An Onlooker in France 1917-1919 | Page 6

sir, but I do not understand." (p.?022)
"Don't you know you must report to me, and show me what work you have been doing?"
"I've practically done nothing yet, sir."
"What have you been doing?"
"Looking round, sir."
"Are you aware you are being paid for your services?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, report to me and show me your work regularly.--Tell the Major to speak to me."
The Major spoke, and I clearly heard him say my behaviour was damnable.
This wonderful Colonel expected me to work all day, and apparently, in the evening, to take what I had done and show it to him--the distance by motor to him and back was something like 110 miles!
I saw there was nothing for it, if I wanted to do my work, but to fight, so I decided to lay my views of people and things before those who were above the Colonel. This I did, and had comparative peace, but the seed of hostility was sown in the Colonel's Intelligence (F) Section, G.H.Q., as I think it was then called, and they made me suffer as much as was in their power.
* * * * *
"BEAUMONT-HAMEL" (p.?023)
A MEMORY OF THE SOMME (SPRING 1917)
A fair spring morning--not a living soul is near, Far, far away there is the faint grumble of the guns; The battle has passed long since-- All is Peace. At times there is the faint drone of aeroplanes as They pass overhead, amber specks, high up in the blue; Occasionally there is the movement of a rat in the Old battered trench on which I sit, still in the Confusion in which it was hurriedly left. The sun is baking hot. Strange odours come from the door of a dug-out With its endless steps running down into blackness. The land is white--dazzling. The distance is all shimmering in heat. A few little spring flowers have forced their way Through the chalk.
He lies a few yards in front of the trench. We are quite alone. He makes me feel very awed, very small, very ashamed. He has been there a long, long time-- Hundreds of eyes have seen him, Hundreds of bodies have felt faint and sick Because of him. Then this place was Hell, But now all is Peace. And the sun has made him Holy and Pure-- He and his garments are bleached white and clean. A daffodil is by his head, and his curly, golden (p.?024) Hair is moving in the slight breeze. He, the man who died in "No Man's Land," doing Some great act of bravery for his comrades and Country-- Here he lies, Pure and Holy, his face upward turned; No earth between him and his Maker. I have no right to be so near.
[Illustration: VII. Three Weeks in France. Shell shock.]
CHAPTER III
(p.?025)
AT BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS AND ST. POL (MAY-JUNE 1917)
About this time Freddie Fane (Major Fane, A.P.M.) sent me up to his old division, which was then fighting in front of Péronne. We arrived on a lovely afternoon at Divisional H.Q., which were in a pretty fir-wood, and consisted of beautifully camouflaged little huts. The guns were booming a few miles off, but everything was very peaceful there, and the dinner was excellent; but, just as we finished, the first shell shrieked overhead, and this I was told afterwards went on all night. Personally I had another large whisky-and-soda, and slept like a log.
The next morning the General's A.D.C. motored me to a village about four kilometres off and handed me over to a 2nd Lieutenant, who walked me off to Brigade H.Q. These were behind an old railway embankment. Everyone was most kind, but I saw no quiet place to work. Everyone was rushing about, and the noise of the guns was terrific. The young 2nd Lieutenant advised me to take the men I wanted to draw and to go to the other side of the embankment. He said that there was no one there and that I could work in peace, and he was right. The noise from our batteries immediately gave me a bad headache, but apparently the Boche did not respond at all till the afternoon. Then they started, and the noise was HELL. Whenever there was a big bang I couldn't help giving (p.?026) a jump. The old Tommy I was drawing said, "It's all right, Guv'ner, you'll get used to it very soon." I didn't think so, but to make conversation I said: "How long is it since you were home?"
"Twenty-two months," said he.
"Twenty-two months!" said I.
"Yes," said he, "but one can't complain. That bloke over there hasn't been home for twenty-eight."
What a life! Twenty-four hours of it was enough for me at a time. Before evening came my head felt as if it were filled with pebbles which were rattling about inside it. After lunch I sat