"Phew," gasped Clarke, waving at the fumes, "it's aw-aw-awful." The other partner of the Duo could stand it no longer. Grasping his rifle he pushed it through the window. Crash! Then he laughed.
"Anybody want, want any beans?" he chuckled.
"Eat it, phew, yer bloomin' self."
"Ugh, not now after that—er—aroma." He threw the tin through the broken pane and added piously, "hope it hits someone."
PERONNE! To march after detraining during the morning along its deserted streets, to gaze on the devastation of its large buildings, sent the mind wandering over the past. Peronne: this was the town from which Fritz had retreated "according to plan"; this was the goal towards which the British had gazed undismayed through the black months of slow progress, infinite hardship, and fast-flowing blood. But to-day the khaki tread rang firm on its roads. They who had gone before had made easy the way, and you, who were carrying it on eastwards, ever eastward. The knowledge stirred something within you and you were glad.
The Ten Hundred swung out of the "suburbs" up the long incline of Mount St. Quentin, travelled a few hundred yards along the crest and came to a halt near a line of tents. At no point in the sky was there any indication of enemy airmen, nor from the line did much rattle of distant guns disturb the quiet of the day. From the concussion of some far-off muffled explosion the earth trembled slightly; but these visitations, at lengthy intervals, caused little comment. From 12 to 4.30 p.m. sleep was compulsory. No man or N.C.O. was permitted to be seen outside his tent or hut until dusk fell, and with it the command to fall in for the long march northward to Equancourt.
Along one perpetual straight road, lined on either side with endless rows of weird, sighing trees whose tops converged in faint outline against the sky at an ever distant point; along one continual rough surface of hard, slippery cobble paving an almost tail-less column of marching troops, rumbling artillery and jingling transport crawled on through the darkness. It went hard with the Normans that night. Night and the silence, the mystery. Only the ring of many feet and the neigh of a startled horse. On, ever onward to the Unknown that awaits. Aye. Tommy, worn, rugged, rough Tommy, straining forward beneath the burden that was yours—how little others know how staunch and true beat that sturdy heart throbbing under its hard exterior. Step by step; left, right, left; rigid and mechanical, controlled by a mind that ceased to act and fell prey to wild fancies. You could hear them: the cooling whispers of a sea upon your Sarnia's shore ... dear little country! God's own Isle! Mental anguish and physical pain. And yet you came up—smiling.
Monday passed quietly at Equancourt, although one or two Fritzy shells bursting some few miles away with the unmistakeable kru-ump of his heavies set the brain working and conjured up memories.
B. Company, without the customary O.C. (Captain Hutchinson, one of the most popular officers among the men) of Company-Sergeant-Major "Tug" Wilson (another splendid fellow) were temporarily under the command of a Buff officer (Chapman). A., C. and D. commands were unchanged. 13 Platoon, so fictitiously unlucky(?), was probably the most "pally" combination in the Battalion; both N.C.O.'s and men were on excellent terms—especially with Sergt. T. Allez, one of the finest and most courageous men in the Ten Hundred. Lieut. F. Arnold was in command—another good fellow. This Platoon emerged with a very small percentage of casualties.
Equancourt was disliked from the moment the Ten Hundred made the disagreeable discovery that fatigues were rampant. Men began to vanish in all directions. Mahy, doing the glide from one Quarter-Master-Sergeant (the Q.M.S. is an individual who allots ten of you to a one lb. loaf, and who endeavours to convince you that your clothing issue must last for ever, and that you are far better rationed than you deserve. P.S.—We are officially informed that there are no Q.M.S.'s among the angels!)—to resume, Mahy did the gaby from one exasperated Q.M.S. right into the yawning arms of another. An enormous box was instantaneously bundled on to his shoulders, nearly bending him double.