We halted by the last house in the village, one that stood almost intact, although the adjoining buildings were well nigh levelled to the ground. My mate, Pryor, fixed his eyes on the villa.
"I"m going in there," he said pointing at the doors. (p. 266)
"Souvenirs?" I asked.
"Souvenirs," he replied.
The two of us slipped away from the platoon and entered the building.
On the ground floor stood a table on which a dinner was laid; an active service dinner of soup made from soup tablets (2_d._ each) the wrappers of which lay on the tiled floor, some tins of bully beef, opened, a loaf, half a dozen apples and an unopened tin of _cafe au lait_. The dinner was laid for four, although there were only three forks, two spoons and two clasp knives, the latter were undoubtedly used to replace table knives. Pryor looked under the table, then turned round and fixed a pair of scared eyes on me, and beckoned to me to approach. I came to his side and saw under the table on the floor a human hand, severed from the arm at the wrist. Beside it lay a web-equipment, torn to shreds, a broken range-finder and a Webley revolver, long of barrel and heavy of magazine.
"A souvenir," said Pryor. "It must have been some time since that dinner was made; the bully smells like anything."
"The sh.e.l.l came in there," I said pointing at the window, the side (p. 267) of which was broken a little, "and it hit one poor beggar anyway.
n.o.body seems to have come in here since then."
"We"ll hide the revolver," Pryor remarked, "and we"ll come here for it to-night."
We hid the revolver behind the door in a little cupboard in the wall; we came back for it two days later, but the weapon was gone though the hand still lay on the floor. What was the history of that house and of the officers who sat down to dinner? Will the tragedy ever be told?
I had an interesting experience near Souchez when our regiment was holding part of the line in that locality. On the way in was a single house, a red brick villa, standing by the side of the communication trench which I used to pa.s.s daily when I went out to get water from the carts at the rear. One afternoon I climbed over the side and entered the house by a side door that looked over the German lines.
The building was a conspicuous target for the enemy, but strange to say, it had never been touched by sh.e.l.l fire; now and again bullets peppered the walls, chipped the bricks and smashed the window-panes.
On the ground floor was a large living-room with a big-bodied stove in the centre of the floor, religious pictures hung on the wall, (p. 268) a grandfather"s clock stood in the niche near the door, the blinds were drawn across the shattered windows, and several chairs were placed round a big table near the stove. Upstairs in the bedrooms the beds were made and in one apartment a large perambulator, with a doll flung carelessly on its coverlet, stood near the wall, the paper of which was designed in little circles and in each circle were figures of little boys and girls, hundreds of them, frivolous mites, absurd and gay.
Another stair led up to the garret, a gloomy place bare under the red tiles, some of which were broken. Looking out through the aperture in the roof I could see the British and German trenches drawn as if in chalk on a slate of green by an erratic hand, the hand of an idle child. Behind the German trenches stood the red brick village of ----, with an impudent chimney standing smokeless in the air, and a burning mine that vomited clouds of thick black smoke over meadow-fields splashed with poppies. Sh.e.l.ls were bursting everywhere over the gra.s.s and the white lines; the greenish grey fumes of lyddite, the white smoke of shrapnel rose into mid-air, curled away and died. On the left of the village a road ran back into the enemy"s land, and from (p. 269) it a cloud of dust was rising over the tree-tops; no doubt vehicles of war which I could not see were moving about in that direction. I stayed up in that garret for quite an hour full of the romance of my watch and when I left I took my souvenir with me, a picture of the Blessed Virgin in a cedar frame. That night we placed it outside our dug-out over the door. In the morning we found it smashed to pieces by a bullet.
Daily I spent some time in the garret on my way out to the water-cart; and one day I found it occupied. Five soldiers and an officer were standing at my peephole when I got up, with a large telescope fixed on a tripod and trained on the enemy"s lines. The War Intelligence Department had taken over the house for an observation post.
"What do you want here?" asked the officer.
Soldiers are ordered to keep to the trenches on the way out and in, none of the houses that line the way are to be visited. It was a case for a slight prevarication. My water jar was out in the trench: I carried my rifle and a bandolier.
"I"m looking for a sniping position," I said. (p. 270)
"You cannot stop here," said the officer. "We"ve taken this place over. Try some of the houses on the left."
I cleared out. Three days later when on my usual errand I saw that the roof of my observation villa had been blown in. n.o.body would be in there now I concluded and ventured inside. The door which stood at the bottom of the garret stair was closed. I caught hold of the latch and pulled it towards me. The door held tight. As I struggled with it I had a sense of pulling against a detaining hand that strove to hide a mystery, something fearful, from my eye. It swung towards me slowly and a pile of bricks fell on my feet as it opened. Something dark and liquid oozed out under my boots. I felt myself slip on it and knew that I stood on blood. All the way up the rubble-covered stairs there was blood, it had splashed red on the railings and walls. Laths, plaster, tiles and beams lay on the floor above and in the midst of the jumble was a shattered telescope still moist with the blood of men. Had all been killed and were all those I had met a few days before in the garret when the sh.e.l.l landed on the roof? It was impossible to tell.
I returned to the dug-out meditating on the strange things that (p. 271) can be seen by him who goes souvenir-hunting between Souchez and Ypres. As I entered I found Bill gazing mutely at some black liquid in a sooty mess-tin.
"Some milk, Bill," I said handing him the tin of Nestle"s which had just come to me in a Gargantuan parcel from an English friend.
"No milk, matey," he answered, "I"m feelin" done up proper, I am.
Cannot eat a bite. Tummy out of order, my "ead spinnin" like a top.
When"s sick parade?" he asked.
"Seven o"clock," I said, "Is it as bad as that?"
"Worse than that," he answered with a smile, ""Ave yer a cigarette to spare?"
"Yes," I answered, fumbling in my pocket.
"Well, give it to somebody as "asn"t got none," said Bill, "I"m off the smokin" a bit."
The case was really serious since Bill could not smoke, a smokeless hour was for him a Purgatorial period, his favourite friend was his f.a.g. After tea I went with him to the dressing station, and Ted Vittle of Section 4 accompanied us. Ted"s tummy was also out of order and his head was spinning like a top. The men"s equipment was carried (p. 272) out, men going sick from the trenches to the dressing-station at the rear carry their rifles and all portable property in case they are sent off to hospital. The sick soldier"s stuff always goes to hospital with him.
I stood outside the door of the dressing-station while the two men were in with the M.O. "What"s wrong, Bill?" I asked when he came out.
"My tempratoor"s an "undred and nine," said my comrade.
"A hundred and what?" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.
""Undred point nine "is was," said Ted Vittle. "Mine"s a "undred point eight. The Twentieth "as "ad lots of men gone off to "orsp to-day sufferin" from the same thing. Pyraxis the M.O. calls it. Trench fever is the right name."
"Right?" interrogated Bill.
"Well it"s a name we can understand," said Ted.
"Are you going back to the trenches again?" I asked.
"We"re to sleep "ere to-night in the cellar under the dressin"-station,"
they told me. "In the mornin" we"re to report to the doctor again.
"E"s a bloke "e is, that doctor. "E says we"re to take nothing (p. 273) but heggs and milk and the milk must be boiled."
"Is the army going to supply it?"
"No blurry fear," said Bill. "Even if we "ad the bra.s.s and the appet.i.te we can"t buy any milk or heggs "ere."
I went back to the firing trench alone. Bill and Ted Vittle did not return the next day or the day after. Three weeks later Bill came back.
We were sitting in our dug-out at a village the bawl of a donkey from Souchez, when a jew"s harp, playing ragtime was heard outside.
"Bill," we exclaimed in a voice, and sure enough it was Bill back to us again, trig and tidy from hospital, in a new uniform, new boots and with that air of importance which can only be the privilege of a man who has seen strange sights in strange regions.
"What"s your temperature?" asked Stoner.
"Blimey, it"s the correct thing now, but it didn"t arf go up and down," said Bill sitting down on the dug-out chair, our only one since a sh.e.l.l dropped through the roof. Some days before B Company had held the dug-out and two of the boys were killed. "It"s no fun the "orspital I can tell yer."
"What sort of disease is Pyraxis?" asked Goliath. (p. 274)
"It"s not "arf bad, if you"ve got it bad, and it"s not good when you"ve it only "arf bad," said Bill, adding, "I mean that if I "ad it bad I would get off to blighty, but my case was only a light one, not so bad as Ted Vittle. "E"s not back yet, maybe it"s a trip across the Channel for "im. "E was real bad when "e walked down with me to Mazingarbe. I was rotten too, couldn"t smoke. It was sit down and rest for fifteen minutes then walk for five. Mazingarbe is only a mile and an "arf from the dressing-station and it took us three hours to get down; from there we took the motor-ambulance to the clearing hospital.
There was a "ot bath there and we were put to bed in a big "ouse, blankets, plenty of them and a good bed. "Twas a grand place to kip in. Bad as I was, I noticed that."
"No stand-to at dawn?" I said.
"Two "ours before dawn we "ad to stand-to in our blankets, matey,"
said Bill. "The Germans began to sh.e.l.l the blurry place and "twas up to us to "op it. We went dozens of us to the rear in a "bus. Shook us!
We were rattled about like tins on cats" tails and dumped down at another "orsp about breakfast time. My tempratoor was up more (p. 275) than ever there; I almost burst the thremometur. And Ted! Blimey, yer should "ave seen Ted! Lost to the wide, "e was. "E could "ardly speak; but "e managed to give me his mother"s address and I was to write "ome a long letter to "er when "e went West."