He was sittin' at the end of his dug-oot,
gettin' his tea. Stretcher party, advance!"
The procession moved off again, and disappeared round the curve of
Shaftesbury Avenue. The off-day was over.
XVI
"DIRTY WORK AT THE CROSS-ROADS TO-NIGHT"
Last week we abandoned the rural billets in which we had been
remodelling some of our methods (on the experiences gained by our
first visit to the trenches), and paraded at full strength for a march
which we knew would bring us right into the heart of things. No more
trial trips; no more chaperoning! This time, we decided, we were "for
it."
During our three weeks of active service we have learned two
things--the art of shaking down quickly into our habitation of the
moment, as already noted; and the art of reducing our personal effects
to a portable minimum.
To the private soldier the latter problem presents no difficulties.
Everything is arranged for him. His outfit is provided by the
Government, and he carries it himself. It consists of a rifle,
bayonet, and a hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition. On one side of
him hangs his water-bottle, containing a quart of water, on the other,
a haversack, occupied by his "iron ration"--an emergency meal of the
tinned variety, which must never on any account be opened except by
order of the C.O.--and such private effects as his smoking outfit and
an entirely mythical item of refreshment officially known as "the
unexpended portion of the day's ration.
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