A halt was called at this juncture and the men threw themselves down by the roadside. The dusk of an October evening was settling on the poplar-lined roadway. The spinneys on either side were wrapped in shadow and a cold wind swept across the fields. In a farm somewhere near a dog barked and a cart rumbled along a lane. The chiming of a church bell could be heard calling the faithful to prayer.
Bowdy took off his pack, lit a cigarette, and sat on a milestone which bore the inscription: "A Cassel 5 kilo." The milestone, which indicated the wrong direction, had been reversed by the peasantry when war broke out in hopes of turning the German Army in a wrong direction. Bubb lay flat on his back, his feet cocked up, his tunic open.
"Wunner if Fifi is kickin' about now," he said. "She wasn't 'arf a bird. Ole Snogger was fair gone on 'er, so was pore Fitz. Bet yer, she'll be lookin' for a new Tommy this time. Why don't ye go in an' say things to 'er, Bowdy? Ye're a devil for fightin', a devil for drinkin', and ye're no damned good at all when a wench is about. If I 'adn't me own bird back off Walworth Road wiv 'er barrer, I'd lead Fifi a dance."
"Wot about the girl at Gorre," said Bowdy Benners. "You forgot all about Walworth Road when you went to see her on a stretcher with a ground-sheet for a uniform."
Bubb never wanted to be reminded of this incident, but at the present time he was too tired to pay any heed to Bowdy's remarks.
At seven o'clock the platoon arrived at Y—— Farm and the men were conducted to the old barn in which a few of them had billeted before. Bowdy and Bubb sat down on the straw and took off their puttees, lit their cigarettes and fumbled in their pockets for money. Fifi, of course, would give them soup and coffee free; but they felt it becoming to them to offer money, even though it was not accepted.
"Come along," said Bowdy, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Fifi will be waiting for us."
They went down the crazy stairs and across the farmyard towards the house. Everything about the place was the same as of old, the midden, the sloughy pools, the up-ended waggons, the grunting of the pigs in the stye, the restless movement of cattle in the byre and the noisy growling of the dog. Bubb recalled the night of his return from the café of Jean Lacroix.
"The same blurry dawg," he said to Bowdy.
"The same."