 Chapter 15 of the Brown Brethren, this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Brown Brethren by Patrick McGill. Chapter 15. Taters in Vaseline Rations enough to go round. Rations enough to go round. God, it's enough. And it's horrible stuff. But still, there's enough to go round. From the song of the best-fed army. In the village the houses were fractured by high explosive shells. The windows were painless and the doors latchless. Chimneys had been hurled to the ground and pounded to dust. Now in the summer it was sad to see the fallen homes of the little people. Specialing these days soft with sunshine. Glorious days when men whispered to themselves secretly. How good. How very good it is to be alive. The mad vitality of life exalted itself amid scenes of demolition and decay. Young blood pulsed warmly. The quick walked through the barren streets of the village. Young men pleased with their vigor and their column. Man values existence in haunts where he holds insecure purchase of life. The solitary violet peeped coily up out from two bricks which topped a heap of rubble by the roadway near the church. The heap of rubble had once been a home. The cataclysm of continents, the hatred of kings, the mustering of armies, the thunder of guns were all needed in the making of this. A mean little nook on a rubble heap where a modest violet bloomed. Like cats to their accustomed haunts the natives clung to their village in brave danger and death in prefaced exile. But now in the day of big things the authorities removed the villagers and sent them back to localities further away from the flowering line. The villagers left the place without a mulling. Placid fatalists who had lived and died amissed the thunder of a thousand guns. They accepted the change mutely and left in silence their native place when ordered to do so. They took away much of their portable property and left much of it behind. On the eve of Lamaste, Spudhol Bub caught two homeless chickens fluttering, despairing wings outside the estaminette Lacancourt in the village. How am I to kill these air-animals? he asked Boudie Benners, who accompanied him. Boudie's face still bore the marks of his encounter with the German sniper. Put a bullet through them, answered Boudie, looking at the chickens. That'll blow them to blazes, said Bub, then ring their necks. Ow! Like this said Boudie, getting hold of a water bottle by the neck and swung it round his head. I've a better plan, said Bub, gazing at the door of the estaminette. You open at their door and I'll hold the neck of the Ann against the jam. I'll say one, two, free, and at the word free you swings the door with a bang against the post and you'll nick the neck of an Ann like Winken. The operation was performed with great success. The chickens were decapitated and Bub's thumb was bashed into an ugly purple. That's a go, he muttered, not much of a game killing chickens like this. Not much of a game indeed, said Boudie, but they'll make a good meal, these foul. And there's a bloomin' dog, too, as was left behind, said Bub, pointing his finger at the top window of the estaminette, who was looking down at the two soldiers, a lean dog with plaintive eyes and a queer crooning cry which said as plainly as any dog he can say, take me away from this place. Why doesn't it come down the stairs, asked Boudie, Benners? Why, said Bub, because there ain't no stairs, they've been blown away by a shell. Then we've got to get the poor thing down. Ow, asked Bub, then without giving Benners time to answer he said, oh, I know, Zau, there's a ladder around the corner. We put it up and take the beggar down. Raising the ladder, they placed it against the windowsill, clamored up and rescued the door which they placed on the street. Then Boudie and Bub went up the ladder again and entered the room. What's that thing under the bed, asked Boudie, who had noticed a dark bundle on the ground. Bub peeped under and drew back his head as suddenly as if someone had given him a blow on the face. It's a dead blow, he said. Let's get out. They reached the street to find the dog lying on the pavement, wagging its tail. So please with us, said Boudie, might have died with hunger up there. Pleased, echoed Bub, the damned ungrateful swine, take that and that. The two kicks were neatly delivered on the animal's hindquarters and it rushed off howling. Ate her two blurry chickens and us rescuing him. Anyway, we've the taters. We'll get back to the trench and cook them. I'll be back as soon as you, said Boudie, but I'll run down to Rentul and get a bottle of champagne. I have a few francs to spare. When I'm reaching the trenches, Bub found Flanagan just finishing a good dinner of fried potatoes and onions. Blimey, I've taters, lots of them, and if you give me some onions, I'll make myself a bit of a feed, said Bub, to Flanagan. I do feel empty inside. Yes, I've got some onions to spare, said Flanagan. Are you going to cook now? I'm going to cook now, said Bub, but I want some lard or something greasy for frying. Good idea, said Flanagan. What did you fry the taters in, asked Bub? Oh, I fried them in. Vaseline, was Flanagan's reply. Get out. Yes, I did. Truth? Oh, it's quite true, Flanagan lied. You should try it. So I will, said the simple Bub, and so he did. He used a whole box of Vaseline, drawing his taters on a mess tin lid placed over a little fire at the base of a traverse. He ate his portion with great zest, vowing that he never had a better repast in all his life. Part of the feed he kept for bounty. Flanagan, delighted with a little joke, told Sergeant Snogger how Spudhol Bub had used Vaseline in frying potatoes. Snogger came up to Bub as the latter sat smoking a wood bun in the corner of the dugout. Spudhol Bub, he said, what's wrong with you? With me, asked Bub. There's nothing wrong with me. You're looking very pale, Sid Snogger. I never saw a man look as bad. Have you had no dinner? No dinner, exclaimed Bub. I had the best meal I ever had. It can't have agreed with you, Sid Snogger. You look as white as a ghost. The Sergeant walked away, and Flanagan poked his head through the door. Good God, Bubby, he exclaimed. What has happened to you? What happened to me, Sid Bub? Nothing. What game are you up to? Game at all, said Flanagan, but you look bad. You should go and see the doctor this evening. Bub looked in the little mirror, which he always cared about with him. He was really a devil for the girls, and he thought that he was looking white. But I don't feel bad, he said to Flanagan. You may not feel bad, said the Irishman, but by having you look bad, is it your nerves that are given away? I've no nerves, said Bub. Bouty, who had just returned, was the next to pass a remark on Bub's condition. What has happened to you, made he asked. You look like a dead hen. I'm all right, said Bub, but there was a note of concern in his voice. I had the best dinner ever. I had a moment ago. There's some left for you. As it disagree with you, asked Bouty, what kind of dinner was it? Tatars and onions? Fried and Vaseline, was Bub's reply. The same tatars that we got. Vaseline, Bouty repeated. Vaseline. Vaseline. What's wrong with Vaseline, Bub inquired. What's wrong with it, man, said Bouty. Everything's wrong with it. Devil blow me blind. It's poison. Pure poison. No wonder you're looking white. Bub cast an imploring look on Bouty. He was now evidently frightened. I do feel something wrong with me inside, he said. I'll see the MO this evening. Bub had a temperature that evening, whether due to fright or the ill effects of potatoes, fried and Vaseline, it was impossible to say. The doctor sent him back to the hospital at Blank. Michelle struck in town where the wounded were confined to cellars before going further back from the firing line. Wrapped in blankets, Bub went to sleep on the floor. At about one o'clock in the morning, he woke up and looked around him. A candle stuck on the cold ground burned timidly and big black shadows lurked in the corners of the apartment. Off-Sit Bub and R.A.M.C. orderly sat on a biscuit-box dozing, the unlighted stump of a cigarette between his fingers. Near Bub, another patient lay asleep, his mouth wide open and his knees hunched up so they formed a little hill that dominated the cold, clammy floor of the cellar. Spuddle looked up at the roof where the light played and little grossly ripples. As he watched, the spider slipped out of a hole directly overhead and dropped slowly down towards his face. In the half-light, the spider looked in immense size and its legs spread out as if endeavoring to clutch something. Fascinated, Bub watched it draw nearer till it almost touched his face. Get out, elopster! He raised his hand as he spoke and aimed to blow at the insect and missed. The spider clambered up again and disappeared. Blast the blooming thing he muttered and turned on his side. Oh, blimey! Good morning! A large toad was sitting on the corner of his blanket, a mirror hands breath away and looking at him with a pair of big, glistening eyes. For a moment the man and the toad looked fixably at one another and then the toad hopped away and disappeared round the corner of the bed. Oh, blimey! said Bub, cuddling up in the clothes and trying to sleep. He was unsuccessful for his mind-father the toad. Where has it gone, he muttered. Spider's as big as lobsters and toad's as big as elephants. This here place is haunted. Now where has that air vermin gone? He turned round on his side and again his gaze fell on the toad. The thing had ascended the hill formed by the knees of Bub's mate and there on the eminence it sat, its eyes fixed on the open mouth of the sleeper. Blimey, it's going to jump in, said Bub. Raise the foresight a little, you bounder, and ah, tend to one that you'll miss it. Motally contemplative, the toad sat silent, its big, shiny eyes fixed on the cavern in front. Jump, you beggar, yelled Bub, shouting at the top of his voice. One good ahp and you'll score a bull. He fell into a paroxym of mirth. The R.A.M.C. orderly awoke, rubbed his eyes, lifted the cigarette in, which had fallen to the floor, put it in his mouth, and came across to Bub. What's amusing you, chummy? he asked. The spider and the toad, said Bub, big lobster of a spider and then the toad. He's trying to jump into the man's mouth. Look there, tend to one it misses. That's all right, said the orderly with a bland smile of understanding. You just lie down quietly and try and have a little sleep. But the toad, Bub, remonstrated. It's just going to jump. I know, I know, said the orderly. I see it myself, but try and compose yourself, chummy. But, man, it's real, said Bub, sitting up. Look yourself and you'll see it. Don't think I'm off my napper. I don't think anything of the sort, said the orderly, still smiling. I often see things here. Myself, you lie down and you'll be as right as rain in the morning. He put his fingers on Bub's pulse, held him there for a moment, then pressed the boy gently back into the blankets. I tell you, there's a toad, said Bub, struggling to get up again. Look at that man lying there and see the toad is on his knees. He's going to hop into the blokes mouth in a minute. To humor the patient, the orderly looked as he was directed. And sure enough, there was the toad, a real one, not a phantom originating from the disordered imagination of a sick man, perched on the knees of the sleeping patient. So there is, said the orderly. I thought you were delirious, matey. Well, we'll put the thing out, he said, and shoved it off the blanket onto the floor. You're not a sport, said Bub, and his voice was charged with contempt. Why didn't you let it hop? I was betting on it. Now my blooming toad is gone. Here it'll not come in again, either, said Bub sadly. I bet you it doesn't, said the orderly, but in a different tone. Bub returned to his regimen three days later, a healthier and wiser man. Afterward he would never take part in a conversation wherein Vaseline was mentioned. But the sight of a frog always brought memories of toads to his mind, and all conversation had to be cut dead until Bub had narrated for the hundredth time the tale of a toad in a cellar. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of The Brown Brethren This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Brown Brethren by Patrick McGill. Chapter 16 The Rookie What awaits you, boy, out yonder, where the great guns rip and thunder. There's a menace in their message, guns that called you from afar. But where ere your fortune guide you may know woe or ill betide you. Heaven speed you, little soldier, gaily going to the war. From soldier's songs. The stifling heat of the summer day had given place to the coolness of night, and a big moon rode gallantly amidst the stars of the dark blue eastern sky. A searchlight felt the country with a long pale arm. Lighting up the road, village and wood for miles around. A galaxy of starshells stood over the firing line where the meteoric, clashes of bursting shells rioted along the horizon of war. Back in the village by La Basse, canal light shone in the windows of houses and through the chinks of shutters. The poplars which lined the village streets showed black and solitary against the red brick cottages. Their shadows stretched straight along the pavement, spreading out to an intricate tracery of tremulous boughs which moved backwards and forwards as the soft night breeze caught them. The moonlight rippled over the roofs, the walls and the grey dusty road. The canal lapped sleepily against its banks. Soldiers walked up and down the street smoking, laughing and chatting. Women came out from the cottages bearing pales which they placed under the pumps and filled with water. All was peaceful here, only twice had the village been struck by shells and then the roofs of two houses had been shattered. In twenty-four hours, however, the willing hands of the villagers had made the roofs whole again. In the attic of a dwelling that stood by the riverside, a party of soldiers, three in all were billeted. The boys were in a gay good humour, for the day had been payday and two bottles of champagne had been bought, and the second bottle had just been opened. Bowdy Benner's was there, sitting on a bundle of straw under the niche in which a candle was placed, surveying the newly drawn cork with a lazy smile. His hands under his thighs and his short powerful legs stretched out in front to their fullest extent. He was dressed in shirt, trousers and socks. His braces were tied round his waist. His hairy chest was bare and his identity disk tied round his massive neck with a piece of twine was almost hidden in the hair. Opposite him sat hairy bum, nothing the worse after his tater and vaseline meal. A bright sparkle was in his alert eyes, his legs were crossed, and the fingers of his left hand kept strumming idly on the floor. His right hand gripped a mess tin, which he pushed towards the champagne bottle in a slow, guile-less manner, as if he were doing it knowingly. Flanagan was there, stripped to the waist and rubbing his body with a towel. He had been out through the village and had just come back, sweating profusely. He had eaten at a café round the corner and made a study of the movements of masticating jaws as he expressed it. It's damned interesting to watch people eat, he said. Some eat slowly as if deliberating whether they should swallow the food out. Some eat quickly, trippingly as it were, and some gorge. Those who eat slowly keep their mouth shut. Those who eat quickly show their teeth all the time, and those who gorge simply gorge. We were sitting at a long table and I was at the end of the seat. I had a long look along the line of moving jaws rising and falling at the man next to me having a canter, a canter queried above. Yes, a canter round his teeth with his tongue, said Philanagan, and at the man opposite whose moving jaw shook his ears until I thought they would fall off. Philanagan got no further with his chatter. The door opened. Sergeant Snogger entered, followed by a stranger, and glanced keenly about him. Watch that candle, he said. It will fall down on the straw and burn the whole damn place out if you're not careful. In that window, what about it? The light's showing through and you'll have a shell across the door. You're not at home now, boys. I haven't been in blighting for eighteen months, said Bob Blandly. I've got a new mate for you, fellow, said the sergeant, paying no heed to Bob's remark. He has just come out and he's for this ear section, and another thing he said. I suppose you think yourself's lucky getting your pay today and getting a good night's sleep tonight after filling your guts with grub and fizz, don't you now? I'm done, Lucky, said the sergeant. We've got to go up to the trenches tonight. Blimey! Damn! Curse it! Three voices yelling. We're starting off as soon as we can, so get ready, said the sergeant. Every man wipe his waifle with a wily rag before he goes, for he may need it before he comes back. Buck, too, when you give me a wet, then get ready. They gave the sergeant a drink, and started to pack up their things. Only when they had finished down to wait for the call to move had they time to pay any attention to the new mate, the boy who had just come out from home. He had helped them at the making of their kits, boiled the rifles and rushed out to the baker's shop near at hand, and bought two loaves to take up to the trenches. When he returned, the others were sitting on the floor waiting for him. He came in with a brisk step, placed the loaves on him, and his face, good-looking and youthful, wore an expression of intense expectation. A traveler within sight of a long-sought objective might look as that boy did. His age might be about 19. He looked 17. When he saw the man looking at him, he smiled awkwardly and lashed as if he had been found guilty of a mean action. Well, what do you think of it, asked Buck? Of this place, asked the boy? No, not of this place, but the whole blurry business, said Bub. Oh, this ear-war. I don't know what to think of the war, but I love being out here, said the boy, putting his hand in his pocket and bringing out a packet of cigarettes. I couldn't get out before. My mother spoke to the authorities back in England, and I couldn't get away until I was 19. And you're glad to be out here, asked Bub in an unusual way. I know where I'd like to get now. Thanks, matey. Spud hole put the cigarette in his mouth, and the newcomer lit it with a match. He gave the other cigarettes also, and lit the last three with the same match. The stranger was the third smoker. This was not discovered until it was done. Devil blew me blind, exclaimed about it. He lit his cig, then he stopped in a moment's silence ensued. This unlucky, said Spuddle. Do you mind, old Stumpy? Hold your row, you old woman, bent his exclaim. The superstition is a modern one, said Flanagan, blowing the smoke of a cigarette through his nostrils. Invented, I suppose, by Bryant and Maze to increase the output of matches. But what about old Stumpy, asked Bub? Stumpy be damned, exclaimed bent his who was seldom moved to such a state of excitement. So we're going up to the trenches tonight, said the newcomer in an eager voice. Yes, we're going up, said Flanagan, moodily. It's always going up. I suppose you'll be quite pleased going into action for the first time. Delighted, said the boy, and is here as chuckled at the frank admission. It's young blood and not knowing things that makes you say that, said Bub. Shaking his head with an air of wisdom, at which his mates would have laughed if the bust had been assured for another week. But now as they sat there waiting for the signal to move up to the fighting line, which they knew so well, it was a different matter. The talk turned to England. The newcomer, whose name was Frank Reynolds, had much to tell about home, his people, his life at school, and above all about his life in the army. He was the only child of a head clerk in a London bank. His father had died recently, at home. She lived in Hempstead and was rather well-to-do, having money left to her by a rich relative. She was very fond of her boy and would send him parcels twice a week. No cigarettes, though, said Reynolds. She doesn't know that I smoke, and I dare not tell, it would hurt her. I learned to smoke since I joined the army, just about three cigarettes a day. I could smoke that many when drinking my tea, said Bub. Conversation ceased at that time. The whistle was blown in the street, and the soldiers were forming up preparatory to moving out to the trenches. The battalion set off and marched along the road by the river, company after company, with little connecting files in between. Not the slightest breeze was awake. The river was silent, and the tall, graceful poplars which lined their route looked blacker and straighter than usual. They seemed to have gone to repose. The battalion's movement was a sacrilege against the gods of the still night. The very trenches were quiet now, the artillery riot had died down, and only a few star shells rose into the mysterious heights of the eastern sky. The company in front set up a brisk pace which required long quick strides to follow. Benner's section turned off from the river, and marched up a steep incline to the top of a low hill, opening on a wide incline, which under the pale moonlight looked more immense and merged as it seemed into the distant sky. Here and there a tall chimney stacked at high in the air, dark shadows clinging to its base and startling contrast to the moonlight, which rippled like molten silver over the top, but then white mist trailed across the meadows in long, formless streaks, budging in the hollows and breaking away on the open. The air was full of the smell of smoking, growing grass, in short of the atmosphere of a summer night. Smoking was not allowed. The enemy's trenches, miles away though they were, looked down on the road, and the glowing cigarette ends might be noticed. Then the road would be shelled. Spud hole and Reynolds marched side by side with flat again and Bowie Benner's immediately in front. From time to time they spoke of one thing and another, more than a month's rest, which had been promised to them for some time. They had expected to go back on the following morning, but instead it looked as if they were going to spend the morrow and a few other morrows in the trenches. Just our luck, said Flannigan, it's always the same, always and eternally the same damned groin. Why do they send up green lights as Reynolds in a whisper and add it, they do look pretty. They laugh, Bob. If you was up in the trenches now you'd hear some pretty language. There are signals for the artillery to bust up a dugout or two of them green lights. Who's sending them up? asked Reynolds. Us maybe, said Bob, and again maybe it's not us, no one ever knows what's what in this ear job, it's always a model. But it's quiet enough now, said Reynolds. How far are we from the trenches? About three miles. The battalion entered a village and marched up a wide street towards the full moon. The companies in front looked like dark, compact, heavy masses which did not seem to move but which could not be overtaken. A pump on the pavement was running and the water glittered like burnish silver as it fell to the cobbles. A shutter hung loose on a window and a woman came out and tried to fasten it, moving quietly as if afraid to make a noise. Reynolds was surprised to find it was late. It was almost midnight now. This place is quiet enough, said Reynolds, speaking to Bob. One wouldn't think that the place was so near the trenches. Do they ever fire at this village? Sometimes, said Bob, but the other end, there, the deep base note of a bursting explosive swept through the village, awakening myriad long-drawn echoes and died away. Shelling in front, said Flanagan in a trenchant whisper. I hope it's not the road, said Bob. I don't think it's the road, said Bounty Beners. It sounded to the left a bit, but you can't tell with the echoes. But further conversation was then impossible. The battalion formed into two files and plotted ahead. Around the next corner, Frank Reynolds came in touch with a war and a limber lay in the middle of the street, shattered to pieces. The two ponies and the driver dead in a sluggish trail of falling away from the scene of the wreck. Instinctively, the boy knew that he was looking on blood and a queer sensation gripped the pit of his stomach. At the same moment, he thought of the woman who was trying to close the shutters two hundred yards away in a feeling of shame swept through his heart. Am I afraid, he asked himself, and a woman going on with her work beside me as if nothing was happening. The R.A.M.C. were already at the vicinity of the limber, for their all help was useless. But on the pavement, under the shadow of the poplars where four or five men were lying down, wounded and groaning. Here the village had suffered. The houses were crumpled and shattered. The tiles had been flung off the rafters. The walls were smashed. The trees on the pavement were cut to splinters. Big holes showed in the streets. The houses were crumpled and the stars glimmered. But the atmosphere of the night had changed. A strange, pungent odor filled the air, and Reynolds knew that he was smelling the battlefield. I must not tell mother about this, he said. If she knew she couldn't sleep a wink at night, I never thought. I suppose there will be worse sites. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of the Brown Brethren by Patrick McGill. Chapter 17. Young Blood. Over the top is cold, matey. You lie in the field alone. Didn't I love you of old, matey? Deer than blood of my own. You are my dearest chum, matey. God but your face is white. You are my dearest chum, matey. You are my dearest chum, matey. You are my dearest chum, matey. You are my dearest chum, matey. You are my dearest chum, matey. God but your face is white. And now the reliefs have come, matey. I'm going home alone tonight. From Soldier's Songs. At one o'clock in the morning the London Irish were in occupation of the trenches. The battalion which they had relieved were just moving away. Rendled section was lucky enough to find a dugout. And here they threw down their loaves and other luxuries which the government had not supplied. Now we must make ourselves as comfortable as we can, said Flanagan, as he lit a cigarette. I'm for a sleep until it's my turn for century. Snogger, who came to the dugout door at that moment, heard the remark and chuckled, having some work to do which needed volunteers he saw scope for his peculiar type of humor. Going to have a kip, Flanagan, he asked in the gentle voice, turn in first spell. Just a while, said Flanagan, and he said, well, you're damned unlucky, said the sergeant with a chuckle. We're going to raid the enemy's trenches. We want to see what they're doing. Identification purposes, you know. They're too damn quiet here. And you know when the German is keeping quiet, you've got to oil your night. The section was up in alert in an instant. Anticipation flushed every face. I'm in this year game, said Bob, in a vehement voice. Last time I was out of it. All's in it, that is. Every man in this platoon set them just out, said the sergeant. They'll stay here in mind the house while we're away. I'm going out in the raids, said Reynolds, in an eager voice. I want to be in the fun. You do, Durya, asked the sergeant, scratching his head. You never do what you want in this year crush, my boy, you bellowed. You just do what I tell you, and you'll find that quite enough for me alone. If you do what I tell you, and do it right, you're all right. I'll make it easy for you. That's me, Snogger. Reynolds laid back against the wall of the dugout. His fair, youthful face lit by the glow of the candle, which Flanagan had just placed in a niche of the wall. The boy was bitterly disappointed. The others were going over the top, and he was to be left alone. He was on the verge of tears. Is there any means of getting out with you, we asked. Couldn't somebody stay back and let me go in his place? The bloke, as doesn't want to go out, isn't in your regiment, said Bub. The sergeant, who had just gone outside, returned carrying a tin filled with a substance black and soft like suit. Now, boys, he said, he placed the tin on the floor. Cover your faces over with this and be like niggers. You'll be in a good distance on a moonlight night. And if you're seen on this your job, it'll be all up with a party. It'll be damn unlucky. And when you've done that, get our a dozen bombs of peace and bring them with you, the sergeant continued. Also get some brushwood. You'll find it out here ready for you. And you'll go over disguised as your shrubbery. We'll crawl across, get up to the German trench and fling the bombs in, and we'll come back this old lot of us What the devil's that? The stretcher-bearers brought him in from the trench, a rifleman with a wound showing in his shoulder, and placed him on the floor. One of the party that was to cross, said the sergeant, then asked, Mucher, old man. Not much wrong was the reply of the wounded man. I'm sorry I'm not in the ray. I looked across and then my shoulder burned. Well, I must get another man, said the sergeant. You'll do, Reynolds. Get your face black with the bombs. The men set to work in the dugout and blacken their faces, procured their bombs in branches and got into raiding order. In ten minutes' time they were out on the open, thirty men making towards the German trenches. Flanigan lit a cigarette, put his hands in his trousers, pockets and lent his back against the wall of the dugout. Bub looked at him. Your bloomin' old fizz is suity enough, Flan. He said, But your teeth don't be seen miles away. I suppose I should black them, said Flanigan. It would be for my own good. Natural selection has not fashioned me for this war environment, ready by night as a job for chimney sweeps. They could walk over to the German trenches and they would not be seen in the darkness. Darwin would be very interested in these raids. If he saw one, he could write a treatise on artificial selection and call it the survival of the fittest disguised. We are disguised. We're one with the night. We accommodate ourselves to our environment like the fox that changes his coat to white when the snow comes. These air branches aren't off of Arnie's above, who understood only a little of what Flanigan was saying. Burnham Wood copied from Macbeth, said Flanigan with an air of scorn. There's nothing new in the world. There were trenches and dugouts in the hole. Sergeant Snager came in at that moment. His body festooned with bombs as he faced the color of ebony. He looked at his men. What are you waiting for? he asked. God, you're slummacky. Come on. We've got to get across tonight. Tomorrow won't do for this year's job. The party went out, crossed the parapet into no man's land and advanced an open order, six yards interval between each man and his neighbor. He drove along that Flanigan on his right. Bowdy Benner's on his left. Whilst the sergeant who led the party moved warily along, a few yards in advance. From time to time he halted and waited for those who followed to come abreast and issued orders which were passed from the center to the flanks and whispers. He used the words damned unlucky whenever he spoke. Spread out from the sentry caution, the whole party's bunching up. The enemy flings some dirt across. You'll be damned unlucky. Again he gave the order close in, in the center. You're loose in touch. Some of you will be going into the German trench all alone. Then you'll be damned unlucky. Whenever a star shell rose in the air, the raiders formed themselves flat to the ground and waited for the flare to die out. As they went down they placed the branches over their heads and held them there until the order were immune from discovery. For an enemy patrol ten yards away would mistake the prone bundles under their covering of branches for derelict bushes which the fury of incessant shellfire had spared. Starshells rose at frequent intervals from the enemy lines. The British sent up very few. This was the case all along the line. The enemy, an eternal dread of raids, kept up a continual watch over an old man's land. The party, now halfway across, laid down. For a star shell rose from the German trench, stood high and lit the derelict levels with the brilliance of day. Then oscillating sleepily from side to side it dropped a myriad petals of flame and sank lazily to earth. They're getting the wind-ups about, he benders, whispering across to Reynolds. We'll have some dirty work before we come back. The boy made no answer. When he listened to the silence, how calm it was under the great glorious moon. The levels were in a dream, a dream of fairyland, and everything saved the starshells, and the glint of white that played on his rifle barrel was as motionless as though in a realm of frozen enchantment. The night drew closer to the boy. It seemed caressing his young head and body. He even felt sweepy. It would be good to lie there and rest. His eyes looked out in front on a dead man who lay there, scarcely a yard away. The boy did not feel afraid that a dead soldier should be there seeing quite natural and keeping with a new life which the youth had entered. I suppose he was killed on a raid, he thought. I wonder if he was going out or coming back. What would mother? He looked at the dead soldier with a fresh interest in his eyes filled with tears. He felt that the man was dressed in khaki and he lay on his back his knees up in his bayonet pointing in air. From the bayonet standard to the man's head stretched an unfinished cobweb on which the spider was still busily working, fashioning circle in line. Under the moonlight the web was a brilliant and beautiful dream. Come out of it, Reynolds said the sergeant, who was annoyed because the boy had not heard the first word a little on both sides, for we've got to keep a look out for a hanami patrol. We're not out on a six-month tour now, he added. If you think so, you're damned unlucky. The men spread out at the double and lay down again leaving an interval of some twelve yards between each man and his neighbor. Reynolds lay flat his hand gripping his rifle. Now and then a breeze rustled across the levels set the poppy flowers nodding to one and died away again. The smell of the wet grasses and the damp earth was in his nostrils and the narcotic odor of the soil almost lulled him into slumber. A mouse rustled along the ground in front in and out amongst the nodding poppy flowers and disappeared. Near him somebody stifled a cough but the sound struck harshly on his ears. Apart from that silent sand suspense, he lay flat his face on his hands his legs stretched out to their full extent and listened. Well to the left a mate whistled something had aroused his suspicions probably the enemy patrol. A bird rose from the grass reeking as if in pain and flew away. The lights died out the level fields looked death-like. A starshell rose up to the sky and settled over Reynolds's head. Under its light the country seemed to become more immense. It stretched out on all sides into endless distances. He lost consciousness for an instant. Well the night is very long in passing he said in an audible voice opening his eyes for a moment. I'm very sleepy but if I doze off something may happen. He had a desire for something exciting to take place something that would keep him awake. He even felt hungry and did not particularly want to fight. Even a sleepy boy does not like fighting at two o'clock in the morning on an empty stomach when there is so much to eat near at hand. How strange that he had not noticed it before. Probably he had been looking in the wrong direction. But there out in front of the mist of the poppy stood a house where the windows brilliantly lighted and the girl standing at the door. From the way she laughed when he approached he knew she was glad to see him. She made way and entered the dining room the table was spread out for dinner the food was not laid out yet but on the table in the corner he could see a grand array of steaming dishes. It splendid he said not like army stuff it's the girl whom he met at the door came into the room approached the table in the corner and brought over a plate of soup which he placed in front of him he looked for a spoon but could not find one. You've forgotten he said to the girl I haven't got a spoon. A stupid of me she replied I'm awfully sorry I was thinking of something else but now I'll get a spoon. I always carry a spoon no matter where I go. So do I was Reynolds answered I always carry a knife fork and spoon in my pack they're gone now. The girl disappeared for a moment when she came into the boys world again she carried a spoon in her hand this is for you she laughed it's silver plate it with a monogram your own monogram as she spoke she lifted his soup and rushed off with it come back with a plate Crod Reynolds rising to his feet I haven't eaten yet don't get excited she called back over her shoulder I'll pass it along in a moment I'll pass it along pass it along a strange harshness had crept into her voice and the youth swept back into reality the man on his right was calling to him pass it along he called out and allowed whisper pass it along what's the message Reynolds asked the right flank report seeing an enemy patrol was the answer the boy passed the message to the left but got no acknowledgement I suppose the man there is asleep he muttered I'll go along and see him he lifted his rifle and stumbled along through the gloom when a light went up he stood still and waited for the darkness to resume his journey yes here he is he said when a flare lit up the night and showed him a figure in khaki lying flat on the ground asleep of course wake up man he shouted when he reached the motionless figure bring his hand down with a smack on the man's back the shoulders gave way beneath the force of the blow his hand seemed to sink into the soldier good god he gasped it's a dead man he left the poor thing hurriedly found a man asleep woke him up deliver the message and made his way back to his post the strange experience had unnerved him and he lay down again feeling that a huge dark form was standing behind him watching every movement on his part a breeze had risen and the waving grasses wailed a dirge in dismal unison from somewhere far away a dog won mournfully the order to advance was given the men went forward at the double for a space and flung themselves down flat when they reached the enemy's barbed wire entanglements those in the center of the party could not get across the wires in front of them stood sturdily untouched by artillery fire lilo the sergeant whispered about he better and passed the word along to the left asked them if there is an opening the same message to the right the seconds crawled by until the answer came back from the left opening here shall we go through pass the message to the right and tell them to close up said the sergeant to Benners also those on the left get through and lie down on the other side of the wires until we join them pass it along the message went its way and the men in the center followed it stumbling and crouching low to avoid the eyes of the enemy sentinels reaching the opening they lay down their heads under the bratches and waited for the party to close in Reynolds had a good view of the enemy's trenches he lay on the ground a dozen yards away from the reverse slope of the parapet he saw the sandbags tilted at strange angles looking for all the world like dead men huddled together in heaps immediately in front lay an unexploded shell perched on the rim of a small crater near it was a wooden box and a heap of tins somebody in the trench was singing a song in a low but clear voice the night was full of the smell of burning wood probably the Germans were cooking a meal Bowdy Benners and the sergeant lay in front of Reynolds immovable as statues both might have been dead Benners turned slowly round and crawled back again with a message when the sergeant lifts his branch and holds it over his head prepare to advance he whispered get your bombs ready to throw pass it along to right and left fascinated Reynolds watched the sergeant saw him lie still as ever for a full minute then he raised the branch and held it over his head for an instant brought it down again and got to his feet as one man the party rushed forward to the rim of the trench and began to fling their bombs in on the occupants there was one explosion a third and a fourth the Germans taken unawares raced from one bay to another but the bombers waited for them at every turn in their eyes the attack might have been delivered by an army corps death had crept up in the night out of the unknown men fell, yelled in agony and became silent their white faces showing gasly on the floor of the trench when the smoke of the explosions died away damn good work keep at it boys standing on the parapet and drawing a pin from the shoulders of a bomb you're damn unlucky this year time he threw his missile at a German who was trying to enter the door of a dugout and stepped back to avoid the explosion blimey it's a Barney sitbub looking down at the trench he'd come to his last bomb and wanting to make it tell he threw it into a dugout door which showed in the wall of the parados followed an explosion accompanied by agonized illen twenty yards away Reynolds stood on a sandbag a bomb in his hand his eyes fixed upon a boy about his own age who crouching against the wall of the trench was looking up at him Reynolds full of military ardor had rushed up to the attack when the order was given and was on the point of fleeing the bomb into the trench when he noticed the young German standing motionless paralyzed with fear Reynolds raised the bomb with the intention and brought it down again the terrified foe frightened him in the heat of passion Reynolds would have killed him but to take away the life of that shivering terrified creature was not a job for the youngish newly out he gazed at the German the German returned the gaze perplexity looked at Dredd and became horrified killing was not an easy matter Reynolds drew back a pace his eyes still fixed on the foe the battle raged round him the flash of the bursting bombs almost blinded him the explosion shook the ground the flying splinters sang through the air suddenly the order to retire came down the line the brown figure rushed up to Reynolds shouting something about get out of it seized the bomb which the youngster held and flung it into the trench on the youthful German the party retired hurriedly their work was completed the sooner back the safer the sergeant yelled they'll open up a machine gun now and we'll be damned unlucky if we don't grease back already the enemy's rifles were speaking and bullets swept by with a vicious hiss the men stumbled through the opening in the barbed wires and rushed into the levels Beners and Reynolds ran out together Chucklin, please no doubt at the success of their enterprise Bob and Flanagan followed the latter had lost his rifle and vowed that he was always unlucky suddenly Reynolds fell headlong to the ground he was on his feet immediately and rushing forward again the damned wires said Flanagan they're scattered all over the place as he spoke Reynolds went down for the second time but did not rise again Beners came to a halt and stooped over him are you hitch on me he asked I got it through the breast the boy replied it was that which brought me down the last time not the wires he would have killed it now by his comrades he was sitting half upright his head sinking towards his knees the martial elation of a few minutes ago utterly gone well tell me you'll be all right in time for breakfast said Bob who expected that these words would boy up the youngsters courage but Reynolds seemed to pay no heed a cold and sorrowful expression settled on his white face which looked strange and unearthly in the light of the moon the sergeant cut open the youth's tunic and looked at the wound which showed red over the heart there was very little bleeding oh you'll be all right no time said the sergeant in a voice which was strangely soft and kind no said the boy in a scarcely audible whisper lead me to myself please I'll not live very long it's too near the heart these were the last words which the men heard him speak ten minutes later he had passed away I knowed it would pan out that way said Bob as he sat and dug out two hours later drinking hot tea from his suit he messed him it was dawn the sun came up red in the east and dew drops glittered like diamonds on levels it was the same with old Stumpy he was the third man to light his fag with the same match said Bill then he went up to the trenches said Bob dead it's all damn wrought said Flanagan I knew men getting killed who never smoked a fag I had a feeling that Reynolds was going under anyways said Beners and he was such a good boy too I liked him better than I cared to say said Flanagan he was as eager as hell and he's dead he didn't have much of a run for his money taken it all and all we're not so blurry badly off I wonder if we're going to get relieved soon I hope so anyway end of chapter 17 chapter 18 of the Brown Brethren this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the Brown Brethren by Patrick McGill chapter 18 bathing in a dry-full mall in Spade where soldiers cooks and carpenters and everything to trade we stand on sentry go all night and turn to kip at dawn and when we're dropping off to sweep it's up and carry on for it's carry on and carry on and carry on all day they'll make us carry on until they carry us away it's carry on the whole day through at dusk as well as dawn oh blimey will they never stop carry on from carry on the road by it la basse canal was gritty and dry and shown like a thread of gold in the afternoon sunlight the canal dark and oily was broken by hundreds of little petulant ripples its banks were red with poppy flowers quiet rained in the village of Goree where the London Irish were quartered they had been out digging trenches at Cambran the night before they had been relieved from the fighting line two nights after Reynolds death they were now supplying working parties to the trenches near La Basse in the present war the pick and shovel are as important as the rifle and bayonet Bub Flanagan and Bouty had just got up from the straw in which they had been lying let's have a bloomin' dip in the briney said Bub let's sit Bouty and Flanagan the trio made their way out into the village it was a glorious day this guy was a tender blue the green branches of the poplars which blind the street wave sleepily the shadows of many little clouds glided across the cobbled pavement the eastward other little clouds formed suddenly and as suddenly paled away and the men knew that an artillery duel of slight intensity was in progress by Kinshi this ain't a bad place for a billet said Bub I could stick here for duration we'll soon be out of it now said Flanagan handing round a packet of cigarettes Captain Thorley said this morning that we're going to truck to the psalm big doings down that way we're always in it when there's a row on said Bub it's no sooner see and like a place here than you're out to next day there were some fine birds in this here place too look there are the cooks getting dinner ready god they're sweating at the job too the church square and the smoke curled up from the suity funnel and paled away in the clear air here the company cooks were busy preparing dinner facing the canal was a row of red-roofed houses with a wealth of summer flowers around the doors the windows looked out coquettishly through roses and green ivy clambered up the walls to the left of the church was a snug little graveyard in a spinny and here a number of English soldiers under a large tree stood a broken and rusty pump which was out of action a large shell had fallen there and after the explosion some soldiers found a robin dead they buried it and were moved to poetry and it's grabbing the little bird's epitaph the epitaph written in large black letters hung from the handle the pump this was the verse cock robin lies beside this pump a coal box hit him such a thump we've got to tell we'll let the swine that fired the shell Bub looked at the epitaph mine the one over sergeant Slade at Maroc he remarked air lies the remains of sergeant Slade as was slow at throwing a hand grenade not as good as the one at the cabaret rouge up at Sousage at Flanagan and quote it this marks the fall in dugout where seven heroes fell strafed in a bomb-proof shelter by a high-velocity shell well we'll go to the cafe and have a drink, said Boudie Bub won't refuse to go in, I know he wants to see Emily it's yourself who wants to see the bird's buttle, I don't mind saying that I kind of like her, she's not bad looking almost as nice as Fifi mind Fifi, Boudie poor old Fifi, said Boudie Fitz was fond of her I remember one night seeing him kissing her over the window, get out true, said Boudie that was when we were at Y farm and I was lying the straw up in the barn Snogger and Fitz and Spud and myself came in from the cafe and all went to bed except my bold Fitz he sat up and I watched him after a while he thought everyone was sleeping and up he gets and goes downstairs I waited for ten minutes but he didn't come back so out I goes and down to see what he was up to and what would it be but Fitz at the back of the farmhouse speaking to Fifi and kissing her, well it wasn't my business to spy on him so Bacca comes to my roost and I was asleep before he came back I always knew he was a devil said Boudie, pity that he went west there can you smell the roses they came to the door of the cafe and entered Emily was inside sitting at a table writing a letter to her soldiers and went on with her work bubbled a cigarette sat on a chair and mumbled a song woolahoo donna ma sievel play an'e pour a cafe ale the girl raised her head and laughed disclosing her pearly white teeth and red lips Emily was a well-made girl with dark hair white brow, thick, strongly arched eyebrows a charming chin and full throat medium height, full of vitality and fun a coquette every inch of her Bub was in love with her just as he had been in love with dozens of other French girls a billet and a bird and no man out of the trench area could be happier than Bub having drunk their coffee the soldiers made their way to the canal Bub's face was brimming over with good nature and vitality now and again he would jump into the air cut a caper with his feet as gracefully as a bird kick a pebble along the roadway and afterwards lift the pebble in his hand and fling it into the water a boy wearing a pair of English pâtiss drove two lean cows along the canal bank and stopped for a moment to speak to an elderly female who was washing her household linen in the cool water heedless of the woman's presence bounty and flanigan addressed and flung themselves into the canal the swim from bank to bank was very exhilarating the coolness warmed the heart and imparted a strange exhilaration to the body the swim in the cold water always gave the two men the same sensation as good news that is unexpected Bub sat on the bank looking at the swimmers come into the water my man they shouted it's glorious don't be so glorious when you get out again said Bub why flanigan said because your clothes are right oh auntie an auntie pejaculated flanigan oh my god and I'm not going to leave my clothes with yours I'm going to leave them where there's no blooming ants Bub put her clothes along with yours he called no blurry fear shouted Bub who was undressing further along I don't want to get no hands the swimmers only ceased in their endeavors to drench him when he flung half a dozen bricks into the water endlessly close to their heads but it was only Bub's trudging stroke that saved him from a combined attack when he dived into the canal Bub was a graceful swimmer Bowdy was just clamoring up on the bank when he heard it coming rumbling in from the unknown he was back in the water immediately beating it with his hands as he waited the shell burst near the bank and a hundred splinters whizzed into the canal a second shell followed and a third Bub's clothes caught fair were blown in pieces for ten minutes the men kept in the water but when no further shells came across from the Germans they clamored out onto the bank oh hell the 20th century Adam said Flanagan looking at Bub and shaking the ants from the bundle of khaki clothing it would be splendid to see you march through Gore on your way back and all the young girls Bub looked round in agony Bowdy shook with laughter in French girls too said Flanagan they're very rude sometimes we'll have a little procession Bowdy suggested Bub leading it's a sad plight for a bashful man said Flanagan in exhibition in the nude Bub opened his mouth and shut it again Bowdy and Flanagan put their boots on if only I had a sandbag said Bub we'll get back now Bowdy said come along spuddle no blurry fears said the cockney before I go back through Gore like this I'm not a girl in a review I'm a soldier not an actress well when do you run back and get a pair of trousers and shirt for me no, no call yourself maidsreak Bub then his voice became coaxing look here Flanagan you go back and get me even a shirt or Bowdy any of you be pals who stood by and let the ants run over our clothes asked Flanagan Bub Bowdy replied our pals puddle that was a joke said Bub but this is past a joke it's 11 no clothes but you wouldn't wear clothes with ants running over them would you? asked Bowdy I must go on in front said Flanagan I'll ask Emily to come down and have a look at you she's up to any kind of devil met that same girl Flanagan said Bub in a slow voice horse with derision if you do a thing like that I'd cut your blurry throat then he stooped down and flung it into the water here watch this he exclaimed suddenly this in the canal they looked in a stretcher to which a ground sheet was bound by a leathern thong drifted slowly down the canal quick as a flash Bub dived in and brought the stretcher to the bank carry me home on this he said put the ground sheet over me he lay down on the wet stretcher and his mates covered him over with the sheet and raised the burden to their shoulders Spuddle regained his good humour and began to sing he was in the throes of a ragtime chorus when Flanagan and Bowdy halted opposite the café and placed the stretcher on the pavement Flanagan knocked at the door Emily came out Bub swatted terror from every pore take me away he yelled rapping himself very tightly in his sheet for God's sake take me back to the billet agitation and confusion distorted his countenance at that moment he longed for the ground to open and swallow him Flanagan, who knew French like a native was speaking to the girl what are you saying Spuddle called she wants the ground sheets at Flanagan I'm going to make her a present of it for God's sake she's going to take it off herself with her own two hands Flanagan remarked oh blimey girl Bub then in an excess of rage I'll kill her if she comes near me I'll strangle her then I'll strangle you but Bub's violent gestures did not deter Emily from approaching the stretcher she knew all about Bub's mishap Flanagan had explained his mate's woeful plight Emily bent down and raised the lower part of the ground she disclosing Bub's toes Spuddle curled up like a hedgehog the girl gave the sheet a slight tug for moi she said get out yelled Bub clear off the L shameless pull it off Emily roared Flanagan holding his sides the girl gave the sheet another tug she did not want to take it all off but Bub's terror amused her the boy could not stand it any longer he got to his feet wrapped the sheet round his waist and fled up the street the village came out to see him all laughed at the escapade but few were surprised at the spectacle it's only the mad english the old woman said they are always up to mischief that night the London Irish set out on their trek to the psalm end of chapter 18 chapter 19 of the Brown Brethren this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the Brown Brethren by Patrick McGill the Psalm there's a shell as as fell in the mud a blooming big shell in the mud a blooming big shell and it might give us hell as it would if it wasn't a dud I was watching and saw where it go'd exactly the spot where it go'd in a sweat of a funk I watched where it sunk and I'm glad it didn't explode from the dud the trench was quite a good one for the Psalm about six feet deep with here and there a few dugouts where men could sleep and eat there on a certain autumn morning we find the men of the London Irish again waiting to cross no man's land and attack the Germans a month has passed since they left Gore and during that time they have seen much fighting which they have earned a great renown we're too well known Bob often remark bitterly but beneath all his grumbling it could be seen that he was more than his regiment we're too well known that's what it is he would continue if there's anything to be done who's to do it us we're always in the thick of it if the Eds hear that there's a stiff job to be done and it wants an army corps to do it what do the Eds say they say put the London Irish the footballers of Lowe's on the job they'll soon do it on this morning Bob was preparing breakfast in the dugout while Bowdy Benners was sleeping in a corner and Flanagan was out on the parapet watching for tanks these monsters were going to cross presently but as yet they were not to be seen in front the self-sewn crops were waving in the breeze and the barbed wire entanglements showed red and rusty over the meadows nothing of the German wires remained they had been blown to bits the German trenches could be seen in front dipping out of sight into a natural valley on the left and losing all outline amongst the tree stumps on the right the stumps were all that remained of the well-known Highwood the locality was pitted with shell holes and littered with dead friend and foe who laid together in silent communion the Germans still held at the woods Bob having prepared breakfast went to the door and called Flanagan in and then he turned around and kicked Bowdy on the shins get out of here he said you're not going to fight on an empty tummy are you Flanagan came into the dugout that smells a one-hew remark but the tanks he said I can't see them yet I hope they're not late I hope they're not Bowdy replied and yawn the arrival of the tanks did not interest him apparently he reached out his hand for the mestin of tea and drink we're giving them L with our guns said Bob blown the place to hell that's a good drop of tea isn't it indeed it's damned good Flanagan said I'm out for a VC this time anyhow we're a snogger he's outside somewhere he thinks that he'll not come through the scrap he's quite nervy I wouldn't mind having a job but these are your tanks said Bob be damned good sport have another piece of bacon Bowdy thank you Bowdy replied taking the half rasher which Bob handed to him I'm damned hungry here did you see Captain Thorley this morning he was giving cigarettes away Turkish they were handing a piece fat ones like a cigar almost he's a good bloke old Thorley said Bob I wonder if the tanks are in sight yet said Flanagan they're going to make a clean sweep of all the high wood what's the time now quarter to seven Bowdy replied looking at his wristwatch it'll be all over at ten one way or the other the guards in the Northumberland fuseliers are round one side of the wood and it's almost closed in having finished their breakfast the men went outside into the trench the shells could be heard bursting on the German lines and the enemy were replying the machine guns were going pit pit and bullets were ripping the English sandbags their look shouted Bowdy Benes pointing at the sky overhead his two mates looked up to see an airplane making its way across to the enemy lines it was followed by two three half a dozen flying low there the tank somebody shouted and a line of faces peeped over the sandbags one man in Beners Bay got hit through the head and fell to the floor of the trench the remainder drew back discreetly kept their heads under cover Sergeant Snogger appeared suddenly smoking a cigarette and paring his nails with a clasp knife he leaned back against the piratas and looked at the trio Chirot Sard said Bob fancy your chance not off said Snogger it'll be a walk over past the word along for Sergeant Snogger came to message up the trench the sergeant closed his knife put it in his pocket and rushed around the Travers I didn't see the tank said Bob there are none so far as I could see I saw one Bowdy said over on the right there were two said Flanagan crawling along as if they were picking up worms big ugly looking brutes they were God they'll make the Germans sit up you have your helmet twist it round Bob Bob adjusted his helmet lit a cigarette pulled his rifle toward him cleaned a speck of dirt from his bayonet then put his rifle back to its original place Bowdy and Flanagan followed the movement with intent eyes from their look it might seem as if their very existence depended on the job which Bob had done yes it's some strafing said Bowdy the Germans are getting enough to go on with anyway few the three men crouched to avoid the fragments from a shell which burst on the parapet to the left somebody called out for stretcher bears and the message sped along the trench be quite easy getting crossed here said Bowdy one whistle and up you go and the best of luck here I haven't got a cigarette oh yes I have here they are I put them in the wrong pocket have one Flanagan one Bob Bob took the cigarette placed it behind his ear and continued smoking the one which he had in his mouth I'll keep this in the smoke and we get across there he said time to move now said Bowdy and he raised his head cautiously and looked over there he said they're making headway no damn stopping Bravo the tanks good old tanks Bravo said Bob sticking his head over but he pulled it back quickly for a bullet ripped the sandbag beside him and a handful of clay and chalk was slapped into his face God that's a blooming poultice he muttered ducking down and wiping the grit from his eyes it hasn't knocked my head off but it feels as if I look over again till the whistles blow Bowdy Benner's placed a mirror on a bayonet and held it over the trench looking in it you could see the fields in front the barbed wire entanglements the shell holes the German trench in which the shells were falling gouging at the occupants and the tanks yes he could see them crossing mammoths moving forward with irrevocable decision serious minded leviathans which knew their business and went about in a deliberate manner bullets rattled on their hides struck sparks out of their scaly armor but had no effect on the air of detachment with which the great monsters and steel pursued their inexorable way nosing complacently forward they crawled down into shell craters hiccuped up again straighten themselves out and stealthily pursued their way toward the enemy trench they're getting onset Bowdy will soon be over too he detached the mirror from it's rest and placed it in his pocket I never knew a better one for shaving it's so handy Sergeant Snogger came into the bay again frantic with anger I would like to know who sent that bloody message up you thundery God I'll find out and then somebody will be damned unlucky he stopped then gave an inarticulate cry and collapsed in a heap Bub's jaw dropped and he stared at Snogger with dilated eyes the sergeant lay silent motionless death was instantaneous for a shrapnel bullet it smashed his spine Bowdy and Flanagan lifted the dead man and their arms and placed him on the fire step I never seen anybody knocked out so sudden said Bub in a nervous voice one minute speaking and I don't think of it said Flanagan the tanks are well on now what a funny thing tanks they're as old as the hills Montane speaks about them listen he fumbled in his haversack brought out a dilapidated volume Florio's translation of Montane and read were my memory sufficiently informed of them I would not think my time lost here to set down the infinite variety which histories present to us of the use of coaches in the service of war divers according to the nations and different according to the ages to my seeming of great effect and necessity even lately in our father's time the Hungarians did very availfully bring them into fashion and profitably set a work against the Turks every one of them containing a target here and a musketeer with a certain number of archibuses and calavers ready charged and so ranged that they might make good use of them and all over covered with a pavasada after the manner of a galleel they made the front of their battle with three thousand such coaches and after the cannon played cause them to discharge and shoot of a volley of small shot upon their enemies before they should know or feel what the rest of the forces could do which was no small advancement or if not this they mainly drove these coaches amid the thickest of their enemy squadrons with purpose to break this route and make way through them besides the benefit and help they might make of them in any suspicious or dangerous place to flank their troop marching from place to place or in haste to encompass to imbarricade to cover or fortify any lodgement or quarter captain Thorley appeared around the corner his hand bandage splinter of shell had caught him a few minutes before getting ready boys he asked you'll have no difficulty in crossing here another two minutes snogger dead what a pity he disappeared I wish we did get across it Bob I'm fed up with this waiting I want to get at him then a whistle was blown another the men scrambled up the parapet and tumbled out onto the levels the bombardment seemed to increase the German trenches were hidden by smoke flying dirt and logs their dugouts were going sky high over at all two aeroplanes glided gracefully through the air the tanks were still going forward the platoon on the right it started too soon and the men were halfway across bounty banners and Bob walked abreast chatting leisurely Flanagan had disappeared the air was alive with bullets men were falling all around groany and screaming in front the tanks had both stopped one in a shell crater the other in a sap the artillery lengthened its range and the shells were falling behind the first line and the high wood but the enemy machine guns had not been silenced the high wood was yet as venomous as wasp nests forward the men advanced at a steady pace their bayonets in air one man had his entrenching tool fastened over his stomach as a bullet shield bounty saw him get hit in the head the machine gunfire was deadly dozens fell and lay writhing the tall youngster with a long neck came to a dead stop dropped his bayonet to the ground put his hand inside the waist of his trousers and groped around as if trying to catch a flea have copped a packet this time he said and lay down the flanks of the marching line converged on the center despite the orders of the officers to the men keep your distance spread out a bit there et cetera but the men felt inclined to huddle together like frightened children the machine guns seemed to intensify their fire the bullet struck the earth in a steady and incessant strain the party man advanced steadily the shell dropped in the middle of them captain Thorley who was leading his platoon turned round under cover he shouted no good going ahead yet it's murder the men disappeared into adjacent shell holes others brought him the wounded the machine gun swept the field with insistent vehemence bounty and bug joined themselves together in a deep crater couldn't have a more swagger shell than this and said we're in luck's way he continued I saw him copped it right through the head he didn't say nothing just fell and stiffened placed his back against the sloping wall of the swagger shell hole and drawing a cigarette from his mouth with a graceful swan like motion of the army turned to bounty banners blimey I don't feel Arthas well here wouldn't mind sticking in this your place for duration what's that bounty the German shell came out from the unknown humming like a gigantic beetle nearer it came and nearer it's going to fall wide said bounty although he instinctively guessed that it would fall very near it swept over the two men's heads with a vicious swish and dived into the opposite wall of the shell hole bounty went red in the face Bob's jaw dropped his eyes protruded as if they were going to spring out of his head the shock paralyzed the two boys for a second they were so unnerved that feeling of fear was momentarily denied them they stared blankly at the show which had only entered about a foot into the ground the base of the projectile was shown it might explode at any moment they were in a position similar to that of a patient to whose body a local anesthetic is applied who sees the surgeon at work but does not feel the knife that he was the first to recover his composure clear out of it but holy yelled and both clamored across the rim of the crater into the open they lay out there for a few minutes and as the shell did not go off they went back again outside the machine gun bullets were ripping up the ground the two men lay down quietly without speaking a word Bob put the stump of his cigarette back in his mouth and relit it there see the airplanes at bounty they're flying damn low over the enemy trench hear their horns going signaling to the artillery I suppose so said Bob flattening out in the bottom of the shell crater and drawing his cigarette from behind his ear he put it in his mouth and lit it I knew it would be wanted he said ten minutes pass the tanks were still stuck and showed no sign of movement the English artillery opened up on the high wood again all guns within range had apparently chosen it for their objective now the off-laser-edit tree stumps were broken like glass were dragged out by the roots in hurled broadcast the woods were disgorging its entrails the unfortunate wretches who held it were in a ghastly situation to remain in their dugouts was death their manner of dying was left to their choice they could come out into the hurricane and be blown to bits they could stay on their lairs and be buried alive they were confronted by two evils one as bad as the other the machine guns were silent now all out of action Boudie put up his head and looked across toward the German lines God they're getting it he said and the tanks are still stuck there there are hundreds of the Germans coming across with their hands up one batch is unlucky a shell is dropped in the middle of them far as I can see we'll have nothing to do when the strafing is over bar go over and take the trenches in Bob who was looking at the nerve-shaking Germans as they came rushing toward the craters I hope we get relieved tonight after we finish of course we'll get relieved sin Boudie we've been in four days now here what the devil's wrong with you a wide-eyed German armed with a rifle and bayonet came to the rim of the crater and lunged it up the cockney a lucif as an eel slipped out of reach seized his own rifle and fired at the man the German fell forward dead the bullet had gone through his neck and pierced the jugular vein funny bloke that fellow said Bob I think he had gone mad said Boudie changing his position and getting clear of the prostrate form which had fallen into the crater at this moment the artillery far ceased ravaging the German front line the range was lengthened and the guns devoted their attention to the enemy support trenches a whistle was blown the men went forward captain Thorley leading the bandage on his hand was very dirty now the enemy trenches were very quiet not a rifle spoke parties of Germans came out with their hands in air muttering camarade camarade they were taken prisoners the damn tame ending said Bob after all that strafing it's like a grand overture without a performance following said captain Thorley you overheard Bob's remark yes sir Bob replied have you a match to spare sir I forgot mine left them in the last dugout sir every move augmented the number of prisoners they rose from the ground and from shell holes and gave themselves up now and again an apparently dead German was tickled with the point of a bayonet and he came to life with starting suddenness Bob discovered a helmet put it on and put up his hands in imitation of the Germans who were surrendering Boudie discovered a box of cigars somewhere and lit up and handed the box round to captain Thorley just to celebrate the taking of the high wood at that moment a shrapnel shell burst over the captain's head and he fell to the ground mortally wounded the bullet had hit him on the temple a few men rushed into his assistance Bob leading but nothing could be done his brains were oozing out consciousness was lost death would come in a few moments stretcher bearer appeared then another and they carried the captain away he died before reaching the dressing station the London Irish now said about consolidating their position and spent long hours of spave work on the job next night the men were relieved end of chapter 19 chapter 20 of the Brown Brethren this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer visit LibriVox.org the Brown Brethren by Patrick McGill chapter 20 back from battle and as we left the trench tonight each weary neath his load grey, silent ghosts as light his air came with us down the road and as we sat us down to drink they sat beside us too and drink red wine hit no ale means as once they used to do from soldier's songs a soft rain was falling the low winds swept across the levels and the leaves of a near birch copes rustled in the breeze faltering timidly as they shook the rain from their shining fringes the soft bluish haze surrounded the tops of the birches the trunks were engirted with a pale mist which gave an eerie atmosphere to the whole wood the London Irish had just left the trenches and were following a sunken road on their way back to Billet's and a month's rest the men were in a gay good humor Charlotte the harlot the Rappalaisian song was sung with great gusto the faces of sweet French matins almost forgotten were recalled again the men's fancy rushed hither and thither painting rosy pictures of snug farmhouses and good cafes a month's rest away from the fructions of war how splendid where the wood grew thinner a brushwood screen had been improvised so as to hide the road in front lay an unlucky red brick village one which had suffered much from the guns of war every third house had been hit by shellfire and many of the homes were leveled to the ground a heavy wall of cloud ragged a front crawled across the sky the sun was overcast but far up shooting through the advancing layers of black along golden ray of sunshine streamed out and lit up the firing line save for the crunch of marching feet there was quiet the shower went by and the soft rustle of the rain falling on the grass by the roadside had ceased all around the country lay in ruins the self-sown crops and the wide meadows drew abjectly to earth as if in mourning for the reaper who visited the place no more the men passed a house which stood in the fields a little brick red cottage with its chimney thrown down its doors latchless and its windows broken once a home of thrifty toiling people now the clear sun which seceded the shower saw no housewife at work no children playing no man out in the fields storing up the harvest crops nothing there now saved the guns which flurked privily and kept for the moment at decorous silence the big shell was following the men along bursting an interval some five hundred yards behind the Germans were sweeping the road trusting that the projectile would drop on any troops who might be marching along there the shell followed steadily keeping its distance and doing no harm but the range might be lengthened at any moment and then trouble wouldn't soothe the men march rapidly hardly daring to breathe God I don't like your cold box said Bob as buried an explosion behind that blurry one was near I think further off I should say Bowdy Bennett has replied light a fag's butthole it will do you all the good in the world he burst into song give me a Lucifer to light my fag and laugh boys that's the style pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile boys smile come boys sing up he called come on let's go the chorus was repeated and the men joined in seeing roaring at the top of their voices Bob straightened his back expanded his chest and looked at his mate Bowdy with his cigarette in his mouth was bellowing out the chorus the cigarette moving up and down as if keeping time with the measure spud hole swept into a fresh song a well known favorite the men joined in the singing there's a soldier out on picket over there there's a soldier out on picket over there there's a soldier out on picket and he wants his blooming ticket but the beggars got to stick it over there you don't mind the dugout stentious and the God forsaken trenches when he's thinking all the wenches over there the voices died away as the shell burst in the road very close at hand nearer that time said Bob I wish we were in the trenches they sighed at the village to find the shells bursting all through the place in the buildings flying about the streets the children were in hiding not a civilian was to be seen save a pale thin woman of 40 who stood at the door of a ruined estimate this had no doubt been her home probably she was still living in the cellar the men stared at the woman saw her bowed head her ragged clothes her queer weedy form in her eyes was a look such as the men had seldom seen the poor creature reminded Bowdy of a dog which he had once seen prowling round upon in which its young had been drowned what she doing there out in the street like that said Bob she'll stop a packet if she's not careful eyes right came in order from an officer in front and the men turned their eyes towards the woman at the door so I wonder what for said Bob her four children were killed yesterday by a shell said someone in the ranks the woman raised her head and looked stoutly at the soldiers and did not change perhaps feeling was dead within her at the other end of the village stood a ruined convent from which the nuns had not yet departed they educated the village children the little ones went to school daily their books and respirators under their arms the classroom was in the cellar of the convent as the men passed the convent they saw a nun dressed in blue homespun white front lit in black veil standing at the door throwing crumbs to the doves which fluttered about her feet in one hand she held a rosary no doubt she was saying her prayers there was France personified France great and fearless a martyr unsubdued the sight was a tonic to the men unable to resist the impulse they gave vent to a rousing cheer a look of perplexity over spread the woman's face she gazed at the soldiers for a moment then throwing the remaining shoes to the birch you retreated hurriedly into the convent what a fine woman that one is sit bubble god there's something in them you know and they don't do it for show neither we'll have another song now one respectable like not one that we wouldn't want good people that year I'll but little gray all in the west in the late afternoon the men arrived at the village in which they were to bill it the battalion marched down the main street dog at an end the wine shops were open and soldiers could be seen sitting on the wine barrels smoking and drinking at the corner of one side street a cook was washing his face at a pump and half a dozen merry little children were fleeing pebbles at him when a pebble hit him he would bend down raise a mess tin of water and fling it at the mischievous rascals a party of soldiers came out from an alley bearing between them three Dixies of hot indulging in idle banter and seen very pleased with themselves the rise glowed with happiness at the door of an estimate stood the patron gossiping with a neighbor and laughing heartily over something another party of children were hopping over lines marked with chalk on the pavement enchanting in unison a song of which Bowdy could catch a few lines I'll a coal dance love you I'll a coal dance love you I'll a coal I'll a coal dance love you Bowdy's platoon came to Halton the square the company cook who came there long in advance of the battalion was pouring fistfuls of tea and a Dixie which stood on a field kitchen he was red a face as a lobster and the smile of satisfaction lit up his genial countenance when he saw the men you look pleased with yourself Bowdy said so will you be pleased said the man when you get your tea after I've made it well extra strong in Spudhol has just received a parcel from home the post is up Bob asked there is a letter for you as well as a parcel said the cook and we are going back for a rest tomorrow night for a month or six weeks are we really Bowdy inquired of course we are was the answer we're going to get paid to this evening they were going back for a rest probably to Castle and they knew such a delightful billet there the Y Farm Bowdy breathed in the fresh air away from the firing line the sun was sinking and a soft luminous glow settled on the roofs of the houses near we should have a bit of a spree tonight said the cook raising the Dixie of the wagon placing it on the ground and stirring it with a long ladle at the cafe around the corner a champagne supper a song and an all-round entertainment are you game for it of course we're game for it said Spuddle what time will we start off bar 7 right oh said Bob and Bowdy in one voice we'll be there end of chapter 20 chapter 21 of the Brown Brethren this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the Brown Brethren by Patrick McGill chapter 21 resting the night breeze sweeps the night do's what the hay the boys are coming back again the straggling crowd are they the column lines are broken there are gaps in the platoon they'll need not many billets now for soldiers in the for lusty lads good hearty lads who marched away so far have now got little homes of clay beside the firing line good luck to them godspeed to them the boys who marched away the swinging up La Basse road each sunny summer day from soldier's sauce gore blind me this ain't off a blurry mat said Bob changing his rifle from one shoulder to the other and straightening himself up I'm feeling my feet my heels are rubbing against sandpaper we'll soon be there now said Bowdy Benners another half hour remember the place well we haven't been here for how long almost a year and a half and then there were some good fellows with us old Fitz and Snogger and Flanagan and Captain Thorley and Billy Hurd gone west the poor devils wish I had gone west said Bob whose head was tilting forward this ain't worth living for this damn march if I did go west I wouldn't mind there's a lot of good men waiting to welcome us there we'll never drink beer with better blokes again true for you Bob said Bowdy brave boys the whole lot of them here's but I'll carry your rifle for you you look done up Bob straightened himself up thanks Bowdy but I'd rather carry me I myself what would these draft men think if they see me getting helped along I'm not a rookie Bowdy right I'll sit Bowdy with a laugh your independence will be the death of you one day a halt was called at this juncture and the men threw themselves down by the roadside the dusk of an October evening was settling on the popular line roadway the spinnies on either side were wrapped in shadow and a cold wind swept across the fields in a farm somewhere near a dog bark and a cart rumble along a lane the chiming of a church bell could be heard calling the faithful the prayer Bowdy took off his pack lit a cigarette and sat on a milestone which bore the inscription the milestone which indicated the wrong direction had been reversed by the peasantry when war broke out in hopes of turning the German army in a wrong direction Bub lay flat on his back his feet cocked up his tunic open wonder if Fifi is kicking about now she wasn't off a bird old snogger was fair gone on her so was poor Fitz looking for a new tommy this time why don't you go and say things to her Bowdy you're a devil for fighting a devil for drinking and you're no damn good at all when a wench is about but I had my own bird back off wall worth road with her bar I'd bleed Fifi a dance what about the girl at Goree said Bowdy Benner as you forgot all about wall worth road when you went to see her on a stretcher with a ground sheet for a uniform Bub never wanted to be reminded of this incident but at the present time he was too tired to pay any heed to Bowdy's remarks at seven o'clock the platoon arrived at Y farm and the men were conducted to the old barn in which a few of them had billeted before Bowdy and Bub sat down on the straw and took off their pâtés lit their cigarettes and fumbled in their pockets for money Fifi of course would give them soup and coffee free but they felt they'd be coming to them to offer money even though it was not accepted come along said Bowdy lighting a fresh cigarette Fifi will be waiting for us they went down the crazy stairs and across the farm yard towards the house everything about the place was the same of old the midden the sloughy pools the upended wagons the grunting of the pigs in the sty the restless movement of cattle in the buyer and the noisy growling of the dog Bub recalled the night of his return from the cafe at Jean Lacroix that same blurry dog he said to Bowdy the same look whispered Bub as the two got near the door there's Fifi God she hasn't half changed stout she must be married they entered Fifi rushed forward to meet them and clasping Bub with both arms she kissed him on the lips then she kissed Bowdy who blushed as red as a beetroot damn said Bub you're not half a giddy one Fifi she must have been working hard during the day for her hair was all untidy her linen salt and stain her skirts in the sand conditioned back from the trenches she asked back again said Bub who could follow the remark though spoken in French trenches no-bong he said plusure among comorads more blissey guère never finie Ziedead asked Fifi speaking in English the bon sojourn he's dead said Bub also Flanagan also Captain Thorley mon père mort said the girl and her eyes filled with tears morta verdun there was a long silence the two soldiers sat down near the stove Fifi put a base in the soup over the fire Madame Babette came in from the buyer heavy shoes with cow dung and placed a pail of milk on the dresser she shook hands with Bub and Boudie back from the trenches she inquired back for a month's rest Boudie replied I suppose you're married now Fifi Bub remark fixing his eyes on the girl she did indeed look like a married woman the old sprightly man who was gone her face was pale and quiet now and a tinge of sadness it crept into her voice Fifi the full frotic coquette of 18 months ago I'd given place to a prudent housewife whose interest did not extend beyond the marches of the farm I am married she replied a good husband asked Bub Traybon said Fifi he will be in from his work directly he forgotten Fitzgerald the Irishman said Bub he was a good man he's dead now killed by an oboe grand Fifi chuckled Bub looked at Boudie and could not resist giving expression to the thoughts which came to his mind it's just like easier French birds he buttered they'll have their bit of fun with a blow and then when he goes away it's goodbye and be damned to you and we don't care what happens to you Fifi who seemed to have made great progress in her knowledge of English laughed loudly at Bub's remarks and then she raised a warning finger somebody had come to the door and this somebody was rubbing heavy boots on the cobbles in an endeavor to get the dirt from the souls my husband said Fifi he came in stood for a moment and gazed awkwardly at the two soldiers Bub stared open mouth at the man Boudie contracted his eyebrows and rubbed one eye with a myery finger then the other won't swarm and soar said Bub you're damned like a mate as we add old Fitz I'm not surprised at that but Hull said the man coming forward and gripping both the men's hands and shaking them as if they were pump handles not a bit surprised for I am old Fitz but you're dead said Bub almost had been but luck was with me Fitzgerald still pump handling and you I heard you too were killed Boudie and Bub I never expected it's damn strange what does happen we've no end of things to talk about Fifi get a meal ready we have much to say it's all gushing out God it's good to see you too here Fitzgerald sat down crossed his legs felt in his pockets and brought out a packet of English cigarettes have a fag Bub he said laughing boishly I've left England but I can't resist these oh damn it isn't it good to see you too here old snogger I know I saw him in the press thoroughly too and flan again will go into the corner and have a talk disturbed and rations will be ready in no time I'm excited about it Bub I'm off my head I'm so glad so damn glad that I could give you a punch right on the tip of your nose but you'll not understand the feelings which give rise to a manifestation of gladness such as that spud hole Bub laughed blimey you're the same old Fitz same as ever he said end of chapter 21 chapter 22 of the brown brethren this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Brown Brethren by Patrick McGill chapter 22 The Married Man come all you true born country lad I'll sing a song to you you're like to hear it one and all for what I say is true the turf is wet upon the bog the snow is on the farm you better take a wife to bed she sure to keep you warm she will not want for golden chains from any peddlers packed when she will have your two strong arms clasped tight around her neck believe me all you hear these words believe me young and old tis snug and warm to have a wife when winter days are cold from an old come all you where can I begin and tell everything said Fitzgerald breaking a piece of bread bringing it up to within inch of his mouth I suppose that night when I was buried in the dugout will do to start with was the devil's own night I got lost first of all and me going up with a message to Captain Thorley was very important a mind going up in the morning so the young German prisoner whom we had taken said therefore our men holding the front line had to retire for safety to the support trenches so up I goes from headquarters running hell I'm getting ungrammatically excited Spuddle and gets lost took the wrong turning flops into a trench that was full of muck I stuck there for goodness knows how long holding on to the piece of paper in which the message was scrolled I thought I was a permanent fixture stuck in that trench for duration but somehow I did get free and eventually found myself in our front line how I got there I don't know I a mind see you Spuddle there was some dirt coming along our way at that time said Bob it was that shell that did it said Fitzgerald gazing absently at his piece of bread which he still held between finger and thumb someone said woo there she comes and there was a rush for the dugout I got mixed up in the scramble and was carried in with the rest but I still clung on to my message then the shell came down on the dugout and I was out of the doings just like a gut it spread as far as I can judge I was underground that night the next day the night after and got pulled out the day following it 12 o'clock some men of the regiment that relieved us saw a bayonet that stuck up through the roof of that fallen dugout move as if somebody was shaking it I saw that here bayonet said Bob sticking up over the roof while these fellows when they saw the bayonet wobbling guess that someone was alive under the ground and they began to dig like hell said Fitzgerald eventually they reached me still alive with a wound on the back of my head and they pulled me out the air had got in somehow I suppose well I came to my census in hospital and Versailles and I got up so I was told and rushed along the war like hell with a nurse or two cling to my shirt tell where are you running they asked me I'm going on a message to captain Thorley I told them there's a mine coming up at dawn oh that's all right said the nurses captain Thorley has got the message and everything's all right and they wheedled me and coaxed me until I went back to bed so I was told but I didn't remember anything about it even now my mind gets mazed at times when I'm excited and queer ideas come into my head you haven't eaten one bite yet that bit of bread hasn't gone into your mouth and we've been sitting here for hours well I'm not hungry said Fitzgerald I'm feeding on the pleasure of seeing you two here Fifi the wine he called to his wife the woman brought a large bottle placed it on the table and patted her husband on the head with an affectionate hand she's a divine creature said Fitzgerald when Fifi went how did it happen that the gods were so good to me I don't know but to get on with my story well I found myself in England I don't even remember crossing the channel I was in a muddle all the while sometimes I would think I was in the trenches and I would wake up from my sleep jump out on the floor and stand against the wall thinking I was on the fire step on guard I must have been a troublesome patient and then one night when I was in a big bed in the big house in England I thought somebody put a cold hand over my forehead I shouted out who's there I opened my eyes looked up and saw a man with a black beard standing at my bed who are you I asked your sergeant major said the man I want you to present arms he said at the word one you give the rifle a sharp can up to the right side gripping it at the small of the butt with the right hand and at the outer band with the left I stared at the fellow and this seemed to annoy him dumb contempt he yelled you'll be for it I raised his fist and made one smash at my face I dodged the blow and then a man in a water's uniform rushed in and pulled the sergeant major away good god body where was I guess I was in a lunatic asylum it was enough to turn my brain and it's a difficult job to prove that you're saying when you're in a madhouse they won't believe you for some damn reason or another I used to go up to the water and say look here matey I'm as right as rain he would nod his head and say oh yes of course you are but it was easy enough to see that he didn't believe you God often felt like strangling the man wouldn't do me any good I knew to kick up a ruction so I kept very quiet and well behaved at the end of six weeks I was discharged and sent to a convalescent camp not as good as the one that Flanagan had been in when he got wounded impossible to swing the lead there I got sick of it in no time so I applied for a transfer to the BEF somewhere in France do you really want to go out there again my mates asked me of course I do I told them then you must be mad they said but I had no luck with my application out to the trenches again said the MO tut tut man I'll bring you before a board and see what it says the board said discharge and I was discharged with a pension so there I was out on my own a washout Patrick Fitzgerald pensioner non-bond one that had done his bit who had been through the thick of it in the dunes a brave boy lying hard it and so on my friends took me into their arms and made no end of a fuss of me England had reason to be proud of her sons they said and took me about to swell dinners just like old Flam when he was at home said bub grand old men who were in the know and who knew everything having inside information well-dressed women who preached economy to the masses who denied themselves luxuries which they were healthier without who rode on common buses and advertised the fact and who traveled by tube as an example to those who always traveled by tube nobody paid much heat to them as far as I could see the people with whom I stopped denied themselves the services of a butler and took in his place an extra female servant they were very rich and self-denial was their greatest craze in furthering their country's cause they displayed as much ingenuity as a cautious billiard player who just misses the balls I grew tired of it all weary to death said Fitzgerald placing his bread on the table and pulling the wine bottle toward him he pulled out the cork filled his mate's glasses but took no notice of his own it doesn't do for me to take any now he said in an apologetic voice it goes to here he tapped his head with his fingers there was once said Bob yes, but that's a thing of the past said Fitzgerald I did go into a pub when I was in London I wanted to have a yarn with the old sweats who frequented the taproom I made them merry and they carried me home it wasn't honey after that old Fitz the boy who had been through the thick of it and who had done his bit was rather a burden to his friends he had wild ways his manners were unbecoming he had said dreadful things when under the influence of alcohol my friends took me aside lectured me and suggested that if I was placed in a little cottage somewhere out of sight given a few pounds in addition to my pension I would be much happier I left them the brave boy who had done his bit he went through the thick of it the most I didn't even wait for the additional few pounds then an uncle of mine died and left me six hundred pounds I collared this, wrote to Fifi whom I had not forgotten she remembered me the father was killed it for done what could I do but come over and see her it was an easy matter then I had some money, I loved her so we got married she's a grand woman, Bowdy I understand her when we were billeted here I don't even understand her yet oh how she misses her father but she bears it as a French woman can I tried to console her at first but I say nothing about her loss now first she used to say when we spoke about her father's death c'est la guerre but now it's different it's now he died for France and it's an honor to die for one's country Bob filled his glass Bowdy did the same the two soldiers looked at one another then at Fitzgerald Fifi came up to the table Bowdy raised his glass in the air Bob followed suit here's to Fitzgerald said Bowdy and to Fifi said Spuddle long life and happiness in no end of happy children victory for the allies and L for the Bosch said Spuddle and to Fifi the end the end of chapter 22 the end of the brown breath written by Patrick McGill