Read Online Pass Guard at Ypres by Ronald; Gurner - Free Book Online Page A

letter.”
    â€œPity Brains ain’t ’ere—’e’d make something of this bully beef.” Bettson sat immovable, rolling a cigarette. “Gawd’s sake, leave off shoving me about, yer blighter. ’Ow do I know where yer letter is? ’Tain’t even as if it was good bully, because it ain’t. Dish o’ hot Maconochie now—”
    â€œOr pork and beans—with the pork absorbed into the beans, same as what the good book says.” Bartlett walked to the opening of the dug-out to watch the rain hissing past the sandbags into the black water at his feet.
    â€œBloody fools, them fellers that volunteered to go tonight. Don’t suppose they’ll get there. If they do they won’t get back. Like ’ell tonight. ’Ullo, there’s the star shells going up. That’ll be them arriving. That’s it—that’s the machine guns opening from Bellewarde. Wonder who we’ll get if Freddy Mann stops a packet.”
    â€œBrains, p’raps. ’E’s takin’ a commission soon. Sort o’ feller that ought to. What are they makin’ for?”
    â€œCorner o’ Bellewarde.”
    â€œAn’ there’s Bavs there. Wurtemburgers. ’Ope they enjoys it, that’s all I can say.”
    â€œ ’Ere it is,” said Beard. “This is what the missus says. Lil, she says, she’s ’ad a rash, that comes o’ teethin’, the doctor says, and——”
    â€œNow their bloody guns ’ave opened. That Wytschaete Willy, and there goes Percy over into Pop. Pleasant sort of a night this’ll be before we’re through. Who thought of this blasted raid?”
    â€œToler. Who d’yer think did—French or ’Aig?”
    â€œShow on our own—that it?”
    Dick Bartlett nodded. “Trust ’im for monkeying round and making trouble. Old Uncle was right in that. Remember what ’e used to say about winnin’ the war. ’E was right about that. Too much nonsense Toler talks.”
    â€œSuppose we all talked it, same as a month ago. Damned green we was.”
    â€œDamned fools we was to come. Only thing to do now is to carry on quiet and get out quick. Mine’s a left-arm Blighty.”
    â€œMight shove yer left ’and up above the trench, but they’ve made that court-martial now. Been a bloomin’ wounded ’ero, with a left-hand Blighty last October. Ah well, we’re a bit too late. Gawd, listen to the bloomin’ raid.”
    The dug-out was silent for a minute.
    â€œWhat’s that?” asked Private Beard. “Their guns or lightnin’?”
    â€œBoth. There’s the ’ell of a storm just overhead. And what with that, an’ all these guns——”
    â€œWonder ’ow they’re gettin’ on? Old Uncle’ll ’ave a tale to tell.”
    â€œPlenty ’e’s got already—what with South Africa and India. Prize liars ain’t in it with old Uncle. Damned old scoundrel, if ever there was one. But ’e looks after Freddy Mann proper. Say that for ’im, anyway.”
    â€œ ’Ullo, Corporal, any news?”
    A streaming head appeared at the dug-out entrance.
    â€œNope, except the German fleet’s come out at Zillebeke.”
    â€œRaid, I mean.”
    â€œNo. They’re out there somewhere. Getting it ’ot, too. Back soon I suppose. Don’t mean ter say Bett’s guzzlin’ still?”
    â€œThinks it’s ’is duty. That’s what Bett’s ’ere to do, to guzzle. ’Ow many’s out?”
    â€œSeven. They’ll probably stop a packet or two between them—damned fools to go—just because they’ve found a bomb or two. ’Ullo, what’s up? There’s something ’appening.”
    The others followed Corporal Garside along the flooded trench, towards where dark forms were moving quickly. The rain was white in the