On the King's Service: Inward Glimpses of Men at Arms — John Shaqi
On the King's Service: Inward Glimpses of Men at ArmsLogan, Innes
History
On the King's Service: Inward Glimpses of Men at Arms
Logan, Innes
Military chaplains -- Free Church of Scotland; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, English
Our billets were clean and very airy. For some reason, though all
furniture had been removed, the presses, which were all open, were full
of beautiful bed and table linen. It was very tempting, but fortunately
we resisted the temptation. The morning after we arrived, about seven
o'clock, a disturbance arose below. Angry women's voices were heard in
altercation with the servants, there were hurried footsteps on the
stair, and a moment later our door was thrust violently open. Two
strapping Belgian women strode in and demanded answers to many
questions. We adopted our friend the Major's plan, and feigned to know
even less French than we did. We were anxious to be very inoffensive as
we lay on the floor and watched these determined individuals throwing
open the presses and wardrobes. Inside the linen lay untouched, folded
neatly; we felt thankful we had left it so. They stamped out again, and
we heard the Colonel's voice raised in protest next door. The doctor and
I looked at one another. He seemed rather pale, and I noticed for the
first time that his head rested on an enormous soft pillow covered with
a spotless linen pillow-slip edged with beautiful lace.
But next morning we had a different awakening. Dawn was rising wanly
from the east to another day on the Salient. The broken windows were
rattling and the floor trembling under the dull continuous thudding of a
concentrated bombardment. We lay and listened, and for the thousandth
time hated war. We knew that men, some of whom we knew and loved, were
going over the parapet, many never to return.
That night, as dusk fell, the old steeple with its rent side looked down
on cobbled streets thronging with ordered ranks of men standing ready to
move. Here and there a few officers spoke together, or a man gave his
chum a light from his fag, or straps were tightened. A rifle butt rang
on the pavement, and the adjutant's horse moved his feet restlessly.
These men had no illusions as to what they would probably have to face;
but none guessed that there lay ahead the most dreadful test of physical
endurance which the old battalion, since the great retreat, had ever
known.
II
_The Bluff_
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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