Things will be all right presently.
Meanwhile, the attacking party fell back whence they came--but no
longer four full Divisions.
XVIII
THE FRONT OF THE FRONT
We took over these trenches a few days ago; and as the Germans are
barely two hundred yards away, this chapter seems to justify its
title.
For reasons foreshadowed last month, we find that we are committed to
an indefinite period of trench life, like every one else.
Certainly we are starting at the bottom of the ladder. These trenches
are badly sited, badly constructed, difficult of access from the rear,
and swarming with large, fat, unpleasant flies, of the bluebottle
variety. They go to sleep, chiefly upon the ceiling of one's dug-out,
during the short hours of darkness, but for twenty hours out of
twenty-four they are very busy indeed. They divide their attentions
between stray carrion--there is a good deal hereabout--and our
rations. If you sit still for five minutes they also settle upon
_you_, like pins in a pin-cushion. Then, when face, hands, and knees
can endure no more, and the inevitable convulsive wriggle occurs,
they rise in a vociferous swarm, only to settle again when the victim
becomes quiescent. To these, high-explosives are a welcome relief.
The trenches themselves are no garden city, like those at Armentieres.
They were sited and dug in the dark, not many weeks ago, to secure two
hundred yards of French territory recovered from the Bosche by bomb
and bayonet.
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