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One young man : $b The simple and true story of a clerk who enlisted in 1914, who fought on the western front for nearly two years, was severely wounded at the battle of the Somme, and is now on his way back to his desk.

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One young man : $b The simple and true story of a clerk who enlisted in 1914, who fought on the western front for nearly two years, was severely wounded at the battle of the Somme, and is now on his way back to his desk.

World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, British

"However, he that expecteth nothing shall receive his seven
     days' leave, for that's what it proved to be. I stood with
     unbelieving ears whilst the Serjeant-Major rattled off
     something to the effect that I was on the next party for
     leave, and was to go down H.Q. the following night. I
     crawled back to my dug-out, wondering if I was really awake.
     Eventually reaching our post, I cried, 'John, my boy, this
     child's on a Blightly trip.' No profuse congratulations
     emanated from that quarter, but a voice from a dug-out
     cried, 'Good! you can take that clip of German cartridges
     home for me.' This was our souvenir hunter; he'd barter his
     last biscuit for a nose cap of a Hun shell, and was a
     frequenter of the artillery dug-outs. My next two hours'
     guard was carried out in a very dreamy sort of way. I had
     already planned what I should do and how I would surprise
     them all. Next day I was busy scraping off the mud from my
     tunic and overcoat. I spent hours on the job, but they
     seemed very little different when I had finished.

     "That night I covered the three miles of mud and shell-holes
     to H.Q. in record time. There I met the other lucky ones and
     received orders to turn in and parade at 9 a.m. for baths
     and underclothing. There were no trousers, puttees, or
     overcoats in the stores, and so we had to come over as we
     were, a picture that had no fitting background other than
     the trenches. At dusk we boarded the motor-bus which
     conveyed us to the rail-head. That old bus had never had
     such a cargo of light hearts when plying between Shepherd's
     Bush and Liverpool Street. At the rail-head we transferred
     to the waiting train, and it was not long before we were on
     our way. Bully beef and biscuits were on the seats, our
     day's rations. Never mind--we shall soon be having something
     a good deal more appetising. We did wish we had something
     warmer than the water in our bottles, and at our next stop
     we found our old benefactors. This was another platform
     canteen, and we were able to refresh ourselves for the
     remainder of the journey, which was all too slow.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

One young man : $b The simple and true story of a clerk who enlisted in 1914, who fought on the western front for nearly two years, was severely wounded at the battle of the Somme, and is now on his way back to his desk.

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