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light of the star shells and Verey lights, and three separate streams of lead poured overhead.
    â€œKeep down, yer bastards. They’re comin’ in. Somebody’s bein’ carried: thought as much. Wonder who it is. Anyway, ’tain’t the officer, ’e’s ’ere. Glad to see yer alive, sir. Thought as ’ow yer might ’ave stopped a packet. Anybody ’it, sir?”
    â€œYes, Brains. Got it through the leg. We just managed to get him in.” “Is he——?”
    â€œHe’s a gonner, I’m afraid. Where are the stretcher bearers?”
    â€œLook ’ere, Corporal.” Private Bettson’s voice was clear above the others in the confusion, as he lumbered up the trench. “What I want to know is, when the ’ell we’re going to ’ave Maconochie instead o’ bully beef?”
    A lifeless form was carried down the trench, past an ex-docker turned soldier, who stood protesting, up to the knees in water, tin in hand.

CHAPTER XI
    It is better in theory to be in company support than in the front line trench;
     better to be in battalion reserve somewhere by B.H.Q. than a hundred yards nearer
     the enemy; better to be in Brigade support at Ypres, than up at Railway Wood or
     Hooge; better than all to be in Brigade reserve and listen to the machine guns in
     the distance and watch the fireworks from Elverdinghe or Vlamertinghe. It is so in
     theory, but in practice it all depends. In the front line trench the majority of the
     rifle grenades, trench mortars and minnies available on the Western Front tend to be
     discharged at you, and you are sometimes struck by the resemblance between yourself
     and a target at the 200 yards range during musketry practice at Ash Ranges. Apart
     from that, unless an attack is imminent, the chances are that you may be left alone.
     If you are anywhere near B.H.Q. things tend to happen. Crumps of a heavier variety
     arrive, cheered by the company in the front line, who listen to them with glee as
     they sail over to disturb the R.Q.M. from his rations and his well-earned sleep.
     Also, you are nearer the Colonel, the Adjutant, and the trench-mortar dump, not
     altogether an unmixed advantage, and the Brigadier, when he visits the line, tends
     to ask why the devil you aren’t out on trench fatigues instead of hanging
     about the dug-outs.
    In Ypres these difficulties are accentuated, ammunition dumps being substituted for trench-mortar stores and the digging of cable trenches for trench fatigues. Furthermore, as Major Baggallay discovered, together with many both before and after, life in Ypres is a peculiar thing. Dug-outs and cellars that would be safe elsewhere are sometimes to be looked upon askance in Ypres. You shift your quarters, sometimes as the result of a hurried visit from a perturbed brigade major or staff captain, or of instinctive premonition, from north to south of the Menin Gate, or from a street near the Water Tower to the vicinity of the Prison, set your men in and settle down, your candle is suddenly extinguished or you are lifted bodily across your dug-out, and you wonder whether your reading of the riddle was correct. Finally, in brigade reserve at Vlamertinghe, these and other visitations come upon you thick and fast. There is at Vlamertinghe no lack of 8.6s and 5.9s, of brigade majors and inspecting generals, of days devoted to interior economy on an advanced scale, of rumours of imminent gas attacks and break-throughs by the Boche, of sudden orders detailing you to take a working party and report to an R.E. major or corporal at Birr Cross Roads at 10 p.m., and, if all else fails, there is always the Transport Officer to entertain when he “drops in to have one” on his way to the transport lines.
    The news of the withdrawal for a week at Flammers was received with satisfaction and approval by “C” Company and the rest of the 8th Battalion of the Loyal Southshires. But within