Then came Woggs, the soldier servant, Trusty Woggs, the ever-ready, And produced a flask of brandy, Poured it down my Tiadatha. “Curse you, Woggs,” said Tiadatha, “Go on with your section leader. Every man of you’ll be wanted, I’ll crawl back and get my wound dressed, Then I’ll come again and find you.” Painfully and very slowly, Somehow Tiadatha stumbled Back towards the dressing station, Back through crumps and bursting shrapnel, Met two crawling wounded privates, And they helped and helped each other, Till at last my Tiadatha Found himself upon a stretcher In the crowded dressing station. There they tended him and dressed him, ’Midst the groaning of the wounded, ’Midst the raving of the battle, And the padre, bending over, Murmured, “Well done, Tiadatha, Anything that I can get you?” And my Tiadatha answered, Smiling through his pain he answered, “All I want’s some beer, old Padre, Just one bottle very quickly.” * * * * * Had you been there when the dawn broke, Had you looked from out the trenches, You’d have seen that Serbian hillside, Seen the aftermath of battle. Seen the scattered picks and shovels, Seen the scraps of stray equipment. Here and there a lonely rifle, Or a Lewis gun all twisted. Seen the little heaps of khaki Lying huddled on the hillside, Huddled by the Bulgar trenches Very still and very silent, Nothing stirring, nothing moving, Save a very gallant doctor And his band of stretcher bearers Working fearless in the open, Giving water to the dying, Bringing in those broken soldiers. You’d have seen the sunlight streaming, And perhaps you would have wondered How the sun could still be shining, How the birds could still be singing, While so many British soldiers Lay so still upon the hillside. EATON HALL, CHESTER, _May 1918_. CHAPTER XIII TIADATHA IN HOSPITAL