Patrick MacGill

“ The floor of the trench was a treacherous quicksand, as greedy as the grave. For a moment, Fitzgerald fought madly against the embrace of this soft, elusive terror, he gripped at the walls, the mud came away in his hands, he pulled one foot out, the other sank deeper. To move was ghastly, to remain still was deadly.
"I must move," he muttered. "If I don't I'll die; if I make a struggle, my fate will rest on the knees of the gods and they may save me." ”

“ The slightest movement was a monstrous futility, and now that it had become so difficult to move he did not want to remain still, and he had the greatest desire in the world to be free-footed and doing something.
The Germans were shelling the sector on the right, and the chill, wet morning was lit up by the lurid flashes of bursting explosives. The air was full of the rumbling and crashing of the conflict; shells sped across the trench, careering towards some distant objective, probably the village, where old Bowdy was routing out the essentials for a Christmas dinner. ”

“ He turned round and scurried back to the trench which he had just left. It seemed quite a distance to traverse and he slipped over the parapet and flopped down into the mud. But not a soul was to be seen, the trench was deserted. Neither was it the trench which he had left. Here the slush reached his hips. "Well, I'm damned!" he said, and leant against the parapet. "What am I going to do? I'm going to stick here, stick well in."
Shadow and silence brooded over the place, he had descended into the stagnation of the tomb. The clammy slush ran down his top boots and settled round his heels. ”

“ A platoon on the right had started too soon and the men were half-way across. Bowdy Benners and Bubb walked abreast, chatting leisurely. Flanagan had disappeared.
The air was alive with bullets, men were falling all round, groaning and screaming. In front the tanks had both stopped, one in a shell-crater, the other in a sap. The artillery lengthened its range and the shells were falling behind the first line and the High Wood. But the enemy machine guns had not been silenced, the High Wood was yet as venomous as a wasps' nest. ”

“ The life of the Commune is seldom monotonous, its uncertainty makes it interesting, its novelty never wanes. The trench has its history, every dug-out a legend, and the shell-riven alleys of war are steeped in tradition. The narratives of the trench are handed on from regiment to regiment, a word or two on the firestep while the battalion just going out changes places with the relieving battalion, and the legend of an adjacent dug-out is made plain. ”

“ Clothes are seldom dry, they cling to the body like the rags of a drowned man, scourging and scaling the flesh. The cold rain stings the flesh, the snow freezes the fingers. Marching is difficult, the roads are thick with mud, and all roads lead to the firing line, the line of red agony, of desolation. The soldier is a mute, impotent figure, a blind pawn in the game of war. The billets are cold and cheerless. The broken roof, which allowed the winds of night to play round the sleepers in the hot summer weather, now lets in the cold and wet. ”

“ A galaxy of starshells lit up the heavens and a big shell of another pattern whirled across the open and burst with a dizzy clatter. In the distance could be heard the transports of war clattering along the roads, the clank of rails unleaded at some far-off railway siding, and gleaming luridly against the darkness could be seen the flames of a building on fire some dozen miles away. Near Fitzgerald lay a dead man, further off another, looking like an empty sack flung on the ground. ”

“ He could see the ruined cottage in front now, a black blur against the night. The limitless levels stretched out on either side, frogs croaked in the ponds, now and then a light shot up from the fields, trembled in air for a moment and died away. The breezes of the night, the "unseen multitude," as the ancients called them, capered by, crooning wearily. In front, far ahead, the artillery fire redoubled in intensity and the sky was lit by the brilliance of day.
"Hell's loose out there," said the stranger. "It's not good to be there; it's not good to die." ”

“ The enemy, in eternal dread of raids, kept up a continual watch over No Man's Land.
The party, now half way across, lay down, for a starshell rose from the German trench, stood high and lit the derelict levels with the brilliance of day. Then oscillating sleepily from side to side, it dropped a myriad petals of flame and sank lazily to earth.
"They're getting the wind up," said Bowdy Benners, whispering across to Reynolds. "We'll have some dirty work 'fore we come back." ”

“ The roadway was gutted by shells and the poplars that lined the path were scarred and peeled by many a projectile. Behind, the shells were bursting and the sound of explosions quivered through the crisp clear air.
If the men looked back they could see the hills [pg 80] behind, rising out of the dawn, the white mists in the Zouave valley—the valley of Death, the Cabaret Rouge, the inn on the Souchez Road, and Souchez itself which is now a heap of powdered dust. War had rent and riven many a village but Souchez it had powdered to dust. ”

“ If the guns of war are silent, there is a genial atmosphere pervading the whole place, and men go about their work in a light-hearted manner.
One can smell tea brewing in the sheltered bay where a brazier glows cosily in the lee of the traverse. A game of cards is in progress in a dug-out, and a youth may be seen writing a letter by the light of a timid candle stuck on the wall. ”

“ The door of a near dug-out opened, and the ray of a candle shone out into the trench. One of his mates came out, his rifle in his hand, his waterproof ground-sheet over his shoulders.
"Is that you, Bubb?" he asked. "Taking a turn as sentry?"
"All right," Bubb answered. "Thought I wasn't coming out, eh? Are you fed up?" he asked.
"A bit sick of it," said Bowdy. "I'm tired of looking across the parapet day and night. How do you like it?"
"Rotten," said Spudhole. "The weather is so damned rotten! Everything's rotten." ”

“ Where the pits were dug in the earth, shapeless heaps of white chalk were flung up, and beside one of these heaps lay a battery of field guns jumbled in inextricable confusion. The rusty steel muzzles of the guns looked grotesque and distorted; the ruined dug-out in which the gunners once lived, breathed tragedy from every broken beam and torn sandbag. Dead men lay all over the place, shamelessly exposed in the most unlikely situations. On the field of war Death is denied its privileged privacy.
Fitzgerald entered the communication trench and hurried along, panting as he ran. ”

“ A dozen men sat around the fire, their sheepskin jackets steaming and the brass buckles of their equipment shining like gold. The blaze, burning high, lit up the steady eyes and ruddied the strong features of the men. Spudhole, half asleep, leant forward over his knees, his arms folded, his shoulders humped up and his helmet well down over his face. Bowdy Benners was writing a letter, his notepaper spread out on Bubb's back, his knees crossed. ”

“ We labour in the trenches with rifle, maul and spade,
We're soldiers, cooks and carpenters, and everything to trade;
We stand on sentry-go all night and turn to kip at dawn,
But when we're dropping off to sleep it's "Up and carry on"—
For it's carry on and carry on and carry on all day;
They'll make us carry on until they carry us away;
It's carry on the whole day through, at dusk as well as dawn—
Oh blimey! will they never stop their blooming Carry On! ”

“ The east flushed crimson, the German trench to the left showed dark against the glow and stood out distinctly. A sniper's bullet ripped a sandbag and a shower of fine white dust dropped into the trench. No one paid any heed.... The birds were out hopping from prop to prop of the barbed wire entanglements. A lark soared into air pouring out an ecstatic song.... The dead men on the levels could now be seen lying close to the earth in limp and ghastly attitudes, the birds singing above them.... The sun was up; a million dewdrops sparkled in a glorious jewelled disarray [pg 172] on the wires.... ”

“ The sergeant takes his bottle out
And swigs from it all night
Cold water—
Co-o-old water—
Co-o, o-o, o-o, o-o, co-o-old water.
(From "The Lost Rum Ration.")
It was about seven o'clock in the evening and an unusual silence brooded over the Loos Salient. In the trenches the silence always broods; the soldiers, not knowing what the moment may bring forth, are uneasy; and the eternal hidden menace of the Unknown is intensified by the stillness. The evening was intensely dark; black, impenetrable shadows bulked in the trenches and became the colour of the parapet, parados and bay. ”

“ Once a home of thrifty, toiling people; now the clear sun, which succeeded the shower, saw no housewife at work, no children playing, no man out in the fields storing up the harvest crops. Nothing there now save the guns which lurked privily and kept for the moment a decorous silence. A big shell was following the men along, bursting at intervals some five hundred yards behind. The Germans were sweeping the road, trusting that the projectile would drop on any troops who might be marching along there. The shell followed steadily, keeping its distance and doing no harm. ”

“ The dug-out is as treacherous as the trench. The shaky construction, the lodge of fear, is always built in a hurry. Weak props hold a crazy roof in place; sandbags filled with earth serve the purpose of tiles. In dry weather a dug-out serves its purpose well, but in the rainy weather the sandbags becoming saturated finally weigh the rafters and props down to earth. Time and again the weary sleepers never wake, their shelter becomes their grave. ”

“ The men rushed to the parapet and looked over. Out in front a great lump rose on the level like a whale breaking up from the sea, and a livid flash lit the world. The soldiers sank into cover, mute, pale, hesitating. The roar of an earthquake filled their ears, and a million flying fragments filled the sky.... An almost incoherent order passed along the trench, and on the right men clambered over the sandbags into the open field.... They had to take possession of the mine crater. Snogger, Bowdy Benners and Bubb were across and in the next minute they were conscious of many things. ”

“ You hear the grass whispering, and the darkness ahead of you may hide anything. An awful face covered with blood may rise up in front, a hand may come out and grasp you by the hair. The dead are lying around you, poor quiet creatures, but you know that they're stronger than you are. I often wish I couldn't think, that I lacked imagination, that I was a clod of earth, just something like that plebeian there." Fitzgerald raised his finger and pointed to Bubb who was rapping his idle fingers on the legs of his chair. Bubb gazed at Fitzgerald and laughed. ”

“ Men plough through muck and mire, dragging their feet and legs through water and mud, or sleep in the open, shivering with cold. The fingers are chilled to the bone, all feeling has gone away from the feet; for all one knows, the feet may have gone. No fires are lit, there is no wood, nothing that will burn. ”

“ Ye'll never come back. Ye'll get done in."
"Oh, I'll come back safe and sound," Fitzgerald replied in all seriousness. "The dream was a bad one and portended some evil."
"And is it not bad enough to get done in?" asked Benners.
"There are things worse than death," was Fitzgerald's answer. "Death is not the supreme evil. But women! It's not good to dream of them especially if they're red-haired. Did you ever dream of red-haired women, Bowdy?" ”

“ Now and again a flash would light up the levels in front and he could hear a bullet sing past his ears towards the sector which he had just left. But the flash was deceptive and lights were very misleading in the darkness. The sniper took care to fire only when a starshell held the sky above him. In this way, the flash of the rifle, merging as it did into the flare of the starshell, could hardly lay claim to a separate existence.
"I'm not going to find him," muttered Bowdy Benners under his breath. "It's like looking for a needle in.... Blimey! ”

“ Flanagan followed keeping a hundred yards to rear. At headquarters another runner was receiving a similar message. One would certainly deliver it safely.
When Fitzgerald crossed the rim of the chalk pit he could see the line of battle, the starshells flaring in the heavens and the lurid flames of bursting explosives lighting up the darkness. In front a spinney where the trees were riven and shattered took on strange shapes, the lifeless ruined branches stretched outwards, as it were, [pg 137] in reproach and despair; the fallen trees lay on the ground like rotting corpses. ”

“ Behaviour of this kind though natural to Bowdy Benners was quite inexplicable to his mates. Fitzgerald having had a drop of wine was now in a mood to discuss womanhood.
[pg 23] "You're too damned modest, Bowdy," he said. "And you don't shine in the company of the fair, dear women. You know the natural mission of woman is to please man, and man, no matter what he feels, should try and look pleased when in her company. If he looks bored what does that signify, Bowdy Benners? Eh? It means that he has found her ugly. That's an insult to the sex, to feminine charms and womanly qualities. ”

“ Reynolds was surrounded now by his comrades. He was sitting half upright, his head sinking towards his knees, the martial elation of a few minutes ago utterly gone.
[pg 239] "Well, chummy, you'll be all right in time for breakfast," said Bubb, who expected that these words would buoy up the youngster's courage. But Reynolds seemed to pay no heed, a cold and sorrowful expression settled on his white face, which looked strange and unearthly in the light of the moon. The sergeant cut open the youth's tunic and looked at the wound, which showed red over the heart. ”