himself. He spoke at intervals, but his remarks were hardly calculated to
dissipate the prevailinggloom. He quite agreed that it was a
nasty spot that they were going to, and he bore out the Majorâs statement by
observing in more general terms that it was shelled all day and most of the night.
No, it wasnât a particularly easy place to find, because once you passed Birr
Cross Roads it was just as easy to wander into the Boche lines as your own; they
would have to note the way rather carefully, as he was afraid that he
wouldnât be there to guide them back, since he had various other jobs to do,
after he had got them settled down. Well, it was a bit difficult to say exactly what
one ought to do if casualties occurred. You couldnât leave them alone, of
course, as a man didnât have a dogâs chance there when once he was
hit; you couldnât, on the other hand, spare men to look after them. This
machine gun emplacement had to be built tonight at any cost, as the Corps Commander
himself demanded to know that it was completed by the following day; it would be a
five-hoursâ job at least, and they wouldnât be there till 10. On the
other hand, if they didnât get away by 3 they wouldnât get away at
all, as a fly couldnât move there without being seen by daylight. After half
an hour of this sort of thing, Freddy Mann gave up fruitless attempts to derive
consolation from Corporal Bonner, and began to reflect for himself upon the brighter
aspects of the situation. After all, heâd had three or four working parties
before this during the last ten days. This was in rather a sticky sector, but it
made no real difference; things hardly ever did go wrong on working parties, even in
sticky sectors, simply because the Hun was always at the same game as well. So far,
nobody could reasonably find fault with the night. OxfordStreet
seemed a very reasonably adequate sort of trench, and, most important, he had his
own fellows with him as well, which was a damned sight better than taking out
Billâs or Sammyâs crowd, or those paralytics of âBâ
Company, as he had had to do last week. They were all there, all the Badajos
Barracks fellows, except poor Leader and Downton. They were shoving apparently happy
enough along the trench behind him, Bamford, just in his rear, breathing as usual
like a steam engine and growling to himself, Beard tugging at his unkempt little
sandy moustache and probably discussing his hopefulâs whooping cough or mumps
with any who would listen, hard nuts like Bettson or the ex-navvy Scrott, Brains,
almost certainly pouring forth epigrams and carrying somebody elseâs sandbags
as well as his own, pale-faced little Barton, Corporal Suggerânear enough to
the side of the trench and knees well bent, if he knew anything of Corporal
Suggerâand bringing up the rear the fatherly, mild-voiced Sergeant Mitchell.
Then again, and this in itself made up for a multitude of ills, behind his
contingent there was Robbie with most of the rest of the company. On the whole,
thenâbe damned to this R.E. fool, as Freddy Mann looked with a sudden access
of confidence towards Corporal Bonner: Birr Cross Roads, was it, and it was tricky
going after this? Heâd better get on with it, then, and not talk quite so
much, and be damned to all his croaking for an old wivesâ tale.
âThis is where theyâve been getting on to itâall round âere,â Corporal Bonner nodded towards a welter of new shell holes, from which a strong earthy smell arose, and lines of broken sandbags facing them in the moonlightalong the ridge past the culvert. âAll about âere; itâs a twisty bit, and, as I say, youâll need to mark yer way.â
âRight: shove on.â Now that Oxford Street was left behind them Freddy Mann was experiencing a strong