"I didn't know what to think first," was the answer, "then when I came to myself I thought it might have done for me, and I got a kind of shock just like I'd get when I have a narrow shave with a 'bus in London."
"And you, Pryor?"
"I went cold all over for a minute."
"Bill?"
"Oh! Blast them is what I say!" was his answer. "If it's going to do you in 'twill do you in, and that's about the end of it. Well, sing a song to cheer us up," and without another word he began to bellow out one of our popular rhymes.
Oh! the Irish boys they are the boys
To drive the Kaiser balmy.
And we'll smash up that fool Von Kluck
And all his bloomin' army!
We came to a halt again, this time alongside a Red Cross motor ambulance. In front, with the driver, one of our boys was seated; his coat sleeve ripped from the shoulder, and blood trickling down his arm on to his clothes; inside, on the seat, was another with his right leg bare and a red gash showing above the knee. He looked dazed, but was smoking a cigarette.
"Stopped a packet, matey?" Stoner enquired.
"Got a scratch, but it's not worth while talking about," was the answer. "I'll remember you to your English friends when I get back."
"You're all right, matey," said a regular soldier who stood on the pavement, addressing the wounded man. "I'd give five pounds for a wound like that. You're damned lucky, and its your first journey!"