ASHAR CREEK.
I have always considered myself a very light sleeper, but one evening I had cause to come to another conclusion. I had just come off duty from the front line and was speaking to a brother officer outside my dug-out about 9 o'clock when suddenly we opened artillery fire on the Turkish position with considerable vigour, and they replied but in a milder form. I retired and lay down in my dug-out listening to the shells whistling above and praying to Providence that none would land on my sail cloth roof. In about half an hour the bombardment ceased and one wondered what damage had been done and how many lives lost. I then slept. At breakfast the next morning remarking on the bombardment I was asked "which"? "Which?" I replied, "why last night's of course," "Yes, but the first or second?" "Well, I only heard one," I said. "Oh! another took place at midnight," I was informed. I had slept through it and had not heard a sound. So trench life must tire one out somewhat to enable one to sleep so soundly as to be unaware of a bombardment. On still nights when possible the very perfection of the night made men less inclined to fire rifles at each other's trenches. I used to hear a Turk singing. He had a deep rich voice and I often stood in the front line or in a communication trench listening to him as his voice carried across "No Man's Land" from the Turkish line 120 yards away. It used to fascinate me quite a lot and one felt that under the eastern sky, in the land of Sinbad the Sailor and Omar Khayyam that war had not quite killed romance. I wonder what happened to that singer. I wonder if in the great push to Baghdad and beyond he was killed or if he is now singing to his fellow-prisoners in captivity in India, or if he is still cheering on his comrades in the front line further up the Tigris. I don't suppose one will ever know, but if he should ever read these lines I would like him to know he not only cheered his own side but gave pleasure to at least one of his enemies.
