"How did you get these?" I asked.
"They were them eggs I was cooking this morning," he replied; "I had to quit when that first shell came—nearly went up, eggs and all, with it. But I went back afterwards. The fire was out—but they was boiled all right, if you don't mind 'em hard."
X. THE RESERVE COMPANY
After D Company had taken over our section of trench we remained on the road behind for a time, while the authorities were deciding what to do with us. Goyle said the question was whether we were required to fill a gap between our right company and the Dorchesters on our left or whether our right company and the Dorchesters between them could span this gap and enable us to go back as reserve company into billets.
We waited in the rain for our orders. The men stood expectantly with their rifles slung over their shoulders, their hands in their pockets, and their greatcoat collars turned up to their ears. They said little. Now and again one would say to another hopefully, "We're going back to billets—ain't we, Bill?" One or two of my N.C.O.s came up and asked me if I knew what was going to happen, and I told them the situation, about which, like the dutiful fellows they were, they expressed no opinion. He is a wonderful fellow on active service is Tommy Atkins. However roughly his inclinations may be torn he never says a word, but just does what is required of him so long as he can stand. Those men would have gone off to fill the gap that night without a question or thought except that it had to be done, and perhaps a "Gor blimey!" on life in general and European warfare in particular.
However, it was to be billets that night. Goyle came up with the order from battalion headquarters. The company fell-in in fours and marched down the road. I don't know what it is, but there is a sort of feeling about a body of men marching which conveys a lot to a trained ear. In the ready click of the rifle to the shoulder and the steady tramp of the fifty pairs of feet behind me I could read hearts full of thankfulness as we headed down the lane towards the tiny village where we were to billet.
It was by now nearly ten o'clock. The village itself consisted of two farms and half a dozen cottages, and the Adjutant was disposed to say that it was hardly worth billeting the men in view of the lateness of the hour and the possibility of their having to turn out at short notice. He suggested they should lie down in a field. However, Evans and I guaranteed to have all the men in billets within a quarter of an hour and to make ourselves personally responsible for knowing where they all were and turning them out at short notice if required. The Adjutant, who was merely taking up the point of view proper to adjutants of not wanting to run the risk of any company being caught napping, was agreeable to this, and off we started.
To be able to billet a company quickly is a question of practice. The eye quickly gets trained to know what amount of men will go into what space and the look of likely places. To stow away 200 men in a tiny village of two farms and four cottages would at first seem a difficult task, especially when a certain amount of the space has already been taken up by different details attached to battalion headquarters. Barns are the first things to look for, and we were lucky in finding two, which each held fifty men. The French barns always have plenty of straw in them, and make warm, snug lying. An empty stable took another fifty men, and an outhouse twenty-five; the remaining twenty-five had to be content with a sort of porch which ran along a wall. These last we were subsequently able to transfer to the barn on finding there would just be room for them. The process of billeting the men did not take more than the quarter of an hour we had estimated, one of us going ahead to explore, the other following with the men and standing at the entrance to the barn or outhouse, counting them in and flashing his torch into the interior to show the way.
Having got the men under cover, we looked about for a place for ourselves. Goyle had been offered a mattress in the kitchen of the farm where the Colonel and Adjutant were making their battalion headquarters. He was also no doubt going to have some of the Colonel's supper, and might be considered arranged for for the night. But there was no room for four hungry subalterns at battalion headquarters. We had received our day's rations and were expected to look after ourselves. Four sergeants were using the kitchen of the other farm, and of the cottagers only one, from a light in the window, looked as though it was inhabited. Evans and I pushed our way into this but found the kitchen already occupied. Six Tommies were sitting round the stove watching a stew simmer in a pan. They did not belong to our company, but were some of the headquarters details. The cottage was certainly theirs by right of annexation, and Evans and I turned to go out.
"Beg pardin, sir," said one of the men; "but there's another room at the back." This was extremely kind and hospitable of the man, as the little class distinctions between officer and man are to a certain extent preserved on active service, and the Tommy who has found a nook likes to keep it to himself just as much as the officer.