"Well, 'tis fine to hear our shells come singing over. What about them fags, Tom? Did you get 'em?"
Neither of these men would know whether the rounds had been well or badly placed, but each would be left with the impression that the artillery exists for the purpose of helping him and his fellows when in difficulties and of preparing the way when the time comes. A small point, perhaps, but nevertheless a vital one....
It is fortunate that amid all the horror and the misery and the waste that this war entails it is still possible to see the humorous side of things sometimes. Here is an example. A major on his way up to the front line saw a man hunting about amongst some ruins for "souvenirs"—and this in a place which was in view of the Germans and only about 350 yards from their trenches. The major was justly annoyed: firstly, the man was evidently wasting his time; secondly, there was every prospect that hostile fire would be drawn to the spot. So he drew his revolver and put a round into the brickwork about six feet to one side of the man.
The effect was wonderful. The souvenir hunter, convinced that he had escaped a sniper's bullet by a mere inch, made a wild dive into a handy shell-hole and lay low. Twenty minutes later he emerged, crawling on hands and knees through deep slime and eagerly watched by a working party who had seen the incident. He arrived, panting and prepared to give an account of his thrilling experience—only to be asked his name and unit and placed in arrest on a charge of loitering unnecessarily in a dangerous place thereby tending to draw fire.
Another incident, not devoid of humour (though I cannot say that I thought so at the moment), occurred a week after we had arrived at our present position. W——, the captain of the "regular" battery which we had replaced, came over to inquire about a telescopic sight and a clinometer belonging to his unit which had somehow got mislaid during the muddle of "handing over."
"They must be somewhere here," W—— suggested politely, "and we must have them because we are going back into action to-morrow."
I assured him that to the best of my belief I had only my own, "but," I added confidently, "we'll go round and ask at each gun to make certain."
The sergeant of No. 1 was quite positive. The corporal of No. 2 was apparently equally so, but I noticed the suspicion of a smile at the corners of his lips.
"Are you certain," I repeated, "that you've only got your own telescope and sight clinometer?"
The corporal's answer was positively brutal in its honesty. He winked—an unmistakable wink—and said—