Now and again, mingled with the
stench of death and decay, the breeze wafted into our dug-out an odour
of flowers.
The order came like a bomb flung into the trench and woke us up like
an electric thrill. True we did not believe it at first, there (p. 247)
are so many practical jokers in our ranks. Such an insane order! Had
the head of affairs gone suddenly mad that such an order was issued.
"All men get ready for a bath. Towels and soap are to be carried!!!"
"Where are we going to bathe?" I asked the platoon sergeant.
"In the village at the rear," he answered.
"There's nobody there, nothing but battered houses," I answered. "And
the place gets shelled daily."
"That doesn't matter," said the platoon sergeant. "There's going to be
a bath and a jolly good one for all. Hot water."
We went out to the village at the rear, the Village of Shattered
Homes, which were bunched together under the wall of a rather
pretentious villa that had so far suffered very little from the
effects of the German artillery. As yet the roof and windows were all
that were damaged, the roof was blown in and the window glass was
smashed to pieces.
We got a good bath, a cold spray whizzed from the nozzle of a
serpentine hose, and a share of underclothing. The last we needed
badly for the chalk trenches were very verminous. We went back (p. 248)
clean and wholesome, the bath put new life into us.
That same evening, what time the star-shells began to flare and the
flashes of the guns could be seen on the hills of Lorette, two of our
men got done to death in their dug-out.
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