He is quite proud of himself because he has for once scored over us volunteers. And his opinion is quite typical here, one meets it time and again, and there is nothing with which one can properly counter it, because that is the limit of their comprehension of the factors involved. The national feeling of the tommy resolves itself into this—here he is. But that is the end of it; everything else from joining up onwards he criticizes from a practical point of view.
Albert lies down on the grass and growls angrily: "The best thing is not to talk about the rotten business."
"It won't make any difference, that's sure," agrees Kat.
As for the windfall, we have to return almost all the new things and take back our old rags again. The good ones were merely for the inspection.
* *
Instead of going to Russia, we go up the line again. On the way we pass through a devastated wood with the tree trunks shattered and the ground ploughed up.
At several places there are tremendous craters. "Great guns, something's hit that," I say to Kat.
"Trench mortars," he replies, and then points up at one of the trees.
In the branches dead men are hanging. A naked soldier is squatting in the fork of a tree, he still has his helmet on, otherwise he is entirely unclad. There is only half of him sitting up there, the top half, the legs are missing.
"What can that mean?" I ask.