IV     

 THE Major has just phoned me to say that there’s an officer coming forward to relieve me, and that he won’t be one of us. That sets me wondering; does it mean that we’re going to be pulled out to take part in the fight? There have been all kinds of rumours going the rounds this summer—rumours to the effect that when Foch has let the Hun advance far enough our Corps is to be made the hammer-head of the offensive which is to push him back. There would seem to be some truth in the report, for every time we’ve been withdrawn from the line it’s been to practise open warfare. We’ve rehearsed with tanks and aeroplanes, and fought sham battles in which nearly all our work has consisted in coming into action at the gallop. We’ve been nicknamed “Foch’s Pets,” which may not mean very much; but it at least seems certain that when the Allies’ drive starts we shall be in it. The thought is intoxicating: it means the end of waiting.     

T

       But what will become of Bully Beef and his mother if we sail off into the blue on a great attack? Bully Beef and his mother need explaining; they       have no official standing—they are members of our battery whom the Army does not recognize. Bully Beef is a little boy in skirts, about four years old I should hazard. His mother is a French girl of not more than twenty; she is not married. Bully Beef introduced himself to the battery about two months ago when we were out at training. He used to hide himself in the hedge of a deeply wooded lane which climbed the hill to the sergeants’ mess; from this point of vantage he used to throw sticks and stones at anyone in khaki. He had long hair down to the middle of his small fat back; this, taken in conjunction with his skirts, left all the       battery fully persuaded for a week that he was a girl. On account of his supposed sex he was not chastised for his stone-throwing. We called him       “Little Sister".     

       Our wagon-lines lay at the bottom of the hill in a meadow the length of which a tiny river ran. Along the sides of the river bushes grew in tangled profusion. It was here that we held our watering parades, leading our horses close to the edge of the bank so that they could dip their noses in the ripples. In the woods near by our men had their bivouacs, creating the appearance of a gipsy-camp At the top of the meadow our guns       

 Prev. P 15/182 next