The War Service of the 1/4 Royal Berkshire Regiment (T. F.) | Page 7

fell close to Headquarters.
One of these was a dud, and the Bucks, determined to omit no
precaution, sprinkled its resting place with chloride of lime! On the
west side of the Messines road, just outside the wood, our Headquarters,
with one reserve Company, inhabited the Piggeries, the enormous
bricked and covered sties of which easily accommodated 200 men. The
owner had only just completed his venture before war began, and the
place was unmarked on the map, which possibly accounted for its
immunity from shell fire.
Life in the wood would have been wholly pleasant but for two things,
fatigues and lack of sleep. There is little doubt that if the war had gone
on for fifty years, its last month would have found the men as
strenuously employed in improving and strengthening the defences as
in those early days. Soldiers are naturally inclined to think when
depressed that (like the persons mentioned in the Bible) when 'they
have done all that is required of them they are but unprofitable
servants.' But at Plugstreet at least there was much which cried out
urgently to be done. A great gap in the trench line just east of Prowse
Point called for attention on our arrival. The work might, of course,
have been highly dangerous, for it was carried on within 200 yards of
the enemy. But no attempt was made to interfere with our labours.
Presumably the mild Hun who faced us was afraid that he would be
called upon to attack through the gap and rejoiced to see it filled. Every
night the picks and shovels of 300 or 400 men could be heard merrily at
work with the inevitable undercurrent of conversation as familiarity
increased security. When the moon was bright the enemy could be seen
peacefully attending to his own wire, while sometimes we were
reminded that the hour had come to break off by a voice from opposite
calling out, 'Time to pack up, sappers; go to bed.' Every morning a new
length of enormous breastwork invited shells, which never came. On
such occasions the thought arose that we must be taking part in the
most expensive farce in the history of the world.

The lack of sleep was a more serious hardship, especially as it appeared
avoidable. Owing, presumably, to the thinness with which the line was
held, and to the lack of potential reinforcements behind, we were not
allowed to sleep in the wood. Every night we made our way either to
the lower or higher breastworks. The former were just off Mud Lane,
and were consequently protected by the ridge from view, and to a
certain extent from bullets. Here you could bivouac in the open under
waterproof sheets, and except when the weather was very wet, enjoy a
tolerable night. The latter, however, were on the forward slope, freely
exposed to the continual fire with which the Huns replied to the
provocation of the Warwicks. It was therefore necessary to lie at the
bottom of a narrow and stinking trench on a 9-inch board. You had
hardly fallen into an insecure doze when you were awakened and had
to move out, for these breastworks, being barely shoulder high, were
always evacuated at dawn, and dawn comes very early in June. The
men naturally preferred the regular hours and the clean and comfortable
shelters of the fire trench. Whenever any of the men desired to get rid
of their pay quickly they had only to walk a few hundred yards to
Ploegsteert village, where, within a mile of the firing line, some
hundreds of the inhabitants still remaining sold bad beer, tinned fruit,
and gaudy postcards at Flemish rates, which are the highest in the
world. When shelling was severe they locked up their houses and
disappeared mysteriously for a day or two until a renewed lull enabled
them to restart their profitable shop-keeping. Many alleged spies lived
here unharassed, especially in the outlying farms; and credibility was
lent to the current tales by the number of carrier pigeons seen passing
over the lines, or by the incident of the two dogs which suddenly
appeared early one dawn from the German lines, leapt our trenches, and
were lost in the darkness behind, in spite of Challoner's frenzied
attempts to shoot them.
Besides its inhabitants Ploegsteert offered little of interest. The church,
in spite of a dozen holes in the roof, and a great chip out of the east end,
still reared its tall red-brick spire. On to the square outside the Huns
directed a short afternoon hate at 3.30 punctually every day, reaching
their target with wonderful precision, but doing little harm except when,
as on May 9th, they employed incendiary shells. When baths and the

disinfecting of trench-soiled clothing were required, the men marched