III
SCENE. A trench unpleasantly near the firing line. There has been an hour's intense bombardment by the British, with suitable retaliation by the Boches. The retaliation is just dying down.
CHARACTERS. ALBERT—Round-eyed, rotund, red-cheeked, yellow-haired, and deliberate; in civil life probably a drayman. JIM—Small, lean, sallow, grey-eyed, with a kind of quiet restlessness; in civil life probably a mechanic with leanings towards Socialism. POZZIE—A thick-set, low-browed, impassive, silent country youth, with a face the colour of the soil. JINKS—An old soldier, red, lean, wrinkled, with very blue eyes. His face is rough-hewn, almost grotesque like a gargoyle. In his eyes there is a perpetual glint of humour, and in the poise of his head a certain irrepressible jauntiness.
ALBERT (whose eyes are more staring than ever, his cheeks pendulous and crimson, his general air that of a partly deflated air-cushion). Gawd's truth!
JINKS (wagging his head). Well, my old sprig o' mint, what's wrong wi' you?
ALBERT. It ain't right. (Sententiously) It's agin natur'. Flesh an' blood weren't made for this sort o' think.
JIM. It ain't flesh an' blood that can't stand it. It's Mind. Look at old Pozzie. 'E's flesh an' blood, and don't turn an 'air! For myself I'll go potty one o' these days.
JINKS (slapping POZZIE on the back). You don't take no notice, do you, old lump o' duff?
POZZIE. Oi woulden moind if I got moy rations; but a chap can't keep a good 'eart if 'e's got an empty stummick.
JIM (sarcastically). You keep yer 'eart in yer stomach, don't yer? You ain't got no mind, you ain't. Jinks was born potty, an' the rest of us'll all go potty except you. It's you an' yer Ally Sloper's Cavalry what'll win the war, I don't think!
ALBERT. What I wants ter know is 'ow long the bleedin' war's a-goin' ter last. If it goes on much longer I'll be potty if I ain't a gone 'un.
JIM. There's only one way of ending it as I knows on.
ALBERT. What's that, matey?
JIM. Put all the bleedin' politicians on both sides in the bleedin' trenches. Give 'em a week's bombardment, an' send 'em away for a week to make peace, with a promise of a fortnight's intense at. the end of it if they've failed. They'd find a way, sure enough.
ALBERT (admiringly). Ah, that they would an' all. If old "Wait and See" 'ad been 'ere these last four days 'e wouldn't talk about fightin' to the last man!
JINKS. Don't talk stoopid. 'Oo began the bloomin' war? Don't yer know what you're fightin' for? D'you want ter leave the 'Uns in France an' Belgium an' Serbia an' all? It ain't fer us to make peace. It's fer the 'Uns. An' if you are done in, you got to go under some day. I ain't sure as they ain't the lucky ones what's got it over and done with. And arter all, it's not us what's not proper. The 'Uns 'ave 'ad two fer our one.
ALBERT. They got dug-outs as deep as 'ell, it don't touch 'em.
JINKS. (but without conviction). Don't talk silly.
POZZIE. Oi reckon we got to go through with it. But they didn't ought to give a chap short rations. That's what takes the 'eart out of a chap.