Summary

Gilbert Nobbs On the right of the British line

Here it is that a thousand dramas are acted daily. It is one huge scene of bustle and excitement. The khaki of the soldier, the blue of the sailor; the mother, the wife, the sweetheart; the sad partings, the joyful greetings. The troops entraining, spick and span in their new war kit; the war-worn soldier home on leave, bespattered with the soil of France; troops from the near-by camps on week-end leave, tumbling out of the carriages with the spirits of schoolboys, or looking for standing-room in the overcrowded compartments on the last train back.
Source: Gutenberg

Gilbert Nobbs On the right of the British line

You, who would throw down your tools and strike, look upon this sight!
This is the voice of England. This is the stupendous effort which is protecting you. On your right, that dark, creepy, silent place, is Trones Wood. Look across to your left, those sticks showing on the sky-line, across the valley. In those woods, churned up in the soil, lie the rotting bodies of your comrades, your brothers, your sons. They have sacrificed all; they have suffered untold deaths.
Source: Gutenberg

Gilbert Nobbs On the right of the British line

Machine-gun bullets were spraying backward and forward; 6-inch shells were exploding in all directions; and the din was intensified by the crashing of trees uprooted by the explosions, and the dull thud of the missiles striking the ground.
Through the dull light of that filthy wood we frequently cast an anxious glance towards the red rockets being sent up from the German lines, directing the fire of their artillery towards us.
Sometimes, in leaping forward, we would land beside the dead and mutilated carcass of a German soldier who had fallen a week before.
Source: Gutenberg

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