Most of us had never heard the sound before, never heard its
summons, its murmur or its menace. All night long it was in the air,
and sweeping round the barn where we lay, telling all who chanced (p. 033)
to listen that out there, where the searchlights quivered across the
face of heaven, men were fighting and killing one another: soldiers of
many lands, of England, Ireland and Scotland, of Australia, and Germany;
of Canada, South Africa, and New Zealand; Saxon, Gurkha, and Prussian,
Englishman, Irishman, and Scotchman were engaged in deadly combat. The
sound was the sound of guns--our farmhouse was within the range of the
big artillery.
We were billeted a platoon to a barn, a section to a granary, and
despite the presence of rats and, incidentally, pigs, we were happy.
On one farm there were two pigs, intelligent looking animals with
roguish eyes and queer rakish ears. They were terribly lean, almost as
lean as some I have seen in Spain where the swine are as skinny as
Granada beggars. They were very hungry and one ate a man's
food-wallet and all it contained, comprising bread, army biscuits,
canned beef, including can and other sundries. "I wish the animal had
choked itself," my mate said when he discovered his loss. Personally I
had a profound respect for any pig who voluntarily eats army (p. 034)
biscuit.
We got up about six o'clock every morning and proceeded to wash and
shave. All used the one pump, sometimes five or six heads were stuck
under it at the same moment, and an eager hand worked the handle, and
poured a plentiful supply of very cold water on the close cropped
pates.
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