Front Lines

by Boyd Cable

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If anybody had told Lieutenant “Lollie” Dutford, Lieutenant and Adjutant of the Stolidshire Buffs, that he would come one day to be glad to get back to the battalion and the front, Lollie would have called that prophet an unqualified idiot. And, yet, he would later have been convicted out of his own mouth.

Lollie was a hardened veteran campaigner, twenty-two years of age, and full two years’ trench-age—which means a lot more—and he started to return from his latest leave with a pleasing consciousness of his own knowledge of the ropes, and a comforting belief that he would be able to make his return journey in comparative ease. Certainly, the start from Victoria Station at seven o’clock on a drizzling wet morning, which had necessitated his being up at 5.30 a.m., had not been pleasant, but even the oldest soldier has to put up with these things, and be assured that no “old soldiering” can dodge them. It annoyed him a good deal to find when they reached Folkestone that the boat would not start until well on in the afternoon, and that he had been dragged out of bed at cock-crow for no other purpose than to loaf disconsolately half a day round a dead-and-alive pleasure resort. He was irritated again when he went to have lunch in a certain hotel, to have the price of his meal demanded from him before he was allowed into the dining-room. “It’s not only buying a pig in a poke,” as he told his chance table companion, “but it’s the beastly insinuation that we’re not to be trusted to pay for our lunch after we’ve had it that I don’t like.” He also didn’t like, and said so very forcibly, the discovery that there is a rule in force which prohibits any officer proceeding overseas from having any intoxicating liquor with his meal, although any other not for overseas that day could have what he liked. “If that’s not inviting a fellow to lie and say he is staying this side I dunno what is,” said Lollie disgustedly. “But why should I be induced to tell lies for the sake of a pint of bitter. And if I’m trusted not to lie, why can’t I be trusted not to drink too much. However, it’s one more of their mysterious ways this side, I s’pose.” He evaporated a good deal of his remaining good temper over the lunch. “Not much wonder they want their cash first,” he said; “I haven’t had enough to feed a hungry sparrow.”

Old-soldier experience took him straight to a good place on the boat, and room to lie down on a cushioned settee before it was filled up, and he spent the passage in making up some of his early morning lost sleep. On arrival at the other side he found that his train was not due to start for up-country until after midnight—“not late enough to be worth going to bed before, and too late to sit up with comfort,” as he declared. He had a good dinner at the Officers’ Club, after rather a long wait for a vacant seat, but after it could find no place to sit down in the crowded smoke-room or reading-rooms. However, he knew enough to take him round to a popular hotel bar, where he spent a couple of joyful hours meeting a string of old friends passing to or from all parts of “the line,” and swapping news and gossip of mutually known places and people up front. Lollie had brought along with him a young fellow he had met in the club. Bullivant was returning from his first leave, and so was rather ignorant of “the ropes,” and had begged Lollie to put him wise to any wrinkles he knew for passing the time and smoothing the journey up. “’Pon my word,” Lollie confided to him after the departure of another couple of old friends, “it’s almost worth coming back to meet so many pals and chin over old times and places.”

“I don’t like this fool notion of no whisky allowed,” said Bullivant. “Now, you’re an old bird; don’t you know any place we can get a real drink?”

“Plenty,” said Lollie. “If you don’t mind paying steep for ’em and meeting a crowd of people and girls I’ve no use for myself.”

“I’m on,” replied Bullivant. “Lead me to it. But don’t let’s forget that twelve-something train.”

They spent half an hour in the “place,” where Lollie drank some exceedingly bad champagne, and spent every minute of the time in a joyful reunion with an old school chum he hadn’t seen for years. Then he searched Bullivant out and they departed for the hotel to pick up their kits and move to the station. At the hotel the barman told him in confidence that the midnight train was cancelled, and that he’d have to wait till next day. “He’s right, of course,” Lollie told Bullivant. “He always gets these things right. He has stacks more information about everything than all the Intelligence crowd together. If you want to know where your unit is in the line or when a train arrives or a boat leaves, come along and ask Henri, and be sure you’ll get it right—if he knows you well enough; but all the same we must go to the station and get it officially that our train’s a washout to-night.” They went there and got it officially, with the added information that they would go to-morrow night, same time, but to report to R.T.O. (Railway Transport Officer) at noon. There were no beds at the club (“Never are after about tea-time,” Lollie told Bullivant), and, to save tramping in a vain search around hotels, they returned to their barman-information-bureau, and learned from him that all the leading hotels were full up to the last limits of settees, made-up beds, and billiard rooms. Lollie’s knowledge saved them further wanderings by taking them direct to another “place,” where they obtained a not-too-clean bedroom. “Not as bad as plenty we’ve slept in up the line,” said Lollie philosophically; “only I’d advise you to sleep in your clothes; it leaves so much the less front open to attack.”

They reported at the station at noon next day, and were told their train would leave at 1 p.m., and “change at St. Oswear.” They rushed to a near hotel and swallowed lunch, hurried back to the train, and sat in it for a solid two hours before it started. It was long after dark when they reached St. Oswear, where they bundled out onto the platform and sought information as to the connection. They were told it was due in any minute, would depart immediately after arrival, and that anyone who had to catch it must not leave the station. “Same old gag,” said Lollie when they had left the R.T.O. “But you don’t catch me sitting on a cold platform half the night. I’ve had some, thanks.” For the sum of one franc down and a further franc on completion of engagement he bought the services of a French boy, and led Bullivant to a café just outside. They had a leisurely and excellent dinner there of soup, omelette, and coffee, and then spent another hour in comfortable arm-chairs until their train arrived. Lollie’s boy scout reported twice the arrival of trains for up the line, but investigation found these to be the wrong trains, and the two friends returned to their arm-chairs and another coffee. Their right train was also duly reported, and Lollie paid off his scout, and they found themselves seats on board.

“I’m mighty glad I struck you,” said Bullivant gratefully. “I’d sure have worn my soul and my feet out tramping this platform all these hours if you hadn’t been running the deal.”