Notes of a Camp-Follower on the Western Front — John Shaqi
Notes of a Camp-Follower on the Western FrontHornung, E. W. (Ernest William)
History
Notes of a Camp-Follower on the Western Front
Hornung, E. W. (Ernest William)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives; World War, 1914-1918 -- War work -- Young Men's Christian Associations
All hope it is the last Christmas of the war, but the Tyneside
prognostication of 'anothaw ten yeaws' is received with perfect
equanimity. There is general agreement, too, when the same oracle
dismisses the latest peace offer as 'blooff.' But it must be confessed
that articulate ardour is slightly damped until somebody starts a
subject a great deal nearer home.
'Who'd have thought that we should live to see a Y.M. in the support
line!'
Flattering echoes from entire group.
'Do you remember that chap who kept us all awake in barracks, talking of
it?'
'I nevaw believed him. I thought it was a myth, sir. And nothing to pay
an' all! It must be costing the Y.M. a canny bit o' money, sir?'
The third person--who has been hovering on the verge of the inveterate
first--only commits himself to the statement that he helped to give away
785 cups of cocoa and packets of biscuits the night before. Rapid
calculations ensue. 'Why, that must be nearly ten pounds a night, sir?'
'Something like that.'
'Heaw that, Corporal! An' now it's cigarettes an' cakes an' all!'
But the containers are ready, lids screwed down upon their steaming
contents. Strong arms hoist them upon stronger backs; the plethoric
sand-bags are shouldered with still less ado, and off go the party into
the slate-coloured night, off through the communication trenches into
the firing-line they are to hold for England until the twelve hundred
and thirty-ninth daybreak of the war.
Peering after them with wistful glasses, the third person relapses
altogether into the first. Take away the odd two hundred, and for a
thousand days and nights my heart has been where their muffled feet will
be treading in another minute. Yes; a round thousand must be almost the
exact length of days since I first came out here in the spirit, and to
stay. But never till this year did I seriously dream of following in the
flesh, or till this moment feel the front line like a ball at my feet.
Even the day before yesterday the arrangement was not so definite as it
is to-day; it was not the Colonel himself who was to have taken us round
by special favour and appointment. Yet how easily, had the Strafe
happened half-an-hour later than it did, might we not have come in for
it, perhaps at the very place where the parapet was blown down! It would
have been a wonderful experience, especially as there were no
casualties. Will anything of the kind happen to-day? I have a feeling
that something may; but then I have had that feeling every sentient
moment up the Line. And nothing that can come can come amiss; that is
another of my feelings here, if not the strongest of them all. This
Christmas morning it rings almost like a carol in the heart, almost like
a peal of Christmas bells--jangled indeed by the heart's own bitter
flaws, and yet piercing sweet as Life itself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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