Part 2 (1/2)
Pause and a soft chuckle.
No. 2: ”Of course they have. Yet the agony--.”
Curiosity overcoming the remainder a series of questions popped up.
”What is impossible?”, ”Why must who?”, ”What agony?”
No. 1: ”You see, no one knows?”
Exasperated chorus: ”Knows what?”
No. 1: ”Why, if flies have toothache.”
And then oblivion claims into its own soundless peace the outstretched forms of rough warriors and removes them from grim reality into the pa.s.sing realms of a fantastic dream--Arcadia.
Mail days are pleasant. Excited antic.i.p.ation for your name as each parcel or letter is read out, dull disappointment if your issue is napoo.
Parcels. Oxo cubes, of course. Utilised because of adhesive qualities for throwing at a target as darts. Cafe au lait, a useful preparation for spreading on bread in lieu of posie (jam) that has mysteriously evaporated. A pair of silk socks, purple with gold spots. Will come in useful as a rifle rag. A long, wide woolly article resembling a cross between a scarf and a blanket ... do as a pillow. A large cake, two packets of chocolate and fifty f.a.gs. Hum, won't go far among ten. A pot of jam--go fine on the cake or may tackle it with a spoon. And a brief note hidden away at the bottom--”For my boy.”
G.o.d, how it hurt. What surging memories of a mother's love, of a mother's eternal tender care, swarmed up mistily before the eyes.
Secretly, half-ashamedly, are such missives carefully put away. The mind vividly pictures the animated packing by willing hands in the humble homestead--a lump forces its way into the throat. But WAR is WAR and in it sentiment has no place.
III
CAMBRAI REHEARSALS
NOVEMBER, 1917
Uproar was rampant in one of D. Company's huts. Mingled laughter and arguments formed the base of a volume of sound materially a.s.sisted in high note effect by the banging of spoons on mess tins.
”An' now listen agin,” said Tich, commanding and obtaining silence by turning over his ”Press”, ”some more exemptions. Just listen to this 'ere summary. Six months' renewable. Six months 'ere again. An''ere's a poor blighter wots only got three months. Wot ARE the Tribunals doin' to give 'im so short a time before 'e goes to the cruel wars?” He paused to join in the ironical outburst that ensued and continued at the top of his lungs: ”There are twenty cases 'ere an' eighteen of 'em 'as some more extensions. I ask you, boys, are they playin' fair to us at 'ome?”
”No! No! No!” in mighty chorus.
”But do we want them chaps out 'ere?”
”No!”
”They would disgrace the Bat.?”
”Yes!”
”Becos they ain't got any guts in 'em?”
”No!”
One of the two Guernsey scouts from Headquarters pushed open the door and in the general pause said:
”Heard the latest?”