“Good-bye, Sergeant Andrews,” I shouted.
Last of all I saw Davies, standing solemn and dumb.
“Good-bye, Davies. Off to Blighty.”
I could not see if he answered. The relentless stretcher-bearer led me on. Was I O.C. stretcher-bearers or was I not? Why didn’t I stop him? I had not decided about that Lewis gun. At the corner of Old Kent Road, I was told I might as well sit on the ration trolley and go down on that. And in the full light of dawn, about half-past two, I was rolled serenely down the hill to the Citadel.
“Don’t let go,” I said to the stretcher-bearer, who was holding the trolley back. I still thought of sending up a message about that Lewis-gun position. Why could not I make up my mind? I looked back and saw Maple Redoubt receding further and further in the distance.
“By Jove,” I thought, “I may not see it again for weeks.” And suddenly I realised that whether I made up my mind about the Lewis-gun position or not, would not make the slightest difference!
“Where do I go to now?” said I.
“There’s an ambulance at the Citadel,” said the stretcher-bearer. “You’re quite right. You’ll be in Heilly in a little over an hour.”
Heilly? Why, this would be interesting, I thought. And I should just go, and have nothing to decide. I should be passive. I was going right out of the arena!
And the events of yesterday seemed a dream already.