If it
wasn't for these things, and a few more, the trench wouldn't be such a
bad locality."
He put a finger and a thumb into my cigarette case, drew out a fag,
and lit it off the stump of his old one. He blew a puff of smoke (p. 115)
into the air, stuck his thumbs behind his cartridge pouches, and fixed
a look of pity on Pryor.
"What are the few more things that you did not mention, Bill?" I
asked.
"Few! Blimey, I should say millions. There's the stink of the dead men
as well as the stink of the cheese, there's the dug-outs with the rain
comin' in and the muck fallin' into your tea, the vermin, the bloke
snorin' as won't let you to sleep, the fatigues that come when ye're
goin' to 'ave a snooze, the rations late arrivin' and 'arf poisonin'
you when they come, the sweepin' and brushin' of the trenches, work
for a 'ousemaid and not a soldier, and the ----"
Bill paused, sweating at every pore.
"Strike me ginger, balmy, and stony," Bill concluded, "if it were not
for these few things the life in the trenches would be one of the
cushiest in the world."
CHAPTER IX (p. 116)
THE DUG-OUT BANQUET
You ask me if the trench is safe?
As safe as home, I say;
Dug-outs are safest things on land,
And 'buses running to the Strand
Are not as safe as they.
You ask me if the trench is deep?
Quite deep enough for me,
And men can walk where fools would creep,
And men can eat and write and sleep
And hale and happy be.
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