Then up came a telephone orderly. I heard him running on the hard road. ‘Stand to,’ he said breathlessly, and Dixon went off to the ’phone with him. Nicolson appeared in a gas helmet. I was looking for my pipe, but could not find it. Then at last I went out without it.
Outside it was getting dark. It was a fairly nippy air. The bombardment was going strong. All the sky was flickering, and our guns were screaming over. ‘Crump, crump,’ the Boche shells were bursting up by Maple Redoubt. ‘Scream, scream,’ went our guns back; and right overhead our big guns went griding.
All this I noticed gradually. My first impression was the strong smell of gas helmets in the cold air. The gas alarm had spread, and some of the men had their helmets on. I felt undecided. I simply did not know, whether the men should wear them or not. What was happening? I wished Dixon would come back. Ah! there he was. What news?
‘I can’t get through,’ he said, ‘but we shall get a message all right if necessary.’
‘What’s happening?’ I asked. ‘Do you think they are coming over.’
‘No. It won’t last long, I expect. Still, just let’s see if the men have got their emergency rations with them.’
A few had not, and were sent into the dug-outs for them. Gas helmets were ordered back into their satchels.
‘No possibility of gas,’ said Dixon; ‘wind’s dead south.’
I was immensely bucked now. There was a feeling of tenseness and bracing-up. I felt the importance of essentials—rifles and bayonets in good order—the men fit, and able to run. This was the real thing, somehow.
I made Lewis go in and get my pipe. I found I had no pouch, and stuffed loose baccy in my pocket.