192)
world like Moslems, as the pictures show them, prostrate in prayer.
The posture reminded me of stories told of ostriches, birds I have
never seen, who bury their heads in the sand and consider themselves
free from danger when the world is hidden from their eyes.
Safety in that style did not appeal to me; I sat on the bottom of the
trench, head erect. If a splinter struck me it would wound me in the
shoulders or the arms or knees. I bent low so that I might protect my
stomach; I had seen men struck in that part of the body, the wounds
were ghastly and led to torturing deaths. When a shell came near, I
put the balls of my hands over my eyes, spread my palms outwards and
covered my ears with the fingers. This was some precaution against
blindness; and deadened the sound of explosion. Bill for a moment was
unmoved, he stood upright in a niche in the wall and made jokes.
"If I kick the bucket," he said, "don't put a cross with ''E died for
'is King and Country' over me. A bully beef tin at my 'ead will do,
and on it scrawled in chalk, ''E died doin' fatigues on an empty
stomach.'"
"A cig.," he called, "'oo as a cig., a fag, a dottle. If yer can't (p. 193)
give me a fag, light one and let me look at it burnin.' Give Tommy a
fag an' 'e doesn't care wot 'appens. That was in the papers. Blimey!
it puts me in mind of a dummy teat. Give it to the pore man's
pianner...."
"The what!"
"The squalling kid, and tell the brat to be quiet, just like they tell
Tommy to 'old 'is tongue when they give 'im a cig.
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