Went down as fast as one could put them up;
And messages by runner took three hours.)
I got the wind up rather: you were late,
And they’d been shelling like the very deuce.
However, back you came. I see you now,
Staggering into “mess”—a broken trench,
Two chalk-walls roofed with corrugated iron,
And, round the traverse, Driver Noakes’s stove
Stinking and smoking while we ate our grub.
Your face was blue-white, streaked with dirt; your eyes