"A l'école dans le ville,A l'école dans le ville,A l'école,A l'école,A l'école dans le ville."
"A l'école dans le ville,A l'école dans le ville,A l'école,A l'école,A l'école dans le ville."
Bowdy's platoon came to a halt in the square, the company cook who came there long in advance of the battalion, was pouring fistfuls oftea in a dixie which stood on a field kitchen. He was red of face as a lobster, and a smile of satisfaction lit up his genial countenance when he saw the men.
"You look pleased with yourself," Bowdy said.
"So will you be pleased," said the man, "when you get your tea after a little. I've made it well, extra strong, and Spudhole has just received a parcel from home."
"The post is up?" Bubb asked.
"There's a letter for you, as well as a parcel," said the cook. "And we are going back for a rest to-morrow night, for a month or six weeks."
"Are we really?" Bowdy enquired.
"Of course we are," was the answer. "And we're going to get paid, too, this evening...."
They were going back for a rest, probably to Cassel, and they knew such a delightful billet there, the Y—— Farm....
Bowdy breathed in the fresh air. Away behind the firing line the sun was sinking and a soft, luminous glow settled on the roofs of the houses near.
"We should have a bit of a spree to-night," said the cook, raising the dixie of the waggon, placing it on the ground, and stirring it with along ladle. "At the café round the corner. A champagne supper, a song, and an all-round entertainment. Are you game for it?"
"Blimey, of course we're game for it," said Spudhole. "Wot time will it start?"
"'Arf past seven."
"Righto," said Bubb and Bowdy in one voice. "We'll be there."
CHAPTER XXIRESTING
The night breeze sweeps La Bassée Road, the night dews wet the hay,The boys are coming back again; a straggling crowd are they;The column lines are broken, there are gaps in the platoon,They'll not need many billets now for soldiers in Bethune,For lusty lads, good, hearty lads, who marched away so fine,Have now got little homes of clay, beside the firing line.Good luck to them, God-speed to them, the boys who march away,A-swinging up La Bassée Road each sunny, Summer day.(From "Soldier Songs.")
The night breeze sweeps La Bassée Road, the night dews wet the hay,The boys are coming back again; a straggling crowd are they;The column lines are broken, there are gaps in the platoon,They'll not need many billets now for soldiers in Bethune,For lusty lads, good, hearty lads, who marched away so fine,Have now got little homes of clay, beside the firing line.Good luck to them, God-speed to them, the boys who march away,A-swinging up La Bassée Road each sunny, Summer day.
(From "Soldier Songs.")
"Gorblimey! This ain't arf a blurry march," said Bubb, changing his rifle from one shoulder to the other and straightening himself up. "I'm feelin' my feet, my 'eels are rubbin' against sandpaper."
"We'll soon be there now," said Bowdy Benners. "Another half hour. I remember the place well. We haven't been here for—how long? Almost a year and a half. Then there were some good fellows with us. Old Fitzand Snogger and Flanagan and Captain Thorley and Billy Hurd. Gone west, the poor devils."
"I wish I 'ad gone west," said Bubb, whose head was sinking forward. "This ain't worth living for, this damned march. If I did go west I wouldn't mind; there's a lot of good men waitin' to welcome us there. We'll never drink beer with better blokes again."
"True for you, Bubb," said Bowdy. "Brave boys, the whole lot of them. Here, Spudhole, I'll carry your rifle for you. You look done up."
Bubb straightened himself.
"Thanks, Bowdy, but I'd rather carry me 'ipe myself. Wot would these draft men think if they see me gettin' 'elped along? I'm not a rooky, Bowdy."
"Righto," said Bowdy, with a laugh. "Your independence will be the death of you one day."
A halt was called at this juncture and the men threw themselves down by the roadside. The dusk of an October evening was settling on the poplar-lined roadway. The spinneys on either side were wrapped in shadow and a cold wind swept across the fields. In a farm somewherenear a dog barked and a cart rumbled along a lane. The chiming of a church bell could be heard calling the faithful to prayer.
Bowdy took off his pack, lit a cigarette, and sat on a milestone which bore the inscription: "A Cassel 5 kilo." The milestone, which indicated the wrong direction, had been reversed by the peasantry when war broke out in hopes of turning the German Army in a wrong direction. Bubb lay flat on his back, his feet cocked up, his tunic open.
"Wunner if Fifi is kickin' about now," he said. "She wasn't 'arf a bird. Ole Snogger was fair gone on 'er, so was pore Fitz. Bet yer, she'll be lookin' for a new Tommy this time. Why don't ye go in an' say things to 'er, Bowdy? Ye're a devil for fightin', a devil for drinkin', and ye're no damned good at all when a wench is about. If I 'adn't me own bird back off Walworth Road wiv 'er barrer, I'd lead Fifi a dance."
"Wot about the girl at Gorre," said Bowdy Benners. "You forgot all about Walworth Road when you went to see her on a stretcher with a ground-sheet for a uniform."
Bubb never wanted to be reminded of this incident,but at the present time he was too tired to pay any heed to Bowdy's remarks.
At seven o'clock the platoon arrived at Y—— Farm and the men were conducted to the old barn in which a few of them had billeted before. Bowdy and Bubb sat down on the straw and took off their puttees, lit their cigarettes and fumbled in their pockets for money. Fifi, of course, would give them soup and coffee free; but they felt it becoming to them to offer money, even though it was not accepted.
"Come along," said Bowdy, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Fifi will be waiting for us."
They went down the crazy stairs and across the farmyard towards the house. Everything about the place was the same as of old, the midden, the sloughy pools, the up-ended waggons, the grunting of the pigs in the stye, the restless movement of cattle in the byre and the noisy growling of the dog. Bubb recalled the night of his return from the café of Jean Lacroix.
"The same blurry dawg," he said to Bowdy.
"The same."
"Look!" whispered Bubb, as the two got near the door. "There's Fifi. Gawd! She 'asn't 'arf changed.... Stout.... She must be married."
They entered. Fifi rushed forward to meet them, and clasping Bubb with both arms she kissed him on the lips. Then she kissed Bowdy, who blushed as red as a beetroot.
"Well, I'm damned," said Bubb. "Ye're not 'arf a giddy one, Fifi."
She must have been working hard during the day, for her hair was all untidy, her linen soiled and stained, her skirts in the same condition.
"Back from the trenches?" she asked.
"Back again," said Bubb who could follow the remark, though spoken in French. "Trenches no bong," he said. "Ploosier mon camerads mort, more blissée. Guerre never fini."
"The sergen, is zee dead?" asked Fifi, speaking in English. "The bon sergen."
"'E's dead," said Bubb. "Also Flanagan; also Captain Thorley...."
"Mon père mort," said the girl, and her eyes filled with tears. "Mort à Verdun."
There was a long silence. The two soldiers sat down near the stove. Fifi put a basin of soup over the fire. Madame Babette came in from the byre, her heavy shoes covered with cow-dung, and placed a pail of milk on thedresser. She shook hands with Bubb and Bowdy.
"Back from the trenches?" she enquired.
"Back for a month's rest," Bowdy replied.
"I s'pose you're married now, Fifi?" Bubb remarked, fixing his eyes on the girl. She did indeed look like a married woman; the old sprightly manner was gone; her face was pale and quiet now, and a tinge of sadness had crept into her voice. The old Fifi, the full-throated coquette of eighteen months ago, had given place to a prudent housewife whose interests did not extend beyond the marches of the farm.
"I am married," she replied.
"A good husband?" asked Bubb.
"Très bon," said Fifi. "He will be in from his work directly."
"Ye've forgotten Fitzgerald, the Irishman," said Bubb. "'E was a good man. 'E's dead now; killed by an oboo grand."
Fifi chuckled. Bubb looked at Bowdy and could not resist giving expression to the thoughts which came into his mind.
"It's just like these 'ere French birds," he muttered. "They'll 'ave their bit of fun wiv a bloke an' then when 'e goes away it's 'Goodbyeand be damned t'yer, and we don't care wot 'appens t'yer.'"
Fifi, who seemed to have made great progress in her knowledge of English, laughly loudly at Bubb's remarks. Then she raised a warning finger. Somebody had come to the door and this somebody was rubbing heavy boots on the cobbles in an endeavour to get the dirt from the soles.
"My husband," said Fifi.
He came in, stood for a moment, and gazed awkwardly at the two soldiers. Bubb stared open-mouthed at the man, Bowdy contracted his eyebrows and rubbed one eye with a miry finger, then the other.
"Bon soir, m'soo," said Bubb. "Ye're damned like a mate as we 'ad, old Fitz."
"I'm not surprised at that, Spudhole," said the man, coming forward and gripping both the men's hands and shaking them as if they were pump handles. "Not a bit surprised, for I am ole Fitz."
"But ye're dead," said Bubb.
"Almost had been ... but luck was with me," said Fitzgerald, still pump-handling. "And you. I heard you two were killed, Bowdy and Bubb ... I never expected....It's damned strange what does happen.... We've no end of things to talk about.... Fifi, get a meal ready, the best bottle of wine ... we have much to say.... It's all gushing out.... God! it's good to see you two here."
Fitzgerald sat down, crossed his legs, felt in his pockets and brought out a packet of English cigarettes.
"Have a fag, Bubb—Bowdy," he said, laughing boyishly. "I've left England, but I can't resist these.... Oh! damn it!... Isn't it good to see you two here.... Old Snogger.... I know, I saw it in the press. Thorley, too, and Flanagan.... We'll go into the corner and have a talk.... We won't be disturbed and rations will be ready in no time. I'm excited, Bowdy. Bubb, I'm off my head. I'm so glad, so damned glad that I could give you a punch right on the tip of your nose.... But you'll not understand the feelings which give rise to a manifestation of gladness such as that, Spudhole."
Bubb laughed.
"Blimey! Ye're just the same ole Fitz, same as ever," he said.
CHAPTER XXIITHE MARRIED MAN
Come, all you true-born country lads, I'll sing a song to you,You'll like to hear it one and all, for what I say is true;The turf is wet upon the bog, the snow is on the farm,You'd better take a wife to bed, she's sure to keep you warm;She will not want for golden chains from any pedlar's pack,When she will have your two strong arms clasped tight around her neck;Believe me, all who hear these words, believe me young and old,'Tis snug and warm to have a wife when Winter days are cold.(From an old "Come all ye.")
Come, all you true-born country lads, I'll sing a song to you,You'll like to hear it one and all, for what I say is true;The turf is wet upon the bog, the snow is on the farm,You'd better take a wife to bed, she's sure to keep you warm;She will not want for golden chains from any pedlar's pack,When she will have your two strong arms clasped tight around her neck;Believe me, all who hear these words, believe me young and old,'Tis snug and warm to have a wife when Winter days are cold.
(From an old "Come all ye.")
"Where can I begin and tell everything?" said Fitzgerald, breaking a piece of bread and bringing it up to within an inch of his mouth. "I suppose that night when I was buried in the dug-out will do to start with. 'Twas the devil's own night. I got lost first of all, and me going up with a message to Captain Thorley. 'Twas very important, a mine going up in the morning. So the young German prisoner whom we had taken said.Therefore, our men holding the front line had to retire for safety to the support trenches. So up I goes from Headquarters, running like hell (I'm getting ungrammatically excited, Spudhole) and gets lost. Took the wrong turning, flops into a trench that was full of muck. I stuck there for goodness knows how long, holding on to the piece of paper on which the message was scrawled. I thought I was a permanent fixture, stuck in that trench for duration. But somehow I did get free and eventually found myself in our front line. How I got there I don't know. I mind seeing you, Spudhole."
"There was some dirt coming along our way at that time," said Bubb.
"'Twas that shell that did it," said Fitzgerald, gazing absently at his piece of bread, which he still held between finger and thumb. "Someone said 'Whoo! There she comes!' and there was a rush for the dug-out. I got mixed up in the scramble and was carried in with the rest. But I still clung on to my message. Then the shell came down on the dug-out and I was out of the doings, just like a gutted sprat.
"As far as I can judge I was underground that night, the next day, the night after, and got pulled out the day following at twelve o'clock. Somemen of the regiment that relieved us saw a bayonet that stuck up through the roof of the fallen dug-out move as if someone was shaking it."
"I saw that 'ere bay'net," said Bubb. "Stickin' up over the roof."
"Well, these fellows, when they saw the bayonet wobbling, guessed that someone was alive under the ground, and they began to dig like hell," said Fitzgerald.
"Eventually they reached me, still alive, with a wound on the back of my head, and they pulled me out. The air had got in somehow, I suppose.... Well, I came to my senses in hospital in Versailles, and I got up, so I was told, and rushed along the ward like hell, with a nurse or two clinging to my shirt tail. 'Where are you running?' they asked me. 'I'm going on a message to Captain Thorley,' I told them. 'There's a mine going up at dawn.' 'Oh, that's all right,' said the nurses. 'Captain Thorley has got the message and everything's all right.' And they wheedled me and coaxed me until I went back to bed.
"So I was told; but I didn't remember anything about it. Even now my mind gets mazed at times when I'm excited, and queer ideas come into my head."
"You haven't eaten one bite yet," said Bowdy Benners. "That bit of bread hasn't gone into your mouth, and we've been sitting here for the last ten minutes."
"Well, I'm not hungry," said Fitzgerald. "I'm feeding on the pleasure of seeing you two here. Fifi, the wine!" he called to his wife.
The woman brought a large bottle, placed it on the table, and patted her husband on the head with an affectionate hand.
"She's a divine creature," said Fitzgerald, when Fifi went. "How did it happen that the gods were so good to me? I don't know.... But to get on with my story," he continued. "After a while I found myself in England. I don't even remember crossing the Channel. I was in a muddle all the while. Sometimes I would think I was in the trenches and I would wake up from my sleep, jump out on the floor and stand against the wall, thinking that I was on the firestep on guard. I must have been a troublesome patient.... And then one night when I was in a big bed in a big house in England I thought that somebody put a cold hand over my forehead. I shouted out 'Who's there?' I opened my eyes, looked up and saw a man with a black beard standing at my bed.
"'Who are you ?' I asked.
"'Your Sergeant-major,' said the man. 'I want you to present arms,' he said. 'At the word "one" you give the rifle a sharp cant up to the right side, gripping it at the small of the butt with the right hand and at the outer band with the left....' I stared at the fellow and this seemed to annoy him. 'Dumb contempt!' he yelled. 'You'll be for it!' and he raised his fist and made one smash at my face. I dodged the blow and then a man in a warder's uniform rushed in and pulled the sergeant-major away.
"Good God, Bowdy, where was I? Guess. I was in a lunatic asylum.... 'Twas enough to turn my brain. And it's a difficult job to prove that you're sane when you're in a madhouse. They won't believe you, for some damned reason or another. I used to go up to the warder and say: 'Look here, matey, I'm as right as rain,' and he would nod his head and say: 'Oh, yes, of course you are.' But 'twas easy enough to see that he didn't believe you. God! I often felt like strangling the man.... It wouldn't do me any good, I knew, to kick up a ruction; so I kept very quiet and well-behaved.
"At the end of six weeks I was discharged and sent to a convalescent camp; not as good as the one that Flanagan had been in when he got wounded. Impossible to swing the lead there. I got sick of it in no time, so I applied for a transfer to the B.E.F., somewhere in France.
"'Do you really want to go out there again?' my mates asked me.
"'Of course I do,' I told them.
"'Then you must be mad,' they said.
"But I had no luck with my application. 'Out to the trenches again,' said the M.O. Tut, tut, man! I'll bring you before a Board and see what it says.'
"The Board said 'Discharge' and I was discharged with a pension. So there I was out on my own, a wash-out. Patrick Fitzgerald, pensioner, non bon, one that had done his bit, who had been through the thick of it, in the doings, a brave boy, lion-hearted, and so on. My friends took me into their arms and made no end of a fuss of me. England had reason to be proud of her sons, they said, and took me about to swell dinners."
"Just like ole Flan when 'e was at 'ome," said Bubb.
"I hobnobbed with big bugs," Fitzgeraldcontinued, "grand old men who were in the know and who knew everything, having inside information; well-dressed women who preached economy to the masses, who denied themselves luxuries which they were healthier without, who rode on common buses and advertised the fact, and who travelled by tube as an example to those who always travel by tube. Nobody paid much heed to them as far as I could see. The people with whom I stopped denied themselves the services of a butler and took in his place an extra female servant. They were very rich, and self-denial was their greatest craze. In furthering their country's cause they displayed as much ingenuity as a cautious billiard player who just misses the balls. I grew tired of it all, wearied to death," said Fitzgerald, placing his bread on the table and pulling the wine bottle towards him. He pulled out the cork, filled his mates' glasses, but took no notice of his own.
"It doesn't do for me to take any now," he said, in an apologetic voice. "It goes to here." He tapped his head with his fingers.
"There was once," said Bubb....
"Yes, but that's a thing of the past," said Fitzgerald. "I did go into a pub when I was in London. I wanted to have a yarn with theOld Sweats who frequented the taproom. I made them merry and they carried me home. 'Twasn't honey after that. Old Fitz, the boy who had been through the thick of it and who had done his bit, was rather a burden to his friends. He had wild ways; his manners were unbecoming, he had said dreadful things when under the influence of alcohol. My friends took me aside, lectured me and suggested that if I was placed in a little cottage somewhere out of sight, given a few pounds in addition to my pension, I would be much happier....
"I left them; the brave boy who had done his bit and who went through the thick of it vamoosed. I didn't even wait for the additional few pounds.... Then an uncle of mine died and left me six hundred pounds. I collared this, wrote to Fifi, whom I had not forgotten.... She remembered me.... Her father was killed at Verdun. What could I do but come over and see her? 'Twas an easy matter then. I had some money, I loved her; so we got married. She's a grand woman, Bowdy. I didn't understand her when we were billeted here; I don't even understand her yet.... Oh, how she misses her father, but she bears it as a Frenchwoman can. I tried to console her atfirst, but I say nothing about her loss now. First she used to say, when we spoke about her father's death: 'C'est la guerre,' but now it's different. It's now: 'He died for France and it's an honour to die for one's country.'"
Bubb filled his glass, Bowdy did the same. The two soldiers looked at one another, then at Fitzgerald. Fifi came up to the table.
Bowdy raised his glass in the air, Bubb followed suit.
"Here's to Fitzgerald," said Bowdy.
"And to Fifi," said Spudhole.
"Long life and happiness——"
"And no end of 'appy children——"
"Victory for the Allies!"
"And 'ell for the Boche!" said Spudhole, bringing the glass of wine to his lips.
THE END
Transcriber Notes:Throughout the document, the œ ligature was replaced with "oe".Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted.The word "messtin" apparently is not a misspelling, since each instance of the word was spelled as one word, not two.On page 23, a closing quotation mark was added after "most in life is Love.".On page 221, a period was added after the last word.On page 223, "fool" was replaced with "tool".On page 267, a period was added after the last word.On page 293, "Somewhere" was replaced with "somewhere".
Throughout the document, the œ ligature was replaced with "oe".
Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.
Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted.
The word "messtin" apparently is not a misspelling, since each instance of the word was spelled as one word, not two.
On page 23, a closing quotation mark was added after "most in life is Love.".
On page 221, a period was added after the last word.
On page 223, "fool" was replaced with "tool".
On page 267, a period was added after the last word.
On page 293, "Somewhere" was replaced with "somewhere".