CHAPTER XVII
YOUNG BLOOD
Over the top is cold, matey;
You lie on the field alone—
Didn't I love you of old, matey,
Dearer than blood of my own?
You were my dearest chum, matey,
(Gawd, but your face is white)
And now, though reliefs have come, matey,
I'm going alone to-night.
(From "Soldier Songs.")
At one o'clock in the morning the London Irish were in occupation of the trenches; the battalion which they had relieved were just moving away. Reynolds' section were lucky enough to find a dug-out, and here they threw down their loaves and other luxuries which the Government had not supplied.
"Now we must make ourselves as comfortable as we can," said Flanagan as he lit a cigarette. "I'm for a sleep until it's my turn for sentry."
Snogger, who came to the dug-out door at that moment, heard the remark and chuckled. Having some work to do which needed volunteers, he saw scope for his peculiar type of humour.
"Goin' to 'ave a kip, Flanagan?" he asked in a gentle voice. "Turnin' in fer a spell?"
"Just for a while," said Flanagan; "an hour or two."