Mud and Khaki: Sketches from Flanders and FranceBartlett, Vernon
History
Mud and Khaki: Sketches from Flanders and France
Bartlett, Vernon
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
Margery Debenham leant out of the window and gazed at the garden and the
orchard beyond. The light flickered through the trees of the old flagged
path along which she and Ronald had so often wandered, and she could
just see the tall grass waving down at the bottom of the orchard, where
they used to sit and discuss the future. Everything reminded her of her
lover who was coming back to her, who would be with her again to-morrow
afternoon. At the thought of the five long, weary months of waiting that
were passed, and of the eight days of happiness that were coming, two
little tears crept out of her eyes and down her cheeks. She brushed them
impatiently away, for she was too busy to cry. She must run and tell her
parents; she must hurry over to talk to Ronald's father; she must write
to her friends; she must run down to the bottom of the orchard and watch
for a while the trout that lay in the little stream; she must laugh and
sing until the whole village of Silton knew that her waiting was over,
and that Ronald was in England again.
* * * * *
Captain Ronald Carr hoisted his pack on his shoulder, and turned to
three officers who were looking at him enviously. "Cheer oh, you
fellows," he said, "think of me in two days' time, while you are being
'strafed' by the Hun, rushing about town in a taxi," and, with a wave of
his hand, he marched off to battalion headquarters, followed by Butler,
his servant. From battalion headquarters he had a distance of two miles
to walk to the cross roads where he was to meet his groom with his
horse, but the day was hot and progress was rather slow. His first
quarter of a mile was along a narrow and winding communicating trench;
after that the way was along a hidden road, but huge shell craters all
along told that the German artillery had it well marked.
Away to the right a bombardment was in progress, and the dull thuds of
the guns came sleepily through the September haze; above him, a skylark
sang lustily; the long grass by the roadside smelt sweet and lush. As
Ronald Carr strode down the road, he laughed to himself at the fairness
of the world.
Of a sudden, a shell burst over some trees a few hundred yards away,
and, as the white smoke rolled away, he felt aware of a change.
Supposing he were to get wounded on the way down! With the next warning
whine of a coming shell he found himself ducking as never before, for
Captain Carr was not a man who often crouched for nothing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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