'Just sayin' 'is good-bye an' sendin' a few partin' sooveniers'; and another sang 'Say aw rev-wore, but not good-bye.'
'Stop that howling there,' a sergeant called down the line, 'and stop smoking those cigarettes and talking.'
'Certainly, sergeant,' a voice came back. 'An' please sergeant, will you allow us to keep on breathin'?'
The light died, and the line rose and moved on, squelching softly in the mud. A man clapped a hand to his pocket, half halted and exclaimed in annoyance. 'Blest if I 'aven't left my mouth-organ back there,' he said. 'Hutt!' said his next file. 'Be glad ye've a mouth left, or a head to have a mouth. It might be worse, an' ye might be left back there yerself decoratin' about ten square yards of trench.'
'Tut-tut-tut-tut' went the maxim behind them again.
'Tutt-tutt yourself, you stammer-an'-spit blighter,' said the disconsolate mouth-organ loser, and 'D'you think we can chance a smoke yet?' as the platoon moved out on the road and behind the shelter of some ruined house-walls.
Platoon by platoon the company filed out and formed up roughly behind the houses. The order to move came at last and the ranked fours swung off, tramping slowly and stolidly in silence until some one struck up a song—
'Crump, crump, crump, says the big bustin' shells——
A chorus of protest and a 'Give the shells a rest' stopped the song on the first line, and it was to the old regimental tune, the canteen and sing-song favourite, 'The Sergeant's Return,' that the Royal Blanks settled itself into its pack shoulder-straps and tramped on.
I'm the same ol' feller that you always used to know—
Oh! Oh! you know you used to know—
An' it's years since we parted way down on Plymouth Hoe—
Oh! Oh! So many years ago.
I've roamed around the world, but I've come back to you,
For my 'eart 'as never altered, my 'eart is ever true.
[Prolonged and noisy imitation of a kiss.]
Ain't that got the taste you always used to know?