In the same old urbane way
In the gallery where the ladies go?”
Last night something went wrong in my head. A machine-gun was turned on us, and instead of ducking I remember standing up and being quite interested in watching the bullets kick sparks off the wire—Day pulled me down into a hole and has been watching me ever since.
If ever again I hear any one say anything against a man for incapacitating himself in any way to get out of this I will kill that man. Not even Almighty God can understand the effort required to force oneself back into the trenches at night—I would shoot myself if it were not for the thought of my father—O God! why won’t you kill me?
“To these from birth is Belief forbidden.
From these till Death is Relief afar.”
And the pity of it all is this—that nobody will ever understand! It is hell to be able to see these things, but in two years I know it will all be forgotten. “It is over,” they will say, “we must forget it, it was so terrible.” The world will go back into the old grooves, without honour, without heroism, without ideals, and these dear, darling fellows of mine will be “factory men” once more.
Even now Hardy’s sister is selling matches in Ancoats, and my sister would refer to her as “that woman”—yet Hardy and I have saved each other’s lives. And if I live they will say “Poor old beggar, he isn’t much use now, he had rather a bad time in the war,” and they will pity me—once a month when I am ill. Or, worst of all, if my vitality should come back to a certain extent I will appear quite normal and they will call me a slacker if I don’t take part in games—I, who once captained one of the best Rugby teams in the north! Perhaps they will even be so good as to make allowances for me!
And they will call me dull and morose and cynical—and even priggish when I keep myself aloof from them.
And the ladies for whom I gave my strength and more will leave me for the healthy, bouncing beggars who stayed at home—even as nationally the Neutrals get the good things now. And there are thousands worse than I—may we all die together in one final bloody holocaust and before the Peace Bells usher in the realisation of our fears.