"It ain't been a week, son; it's been a lifetime!"
"Lucky fer us you blokes come in just w'en you did. We've about reached the limit."
"'Ow far we got to go fer water?"
"'Bout two miles. Awful journey! Tyke you all night to do it. You got to stop every minute, they's so much traffic along that trench. Go down Stanley Road about five 'unnerd yards, turn off to yer left on Essex Alley, then yer first right. Brings you right out by the 'ouse w'ere the pump is."
"'Ere's a straight tip! Send yer water fatigue down early in the mornin': three o'clock at the latest. They's thousands usin' that well an' she goes dry arter a little w'ile."
"You blokes want any souvenirs, all you got to do is pick 'em up: 'elmets, revolvers, rifles, German di'ries. You wite till mornin'. You'll see plenty."
"Is this the last line o' Fritzie's trenches?"
"Can't tell you, mate. All we know is, we got 'ere some'ow an' we been a-'oldin' on. My Gawd! It's been awful! They calmed down a bit to-night. You blokes is lucky comin' in just w'en you did."
"I ain't got a pal left out o' my section. You'll see some of 'em. We ain't 'ad time to bury 'em."
They were soon gone and we were left in ignorance of the situation. We knew only approximately the direction of the living enemy and the dead spoke to us only in dumb show, telling us unspeakable things about the horrors of modern warfare.