The expectation of peace had made us forget our bitterness towards the army, but it began to show itself again:
"They don't want us to know!"
"They're damned sorry it's all over!"
"There's too many of 'em wi' soft jobs what wants the war to go on for ever!"
"What are you grumbling about? What has the Armistice got to do with us? The Armistice concerns the Staff, not us. It's not our business—we're only common soldiers."
When we got back to camp a boy was selling papers at the entrance. I bought a Times. It was Tuesday's. The Armistice had been signed on the Monday morning!
I went to my tent and sat down and thought it over. The terms were ominous. There was no doubt about it this time—the war had come to an end. I thought of home and of freedom. It almost seemed as though army-life had been a dream. I was still in the army, but a few months more or less would make no difference, for my thoughts would be all in the future.
Then I pondered over the last insult the army had given us—the insult of not even telling us when the war was over, and making no concessions to allow us time for rejoicing or reflection. After having slaved and suffered all these years we were ignored as though we did not exist. Still, one insult more or less did not matter, for we would be out of it soon.
In the evening the celebrations were resumed. They lacked the spontaneity of those that were held on the Sunday night. Nevertheless, the rejoicing was genuine, for our suspense had been followed by an immense relief.
As I lay in my tent amid the shouting and singing I again felt that bitter thoughts were gathering, but I was distracted by a man sitting two places from me, who said: