible long way down, 
 and of course you go alone ; the R.E. officer went 
 first, and got ahead of me." 
 
 " Have some more tea, and go on." 
 
 " Well, down there it's fearfully interesting. I 
 didn't go far up the gallery where they're working, 
 because you can't easily pass along ; but the R.E. 
 officer took me along a gallery that is not being 
 worked, and there, all alone, at the end of it was 
 a man sitting. He was simply sitting, Ustening. 
 Then I listened through his stethoscope thing ..." 
 
 " I know," I interposed. It is an instrument hke 
 a doctor's stethoscope, and by it you can hear 
 underground sounds a hundred yards away as 
 clearly as if they were five yards off. 
 
 "... and I could hear the Boche working as 
 plainly as anything. Good heavens, it sounded 
 about a yard off. Yet they told me it was forty 
 yards. By Jove, it was weird. ' Pick . . . pick 
 . . . pick.' I thought it must be our fellows really, 
 but theirs made a different sound, and not a bit 
 the same. But, you know, that fellow sitting there 
 alone ... as we went away and left him, he looked 
 round at us with staring eyes just like a hunted 
 animal. To sit there for hours on end, listening. 
 Of course, while you hear them working, it's all 
 right, they won't blow. But if you don't hear them ! 
 My God, I wouldn't like to be an R.E. It's an 
 awful game."
 
 224 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " By Jove," said Edwards. " How fearfully 
 interesting ! Is it cold down there ? " 
 
 " Fairly. I really didn't notice." 
 
 " I must go down," I said, " We always laugh 
 at these R.E.'s for looking like navvies, and for 
 going about without gas-helmets or rifles. But 
 really they are wonderful men. It's awful being 
 liable to be buried alive any moment. Somehow 
 death in the open is far less terrible. Ugh ! Do 
 you remember that R.E., Teddy, we saw running 
 down the Old Kent Road ? It was that night the 
 Boche blew the mine in the Quarry. Jove, Clark, 
 that was a sight. I was just going up from Trafalgar 
 Square, when I heard a running, and there was 
 a fellow, great big brawny fellow, naked to the 
 waist, and grey all over ; and someone had given 
 him his equipment and rifle in a hurry, and he'd 
 got his equipment over his bare skin ! The men 
 were fearfully amused. ' R.E.,' they said, and 
 smiled. But, by God, there was a death look in 
 that man's eyes. He'd been down when the Boche 
 blew their mine, and as near as possible buried 
 alive. No, it's a rotten game." 
 
 As I spoke, the ground shuddered, and the tea- 
 things shook. 
 
 " There is a mine," we all exclaimed together. 
 
 " I wonder if it's ours, or theirs," said Edwards. 
 
 " I saw Hills, this afternoon," I answered, " and 
 he said nothing about a mine. I'm sure he would 
 have, if we had been going to send one up. No,
 
 MINES 225 
 
 I bet that's a Boche mine. Good thing you're 
 out of it, Clark. Oh, don't go. Well, cheero ! if 
 you must. Look us up oftener. Good luck ! " 
 
 Clark departed, and I resimied Blackwood's. 
 
 " I say, Edwards," said I, after a while. " This 
 stuff of Ian Hay's is awfully good. This about 
 the signallers is top-hole. You can simply smell 
 it!" 
 
 " After you with it," was the reply. 
 
 " There you are," I said at last. " It's called 
 ' Carry On ' ; there have been several others in 
 the same series. You know the ' First Hundred 
 Thousand' ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Good stuff," said I. " Good readable stuff ; 
 the sort you'd give to your people at home. But 
 it leaves out bits." 
 
 " Such as . . . ? " 
 
 "Oh, well, the utter fed-upness, and the dullness 
 — and — well, oh, I don't know. You read it and 
 see." 
 
 That was a bad night. The Boche mine had 
 caught our R.E.'s this time. All the night through 
 they were rescuing fellows from our mine gallery. 
 Seven or eight were killed, most of them " gassed " ; 
 two of " A " Company were badly gassed too while 
 aiding in the rescue work. This mine gas is, I 
 suppose, very like that encountered in coal mines ; 
 and the explosion of big charges of cordite must 
 create cracks and fissures underground that release 
 15
 
 226 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 these gases in all directions. I do not profess to 
 write as an expert on this. At any rate they were 
 all night working to get the fellows out. One man 
 when rescued disobeyed the doctor's strict injunc- 
 tions to He still for half an hour before moving 
 away from where he was put, just outside the 
 mine shaft ; and this cost him his life. He hurried 
 down the Old Kent Road, and dropped dead with 
 heart failure at the bottom of it. Hills told me 
 he felt the pulses of two men who had been gassed 
 and were waiting the prescribed half-hour ; and 
 they were going like a watch ticking. Yes, it was 
 a bad night. I got snatches of sleep, but always 
 there was the sound of stretchers being carried past 
 our dug-out to the doctor's dressing-station ; 
 several times I went out to investigate how things 
 were going. But there was nothing I could do. 
 It was my duty to sleep : we were going up in 
 the Une to-morrow. But sleep does not always 
 come to order. 
 
 Before dawn we " stood to," and it was quite 
 light as I inspected the last rifle of No. 6 Platoon. 
 They were just bringing the last of the gassed 
 miners down to the dressing-station. I stood at 
 the corner of Park Lane, and watched. The 
 stretcher-bearers came and looked at two forms 
 lying on stretchers close by me ; then they asked 
 me if I thought it would be all right to take those 
 stretchers, and leave the dead men there another 
 hour. I said if they wanted the stretchers, yes.
 
 MINES 227 
 
 So they lifted the bodies ofi, and went away with 
 the stretchers. There were several men standing 
 about, silent, as usual, in the presence of death. 
 I looked at those two R.E.'s as they lay quite 
 uncovered ; grim their faces were, grim and severe. 
 I told a man to get something and cover them up, 
 until the stretcher-bearers came and removed 
 them. And as I strode away in silence between my 
 men, I felt that my face was grim too. I thought 
 of Clark's description, a few hours back, of the 
 man sitting alone in the white chalk gallery, listen- 
 ing, listening, Ustening. And now ! 
 
 Once more I thought of " blind death." The 
 Germans who had set hght to the fuse at tea-time 
 were doubtless sleeping the sleep of men who have 
 worked well and earned their rest. And here . . . 
 They knew nothing of it, would never know whom 
 they had slain. And I remembered the night Scott 
 and I had watched our big mine go up. " Wonder- 
 ful," we had said, " magnificent." And in the 
 morning the R.E. officer had told us that we 
 had smashed all their galleries up, and that they 
 would not trouble us there for a fortnight at 
 least. " A certain man drew a bow at a ven- 
 ture," I said again, vaguely remembering something, 
 but stiffening myself suddenly, and stifling my 
 imagination. 
 
 I met Edwards by the dug-out as he returned 
 from inspecting the Lewis guns. 
 
 "Remember," I said, "I told you the 'First
 
 228 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 Hundred Thousand ' leaves out bits ? Did you see 
 those R.E.'s who were gassed ? " 
 
 Edwards nodded. 
 
 "Well," I added, "that's a thing it leaves 
 out."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 BILLETS 
 
 I. Morning 
 
 TWO hours' pack drill, and pay for a 
 new handle," I said. 
 " Right — Turn ! " said the sergeant- 
 major. " Right — Wheel — Quick — March ! Get your 
 equipment on and join your platoon at once." 
 
 This last sentence was spoken in a quick under- 
 tone, as the prisoner stepped out of the door into the 
 road. I was filling up the column headed " Punish- 
 ment awarded " on a buff -coloured Army Form, to 
 which I appended my signature. The case just dealt 
 with was a very dull and commonplace one, a man 
 having "lost " his entrenching tool handle. Most 
 of these " losses " occurred in trenches, and were 
 dealt with the first morning in billets at company 
 orderly-room. This man had been engaged on 
 special fatigue work the last few days ; hence the 
 reason why the loss had not been checked before, 
 and came up on this last morning in billets. 
 
 " No more prisoners ? " I asked the company 
 sergeant-major. 
 
 " No more prisoners, sir," he answered. I then 
 229
 
 230 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 rather hurriedly signed several returns made out by 
 Sergeant Roberts, the company quartermaster- 
 sergeant, and promised to come in later and sign the 
 acquittance rolls. These are the pay-lists, made 
 out in triplicate, which are signed by each man as 
 he draws his pay. The original goes to the Pay- 
 master in England, one carbon copy to the ad- 
 jutant, and one is retained by the company- 
 commander. We had paid out the first day in 
 billets. This time " working-parties " had been 
 tolerable. We had arrived back in billets about 
 half-past three in the afternoon ; the next morning 
 had been spent in a march to the divisional baths 
 at Treux (two miles away), in cleaning up, kit-inspec- 
 tion, and a little arm-drill and musketry practice ; 
 in the afternoon we paid out. Then followed three 
 days of working-parties, up on the support line at 
 Crawley Ridge ; and now, we had this last day in 
 which to do a little company work. There had been 
 running parade at seven-thirty. Owen had taken 
 this, and I confess that I had not yet breakfasted. 
 So I hurried off now at 9.10 to gulp something 
 down and be at battalion orderly-room at 9.30 
 sharp. 
 
 The company office was a house of two rooms ; 
 one was the "office" itself, with a blanket-clad 
 table and a couple of chairs in the middle, and all 
 around were strewn strange boxes, and bundles of 
 papers and equipment. On the walls were pictures 
 from illustrated English papers ; one of Nurse
 
 BILLETS 231 
 
 Cavell, another of howitzers firing ; and several 
 graphic bayonet-charges at Verdun, pictured by an 
 artist who must have " glowed " as he drew them in 
 his room in Chelsea. In the other room slept the 
 CS.M. and C.Q.M.S. (more familiar as the 
 "sergeant-major" and the "quartermaster"). 
 
 From this house, then, I stepped out into the 
 glaring street. It was the end of May, and the day 
 promised to be really quite hot. I have already 
 explained how completely shut off from the trenches 
 one felt in Morlancourt, sheltered as it was in a cup 
 of the hills and immune from shelling. Now as I 
 walked quickly along the street, past our battalion 
 " orderly-room," and returned the immaculate 
 salute of Sergeant-Major Shandon, the regimental 
 sergeant-major, who was already marshalling the 
 prisoners ready for the Colonel at half-past nine, 
 I felt a lightness and freshness of body that almost 
 made me think I was free of the war at last. My 
 Sam Browne belt, my best tunic with its polished 
 buttons, and most of all, I suppose, the effect of a 
 good sleep and a cold bath, all contributed to this 
 feehng, as weU as the scent from the laburnum and 
 lilac that looked over the garden wall opposite the 
 billet that was our " Mess." 
 
 I found Edwards just going off to inspect " B " 
 Company Lewis gunners, whom he was taking on 
 the range the first part of the morning. 
 
 " Hullo ! " he said, " you've not got much 
 time."
 
 232 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " No," said I. " My own fault for getting up late. 
 Got a case for the CO. too. Is my watch right ? I 
 make it seventeen minutes past." 
 
 " Nineteen, I make it." 
 
 " Wish I hadn't asked you," I laughed. " No 
 porridge, Lewis. Bring the eggs and bacon in at 
 once. This tea '11 do. There's no milk, though. 
 What ? " 
 
 Edwards had asked something. He repeated his 
 question, which was whether I wanted Jim, the 
 company horse, this afternoon. I thought rapidly, 
 and the scent of the lilac decided me. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " Sorry, but I do." 
 
 "Oh, all right ; I expect I can get old Muskett 
 to let me have one." 
 
 Muskett was the transport officer. 
 
 " Righto," said I. "Go teach thy Lewis gunners 
 how to drill little holes in the chalk-bank." 
 
 He clattered off over the cobbles of the garden 
 path, and in a few minutes I followed suit, running 
 until I rounded a corner and came into view of the 
 orderly-room, when I altered my gait to a dignified 
 walk and arrived just as the Colonel appeared from 
 the opposite direction. 
 
 " Parade ! Tchern ! ! " shouted Sergeant-Ma jor 
 Shandon ; and a moment later the four company 
 commanders came to attention and saluted as the 
 Colonel passed in, sprinkling "Good mornings" to 
 right and left. 
 
 I had one very uninteresting case of drunkenness ;
 
 BILLETS 283 
 
 " A " had a couple of men who had overstayed their 
 pass in England ; " C " had a case held over from 
 the day before for further evidence, and was now 
 dismissed as not proven ; while " D " had an un- 
 satisfactory sergeant who was " severely repri- 
 manded." All these cases were quickly and un- 
 erringly disposed of, and we company commanders 
 saluted again and clattered down the winding stair- 
 case out into the sunshine. 
 
 I had to pass from one end of the village to the 
 other. The orderly-room was not far from our 
 company " Mess " and was at a cross-roads. 
 Opposite, in one of the angles made by the junction 
 of the four roads, was a deep and usually muddy 
 horse-pond. But even here the mud was getting 
 hard under this spell of warm May weather, and the 
 innumerable ruts and hoof-marks were crystallising 
 into a permanent pattern. As I walked along the 
 streets I passed sundry Tommies acting as road- 
 scavengers ; " permanent road fatigue " they were 
 called, although they were anything but permanent, 
 being changed every day. Formerly they had 
 seemed to be engaged in a Herculean, though un- 
 romantic, task of scraping great rolling puddings of 
 mud to the side of the road, in the vain hope that 
 the mud would find an automatic exit into neigh- 
 bouring gardens and ponds ; for Morlancourt did 
 not boast such modern things as gutters. To-day 
 there were large pats of mud lining the street, but 
 these were now caked and hard, and even crumbling
 
 234 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 into dust, that whisked about among the sparrows. 
 The permanent road fatigue was gathering waste- 
 paper and tins in large quantities, but otherwise was 
 having a hohday. 
 
 Women were working, or gossiping at the door- 
 steps. The estaminet doors were flung wide open, 
 and the floors were being scrubbed and sprinkled 
 with sawdust. A little bare-legged girl, in a black 
 cotton dress, was hugging a great wide loaf ; an old 
 man sat blinking in the sunshine ; cats were basking, 
 dogs nosing about lazily. A party of about thirty 
 bombers passed me, the sergeant giving " eyes 
 right " and waking me from meditations on the 
 eternal calm of cats. Then I reached the head- 
 quarter guard, and the sentry saluted with a rattling 
 clap upon his butt, and I did my best to emulate his 
 smartness. So I passed along all the length of the 
 shuttered houses of Morlancourt. 
 
 "A great day, this," I thought, as I came to the 
 small field where " B " Company was paraded ; not 
 two hundred and fifty men, as you will doubtless 
 assume from the text-books, but some thirty or forty 
 men only ; one was lucky if one mustered forty. 
 Where were the rest, you ask ? Well, bombers 
 bombing ; Lewis gunners under Edwards ; some on 
 " permanent mining fatigue," that is, carrying the 
 sand-bags from the mine-shafts to the dumps ; 
 transport, pioneers, stretcher-bearers, men under 
 bombing instruction, officers' servants, headquarter 
 orderlies, men on leave, etc. etc. The company
 
 BILLETS 235 
 
 sergeant-major will make out a parade slate for you 
 if you want it, showing exactly where every man is. 
 But here are forty men. Let's drill them. 
 
 Half were engaged in arm-drill under my best 
 drill-sergeant ; the other half were doing musketry 
 in gas-hclmcts, an unpleasant practice which nothing 
 would induce me to do on a sunny May morning. 
 They lay on their fronts, legs well apart, and were 
 working the bolts of their rifles fifteen times a 
 minute. After a while they changed over and did 
 arm-drill, while the other half took over the gas- 
 helmets, the mouthpieces having first been dipped 
 in a solution of carbolic brought by one of the 
 stretcher-bearers in a canteen. These gas-helmets 
 were marked D.P. (drill purposes), and each company 
 had so many with which to practise. 
 
 When both parties were duly exercised, I gave a 
 short lecture on the measures to be adopted against 
 the use of Flammenwerfer, which is the " Liquid 
 Fire " of the official communiques. I had just been 
 to a demonstration of this atrocity in the form of a 
 captured German apparatus, and my chief object in 
 lecturing the men about it was to make it quite clear 
 that the flaming jets of burning gas cannot sink into 
 a trench, but, as a matter of fact, only keep level so 
 long as they are propelled by the driving power of 
 the hose apparatus ; as water from a hose goes 
 straight, and then curves down to the ground, so gas, 
 even though it be incandescent, goes straight and 
 then rises. In the trench you are unscathed, as we
 
 236 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 proved in the demonstration, when they sprayed the 
 flaming gas over a trench full of men. Indeed, the 
 chief effect of this flammenwerfer is one of fright- 
 fulness, as the Germans cannot come over until the 
 flames have ceased. The men were rather inclined 
 to gape at all this, but I found the words had sunk 
 in when I asked what should be done if the enemy 
 used this diabolical stuff against us. " Get down at 
 the bottom of the trench, sir, and as soon as they 
 
 stop it, give the 's 'ell ! " 
 
 The rest of the morning we spent " on the range," 
 which meant firing into a steep chalk bank at a 
 hundred yards. Targets and paste-pot had been 
 procured from the pioneers' shop, and after posting 
 a couple of "look-out" men on either side, we 
 started range practice. The men are always keen 
 about firing on the range, and it is really the most 
 interesting and pleasant part of the infantryman's 
 training. I watched these fellows, hugging their 
 rifle-butt into their shoulder, and feeling the smooth 
 wood against their cheeks ; they wriggled their 
 bodies about to get a comfortable position ; some- 
 times they flinched as they fired and jerked the rifle ; 
 sometimes they pressed the trigger as softly, as 
 softly. . . . And gradually, carefully, we tried to 
 detect and eliminate the faults. Then we ended up 
 with fifteen rounds rapid in a minute. The " mad 
 minute " it used to be called at home. After which 
 we fell the men in, and Paul marched them back to 
 the company " alarm post " outside the company
 
 BILLETS 237 
 
 office, where " B " Company always fell in ; while 
 Owen, Nicolson, and I walked back together. 
 
 IL Afternoon 
 
 " I still maintain," said I, an hour later, as we 
 finished lunch, " that bully-beef, some sort of sauce 
 or pickle, and salad, followed by cheese, and ending 
 with a cup of tea, is the proper lunch for an officer. 
 I don't mind other officers having tinned fruit, 
 though, if they like it," I added with a laugh. 
 
 Owen and Syme were newly joined officers for 
 whom the sight of tinned pears or apricots had not 
 yet lost a certain glamour that disappeared after 
 months and months. They were just finishing the 
 pear course. Hence my last remark. 
 
 " I bet if we allowed you to have bully every day," 
 came from Edwards, our Mess president, " you'd 
 soon get sick of it." 
 
 " Try," said I, knowing that he never would. I 
 always used to eat of the hot things that would 
 appear at lunch, to the detriment of a proper ap- 
 preciation of dinner ; but I always maintained the 
 position laid down in the first sentence of this 
 section. 
 
 I lit a pipe and strolled out into the garden. This 
 was undoubtedly an ideal billet, and a great improve- 
 ment on the butcher's shop, where they used always 
 to be killing pigs in the yard and letting the blood 
 run all over the place. It was a long, one-storied 
 house, set back about fifty yards from the road ;
 
 238 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 this fifty yards was all garden, and, at the end, 
 completely shutting off the road, was a high brick 
 wall. On each side of the garden were also high 
 walls formed by the sides of stables and outhouses ; 
 the garden was thus completely walled round, and 
 the seclusion and peace thus entrapped were a very 
 priceless possession to us. 
 
 The garden itself was full of life. There were box- 
 bordered paths up both sides and down the centre, 
 and on the inner side of the paths was an herbaceous 
 border smelling very sweet of wallflowers and 
 primulas of every variety. Although it was still 
 May, there were already one or two pink cabbage- 
 roses out ; later, the house itself would be covered 
 with them ; already the buds were showing yellow 
 streaks as they tried to burst open their tight green 
 sheaths. In the centre of the garden ran a cross path 
 with a summer-house of bamboo canes completely 
 covered with honeysuckle ; that, too, was budding 
 already. The rest of the garden was filled with rows 
 of young green things, peas, and cabbages, and I 
 know not what, suitably protected against the 
 ravages of sparrows and finches by the usual 
 miniature telegraph system of sticks connected by 
 cotton decorated with feathers and bits of rag. 
 Every bit of digging, hoeing, weeding and sowing 
 were performed by Madame and her two black- 
 dressed daughters in whose house we were now 
 livmg, and who were themselves putting up in the 
 adjoining farmhouse, which belonged to them.
 
 BILLETS 239 
 
 I said that they had done all the digging in the 
 garden. I should make one reservation. All the 
 potato-patch had been dug by our servants, with 
 the assistance of Gray, the cook. Nor did they do 
 it in gratitude to Madame, as, doubtless, ideal Tom- 
 mies would have done. A quarter of it was done by 
 Lewis, for carelessness in losing my valise ; nearly 
 half by the joint effort of the whole crew for a 
 thoroughly dirty turn-out on commanding officer's 
 inspection ; and the rest for various other defalca- 
 tions ! We never told Madame the reasons for their 
 welcome help ; and I am quite sure they never did 1 
 
 " The worst of this war," said I to Edwards, puff- 
 ing contentedly at a pipeful of Chairman, " is this : 
 it's too comfortable. You could carry on like this 
 for years, and years, and years." 
 
 " Wasn't so jolly last time in," muttered the wise 
 Edwards. 
 
 " That's exactly the point," I answered ; " life 
 in the trenches we all loathe, and no one makes any 
 bones about it or pretends to like it — except for a 
 few rare exciting minutes, which are very few and 
 far between. But you come out into billets, and 
 recover ; and so you can carry on. It's not con- 
 centrated enough." 
 
 " It's more concentrated for the men than for us." 
 
 " Well, yes, very often ; but they haven't the 
 strain of responsibility. Yes, you are right though ; 
 and it's less concentrated for the CO., still less for 
 the Brigadier, and so on back to the Commander-in-
 
 240 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 Chief ; and still further to men who have never seen 
 a trench at all." 
 
 " I dare say," said Edwards ; " but, as the phrase 
 goes, ' What are you going to do abaht it ? ' Here's 
 Jim. Old Muskett's going to send me a nag at five, 
 so I'm going out after tea. Will you be in to tea ? " 
 
 " Don't know." 
 
 As I tightened my puttees preparatory to mount- 
 ing the great Jim, Edwards started his gramo- 
 phone ; so leaving them to the strains of Tann- 
 haiiser, I bestrode my charger and steered him 
 gracefully down the garden path, under the brick 
 archway, and out into the street. 
 
 Myself on a horse always amused me, especially 
 when it was called an " officer's charger." Jim was 
 not fiery, yet he was not by any means sluggish, and 
 he went fast at a gallop. He suited me very well 
 indeed when I wanted to go for an afternoon's ride ; 
 for he was quite content to walk when I wanted to 
 muse, and to gallop hard when I wanted exhilara- 
 tion. I hate a horse that will always be trotting. 
 I know it is best style to trot ; but my rides were 
 not for style, but for pleasure, exercise, and solitude. 
 And Jim fell in admirably with my requirements. 
 But, as I say, the idea that I was a company- 
 commander on his charger always amused me. 
 
 I rode, as I generally did, in a south-easterly 
 direction, climbing at a walk one of the many roads 
 that led out of Morlancourt towards the Bois des 
 Tallies. When I reached the high ground I made
 
 BILLETS 241 
 
 Jim gallop along the grass-border right up to the 
 edge of the woods. There is nothing like the ex- 
 hilaration of flying along, you cannot imagine how, 
 with the great brown animal lengthening out under 
 you for all he is worth ! I pulled him up and turned 
 his head to the right, leaving the road, and skirting 
 the edge of the wood. At last I was alone. 
 
 In the clearings of the wood the ground was a 
 sheet of blue hyacinths, whose sweet scent came 
 along on the breeze ; their fragrance Hfted my spirit, 
 and I drank in deep breaths of the early summer air. 
 I took off my cap to feel the sun full on my face. 
 On the ground outside the wood were still a few late 
 primroses interspersed with cowslips, stubborn and 
 jolly ; and as I rounded a bend in the wood-edge, I 
 found myself looking across a tiny valley, the opposite 
 face of which was a wooded slope, with all the trees 
 banked up on it as gardeners bank geraniums in tiers 
 to give a good massed effect. So, climbing the hill- 
 side, were all these shimmering patches of green, 
 yellow-green, pea-green, yellow, massed together in 
 delightful variety ; and dotted about in the middle 
 of them were soUtary patches of white cherry- 
 blossom, like white foam breaking over a reef, in the 
 midst of a great green sea. And across this perfect 
 softness from time to time the bold black and white 
 of magpies cut with that vivid contrast with which 
 Nature loves to baffle the poor artist. 
 
 " Come on, old boy," I said, as I reached the 
 bottom of this little valley ; and trotting up the 
 i6
 
 242 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 other side, and through a ride in the wood, I came 
 out on the edge of the Valley of the Somme. I then 
 skirted the south side of the wood until I reached a 
 secluded corner with a view across the valley : here 
 I dismounted, fastened Jim to a tree, loosened his 
 girths, and left him pulling greedily at the grass at 
 his feet. Then I threw myself down on the grass to 
 dream. 
 
 My thoughts ran back to my conversation with 
 Edwards. Perhaps it was best not to think too hard, 
 but I could no more stifle my thoughts than can a 
 man his appetite. ResponsibiHty. Responsibility. 
 And those with the greatest responsibility endure 
 and see the least ; no one has more to endure than 
 the private soldier in the infantry, and no one has 
 less responsibility or power of choice. I thought of 
 our last six days in the trenches. When " A " 
 Company were in the line, the first three days, we 
 had been bombarded heavily at " stand-to " in the 
 evening. In Maple Redoubt it had been bad enough. 
 There was one sentry-post a Uttle way up Old Kent 
 Road ; by some mistake a bomber had been put on 
 duty there, whereas it was a bayonet-man's post, 
 the bombers having a special role in case of the 
 enemy attacking. I found this mistake had been 
 made, but did not think it was worth altering. 
 And that man was killed outright by a shell. 
 
 In the front Une " A " Company had had several 
 killed and wounded, and I had had to lend them 
 half my bombers ; as I had placed two men on one
 
 BILLETS 243 
 
 post, a canister had burst quite a long way off, but 
 the men cowered down into the trench. I cursed 
 them as hard as I could, and then I saw that in the 
 post were the two former occupants lying dead, 
 killed half an hour ago where they lay, and where 
 I was placing my two men. I stopped my curses, 
 and inwardly directed them against myself. And 
 there I had to leave these fellows, looking after me 
 and thinking, "He's going back to his dug-out." 
 Ah ! no, they knew me better than to think like 
 that. Yet I had to go back, leaving them there. I 
 should never forget that awful weight of responsi- 
 bihty that suddenly seemed visualised before me. 
 Could I not see their scared faces peering at me, 
 even as now I seemed to smell the scent of pear-drops 
 with which the trench was permeated, the Germans 
 having sent over a few lachrymatory shells along 
 with the others that night ? 
 
 Ah ! Why was I Uving all this over again, just 
 when I had come away to get free of all this awhile, 
 and dream ? I had come out to enjoy the sunshine 
 and the peace, just as Jim was enjoying the grass 
 behind me. I listened. There was a slight jingle of 
 the bit now and again, and a creaking of leather, and 
 always that drawing sound, with an occasional purr, 
 as the grass was torn up. I could not help looking 
 round at last. " You pig," I said ; but my tone did 
 not altogether disapprove of complacent piggishness. 
 
 In front of me lay the blue water of the Somme 
 Canal, and the pools between it and the river ; long
 
 244 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 parallel rows of pale green poplars stretched along 
 either bank of the canal ; and at my feet, half hidden 
 by the slope of the ground, lay the sleepy little 
 village of Etinehem. There was a Sunday afternoon 
 slumber over everything. Was it Sunday ? I 
 thought for a moment. No, it was Thursday, and 
 to-morrow we went " in " again. I deliberately 
 switched my thoughts away from the trenches, and 
 they flew to the events of the morning. I could see 
 my fellows lying, so keen — I might almost say so 
 happy — blazing away on the range. One I re- 
 membered especially. Private Benjamin, a boy 
 with a delicate eager face, who came out with the 
 last draft : he came from a village close up to 
 Snowdon ; he was shooting badly, and very con- 
 cerned about it. I lay down beside him and showed 
 him how to squeeze the trigger, gradually, ever 
 so gradually. Oh ! these boys ! ResponsibiUty. 
 Responsibility. 
 
 " This is no good," I said to myself at last, and 
 untied Jim and rode again. I went down into the 
 valley, and along the green track between an avenue 
 of poplars south of the canal until at last I came to 
 Sailly-Laurette, and so back and in to Morlancourt 
 from the south-west. It was six o'clock by the time 
 I stooped my head under the gateway into our 
 garden, and for the last hour or so I had almost for- 
 gotten war at last. 
 
 " Hullo," was the greeting I received from Owen. 
 " There's no tea left."
 
 BILLETS 245 
 
 " I don't want any tea," I answered. " Has the 
 post come ? " 
 
 There were three letters for me. As I slept at a 
 house a little distance away, I took the letters along 
 with me. 
 
 "I'm going over to my room to clean up," I 
 shouted to Owen, who was reading inside the Mess- 
 room. " What time's old Jim coming in ? " 
 
 " Seven o'clock ! " 
 
 " All right," I answered. " I'll be over by seven." 
 
 III. Evening 
 
 As I walked up the garden path a few minutes 
 before seven, I had to pass the kitchen door, where 
 the servants slept, Uved, and cooked our meals. I 
 had a vision of Private Watson, the cook, busy at 
 the oven ; he was in his shirt-sleeves, hair untidy, 
 trousers very grimy, and altogether a very un- 
 martial figure. There seemed to be a dispute in 
 progress, to judge from the high pitch to which the 
 voices had attained. On these occasions Lewis' 
 piping voice reached an incredible falsetto, while 
 his face flushed redder than ever. 
 
 Watson, Owen's servant, had superseded Gray 
 as officers' mess cook ; the latter had, unfortunately, 
 drunk one or two glasses of beer last time in billets, 
 and, to give his own version, he " somehow felt very 
 sleepy, and went down and lay under a bank," and 
 could remember nothing more until about ten 
 o'clock, when he humbly reported his return to me.
 
 246 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 Meanwhile Watson had cooked the dinner, which 
 was, of course, very late ; and as he did it very well, 
 and as Gray's explanation seemed somewhat vague, 
 we decided to make Watson cook, let Gray try a 
 little work in the company for a change, and get the 
 sergeant-major to send Owen another man for 
 servant. Watson had signalised the entry to his 
 new appointment by a quarrel with Madame (the 
 Warwicks had managed to " bag " this ideal billet 
 of ours temporarily, and we were in a much less 
 comfortable one the last two occasions out of 
 trenches) ; eventually Madame had hurled the 
 frying-pan at him, amid a torrent of unintelligible 
 French ; neither could understand a word the other 
 was saying, of course. Gray had been wont, I 
 believe, to " lie low and say nuffin," like Brer Fox, 
 when Madame, who was old and half-crazed, came 
 up and threw water on the fire in a fit of unknown 
 anger. But Watson's blood boiled at such insults 
 from a Frenchwoman, and hence had followed a 
 sharp contention ending in the projection of the 
 frying-pan. Luckily, we were unmolested here : 
 Watson could manage the dinner, anyway. 
 
 I entered our mess-room, which was large, light, 
 and boasted a boarded floor ; it was a splendid 
 summer-room, though it would have been very cold 
 in winter. There I found a pile of literature await- 
 ing me ; operation orders for to-morrow, giving the 
 hour at which each company was to leave Morlan- 
 court, and which company of the Manchesters it was
 
 BILLETS 247 
 
 to relieve, and when, and where, and the route to be 
 taken ; there were two typed documents " for your 
 information and retention, please," one relating to 
 prevention of fly-trouble in billets, the other giving 
 a new code of signals and marked " Secret " on the 
 top, and lastly there was Comic Cuts. Leaving the 
 rest, I hastily skimmed through the latter, which 
 contained detailed infonnation of operations carried 
 out, and intelligence gathered on the corps front 
 during the last few days. At first these were in- 
 tensely interesting, but after seven months they 
 began to pall, and I grew expert at skimming through 
 them rapidly. 
 
 Then Jim Potter came in, and Comic Cuts faded 
 into insignificance. 
 
 " Here, Owen," said I, and threw them over to him. 
 
 Captain and Quartermaster Jim Potter was the 
 Father of the battaUon. He had been in the bat- 
 talion sixteen years, and had come out with them in 
 1914 ; twice the battahon had been decimated, new 
 officers had come and disappeared, commanding 
 officers had become brigadiers and new ones taken 
 their place, but " Old Jim " remained, calm, un- 
 altered, steady as a rock, good-natured, and an 
 utter pessimist. I first introduced him in Chapter I, 
 when I spent the night in his billet prior to my first 
 advent into the trenches. I was a little perturbed 
 then by his pessimism. Now I should have been 
 very alarmed if he had suddenly burst into a fit of 
 optimism.
 
 248 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " Well, Jim," we said, " how are things going ? 
 When's the war going to end ? " 
 
 " Oh ! not so very long now." We gaped at this 
 unexpected reply. " Because," he added, " you 
 know. Bill, it's the unexpected that always happens 
 in this war. Hullo ! You've got some pretty 
 pictures, I see." 
 
 We had been decorating the walls with the few 
 unwarlike pictures that were still to be found in the 
 illustrated papers. 
 
 " Not a bad place, Blighty," he resumed, gazing 
 at a picture entitled " Home, Sweet Home ! " 
 There had been a little dispute as to whether it 
 should go up, owing to its sentimental nature. At 
 last " The Warwicks will like it," we had said, and 
 up it had gone. The Warwicks had our billet, when 
 we were "in." 
 
 " Tell us about your leave," we said, and Jim 
 began a series of delightful sarcastic jerks about the 
 way people in England seemed to be getting now a 
 faint gUmmering conception that somewhere there 
 was a war on. 
 
 The joint was not quite ready, Edwards explained 
 to me, drawing me aside a minute ; would old Jim 
 mind ? The idea of old Jim minding being quite 
 absurd, we decided on having a cooked joint a 
 quarter of an hour hence, rather than a semi-raw 
 one now ; and we told Jim our decision. It seemed 
 to suit him exactly, as he had had tea late. There 
 never was such an unruffled fellow as he ; had we
 
 BILLETS 249 
 
 wanted to begin before the time appointed, he would 
 have been ravenous. So he continued the descrip- 
 tion of his adventures on leave. Meanwhile I 
 rescued Comic Cuts from the hands of Paul, and 
 despatched them, duly initialled, by the trusty 
 Davies to " C" Company. Just as I had done 
 so the sergeant-major appeared at the door. 
 
 " You know the time we move off to-morrow ? " 
 I said. 
 
 Yes, he had known that long before I did, by 
 means of the regimental sergeant-major and the 
 orderly sergeant. 
 
 " Fall in at 8.15," I said. " Everything the same 
 as usual. All the officers' servants, and Watson, 
 are to fall in with the company ; this stragghng in 
 independently, before or after the company, will 
 stop once and for all." Lewis' face, as he laid 
 the soup-plates, turned half a degree redder than 
 usual. 
 
 " There's nothing more ? " I said. 
 
 " No, that's all, sir." 
 
 The sergeant-major drained off his whiskey with 
 a dash of Perrier, and prepared to go. Now was the 
 psychological moment when one learnt any news 
 there was to learn about the battalion. 
 
 " No news, I suppose ? " I asked. 
 
 " The fellows are still talking about this ' rest,' 
 sir. No news about that, I suppose ? " said the 
 sergeant-major. 
 
 " Only that it's shghtly overdue," I answered.
 
 250 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 with a laugh. " What do you think, Jim ? Any 
 Hkehhood of this three weeks' rest coming off ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes ; I should think so," said the quarter- 
 master. " Any time next year." 
 
 " Good night, sir," said Sergeant-Major Brown, 
 with a grin. 
 
 " Good night, Sergeant-Major," came in a chorus 
 as he disappeared into the garden. 
 
 " Soup's ready, sir," said Lewis. And we sat 
 down to dine. 
 
 The extraordinary thing about having Jim Potter 
 in to dinner was that an extra elaborate menu was 
 always provided, and yet old Jim himself always ate 
 less than anyone else ; still, he did his share nobly 
 with the whiskey, so that made up for it, I suppose. 
 To-night Edwards planned " sausages and mash " 
 as an entree ; but, whether through superior know- 
 ledge or a mere misunderstanding, the sausages 
 arrived seated carefully on the top of the round of 
 beef, like marrons-glaces stuck on an iced cake. As 
 the dish was placed, amid howls of execration, on 
 the table, one of the unsteadier sausages staggered 
 and fell with a splash into the gravy, much to every- 
 one's delight ; Edwards, wiping the gravy spots off 
 his best tunic, seemed the only member of the party 
 who did not greet with approbation this novel dish. 
 
 After soup, sausages and beef, and rice-pudding 
 and tinned fruit, came Watson's special dish — cheese 
 au gratin on toast. This was a glutinous concoction, 
 and a little went a long way. Then followed cafe au
 
 BILLETS 251 
 
 lait made in the teapot, which was the signal for 
 cigarettes to be ht up, and chairs to be moved a Uttle 
 to allow of a comfortable expansion of legs. Owen 
 proposed sitting out in the summer-house, but on 
 going outside reported that it was a little too chilly. 
 So we remained where we were. 
 
 Edwards was talking of Amiens : he had been 
 there for the day yesterday, and incidentally dis- 
 covered that there was a cathedral there. 
 
 " I know it," said L "I used to go there every 
 Saturday when I was at the Army School." 
 
 " You had a good time at the Army School, didn't 
 you ? " asked Jim. 
 
 " Tip-top time," said L " It's a really good show. 
 The Commandant was the most wonderful man we 
 ever met. By the way, that concert Tuesday night 
 was a really good show." 
 
 Jim Potter and Edwards had got it up ; it had 
 been an al fresco affair, and the night had been 
 ideally warm for it. Edwards had trained a Welsh 
 choir with some success. Several outsiders had con- 
 tributed, the star of the evening being Basil Hallam, 
 the well-known music-hall artist, whose dainty 
 manner, reminding one of the art of Vesta Tilley, 
 and impeccable evening clothes had produced an 
 unforgettably bizarre effect in the middle of such an 
 audience and within sound of the guns. He was 
 well known to most of the men as " the bloke that 
 sits up in the sausage." For any fine day, coming 
 out of trenches or going in, you could see high
 
 252 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 suspended the " sausage," whose home and " base " 
 was between Treux and Mericourt, and whose 
 occupant and eye was Basil Hallam. And so the 
 " sausage bloke " was received enthusiastically at 
 our concert. 
 
 As we talked about the concert, Owen began 
 singing " Now Florrie was a Flapper," which had 
 been Basil Hallam 's most popular song, and as he 
 sang he rose from his chair and walked about the 
 room ; he was evidently enjoying himself, though 
 his imitation of Basil Hallam was very bad indeed. 
 As he sang, we went on talking. 
 
 " A good entry in Comic Cuts to-night," I re- 
 marked. " ' A dog was heard barking in Fricourt at 
 II p.m.' Someone must have been hard up for 
 intelligence to put that in." 
 
 " A dog barking in Fricourt," said old Jim, warm- 
 ing up. '"A dog barking in Fricourt.' What's that — 
 Corps stuff ? I never read the thing ; good Lord, no ! 
 That's what it is to have a Staff — ' A dog barking in 
 Fricourt ! ' " 
 
 " The Corps officer didn't hear it," said I. " It 
 was some battalion intelligence officer that was such 
 a fool as to report it." 
 
 " Fool ? " said old Jim. "I'd like to meet the 
 fellow. He's the first fellow I've ever met yet who 
 has a just appreciation of the brain capacity of the 
 Staff. You or I might have thought of reporting a 
 dog's mew, or roar, or bellow ; but a dog's bark we 
 should have thought of no interest whatever to the —
 
 BILLETS 253 
 
 er — fellows up there, you know, who plan our 
 destinies." And he gave an obsequious flick of his 
 hand to an imaginary person too high up to see him 
 at all. 
 
 " He's a good fellow," he repeated, " that intelli- 
 gence officer. Ought to get a D.S.O." 
 
 Old Jim had two South African medals, a D.C.M. 
 and a D.S.O. 
 
 " The Staff," he went on, with the greatest con- 
 tempt he could put into his voice. " I saw three of 
 them in a car to-day. I stood to attention : saluted. 
 A young fellow waved his hand, you know ; graci- 
 ously accepted my salute, you know, and passed on 
 leaning back in his limousin. The ' Brains of the 
 British Army,' I thought. Pah ! " 
 
 We waited. Jim on the Staff was the greatest 
 entertainment the battalion could offer. We tried 
 to draw him out further, but he would not be 
 drawn. We tried cunningly, by indirect methods, 
 enquiring his views on whether there would be a 
 push this year. 
 
 " Push ! " he said. " Of course there will be a 
 push. The Staff must have something to show for 
 themselves. ' Shove 'em in,' they say ; ' rather 
 a bigger front than last time.' Strategy ? Oh, no ! 
 That's out of date, you know. Five-mile front — 
 frontal attack. Get a few hundred thousand mown 
 down, and then discover the Boche has got a second 
 line. TheStaff. Pah!!" And no more would he say. 
 
 Then Clark came in, and the Manchester Stokes
 
 254 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 gun ofBcer. Clark immediately joined Owen in a 
 duet on " Florrie." Then we went through the 
 whole gamut of popular songs, with appropriate 
 actions and stamping of feet upon the floor. Mean- 
 while the table was cleared, only the whiskey and 
 Perrier remaining. Soon there were cries of 
 " Napoleon — Napoleon," and Owen, who bears a 
 remarkable resemblance to that great personage, 
 posed tragically again and again amid great applause. 
 And then, in natural sequence, I, as " Bill, the man 
 wot won the Battle of Waterloo," attacked him with 
 every species of trench-mortar I could lay hands on, 
 my head swathed in a remarkable turban of Daily 
 Mail. At last I drove him into a corner behind a 
 table, and bombarded him relentlessly with oranges 
 until he capitulated ! All the time Edwards had 
 been in fear and trembling for the safety of his 
 gramophone. 
 
 At length peace was signed, and we grew quiet 
 again beneath the soothing strains of the gramo- 
 phone, until at last Jim Potter said he must really 
 go. Everyone reminding everyone else that break- 
 fast was at seven, we broke up the party, and Owen, 
 Paul, Jim Potter and I departed together. But 
 anyone who knows the psychology of conviviality 
 will understand that we had first to pay a visit to a 
 neighbouring Mess for one last whiskey-and-soda 
 before turning in. 
 
 As I opened the door of my billet, I heard a 
 " strafe " getting up. There was a lively cannonade
 
 BILLETS 255 
 
 up in the line ; for several minutes I listened, until 
 it diminished a Httle, and began to die away. " In " 
 to-morrow, I thought. My vahse was laid out on 
 the floor, and my trench kit all ready for packing 
 first thing next morning. I lost no time in getting 
 into bed. And yet I could not sleep. 
 
 I could not help thinking of the jolUty of the last 
 few hours, the humour, the apparently spontaneous 
 outburst of good spirits ; and most of all I thought 
 of old Jim, the mainspring somehow of it all. And 
 again I saw the picture of the concert a few nights 
 ago, the bright hghts of the stage, the crowds of our 
 fellows, all their bodies and spirits for the moment 
 relaxed, good-natured, happy, as they stood laugh- 
 ing in the warm night air. And lastly I thought 
 again of Private Benjamin, that refined eager face, 
 that rather delicate body, and that warm hand as 
 I placed mine over his, squeezing the trigger. He 
 was no more than a child really, a simple-minded 
 child of Wales. Somehow it was more terrible that 
 these young boys should see this war, than for the 
 older men. Yet were we not all children wondering, 
 wondering, wondering ? . . . Yes, we were like 
 children faced by a wild beast. " Sometimes I 
 dislike you almost," I thought ; " your dulness, 
 your coarseness, your lack of romance, your un- 
 attractiveness. Yet that is only physical. You, 
 I love really. Oh, the dear, dear world ! " 
 
 And in the darkness I buried my face in the pillow, 
 and sobbed.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 "A CERTAIN MAN DREW A BOW AT A 
 VENTURE " 
 
 IT was ten o'clock as I came in from the wiring- 
 party in front of Rue Albert, and at that 
 moment our guns began. We were in Maple 
 Redoubt. The moon had just set, and it was a 
 still summer night in early June. 
 
 " Come and have a look," I called to Owen, who 
 had just entered the dug-out. I could see him 
 standing with his back to the candlelight reading a 
 letter or something. 
 
 He came out, and together we looked across the 
 valley at the shoulder of down that was silhouetted 
 by the continuous light of gun-flickers. Our guns 
 had commenced a two hours' bombardment. 
 
 " No answer from the Boche yet," I said. 
 
 " They're firing on C 2, down by the cemetery." 
 
 " Yes, I hardly noticed it ; our guns make such a 
 row. By Jove, it's magnificent." 
 
 We gazed fascinated for a long time, and then 
 went into the dug-out where Edwards and Paul 
 were snoring rhythmically. I read for half an hour, 
 but the dug-out was stuffy, and the smell of sand- 
 
 256
 
 " A BOW AT A VENTURE " 257 
 
 bags and the flickering of the candle annoyed me 
 for some reason or other. Somehow " Derehcts " 
 by W. J. Locke failed to grip my attention. Owing 
 to our bombardment, there were no working- 
 parties, in case the Germans should take it into 
 their head to retahate vigorously. But at present 
 there was no sign of that. 
 
 I went outside again, and walked along Park 
 Lane until I came to the Lewis-gun position just 
 this side of the corner of Wathng Street. The 
 sentry was standing up, with his elbows on the 
 ground level (tjiere was no parapet) gazing alert 
 and interested at the continuous flicker of our 
 shells bursting along the enemy's trenches. Lance- 
 Corporal Allan looked out of the dug-out, and, 
 seeing me, came out and stood by us. And together 
 we watched, all three of us, in silence. Overhead 
 was the continual griding, screeching, whistling of 
 the shells as they passed over, without pause or 
 cessation ; behind was a chain of gun-flickers the 
 other side of the ridge ; and in front was another 
 chain of flashes, and a succession of bump, bump, 
 bumps, as the shells burst relentlessly in the German 
 trenches. And where we stood, under the noisy 
 arch, was a steady calm. 
 
 " This is all right, sir," said Lance-Corporal Allan. 
 He was the N.C.O. in charge of this Lewis-gun 
 team. 
 
 " Yes," said L " The artillery are not on short 
 rations to-night." 
 17
 
 258 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 For always, through the last four months, the 
 artillery had been more or less confined to so many 
 shells a day. The officers used to tell us they had 
 any amount of ammunition, yet no sooner were 
 they given a free hand to retaliate as much as we 
 wanted, than an order came cancelling this privilege. 
 To-night at any rate there was no curtailment. 
 
 " I believe this is the beginning of a new order 
 of things," I said, half musing, to myself ; " that is, 
 I believe the Boche is going to get lots and lots of 
 this now." 
 
 " About time, sir," said the sentry. 
 
 " Is there a push coming off ? " said Lance- 
 Corporal Allan. 
 
 " I don't know," I repHed. " But I expect we 
 shall be doing something soon. It's quite certain 
 we're going to get our three weeks' rest after this 
 turn in. The Brigade Major told me so." 
 
 Corporal Allan smiled, and as he did so the 
 flashes lit up his face. He was quite a boy, only 
 eighteen, I believe, but an excellent N.C.O. He 
 had a very beautiful though sensuous face that 
 used to remind me sometimes of the " Satyr " of 
 Praxiteles. His only fault was an inclination to 
 sulkiness at times, which was perhaps due to a 
 little streak of vanity. It was no wonder the 
 maidens of Morlancourt made eyes at him, and a 
 little girl who lived next door to the Lewis-gunner's 
 billet was said to have lost her heart long ago. To- 
 night I felt a pang as I saw him smile.
 
 " A BOW AT A VENTURE " 259 
 
 " We'll see," I said. " Anyway it's going to be 
 a good show giving the Bochc these sort of pleasant 
 dreams. Better than those one-minute stunts." 
 
 I was referring to a one-minute bombardment of 
 Fricourt Wood, that had taken place last time we 
 were in the line. It was a good spectacle to see 
 the wood alive with flames, hear our Vickers' guns 
 rattling hard behind us from the supports, and see 
 the Germans firing excited green and red rockets 
 into the air. But the retaliation had been un- 
 pleasant, and the whole business seemed not worth 
 while. This continuous pounding was quite different. 
 
 I went back and visited the other gun position, 
 and spent a few minutes there also. At last I turned 
 in reluctantly. I went out again at half -past eleven, 
 and still the shells were screaming over. It seemed 
 the token of an irresistible power. And there was 
 no reply at all now from the German lines. 
 
 The short summer nights made life easier in some 
 respects. We " stood to " earlier, and it was quite 
 light by three. As I turned in again, I paused for a 
 moment to take in the scene. Davies had retired 
 to a small dug-out, that looked exactly like a dog- 
 kennel, and was not much larger. As Davies him- 
 self frequently reminded me of a very intelligent 
 sheepdog, the dog-kennel seemed most suitable. I 
 heard him turning about inside, as I stood at the 
 door of our own dug-out. 
 
 The scene was one of the most perfect peace.
 
 260 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 The sun was not up, but by now the Hght was firm 
 and strong ; night had melted away. I went back 
 and walked a little way along Park Lane until I 
 came to a gap in the newly erected sand-bag parados. 
 I went through the gap and into a little graveyard 
 that had not been used now for several months. 
 And there I stood in the open, completely hidden 
 from the enemy, on the reverse slope of the hill. 
 Below me were the dug-outs of 71 North, and away 
 to the left those of the Citadel. Already I could 
 see smoke curling up from the cookers. There was 
 a faint mist still hanging about over the road there, 
 that the strong light would soon dispel. On the 
 hill-side opposite lay the familiar tracery of Redoubt 
 A, and the white zigzag mark of Maidstone Avenue 
 climbing up well to the left of it, until it disappeared 
 over the ridge. Close to my feet the meadow was 
 full of buttercups and blue veronica, with occasional 
 daisies starring the grass. And below, above, every- 
 where, it seemed, was the tremulous song of count- 
 less larks, rising, growing, sweUing, till the air 
 seemed full to breaking-point. 
 
 And there was not a sound of war. Who could 
 desecrate such a perfect June morning ? I felt a 
 mad impulse to run up and across into No Man's 
 Land and cry out that such a day was made for 
 lovers ; that we were all enmeshed in a mad night- 
 marc, that needed but a bold man's laugh to free 
 us from its clutches ! Surely this most exquisite 
 morning could not be the birth of another day of
 
 " A BOW AT A VENTURE " 261 
 
 pain ? Yet I felt how vain and hopeless was the 
 longing, as I turned at last and saw the first slant 
 rays of sunlight touch the white sand-bags into 
 life. 
 
 " What time's this working-party ? " asked Paul 
 at four o'clock that afternoon. 
 
 " I told the sergeant-major to get the men out 
 as soon as they'd finished tea," I replied. " About 
 a quarter to five they ought to be ready. He will 
 let you know all right." 
 
 " Hullo ! " said Paul. 
 
 " What are you ' hulloing ' about ? " I asked. 
 
 Paul did not answer. Faintly I heard a " wheeoo, 
 wheeoo, wheeoo," that grew louder and louder and 
 ended in a swishing roar like a big wave breaking 
 against an esplanade — and then " wump — ^wump — 
 wump — wump " four 4-2's exploded beyond the 
 parados of Park Lane. 
 
 " Well over," said Edwards. 
 
 " I expected this," I answered. " They've been 
 too d — d quiet all day — especially after the pounding 
 we gave them last night." 
 
 " There they are again," I added. This time I 
 had heard the four distant thuds, and we all waited. 
 
 " Wump, wump — Crump." There was a colossal 
 din, the two candles went out, and there was a 
 shaking and jarring in the blackness. Then followed 
 the sound of falling stuff, and I felt a few patters of 
 earth all over me. Gradually it got lighter, and
 
 262 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 through the smoke-filled doorway the square of 
 daylight reappeared. 
 
 " Je ne Faime pas," said I, as we all waited, 
 without speaking. Then Edwards struck a match 
 and lit the candles ; all the table, floor, and beds 
 were sprinkled with dust and earth. Then Da vies 
 burst in. 
 
 " Are you all right ? " we asked. 
 
 " Yessir. Are you ? " 
 
 " Oh, we're all right, Davies," said I. " But 
 there's a job for Lewis cleaning this butter up." 
 
 At length we went outside, stepping over a heap 
 of loose yielding earth, mixed up with lumps of 
 chalk and bits of frayed sand-bags. Outside, the 
 trench was blocked with debris of a similar kind. 
 Already two men had crossed it, and several men 
 were about to do so. It was old already. There 
 was still a smell of gunpowder in the air, and a lot 
 of chalk dust that irritated your nose. 
 
 " I think I'll tell the sergeant-major not to get 
 the working-party out just yet," I said to Paul. 
 " They often start like that and then put lots more 
 over about a quarter of an hour later." And I sped 
 along Park Lane quickly. 
 
 As I returned I heard footsteps behind me. I 
 looked round, but the men were hidden by a tra- 
 verse. And then came tragedy, sudden, and 
 terrible. I have seen many bad sights — every man 
 killed is a tragedy — but one avoids and hides away 
 the hideousness as soon as possible. But never.
 
 " A BOW AT A VENTURE " 263 
 
 save once perhaps, have I seen the thing so vile as 
 now. 
 
 " Look out ! " I heard a voice from behind. And 
 as I heard the shell screaming down, I tumbled into 
 the nearest dug-out. The shell burst with a huge 
 " crump," but not so close as the one that had 
 darkened our dug-out ten minutes before. Then 
 again another four shells burst together, but some 
 forty or fifty yards away. I waited one, two 
 minutes. And then I heard men running in the 
 trench. 
 
 As I sprang up the dug-out steps, I saw two 
 stretcher-bearers standing looking round the tra- 
 verse. And then there was the faint whistling over- 
 head and they pushed me back as they almost fell 
 down the dug-out steps. 
 
 " Is there a man hurt ? " I asked. " We can't 
 leave him." 
 
 " He's dead," said one. And as he spoke there 
 were three more explosions a Httle to the left. 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Aye," said the stretcher-bearer and closed his 
 eyes tight. 
 
 " He's past our help," said the other man. 
 
 At last, after a minute's calm, we stepped out 
 into the sunshine. I went round the traverse, 
 following the two stretcher-bearers. And looking 
 between them, as they stood gazing, this is what I 
 saw. 
 
 In the trench, half buried in rags of sand-bag and
 
 264 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 loose chalk, lay what had been a man. His head 
 was nearest to me, and at that I gazed fascinated ; 
 for the shell had cut it clean in half, and the face 
 lay like a mask, its features unmarred at all, a full 
 foot away from the rest of the head. The flesh 
 was grey, that was all ; the open eyes, the nose, 
 the mouth were not even twisted awry. It was 
 like the fragment of a sculpture. All the rest of the 
 body was a mangled mass of flesh and khaki. 
 
 " Who is it ? " whispered a stretcher-bearer, 
 bending his head down to look sideways at that 
 mask. 
 
 " Find his identity-disc," said the other. 
 
 " It is Lance-Corporal Allan," said I. 
 
 Then up came the regimental sergeant-major, 
 and Owen followed him. They too gazed in horror 
 for a moment. The sergeant-major was the first 
 to recover. 
 
 " Hi ! you fellows," he called to two men. " Get 
 a waterproof sheet." 
 
 " Come away, old man," said I to Owen. 
 
 In silence we walked back to the dug-out. But 
 my brain was whirling. " A certain man drew a 
 bow at a venture," I thought again. That was how 
 it was possible. No man could keep on kilhng, if 
 he could see the men he killed. Who had fired that 
 howitzer shell ? A German gunner somewhere right 
 away in Mametz Wood probably. He would never 
 see his handiwork, never know what he had done
 
 " A BOW AT A VENTURE " 265 
 
 to-day. He would never see ; that was the point. 
 Had he known, he would have rejoiced that there 
 was one Englishman less in the world. It was not 
 his fault. We were just the same. What of last 
 night's bombardment ? (The memory of Lance- 
 Corporal Allan up by his gun-position gave me a 
 quick sharp pang.) Had we not watched with 
 glittering eyes the magnificent shooting of our own 
 gunners ? This afternoon's strafe was but a puny 
 retaliation. 
 
 Slowly it came back to me, the half-formed pic- 
 ture that had arisen in my mind the night of David- 
 son's death. " A certain man drew a bow at a 
 venture," expressed it perfectly. It was splendid 
 twanging the bow, feeling the fingers grip the 
 polished wood, watching the bow-string stretch 
 and strain, and then letting the arrow fly. That 
 was the fascinating, the deadly fascinating side 
 of war. That was what made it possible to 
 " carry on." I remembered my joy in calling up 
 the artillery in revenge for Thompson's death. 
 And then again, whenever we put a mine up, how 
 exhilarating was the spectacle ! Throwing a bomb, 
 firing a Lewis gun, all these things were pleasant. 
 It was hke the joy of throwing stones over a barn 
 and hearing them splash into a pond ; like driving 
 a cricket ball out of the field. 
 
 But the arrows fell somewhere. That was the 
 other side of war. The dying king leant on his 
 chariot, propped up until the sun went down. The
 
 266 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 man who had fired the bolt never knew he had 
 killed a king. That was the other side of war ; 
 that was the side that counted. What I had just 
 seen was war. 
 
 I leaned my face on my arm against the parados. 
 Oh, this unutterable tragedy ! Had there ever 
 been such a thing before ? Why was this thing so 
 terrible ? Why did I have this feeling of battering 
 against some relentless power ? Death. There 
 were worse things than death. There were sights, 
 such as I had just come from, as terrible in every- 
 day life, in any factory explosion or railway accident. 
 There was nothing new in death. Vaguely my mind 
 felt out for something to express this thing so far 
 more terrible than mere death. And then I saw it. 
 Vividly I saw the secret of war. 
 
 What made war so cruel, was the force that com- 
 pelled you to go on. After a factory explosion you 
 cleared up things and then took every precaution 
 to prevent its recurrence ; but in war you did 
 the opposite, you used all your energies to make 
 more explosions. You killed and went on killing ; 
 you saw men die around you, and you deliberately 
 went on with the thing that would cause more of 
 your friends to die. You were placed in an arena, 
 and made to fight the beasts ; and if you killed 
 one beast, there were more waiting, and more and 
 more. And above the arena, out of it, secure, 
 looked down the glittering eyes of the men who 
 had placed you there ; cruel, relentless eyes, that
 
 " A BOW AT A VENTURE " 267 
 
 went on glittering while the mouths expressed ad- 
 miration for your impossible struggles, and pity 
 for your fate ! 
 
 " Oh God ! I shall go mad 1 " I thought, in the 
 agony of my mind. I saw into that strange empty 
 chamber which is called madness : I knew what it 
 would be like to go mad. And even as I saw, came 
 the thought again of those glittering eyes, and the 
 ruthless answer to my soul's cry : " The war is 
 utterly indifferent whether you go mad or not." 
 
 Owen was standing waiting for me. 1 grew calm 
 again, and turned and put my hand on his shoulder. 
 Together we reached the door of the dug-out. 
 
 " Oh, Bill," he said, " have you ever seen anything 
 more awful ? " 
 
 " Only once. No, not more awful : more beastly. 
 Nothing could be more awful." 
 
 We told the others. 
 
 " Not Allan ? " said Edwards. He was Lewis-gun 
 officer, and Allan was his best man. 
 
 " Not Allan ? " he repeated. " Oh, how will they 
 tell his little girl in Morlancourt ? What will she 
 say when she learns she will never see him again ? " 
 
 " Thank God she never saw him as we saw him 
 just now," I said, " and thank God his mother 
 never saw him." 
 
 " If women were in this war, there would be no 
 war," said Edwards. 
 
 " I wonder," said I.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 WOUNDED 
 
 ECE-CORPORAL ALLAN was kiUed on 
 Tuesday the 6th of June. For the rest 
 of that day I was all " on edge." I wondered 
 sometimes how I could go on : even in billets I 
 dreamed of rifle-grenades ; and though I had only 
 returned from leave a fortnight ago, I felt as tired 
 out in body and mind as I did before I went. And 
 this last horror did not add to my peace of mind. 
 I very nearly quarrelled with Captain Wetherell, 
 the battalion Lewis-gun officer, over the position 
 of a Lewis gun. There had been a change of 
 company front, and some readjustments had to be 
 made. I believe I told him he had not got the 
 remotest idea of our defence scheme, or something 
 of the sort ! My nerves were all jangled, and my 
 brain would not rest a second. We were nearly 
 all Uke that at times. 
 
 I decided therefore to go out again to-night with 
 our wires. I had been out last night, and Owen 
 was going to-night, but 1 wanted to be doing some- 
 thing to occupy my thoughts. I knew I should 
 not sleep. At a quarter to ten I sent word to 
 
 268
 
 WOUNDED 269 
 
 Corporal Dyson, the wiring-corporal, to take his 
 men up at eleven instead of ten, as the moon had 
 not quite set. At eleven o'clock Owen and I were 
 out in No Man's Land putting out concertina wire 
 between 8oa and 8ia bombing posts, which had 
 recently been connected up by a deep narrow trench. 
 There was what might be called a concertina craze 
 on : innumerable coils of barbed wire were con- 
 verted into concertinas by the simple process of 
 winding them round and round seven upright 
 stakes in the ground ; every new lap of wire was 
 fastened to the one below it at every other stake 
 by a twist of plain wire ; the result, when you came 
 to the end of a coil and lifted the whole up ofi the 
 stakes was a heavy ring of barbed wire that con- 
 certina'd out into ten-yard lengths. They were 
 easily made up in the trench, quickly put up, and 
 when put out in two parallel rows, about a yard 
 apart, and joined together with plenty of barbed 
 wire tangled in loosely, were as good an obstacle 
 as could be made. We had some thirty of these to 
 put out to-night. 
 
 When you are out wiring you forget all about 
 being in No Man's Land, unless the Germans are 
 sniping across. The work is one that absorbs all 
 your interest, and your one concern is to get the 
 job done quickly and well. I really cannot re- 
 member whether the enemy had been sniping or 
 not (I use the word " sniping " to denote firing 
 occasional shots across with fixed rifles sited by
 
 270 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 day). I remember that I forgot all about Captain 
 Wetherell and his Lewis-gun positions, as soon as I 
 was outside the bombing post at 8oa. There were 
 about fifteen yards between this post and the crater- 
 edge, where I had a couple of " A " Company 
 bombers out as a covering party. But in this 
 fifteen yards were several huge shell-holes, and we 
 were concealing the wire in these as much as 
 possible. It was fascinating work, and I felt we 
 could not get on fast enough with it. After a 
 time I went along to Owen, whose party was 
 working on my left. Here Corporal Dyson and 
 four men were doing well also. All this strip of 
 land between the trench and the crater edge was 
 an extraordinary tangle of shell-holes, old beams 
 and planks, and scraps of old wire. Every square 
 yard of it had been churned and pounded to bits 
 at different times by canisters and " sausages " 
 and such-like. Months ago there had been a trench 
 along the crater edges ; but new mines had altered 
 these, and until we had dug the deep, narrow trench 
 between 80 A and 81 a about a fortnight ago, there 
 had been no trench there for at least five months. 
 The result was a chaotic jumble, and this jumble 
 we were converting into an obstacle by judiciously 
 placed concertina wiring. 
 
 I repeat that I cannot remember if there had 
 been much sniping across. I had just looked at 
 my luminous watch, which reported ten past one, 
 when I noticed that the sky in the east began to
 
 WOUNDED 271 
 
 show up a little paler than the German parapet 
 across the crater. " Dawn," I thought, " already. 
 There is no night at all, really. We must knock 
 off in a quarter of an hour. The hght will not be 
 behind us, but half-past one will be time to stop." 
 I was lying out by the bombers, gazing into the 
 black of the crater. It was a warm night, and 
 jolly lying out Uke this, though a bit damp and 
 muddy round the shell-holes. Then I got up, told 
 Corporal Evans to come in after fixing the coil 
 he was putting up, and was walking towards 8oA 
 post, when " Bang " I heard from across the crater, 
 and I felt a big sting in my left elbow, and a jar 
 that numbed my whole arm. 
 
 " Ow," I cried out involuntarily, and doubled 
 the remaining few yards, and scrambled down into 
 the trench. 
 
 Corporal Dyson was there. 
 
 " Are you hit, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes. Nothing much — here in the arm. Get 
 the wirers in. It'll be hght soon." 
 
 Then somehow I found my equipment and tunic 
 off ; there seemed a lot of men round me ; and I 
 tried to reaUse that I was really hit. My arm hung 
 numb and stiff, with the after-taste of a sting in it. 
 I felt this could not be a proper wound, as there 
 was no real throbbing pain such as I expected. 
 I was surprised when I saw a lot of blood in the 
 half light. Corporal Dyson asked me if I had a 
 field-dressing, and I said he would find one in the
 
 272 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 bottom right-hand corner of my tunic. To my 
 annoyance he did not seem to hear, and used one 
 of the men's. Then Owen appeared, with a serious 
 peering face. 
 
 " Are all the wirers in ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " How are you feeling ? " 
 
 His serious tone amused me. I wanted to say, 
 " Good heavens, man, I'm as fit as anything. I 
 shall be back to-morrow, I expect," But I felt 
 very tired and rather out of breath as I answered 
 " Oh ! all right." 
 
 By this time my arm was bandaged and I started 
 walking back to Maple Redoubt, leaning on Corporal 
 Dyson. I wanted to joke, but felt too tired. It 
 seemed an interminable way down, especially along 
 Watling Street. 
 
 I had only once looked into the dressing-station, 
 although I must have passed it several hundred 
 times. I was surprised at its size : there were two 
 compartments. As I stepped down inside, I 
 wondered if it were shell-proof. In the inner 
 chamber I could hear the doctor's quick low voice, 
 teUing a man to move the lamp : and it seemed 
 to flash across me for the first time that there 
 ought to be some kind of guarantee against dressing- 
 stations being blown in like any ordinary dug-out. 
 And yet I knew there was no possibiHty of any 
 such guarantee. 
 
 " Hullo, Bill, old man," said the Httle doctor, 
 coming out quickly. " Where's this thing of yours ?
 
 WOUNDED 273 
 
 In the arm, isn't it ? Let's have a look. Oh yes, 
 I see. (He examined the bandage, and the arai 
 above it.) Well, I won't be long. You won't mind 
 waiting a few minutes, will you ? I've got a bad 
 case in here. Hall, get him to sit down, and give 
 him some Bovril." 
 
 And he was gone. No man could move or make 
 men move quicker than the doctor. 
 
 I felt apologetic : I had chosen a bad time to 
 come, just when the doctor was busy with this 
 other man. I asked who the fellow was, and learned 
 he was a private from " D " Company. I was very 
 grateful for the Bovril. A good idea, this, I thought, 
 having Bovril ready for you. 
 
 I waited about ten minutes, sitting on a chair. 
 I listened to the movements and low voices inside. 
 " Turn him over. Here. No, those longer ones. 
 Good heavens, didn't I tell you to get this changed 
 yesterday ? Now. That'll do," and so on. I 
 turned my head round in silence, observing acutely 
 every detail in this antechamber, as one does in a 
 dentist's waiting-room. All the time in my arm 
 I felt this numb wasp-sting ; I wondered when the 
 real pain would start ; there was no motion in 
 this still smart. 
 
 " Now then, Bill," said the doctor. " So sorry 
 to keep you. Let's have a look at it. Oh, that's 
 nothing very bad." 
 
 It smarted as he undid the bandage. I don't 
 know what he did. I never looked at it. 
 i8
 
 274 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 " What sort of a one is it ? " I asked. 
 
 " I could just do with one like this myself," 
 said the doctor, 
 
 " Is it a Blighty one ? " 
 
 "I'd give you a fiver for it any minute," answered 
 the doctor. " I'm not certain whether the bone's 
 broken or not, but I rather think it is touched. I 
 can't say, though. A bullet, did you say ? Are 
 you sure ? " 
 
 " Very sure," I laughed. 
 
 " Well, it must be one of these explosive bullets, 
 an ordinary bullet doesn't make a wound like yours. 
 That's it. That'll do." 
 
 " I can't make out why there's not more pain," 
 said I. 
 
 " Oh, that'll come later. You see the shock 
 paralyses you at first. Here, take one of these." 
 And he gave me a morphia tabloid. 
 
 " Cheero, Bill," he said, and I went out of the 
 dug-out leaning on a stretcher-bearer. Round my 
 neck hung a label, the first of a long series. " Gun- 
 shot wound in left forearm " it contained. I found 
 later " ? fracture. 1.15 a.m., 7.6.16." 
 
 Outside Lewis was waiting with my trench kit. 
 He had appeared a quarter of an hour back at the 
 door of the dressing-station, and had been told by 
 the doctor so rapidly and forcibly that he ought 
 to know that he would go with me to the clearing 
 station, and that he had five minutes in which to 
 get my kit together, that he had fairly sprinted
 
 WOUNDED 275 
 
 away. Poor fellow ! How should he know, seeing 
 that he had been my servant over six months, 
 and I had never got wounded before ? But the 
 doctor always made men double. 
 
 As I passed our dug-out, Edwards, Owen, Paul, 
 and Nicholson were all standing outside. 
 
 " Cheero," I shouted. " Good luck. The doctor 
 says it's nothing much. I'll be back soon." 
 
 " What about that Lewis-gun position ? " asked 
 Edwards. 
 
 " Oh," I said, " I want to keep that position on 
 the left." Then I felt my decision waver. " Still, 
 if Wetherell wants the other ... I don't know." 
 
 " All right. I'll fix up with Wetherell. Good 
 luck. Hope you get to Bhghty." 
 
 I wanted to say such a lot. I wanted to say that 
 I was sure to be back in a week or so. I wanted 
 to think hard, and decide about that Lewis gun. 
 I wanted to send a message to Wetherell apologising 
 for what I had said. ... I wanted to talk to Ser- 
 geant Andrews, who was standing there too. But 
 the stretcher-bearer was walking on, and I must 
 go as he pleased. 
 
 " Good-bye, Sergeant Andrews," I shouted. 
 
 Last of all I saw Davies, standing solemn and 
 dumb. 
 
 " Good-bye, Davies. Off to Blighty." 
 
 I could not see if he answered. The relentless 
 stretcher-bearer led me on. Was I O.C. stretcher- 
 bearers or was I not ? Why didn't I stop him ?
 
 276 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 I had not decided about that Lewis gun. At the 
 corner of Old Kent Road, I was told I might as 
 well sit on the ration trolley and go down on that. 
 And in the full Hght of dawn, about half-past two, 
 I was rolled serenely down the hill to the Citadel. 
 
 " Don't let go," I said to the stretcher-bearer, 
 who was holding the trolley back. I still thought of 
 sending up a message about that Lewis-gun position. 
 Why could not I make up my mind ? I looked back 
 and saw Maple Redoubt receding further and further 
 in the distance. 
 
 " By Jove," I thought, " I may not see it again 
 for weeks." And suddenly I reaHsed that whether 
 I made up my mind about the Lewis-gun position 
 or not, would not make the slightest difference ! 
 
 " Where do I go to now ? " said I. 
 
 " There's an ambulance at the Citadel," said the 
 stretcher-bearer. " You're quite right. You'll be 
 in Heilly in a Httle over an hour." 
 
 Heilly ? Why, this would be interesting, I 
 thought. And I should just go, and have nothing 
 to decide. I should be passive. I was going right 
 out of the arena ! 
 
 And the events of yesterday seemed a dream 
 already. 
 
 Wednesday 
 
 I lay in bed, at the clearing station at Heilly. 
 It was just after nine o'clock the same morning, 
 and the orderlies were out of sight, but not out
 
 WOUNDED 277 
 
 of hearing, washing up the breakfast tilings. Half 
 the dark blue bUnds were drawn, as the June sun 
 was blazing outside. I could see the glare of it 
 on the cobbles in the court^^ard, as the door opened 
 and a cool, tall nurse entered. I closed my eyes, 
 and pretended to be asleep. I felt she might come 
 and talk, and one thing I did not want to do, 
 I did not want to talk. 
 
 My body was most extraordinarily comfortable. 
 I moved my feet toes-up for the sheer joy of feeling 
 the smooth sheets fall cool on my feet when I 
 turned them sideways again. The pillow was com- 
 fortable ; the whole bed was comfortable ; even my 
 arm, that was throbbing violently now, and felt 
 boiling hot, was very comfortably rested on another 
 pillow. I just wanted to he, and he : only my 
 mind was working so fast and hard that it 
 seemed to make the skin tight over my forehead. 
 And all the time there was that buzz, buzzing. 
 If I left off thinking, the buzzing took complete 
 mastery of my brain. That was intolerable : so I 
 had to keep on thinking. 
 
 At the Citadel an R.A.M.C. doctor had given me 
 tea and a second label. He had also given me an 
 injection against tetanus. This he did in the chest. 
 Why didn't he do it in my right arm, I had thought : 
 I would have rather had it there. Again, I had had 
 to wait quite a quarter of an hour, while he attended 
 to the " D " Company private. I had learned from 
 an orderly that this poor fellow was bound to lose
 
 278 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 a leg, and again I had felt that I was in the way 
 here, that I was a bother. I had then watched the 
 poor fellow carried out on a stretcher, and the 
 stretcher slid into the ambulance. There was a 
 seat inside, into which I was helped. Lewis had 
 gone in front, very red-faced and awkward. And 
 an R.A.M.C. orderly had got in behind with me. 
 Sitting, I had felt that he must think I was sham- 
 ming ! Then I remembered the first ambulance 
 I had seen, when I first walked from Chocques to 
 Bcthune in early October ! Was there really any 
 connection between me then and me now ? 
 
 Then there had been a rather pleasant journey 
 through unknown country, it seemed. After a few 
 miles, we halted and changed into another ambu- 
 lance. As I had stood in the sunshine a moment, 
 I had tried to make out where we were. But I 
 could not recognise anything, and felt very tired. 
 There was a white chalk road, a grass bank, and 
 a house close by : that is all I could remember. 
 And then there was another long ride, in which 
 my one paramount idea was to rest my arm (which 
 was in a white sling) and prevent it shaking and 
 jarring. 
 
 Then at last we had reached a village and pulled 
 up in a big sunUt courtyard. Again as I walked 
 into a big room I felt that people must think I 
 was shamming. A matron had come in, and a 
 doctor. Did I mind sitting and waiting a minute 
 or so ? Would I Hke some tea ? I had refused tea.
 
 WOUNDED 279 
 
 Then the doctor and an orderly came in, and the 
 doctor asked some questions and took off my label. 
 The orderly was taking off my boots, and the doctor 
 had started helping ! I had apologised profusely, 
 for they were trench boots thick with mud. And 
 then the doctor had asked me whether I could wait 
 until about eleven before they looked at my arm : 
 meanwhile it would be better, as I should be more 
 rested after a few hours in bed. Bed ! I had never 
 thought of going to bed for an arm at all ! What a 
 delicious idea ! I felt so tired, too. I had not been 
 to bed all night. Then I had been helped into this 
 deUghtful bed, and after scrawling a letter home 
 to go away by the eight o'clock post (I was glad 
 I had remembered that), I had been left in peace 
 at about half-past four. And here I was ! I had 
 had a cup of tea for breakfast, but did not want 
 to eat anything. 
 
 I wished I could go to sleep. Yet it was not 
 much good now, if they were going to look at my 
 arm at eleven. I opened my eyes whenever I was 
 sure there was no one near me. Then I thought 
 I might as well keep them open, otherwise they 
 would think I had slept, and not know how tired 
 out I felt. There was a man in the next bed with 
 his head all bandaged ; and round the bed in the 
 corner was a screen. Opposite was an R.A.M.C. 
 doctor, as far as I could gather ; he was talking 
 to the nurse, and looked perfectly well. I thought 
 perhaps he might be the sort who would talk late
 
 280 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 when I wanted to sleep — he looked so well and 
 lively ; suppose he had a gramophone and wanted 
 to play it this afternoon. I should really have to 
 complain, if he did. Yet perhaps they would under- 
 stand, and make him give it up because of us who 
 were not so well. On my right, up at the other 
 end of the room (was it a " ward " ? yes, I suppose 
 it was) were several voices, but I could not turn 
 over and look at their owners, with my arm like this. 
 How it throbbed and pulsed ! Or was it aching ? 
 Supposing I got pins and needles in it. . . . 
 
 A khaki-clad padre came in. He just came 
 over and asked me if I wanted anything, and did 
 not worry me with talking. He had a very quiet 
 voice and bald head. I liked both. I felt I 
 ought to have wanted something : had I been 
 discourteous ? 
 
 The door opened, and the doctor entered, with 
 another nurse and another doctor. Somehow this 
 last person electrified everyone and everything. Who 
 was he ? His very walk was somehow different 
 from the ordinary. My attention was riveted on 
 him ; somehow I felt that he knew I was there, 
 and yet he did not look at me. They wheeled a 
 little table up from the other end of the room, 
 laden with glasses and bottles and glittering httle 
 silver forks and things. I could not see clearly. 
 An orderly was reprimanded by the nurse for some- 
 thing, in a subdued voice. There was a hush and 
 a tenseness in this man's presence. Yet he was
 
 WOUNDED 281 
 
 calmly looking at a newspaper, and sitting on an 
 empty bed as he did so ! Apparently Kitchener 
 was reported drowned in the North Sea : he spoke 
 in a rich, almost drawling voice. He was immensely 
 casual ! And yet one did not mind. He walked 
 over and washed his hands, and put on some 
 yellowy-brown india-rubber gloves that scrooped 
 and squelched in the basins. And then he turned 
 round, and the other doctor (whom I had seen at 
 four o'clock and who already seemed a sort of 
 confidential friend of mine in the presence of this 
 master-man) asked him, which case he wanted to 
 see first. And as he jerked his hand casually to 
 one of the beds, I was filled with a strange elation. 
 This was a surgeon, I felt ; and one in whom I 
 had immense confidence. He would do the best 
 for my arm : he would make no mistakes. I almost 
 laughed for sheer joy ! 
 
 He came at last to my bed and glanced at me. 
 He never smiled. He asked me one or two questions. 
 I said I was " ? fracture," that my arm was throbbing 
 but felt numb more than anything. 
 
 " I suppose we may presume there is a fracture," 
 said he ; "at any rate there is no point in looking 
 at it here. I'll look at it under an anaesthetic," 
 he said to me, not unkindly, but still without a 
 smile. And a httle later, as he went out, he half 
 looked back at my bed. 
 
 " Eleven o'clock," he said to the nurse as he went 
 out.
 
 282 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 The tension relaxed. An orderly spoke in a bold 
 ordinary voice. The spell was gone out with the 
 man. 
 
 " Who is that ? " I asked the nurse 
 
 " Oh ! that's Mr. Bevan ; he's a very good 
 surgeon indeed." 
 
 " I know," said I, " I can feel that." 
 
 About an hour later, two orderlies whom I had 
 not seen before came in with a stretcher, and laid 
 it on the floor by the bed. The tall nurse asked me 
 if I had any false teeth, and said I had better put 
 socks on, as my feet might get cold. The orderly 
 did this, and then they helped me on to the stretcher. 
 My head went back, and I felt a strain on my neck. 
 The next second my head was lifted and a pillow 
 put under it. And they had moved me without 
 altering the position of my arm. I was surprised 
 and pleased at that. Then a blanket was put over 
 me, and one of the orderlies said " Ready ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said, but suddenly realised he was 
 talking to the other orderly. I was lifted up, and 
 carried across the room out into the courtyard. 
 What a blazing sun ! I closed my eyes. 
 
 " Dump, dump, dump." The stretcher seemed 
 to bob along, with a regular rhythmic swaying. 
 Then they turned a corner, and I felt a slight nausea. 
 I opened my eyes. The stretcher was put on a 
 table. I felt very high up. 
 
 The matron-person appeared. She was older 
 than the nurses, and had a chain with scissors
 
 WOUNDED 283 
 
 dangling on the end of it. She smiled, and asked 
 what kind of a wound it was. Then the orderhes 
 looked at each other, at some signal that I could 
 not see, and lifted me up and into the next room. 
 They held the stretcher up level with the operating 
 table, and helped me on to it. I did some good 
 right elbow-work and got on easily. As I did so, 
 I saw Mr. Bevan sitting on a chair in his white 
 overall, his gloved hands quietly folded in his lap. 
 He said and did nothing. Again I felt immensely 
 impressed by his competence, reserving every ounce 
 of energy, waiting, until these less masterful beings 
 had got everything ready. 
 
 They took off the blanket, and moved things 
 behind. Then they put the rubber cup over my 
 mouth and nose. 
 
 " Just breathe quite naturally," said the doctor. 
 I shut my eyes. 
 
 " Just ordinary breaths. That is very good," 
 said the voice, quietly and reassuringly. 
 
 I felt a sort of sweet shudder all down my body. 
 I wanted to laugh. Then I let my body go a httle. 
 It was no good bracing myself. ... I opened my 
 right hand and shut it, just to show them I was 
 not " off " yet . . . 
 
 The process of " coming to " was unpleasant and 
 uninteresting. I do not think I distinguished my- 
 self by any originaUty, so will not attempt to 
 describe it. That was a long interminable day,
 
 284 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 and my arm hurt a good deal. In the afternoon 
 I was told that I should be pleased to hear that 
 there was no bone broken. I was anything but 
 pleased. I wanted the bone to be broken, as I 
 wanted to go to " Blighty." This worried me all 
 day. I wondered if I should get to England or not. 
 Then in the evening the sister (I found that the 
 nurses should be called sisters) dressed the wound. 
 That was distinctly unpleasant. It took hours and 
 hours and hours before it began to get even twihght. 
 I have never known so long a day. And then I 
 could not sleep. They injected morphia at last, 
 but I awoke after three or four hours feehng more 
 tired than ever. 
 
 Thursday 
 
 I can hardly disentangle these days ; night and 
 day ran into one another. I can remember little 
 about Thursday. I could not sleep however much 
 I wanted to ; and all the time my brain was work- 
 ing so hard, thinking. I worried about the com- 
 pany : they must be in the line now. Would 
 Edwards remember this, and that ? Had I left him 
 the map, or was it among those maps in my vaHse 
 which Lewis had gone to Morlancourt to fetch ? 
 
 And all the time there were rifle-grenades about ; 
 I daren't let the buzzing come, because it was all 
 rifle-grenades really ; and always I kept seeing 
 Lance-Corporal Allan lying there. Why could I 
 not get rid of the picture of him ? Yet I was afraid
 
 WOUNDED 285 
 
 I might forget ; and it was important that I should 
 remember. . . . 
 
 I remember the waiting to have my arm dressed. 
 It was Hke waiting before the dentist takes up the 
 drill again. I watched the man next to me out 
 of the corner of my eye, and felt it intensely if he 
 seemed to wince, or drew in his breath. And I 
 remember in the morning Mr. Bevan dressed my 
 wound. I looked the other way. For a week I 
 thought the wound was above instead of just below 
 the elbow. " This will hurt," he said once. 
 
 Some time in the day the man behind the screen 
 died. I had heard him groaning all day ; and there 
 was the rhythmic sound of pumping — oxygen, 
 I suppose. ... I heard a lot of moving behind the 
 screen, and at last it was taken away and I saw 
 the corner for the first time and in it an empty 
 bed with clean sheets. 
 
 The man next to me, with the bandaged head, 
 kept talking dehriously to the orderly about his 
 being on a submarine. Once the orderly smiled at 
 me as he answered the absurd questions. 
 
 There was one good incident I remember. After 
 the surgeon had dressed my arm, I said, " Is there 
 any chance of this getting me to Blighty ? " And 
 I thought he did not hear ; he was looking the 
 other way. But suddenly I heard that calm 
 deliberate voice : 
 
 " Yes, that is a Bhghty one. There is enough 
 damage to those muscles to keep you in Blighty
 
 286 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 several months." And this made all the rest bear- 
 able somehow. 
 
 Friday 
 
 Again the only sleep I could get was by morphia. 
 In the morning they told me I should go by a 
 hospital train leaving at three o'clock. I scrawled 
 a note or two and gave them to Lewis, and in- 
 structed him about my kit. I believe they made 
 an inventory of it. I gave him some maps for 
 Edwards. And then he said good-bye. And I 
 thought of him going back, and I going to England. 
 And I felt ashamed of myself again. I wondered 
 if the Colonel was annoyed with me. 
 
 They gave me gas in the morning. It seemed 
 such a bother going through all that again : it was 
 not worth trying to get better. Still I was glad, 
 it was one dressing less ! Then in the afternoon 
 I was carried on a stretcher to the train. I hardly 
 saw anyone to say good-bye to. I thought of 
 writing later. 
 
 It seemed an interminable journey. By some 
 mistake I had been put in with the Tommies. 
 There was no difference in the structure or comfort 
 of the officers' or Tommies' quarters ; but I knew 
 they were taking me wrong. However, I was 
 entirely passive, and did not mind what they did. 
 The carriage had a corridor all the way down the 
 centre, and on each side was a succession of berths 
 in three tiers. On the top tier you must have felt
 
 WOUNDED 287 
 
 very high and close up to the roof ; on the centre 
 one you got a good view out of the windows ; 
 on the third and lowest tier (which was my lot) 
 you felt that if there were an accident, you would 
 not have far to roll ; on the other hand, you were 
 out of view of orderlies passing along the corridor. 
 
 A great thirst consumed me as I lay waiting. I 
 could see two orderlies in the space by the door 
 cutting up large pieces of bread and butter. This 
 made my mouth still drier. Then they brought 
 in cans of hot tea, and gave it out in white enamel 
 bowls. I longed for the sting of the tea on my dry 
 palate, but the orderly was startled when I said, 
 " I suppose this is all right ; I am an officer." He 
 said he would tell them, and gave the bowl to the 
 next man. The bowls were taken away and washed 
 up, before a cup of tea was at last brought me. 
 A corporal brought it ; he poured it out of a Uttle 
 teapot ; but I could not drink it out of a cup. My 
 left arm lay Uke a log beside me, and I could not 
 hold my right arm steady and raise my head. So 
 the corporal went off for a feeding cup. I felt 
 rather nervy and like a man with a grievance ! 
 And when I got the tea it was nearly cold. 
 
 I say it seemed an interminable journey, and 
 my arm was so frightfully uncomfortable. I had 
 it across my body, and felt I could not breathe 
 for the weight of it. At last I felt I must get its 
 position altered, I called " orderly " every time 
 an orderly went past : sometimes they paused and
 
 288 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 looked round ; but they could not see me, and 
 went on. Sometimes they did not hear anything. 
 I felt as self-conscious and irritated as a man who 
 calls " waiter " and the waiter does not hear. At 
 last one heard, and a sister came and fixed me up 
 with a small pillow under the elbow. I immediately 
 felt apologetic, and I wondered if she thought me 
 fussy. 
 
 The train made a long, slow grind over the rails ; 
 and it kept stopping with a griding sound and a 
 jolt. Why did it go so slowly ? At ten o'clock 
 I begged and obtained another morphia dose, and 
 got four hours' sleep from it again. 
 
 Saturday 
 
 I suppose it was about 7.0 a.m. when we arrived 
 at fitretat. I was taken and laid in the middle of 
 rows and rows of Tommies in a big sunny courtyard. 
 I thought how well the bearers carried the stretchers: 
 I did not at all feel that I was likely to be dropped 
 or tilted off on to my arm. There were a lot of 
 men in blue hospital dress on the steps of a big 
 house. I wondered where I was : in Havre prob- 
 ably. It was a queer sensation lying on my back 
 gazing up at the sun ; we were tightly packed in 
 together, like cards laid in order, face upwards. 
 How high everyone looked standing up. Then they 
 discovered one or two officers, and I said that I 
 too was an officer. I felt that they rather dared 
 me to repeat this statement. Then a man looked
 
 WOUNDED 289 
 
 at my label, and said : " Yes, he is an officer," 
 And I was taken up and carried off. 
 
 I found myself put to bed in a spacious room 
 in which were only two beds. The house had only 
 recently been finished, and was in use as a hospital. 
 As soon as I was in bed, I felt a great reUef again. 
 No more motion for a time, I thought. There was 
 a man in the other bed, threatened with consump- 
 tion. We were talking, when a pretty V.A.D. 
 nurse came in and asked what we wanted for break- 
 fast. I felt quite hungry, and enjoyed tea and fish. 
 I began to think that life was going to be good. 
 I saw Cecil Todd, who had been slightly wounded 
 a fortnight ago. I condoled with him on not getting 
 to England. He asked me if I wanted to read. 
 No, I did not feel like reading. I wrote a letter. 
 Then two V.A.D. nurses came and dressed my 
 wound. They seemed surprised to find so big a 
 one, and sent for the doctor to see it. They 
 dressed it very well, and gave me no unnecessary 
 pain. 
 
 In the afternoon, I was again moved to a motor 
 ambulance, which took me to Havre. It jolted 
 and shook horribly. " This man does not know 
 what it is like up here," I thought. All the time 
 I was straining my body to keep the left arm from 
 touching the jolting stretcher. (The stretchers shde 
 in the ambulance.) I was a top-berth passenger ; 
 I could touch the white roof with my right hand ; 
 and there was a stuffy smell of white paint. 
 19
 
 290 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 At last it stopped, and after a wait I was carried 
 amid a sea of heads, along a quay. I could smell 
 sea and the stale oily smell of a steamer. Then I 
 was taken over the gangway with that firm, steady, 
 nodding motion with which I was getting so 
 familiar, along the deck, through doorways, and 
 into a big room, all green and white. All round the 
 edge were beds, into one of which I was helped. 
 In the centre of the room were beds that somehow 
 reminded me of cots. I dare say there was a low 
 railing round the beds that gave me this impres- 
 sion. A Scotch nurse looked after me. These 
 nurses were all in grey and red ; the others had 
 been in blue. I wondered what was the difference. 
 I asked the name of the ship and they said it was 
 the Asturias. 
 
 Later on a steward brought a menu, and I chose 
 my own dinner. Apparently I could eat what I 
 liked. The doctor looked at my wound, and said 
 it could wait until morning before being dressed ; 
 he pleased me. I was more comfortable than I 
 had been yet. The boat was not due out till about 
 i.o a.m. At eleven o'clock I again asked for 
 morphia, and so got sleep for another four hours 
 or so. 
 
 Sunday 
 
 " I represent Messrs. Cox and Co. Is there any- 
 thing I can do for any of you gentlemen this 
 morning ? "
 
 WOUNDED 291 
 
 A short, squarely built man, with a black suit, a 
 bowler hat, and a small brown bag, stepped briskly 
 into the room. He gave me intense pleasure : as 
 he talked to a Scotch officer who wanted some 
 ready cash, I felt that I was indeed back in England 
 It was a hot sunny day ; and a bowler hat on such 
 a day made me feel sure that this was really 
 Southampton, and not all a dream. Sir, whoever 
 you are, I thank you for your most appropriate 
 appearance. 
 
 The hospital ship had been alongside nearly an 
 hour, I beheve. It was three o'clock in the after- 
 noon. Breakfast, the dressing of my wound again, 
 lunch ; all had followed in an uneventful succession. 
 The throbbing of the engines as the boat steamed 
 quietly along had been hardly noticeable at all. 
 At last there was a bustle, and we were carried 
 out of the room, out into the sunshine again, and 
 along the quay to the train. Here I was given a 
 berth in the middle tier this time, for which I was 
 very thankful. I felt so utterly tired ; and the 
 weight of my arm across my body was intolerable. 
 
 That seemed a long, long journey too ; but I got 
 tea without delay this time, and it was hot. At 
 Farnborough the train stopped and a few men were 
 taken out. The rest came on to London. 
 
 " Is there any special hospital in London you 
 want to go to ? " said a brisk R.A.M.C. official, 
 when we reached Waterloo. 
 
 " No," I answered.
 
 292 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 He wrote on a label, and put that round my 
 neck also. 
 
 " Lady Carnarvon's," he said. 
 
 I lay for some time on the platform of Waterloo 
 station, gazing up at the vault in the roof. Porters 
 and stretcher-bearers stood about, and gazed down 
 at one in silence. Then I was moved into a motor 
 ambulance, and a Red Cross lady took her seat 
 in the back. My head was in the front, so that I 
 could see nothing. Just before the car went off, 
 a policeman put his head in. 
 
 " Any milk or anything ? " 
 
 " Would you like any milk or beef tea ? " the 
 lady said. 
 
 " Milk, please." 
 
 " He says he would like a little milk," said the 
 lady. 
 
 And then we drove off. 
 
 Monday 
 
 It was somewhere about ten o'clock Monday 
 morning. The sister had just finished dressing my 
 arm ; the doctor had poked it about ; now it lay 
 cool and quiet along by my side. I had not slept 
 that night again, except with morphia. I still 
 felt extraordinarily tired, but was very comfortable. 
 I watched the tall sister in blue with the white 
 headdress that reminded me of a nun's cap. She 
 was so strong and quiet, and seemed to know that 
 my hand always wanted support at the wrist when
 
 WOUNDED 293 
 
 she lifted my arm. I did not want to talk, just to 
 Ue. 
 
 Suddenly I realised that my head was no longer 
 buzzing. I knew that I should sleep to-night — 
 at last ! My body relaxed : the tension suddenly 
 melted away. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " I thought, " I have not got to move, 
 or think, or decide — and I can just lie for hours, 
 for days." 
 
 At last I was out of the grip of war.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 IT was a slumbrous afternoon in September. My 
 wound had healed up a month ago, and I was 
 lazily convalescent at my aunt's house in one of 
 the most beautiful parts of Kent. The six soldiers 
 who were also convalescent there were down in the 
 hop-garden. For hop-picking was in full swing. I 
 was sitting in a deck-chair with Don Quixote on my 
 knees ; but I was not reading. I had apparently 
 broken the offensive power of the army of midges 
 by making a brilliant counter-attack with a pipe of 
 Chairman. The sun blazed mercilessly on the 
 croquet-lawn ; the balls were lying all together 
 round one hoop : for there was a golf-croquet 
 tournament in progress, and the mallets stood about 
 against various hoops ; one very tidy and proper 
 mallet was standing primly in the stand at one 
 corner. My chair was well sited under the cool 
 shade of a large mulberry tree, in whose thick lofty 
 branches the wind rustled with a delicious little sigh ; 
 sometimes a regular little gust would send the 
 boughs swishing, and then a little rain of red and 
 white mulberries would plop on to the grass, and 
 
 294
 
 CONCLUSION 295 
 
 strike the summer-house roof with a smart patter. 
 On the grass-bank at the side of the lawn, by a 
 blazing border of orange and red nasturtiums, a 
 black cat was squatting with tail slowly waving to 
 and fro, watching a fine large tabby that was sniffing 
 at the nasturtiums in a nonchalant manner. They 
 were the best of friends, playing that most interest- 
 ing of all games, war. 
 
 I was not reading : I was Hstening to the in- 
 cessant murmur that came from far away across the 
 Medway, across the garden of England, and across 
 the Channel and the flats of Flanders. That sound 
 came from Picardy. All day the insistent throb had 
 been in the air ; sometimes faint bumps were clearly 
 distinguishable, at other times it was nothing but 
 one steady vibration. But always it was there, 
 that distant growl, that insistent mutter. Even in 
 this perfect peace, I could not escape the War. 
 
 To-day I felt completely well ; the lassitude and 
 inertness of convalescence were gone — at any rate, 
 for the moment. My mind was very clear, and I 
 could think surely and rapidly. The cats reminded 
 me of the lusty family that lived in the cellar in the 
 Cuinchy trenches, and the murmur of the guns drew 
 my thoughts across the Channel. I tried to imagine 
 trenches running across the lawn, with communica- 
 tion trenches running back to a support line through 
 the meadow ; a few feet of brick wall would be all 
 that would be left of the house, and this would 
 conceal my snipers ; the mulberry tree would long
 
 296 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 ago have been razed to the ground, and every scrap 
 of it used as firewood in our dug-outs ; this deck 
 chair of mine might possibly be in use in Company 
 Headquarters in one of the cellars. No, it was not 
 easy to imagine war without seeing it. 
 
 I picked up the paper that had fallen at my side. 
 There had been more terrible fighting on the Somme, 
 and it had seemed very marvellous to a journalist 
 as he lay on a hill some two miles back, and watched 
 through his field-glasses : it was wonderful that the 
 men advancing (if indeed he could really see them 
 at all in the smoke of a heavy artillery barrage) still 
 went on, although their comrades dropped all round 
 them. Yet I wondered what else anyone could do 
 but go on ? Run back, with just as much Hkelihood 
 of being shot in doing so ? Or, even if he did get 
 back, to certain death as a deserter ? Everyone 
 knows the safest place is in a trench ; and it is a 
 trench you are making for. Lower down on the page 
 came a description of the wounded ; he had talked 
 to so many of them, and they were all smiling, all so 
 cheerful ; smoking cigarettes and laughing. They 
 shook their fists, and shouted that the only thing 
 they wanted to do was to get back into it ! Pah ! 
 I threw the paper down in disgust. Surely no one 
 wants to read such stuff, I thought. Of course the 
 men who were not silent, in a dull stupefied agony, 
 were smiling : what need to say that a man with a 
 slight wound was laughing at his luck, just as I had 
 smiled that early morning when the trolley took me
 
 CONCLUSION 297 
 
 down from Maple Redoubt ? And who does not 
 volunteer for an unpleasant task, when he knows he 
 cannot possibly get it ? Want to get back into it, 
 indeed ! Ask Tommy ten years hence whether he 
 wants to be back in the middle of it again ! 
 
 I wondered why people endured such cheap 
 joumahsm. What right had men who have never 
 seen war at all, who creep up on bicycles to get a 
 ghmpse of it through telescopes, who pester wounded 
 men, and then out of their pictorial imagination 
 work up a vivid description — what right have they 
 to insult heroes by saying that " their wonderful 
 spirit makes up for it all," that " the paramount 
 impression is one of glory " ? Are not our people 
 able to bear the truth, that war is utterly hellish, 
 that we do not enjoy it, that we hate it, hate it, hate 
 it all ? And then it struck me how ignorant people 
 still were ; how uncertainly they spoke, these people 
 at home : it was as though they dared not think 
 things out, lest what they held most dear should be 
 an image shattered by another point of view. 
 
 Somehow people were amazed at the cheerfulness, 
 the doggedness, the endurance under pain, the in- 
 difference to death, shown every minute during this 
 war. I thought of the men whom I had seen in 
 hospital. One man had had his right foot ampu- 
 tated ; it used to give me agony to see his stump 
 dressed every day. Another man had both legs 
 amputated above the knees. Yet they were so 
 wonderfully cheerful, so apparently content with 
 19*
 
 298 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 life ! As though alone in the blackness of night they 
 did not long for the activity denied them for the 
 rest of their life. As though their cheerfulness — (do 
 not think I behttle its heroism) — as though their 
 cheerfulness justified the thing ! 
 
 Another thing I had noticed. An old man told 
 me he was so struck with the heroism, the courage, 
 the indifference to death, shown by the ordinary un- 
 romantic man. Some men had been converted, too, 
 their whole Uves changed, their vices eradicated, by 
 this war. So much good was coming from it. 
 People, too, at home were so changed, so sobered ; 
 they were looking into the selfishness of their lives 
 at last. Again I thought, as though all that justified 
 the thing ! 
 
 Oh ! you men and women who did not know 
 before the capabilities of human nature, I thought, 
 please take note of it now ; and after the war do not 
 underestimate the quality of mankind. Did it need 
 a war to tell you that a man can be heroic, resolute, 
 courageous, cheerful, and capable of sacrifice ? 
 There were those who could have told you that 
 before this war. 
 
 There was a lull in the vibration. I turned in my 
 chair, and listened. Then it began again. 
 
 " People are afraid to think it out," I said. " I 
 have not seen the Somme fighting, but I know what 
 war is. Its quality is not altered by multiplication 
 or intensity. The colour of life-blood is a constant 
 red. Let us look into this business ; let us face all
 
 CONCLUSION 299 
 
 the facts. Let us not flinch from any aspect of the 
 truth." 
 
 And my thoughts ran somewhat as follows : 
 
 First of all, War is evil — utterly evil. Let us be 
 sure of that first. It is an evil instrument, even if it 
 be used for motives that are good. I, who have been 
 through war and know it, say that it is evil. I knew 
 it before the war ; instinct, reason, reHgion told me 
 that war was evil ; now experience has told me 
 also. 
 
 It is a strange synthesis, this war : it is a syn- 
 thesis of adventure, dulness, good spirits, and 
 tragedy ; but none of these things are new to human 
 experience ; nor is human nature altered by war. 
 It is at war as a whole that we must look in order to 
 appreciate its quality. And what is war seen as a 
 whole, or rather seen in the light of my eight months' 
 experience ? For no one man can truly appraise 
 war. 
 
 I have seen and felt the adventure of war, its 
 deadly fascination and excitement : it is the greatest 
 game on earth : that is its terrible power : there is 
 such a wild temptation to paint up its interest and 
 glamour : it gives such scope to daring, to physical 
 courage, to high spirits : it makes so many prove 
 themselves heroic, that were it not for the fall of the 
 arrow men would call the drawing of the bow good. 
 I have seen the dulness, the endless monotony, the 
 dogged labour, the sheer power of will conquering 
 the body and " carrying on " : there is good in that,
 
 SOO NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 too. In the jollity, the humour, the good-fellowship, 
 is nothing but good also. There is good in all these 
 things ; for these are qualities of human nature 
 triumphing in spite of war. These things are not 
 war ; they are the good in man prostituted to a vile 
 thing. 
 
 For I have seen the real face of war : I have seen 
 men killed, mutilated, blown to little pieces ; I have 
 seen men crippled for life ; I have looked in the face 
 of madness, and I know that many have gone 
 mad under its grip. I have seen fine natures break 
 and crumble under the strain. I have seen men 
 grow brutalised, and coarsened in this war. (God 
 wiU judge justly in the end ; meanwhile, there are 
 thousands among us — yes, and among our enemy 
 too — brutalised through no fault of theirs.) I have 
 lost friends killed (and shall lose more yet), friends 
 with whom I have lived and suffered so long. 
 
 Who is for war now ? Its adventure, its heroism ? 
 Bah ! Yet this is not all. 
 
 For war spares none. It desecrates the beauty of 
 the earth ; it ruins, it destroys, it wastes ; it starves 
 children ; it drives out old men, and women, home- 
 less. And most terrible of all, it brings agony to every 
 household : it is like a plague of the firstborn. Do not 
 think I have forgotten you, O women, and old men. 
 You, too, have to endure the agony of the arena ; you 
 are compelled to sit and watch us fight the beasts. 
 Every mother is there in agony, watching her baby, 
 and unable to stretch a finger to help. Tjiis, too, is
 
 CONCLUSION 301 
 
 war — the anguish of mothers whose sons perish, 
 of wives who lose their husbands, of girls robbed for 
 all time of marriage and motherhood. 
 
 And this vile thing is still perpetrated upon the 
 earth among peoples who have long ago declared 
 human sacrifice impossible and barbaric. 
 
 This then is a basal fact. We have faced it fairly. 
 The instrument is vile. What then of the motive ? 
 What is the motive which drives us to use this evil 
 instrument ? And I see you fathers and mothers 
 waiting to hear what I shall say. For there are 
 people who whisper that we who are fighting are 
 vindictive, that we lust for the blood of our enemies, 
 that we are coarse and brutal, that we are unholy 
 champions of what we call a just cause. Again let 
 us face the facts. And to these whisperers I answer 
 boldly : " Yes ! we are coarse, some of us ; we are 
 vindictive ; we hate ; we do not deny it." For war 
 in its vileness taints its human instruments too. 
 When Davidson died I cried death upon his mur- 
 derers. I called them devils, and worse. I am not 
 ashamed. 
 
 That is not the point. What I or Tommy may be 
 at a given moment is not the point. The question is, 
 with what motives did we enter this war, agree to 
 take up this vile instrument ? We cannot help if 
 it soils our hands. What is our motive in fighting 
 in the arena ? What provokes the dumb heroism 
 of our soldiers ? Why did men flock to the colours, 
 volunteer in millions for the arena ? You know.
 
 302 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 I who have lived with them eight months in France, 
 I also know. It was because a people took up this 
 vile instrument and used it from desire of power. 
 Because they trampled on justice, and challenged 
 us to thwart them. Because they willed war for the 
 sake of wrong ; because they said that force was 
 master of the world, and they set out to prove it. 
 
 Yet, it is sometimes said, war is unchristian. If 
 men were Christian there would be no war. You 
 cannot conquer evil by evil. I agree, if men were 
 Christian there would be no war. I agree that you 
 cannot conquer evil by evil ; but it is war that is 
 evil, not our motive in going to war. We are con- 
 quering an evil spirit by a good spirit, even if we are 
 using an evil instrument. And if you say that 
 Christ would not fight, I say that none of us would 
 fight if the world had attained the Christian plane 
 towards which we are slowly rising : but we are still 
 on a lower plane, and in it there is a big war raging ; 
 and in the arena there are many who have felt Christ 
 by their side. 
 
 That, then, is the second point. I knew that war 
 was vile, before I w^ent into it. I have seen it : I do 
 not alter my opinion. I went into this war prepared 
 to sacrifice my life to prove that right is stronger 
 than wrong ; I have stood again and again with a 
 traverse between me and death ; I have faced the 
 possiblity of madness. I foresaw aU this before I 
 went into this war. Wliat difference does it make 
 that I have experienced it ? It makes no difference.
 
 CONCLUSION 303 
 
 Let no one fear that our sacrifice has been in vain. 
 We have akeady won what we are fighting for. The 
 will for war, that aggressive power, with all the cards 
 on its side prepared, striking at its own moment, 
 has already failed against a spirit, weaker, un- 
 prepared, taken unawares. And so I am clear on 
 my second point. We arc fighting from just motives, 
 and we have already baulked injustice. Aggressive 
 force, the power that took up the cruel weapon of 
 war, has failed. No one can ever say that his 
 countrymen have laid down their lives in vain. 
 
 I got up from the chair, and started walking about 
 the garden. Everything was so clear. Before going 
 out to the war I had thought these things ; but the 
 thoughts were fluid, they ran about in mazy pat- 
 terns, they were elusive, and always I was frightened 
 of meeting unanswerable contradictions to my 
 theorising from men who had actually seen war. 
 Now my conclusions seemed crystalUsed by irrefut- 
 able experience into sohd truth. 
 
 After a while I sat down again and resumed my 
 train of thought : 
 
 War is evil. Justice is stronger than Force. Yet, 
 was there need of all this bloodshed to prove this ? 
 For this war is not as past wars ; this is every man's 
 war, a war of civihans, a war of men who hate war, 
 of men who fight for a cause, who are compelled to 
 kill and hate it. That is another thing that people 
 will not face. Men whisper that Tommy does not
 
 304 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 hate Fritz. Again I say, away with this whispering. 
 Let us speak it out plain and bold. Private Davies, 
 my orderly, formerly a shepherd of Blaenau Fest- 
 iniog, has no quarrel with one Fritz Schneider of 
 Hamburg who is sitting in the trench opposite the 
 Matterhorn sap ; yet he will bayonet him certainly 
 if he comes over the top, or if we go over into the 
 German trenches ; ay, he will perform this action 
 with a certain amount of brutaHty too, for I have 
 watched him jabbing at rats with a bayonet through 
 the wires of a rat trap, and I know that he has in him 
 a savage vein of cruelty. But when peace is declared, 
 he and Fritz will Hght a bonfire of trench stores in 
 No Man's Land, and there will be the end of their 
 quarrel. I say boldly, I know. For indeed I know 
 Davies very well indeed. 
 
 Again I say, was there need of all this bloodshed ? 
 Who is responsible ? Who is responsible for Lance- 
 Corporal Allan lying in the trench in Maple Redoubt? 
 Again I see yon glittering eyes looking down upon 
 me in the arena. And Davies, too, in his slow simple 
 way, is beginning to take you in, and to ask you why 
 he is put there to fight ? Is it for your pleasure ? 
 Is it for your expediency ? Is it a necessary part of 
 your great game ? Necessary ? Necessary for 
 whom ? Davies and Fritz alike are awaiting your 
 answer. 
 
 It is hard to trace ultimate causes. It is hard to 
 fix absolute responsibility. There were many seeds 
 sown, scattered, and secretly fostered before they
 
 CONCLUSION 305 
 
 produced this harvest of blood. The seeds of 
 cruelty, selfishness, ambition, avarice, and in- 
 difference, are always liable to swell, grow, and bud, 
 and blossom suddenly into the red flower of war. 
 Let every man look into his heart, and if the 
 seeds are there let him make quick to root them 
 out while there is time ; unless he wishes to join 
 those glittering eyes that look down upon the 
 arena. 
 
 These are the seeds of war. And it is because 
 they know that we, too, are not free from them, 
 that certain men have stood out from the arena as 
 a protest against war. These men are real heroes, 
 who for their conscience's sake are enduring taunts, 
 ignominy, misunderstanding, and worse. Most men 
 and women in the arena are cursing them, and, as they 
 struggle in agony and anguish, they beat their hands 
 at them and cry "You do not care." I, too, have 
 cursed them, when I was mad with pain. But I 
 know them, and I know that they are true men. I 
 would not have one less. They are witnesses against 
 war. And I, too, am fighting war. Men do not 
 understand them now, but one day they will. 
 
 I know that there are among us, too, the seeds of 
 war : no cause has yet been perfect. But I look at 
 the facts. We did not start, we did not want this 
 war. We have gone into it, fighting for the better 
 cause. Whether, had we been more Christian, we 
 might have prevented the war, is not the point. We 
 did not want this war : we are fighting against it.
 
 306 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 It was the seeds of war in Germany that were 
 responsible. And so history will judge. 
 
 But what of the future ? How are we to save 
 future generations from going down into the arena ? 
 We will rearrange the map of Europe : we will 
 secure the independence of small states : we will 
 give the power to the people : there shall be an end 
 of tyrannies. So men speak easily of an inter- 
 national spirit, of a world conference for peace. 
 There is so great a will-power against war, they say, 
 that we will secure the world for the future. Millions 
 of men know the vileness of war ; they will devise 
 ways and means to prevent its recurrence. I agree. 
 Let us try all ways. Yet I see no guarantee in all 
 this against the glittering eyes : I see no power in 
 all this knowledge against a new generation fostering 
 and harvesting the seeds of war. Men have long 
 known that war is evil. Did that knowledge prevent 
 this war ? Will that knowledge secure India or 
 China from the power of the glittering eyes ? 
 
 I walked up and down the lawn, my eyes glowing, 
 my brain working hard. Here around me was all 
 the beauty of an old garden, its long borders full of 
 phloxes, delphiniums, stocks, and all the old familiar 
 flowers ; the apples glowed red in the trees ; the 
 swallows were skimming across the lawn. In the 
 distance I could hear the rumble of the waggon 
 bringing up the afternoon load of hop-pokes to the 
 oasthouse. Yet what I had seen of war was as true.
 
 CONCLUSION 307 
 
 had as really happened, as all this. It would be so 
 easy to forget, after the war. And yet to forget 
 might mean a seed of war. I must never forget 
 Lance-Corporal Allan. 
 
 There is only one sure way, I said at last. And 
 again a clear conviction filled me. There is only one 
 way to put an end to the arena. Pledges and treaties 
 have failed ; and force will fail. These things may 
 bring peace for a time, but they cannot crush those 
 ghttering eyes. There is only one Man whose eyes 
 have never glittered. Look at the palms of your 
 hands, you, who have had a bullet through the 
 middle of it ! Did they not give you morphia to 
 ease the pain ? And did you not often cry out alone 
 in the darkness in the terrible agony, that you did 
 not care who won the war if only the pain would 
 cease ? Yet one Man there was who held out His 
 hand upon the wood, while they knocked, knocked, 
 knocked in the nail, every knock bringing a jarring, 
 excruciating pain, every bit as bad as yours. And 
 any moment His will-power could have weakened, 
 and He could have saved Himself that awful pain. 
 And then they nailed through the other hand : and 
 then the feet. And as they lifted the Cross, all the 
 weight came upon the pierced hands. And when 
 He had tasted the vinegar He would not drink. 
 And any moment He could have come down from 
 the Cross : yet He so cared that love should win the 
 war against evil, that He never wavered. His eyes
 
 308 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 never glittered. Do you want to put an end to the 
 arena ? Here is a Man to follow. In hoc signo 
 vinces. 
 
 I stood up again, and stretched out my hands. 
 And as I did so a memory came back vivid and 
 strong. I remembered the night when I stood out 
 on the hillside by Trafalgar Square, under the moon. 
 And I remembered how I had felt a strength out of 
 the pain, and even as the strength came a more un- 
 utterable weakness, the weakness of a man battering 
 against a wall of steel. The sound of the relentless 
 guns had mocked at me. Now as I stood on the 
 lawn, I heard the long continuous vibration of the 
 guns upon the Somme. 
 
 " You are War," I said aloud. " This is your 
 hour, the power of darkness. But the time will come 
 when we shall follow the Man who has conquered 
 your last weapon, death : and then your walls of 
 steel will waver, cringe, and fall, melted away before 
 the fire of LOVE." 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BFBNDON AND SON, LTD. 
 PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND
 
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