Read Online The Penguin Book of First World War Stories by None, Anne-Marie Einhaus - Free Book Online Page B

and fallen back on another prepared line? True, their Siegfried line 5 had proved a wash-out, a mere rough trench with scarcely any wire. But still, you never knew. He went back to Number I post, and warned the corporal to keep a good watch, and instantly report anything unusual. He repeated this order to the other posts.
    How still it was! How slowly the time went! Only twenty minutes gone. The runner stumbled heavily and nearly fell. Poor devil, tired out.
    â€˜Tired, Hogbin?’
    â€˜Yessir, a bit, sir.’
    â€˜All right, go and sleep. It’s so quiet I shan’t need you.’
    â€˜Very good, sir, thank y’ very much, sir.’
    He listened to the sound of the man’s heavy hobnailed boots on the cobbled side road. How awkward-animal a man is when he’s tired out. Good to be alone, though. Ellerton established a sort of beat for himself, more to keep awake than for any other reason. Quiet and cold. Nothing to report. The moon suddenly jumped into clear sky from behind a heavy cloud. He gazed eagerly in the direction of the enemy. Nothing but dim fields and the vague forms of trees. To the right was a sort of round valley, half-filled with very white mist, so level that it looked like cream in a large brown bowl…
    He continued his beat.
    An hour after dawn next morning, Ellerton was marching with Warburton at the head of Number 1 platoon on their way back to rest billets. Baron came jolting along on the Company Rosinante, 6 which his prudent sedentary spirit preferred to the more sprightly animals offered by the transport officer. Ellerton fell out of the ranks to speak to him.
    â€˜Just going along to Batt. HQ,’ explained Baron. ‘I’m taking those reports – whoa! you brute!’– (the horse had tossed its head) –‘the runners are so careless.’
    He patted his buttoned pocket, which was bulging with documents.
    â€˜And, by the bye, Ellerton, I ought to strafe you. In the casualty report for the last action, you didn’t mark how themen were hit. Don’t you remember there’s an order that casualties are to be marked “G” for gas, “S” for shell, “B” for bullet, and so on?’
    Ellerton laughed.
    â€˜Rot! How the hell are we to know? We can’t stay behind to discover how each casualty happens. If Whitehall are so keen on statistics, why the hell don’t they come and collect ’em themselves?’
    â€˜All very well, old man, but an order’s an order.’
    â€˜So long, old man, get us a good billet.’
    â€˜So long.’
    Baron bobbed off uneasily ahead, and Ellerton rejoined the first platoon. The men were singing one of the worst of their drawling songs:
    â€˜
It’s a long, loong traiiil a-wiiinding,
      Into the laaand of my dreeeeams,
Where the niiightingaaales are siiinging
…’
    Suddenly, round a bend in the road, appeared a staff officer on a chestnut, as handsome and fiery as Baron’s Rosinante was ugly and tame. Ellerton hastily called the men to attention, but before they could unsling their rifles for the salute the staff officer waved his hand and shouted:
    â€˜Armistice was signed at six this morning, and comes into force at eleven. The war’s over.’
    A languid cheer came from the platoon.
    â€˜â€™Oo-ray.’
    And then, as the staff man rode on, they at once continued:
    â€˜
It’s a long, looong traiiil a-wiiinding
…’
    Ellerton was amazed at their phlegm. He turned his head aside so that Warburton should not see his emotion. So it was over, really over, incredibly over! In a flash a dozen scenes of the war leaped into his mind, a dozen occasions when death had seemed inevitable, memories of the interminable months when it had seemed impossible that the war could ever end…It was like the gift of another life! It
was
another life. Instead of living from minute to minute with the menace