O’er silent hill and dell.
Private Chas. Lowry,
9th Aust. Battalion.
BEACHY
Outside was a cold, dark, windy and cheerless night, and the world seemed cowering under the black, threatening rain-pall above, which could be felt rather than seen. Inside my host’s diggings we were lounging back in the warmth and light, smoking and yarning of other times and places, while the partner of his home brewed the warm, fragrant, comforting decoction which seemed to contribute so much to the mood and proper appreciation of such friendly comfort in the midst of the audible turmoil of unfriendly outer circumstances.
Once again from outside there came a whir and rattle past the door, and I smiled significantly and glanced in that direction.
“Oh, don’t go until after the next one,” urged my host’s companion, seeing my attention diverted to things outside of our present cheery circle.
With this my friend seemed to concur, and drew himself closer to the fire. “Yes, there’s plenty of time yet,” he said. “There’ll be a lot more of ’em. So you might as well sit tight in, safely and comfy, and try another cup.”
I didn’t need much coaxing, and thrusting the thought of the long, unpleasant journey home out of my mind, I settled down to further cheery chat and the enjoyment of stimulating internal comforts.