THE LIGHTER SIDE OF TRENCH LIFE.
That there was (and is) a lighter side, a social side, of trench life, as of the life generally of a soldier on active service, even in this war, merely incidental remarks of mine such as could not be omitted from any true and fair description of that life must furnish abundant evidence; but this lighter side was, in my experience, so very real and so pronounced that to illustrate a few set observations thereon I take a few sketches from my notebook out of the order in which I find them in it.
Sing-Songs.
Our concert parties were "immense," and there was no forced gaiety in our enjoyment of them. Some of the best sing-songs were in "Leicester Lounge," named after the luxurious resort (which it didn't resemble) hard by the Empire Theatre. The reflection occurs to me for the first time that only men with whom high spirits were rampant would or could have been so fond of inventing such nicknames as—in mood jovially ironic—we coined for all sorts of places, persons and things. "Leicester Lounge" was a dug-out adjacent to "Hammersmith Bridge," and the surroundings of "Hammersmith Bridge," there being nothing in connection with them to suggest—save by absence—either a garden or a city, were "the Garden City."
"Hammersmith Bridge."
It was the biggest, roomiest, and most palatial dug-out we had. The top was just a small roof-garden, carefully planted and laid out. It had statuary, too, in groups. The statues were fashioned in clay by amateur hands, and the artistic effects were original and novel, to say the least. It was also the safest place, this "Lounge," because it was sunk four feet below the level of the trench itself. It accommodated twelve easily. Impromptu concerts were frequent here; our far-famed mouth-organ band performed at such intervals as our own military duties and the enemy's cascades of shells permitted. It was here the names of neighbouring streams and nullahs were chosen from which we drew our daily beverage of "Adam's Ale" (untaxed, and rather thick), such as the portentous "Cæsar's Well." In another spacious dug-out we had our "Times Book Club." This "eligible tenement" had the special distinction of a stove and chimney (purloined from a ruined farm)—that is, it had a chimney till the enemy spotted and so riddled it that it collapsed. It had a glass window (fixed in clay), statuary (modelled in clay), decorations (log-cabin order), one chair (also purloined, back broken off), one table (very treacherous); and I mustn't forget the president's bell (tobacco tin shell, and a cartridge for a clapper). It was lit by many candles, and as the fee for membership was a book or magazine from home, it served a good purpose.