"We've got quite a jolly little offensive strafe on this afternoon," remarked the major. "There's some wire-cutting, and while it's going on the attention of the Hun will be distracted by the 'heavies' who are going to bash his parapet a bit. Then at dusk the infantry are to slip across and do some bombing. We'll be rather crowded in the O.P., but I dare say you'll be able to see something."
The Child and my other subaltern, who from his habit of brushing his hair straight back and referring constantly to his blasé past is known to his intimates as Gilbert, came too.
We passed through ——, which is shelled regularly. Some of its houses are completely wrecked, but many are still partially intact. Infantry soldiers lounged about the ruined streets, for this village is used as a rest billet for troops waiting their turn in the trenches: the expression "rest" billet struck me as euphemistic. I noticed that several shells had burst in the graveyard near the church. Even the dead of previous generations, it seems, are not immune from the horrors of this war.
After going up the road for nearly a mile we turned off on to the fields. Every ten yards or so it was necessary either to step over or stoop under a telephone wire. These nerve strings of modern artillery were all neatly labelled—they all belonged to some battery or other. "They strafe this part fairly often," said the major unconcernedly.
It is this unconcern that amazes me. I suppose (or I hope anyway) that I shall get used to this walking about in the open, but, at present, I am far from feeling at ease. The odds against getting hit on this particular bit of ground are enormous, but the chance exists all the same. As a matter of fact we did get one salvo of "pip-squeaks" over as we were going up. They were high, to our left, and at least two hundred yards away, but they made me duck sharply—and then look rather foolish.
The Child pointed to a two-storied ruined house with a skeleton roof.
"Behold 'the Waldorf,'" he said. "Personally myself" (a favourite phrase of his) "I think it's rather a jolly O.P."
Approaching it, we crossed some derelict trenches—our front line before the battle of X——. I felt somehow that I was standing on holy ground—on ground that had been wrested back from the invaders at a cost of many hundreds of gallant lives and an infinite amount of pain and suffering.
Several batteries observe from "the Waldorf," and I found that for all its dilapidated appearance it was astonishingly strong inside. Telephone wires ran into it from all directions, and there were several signallers sitting about cooking over braziers or, if actually on duty, sitting motionless beside their instruments.
Except for a narrow passage-way and a small recess for the operators, the entire ground floor was blocked solid from earth to ceiling with sandbags; there is a distinct feeling of security to be derived from eight or ten feet thickness of clay-filled bags!