After tea I went with him to the dressing station, and Ted Vittle
of Section 4 accompanied us. Ted's tummy was also out of order and his
head was spinning like a top. The men's equipment was carried (p. 272)
out, men going sick from the trenches to the dressing-station at the
rear carry their rifles and all portable property in case they are
sent off to hospital. The sick soldier's stuff always goes to hospital
with him.
I stood outside the door of the dressing-station while the two men
were in with the M.O. "What's wrong, Bill?" I asked when he came out.
"My tempratoor's an 'undred and nine," said my comrade.
"A hundred and what?" I ejaculated.
"'Undred point nine 'is was," said Ted Vittle. "Mine's a 'undred point
eight. The Twentieth 'as 'ad lots of men gone off to 'orsp to-day
sufferin' from the same thing. Pyraxis the M.O. calls it. Trench fever
is the right name."
"Right?" interrogated Bill.
"Well it's a name we can understand," said Ted.
"Are you going back to the trenches again?" I asked.
"We're to sleep 'ere to-night in the cellar under the dressin'-station,"
they told me. "In the mornin' we're to report to the doctor again.
'E's a bloke 'e is, that doctor. 'E says we're to take nothing (p. 273)
but heggs and milk and the milk must be boiled."
"Is the army going to supply it?"
"No blurry fear," said Bill. "Even if we 'ad the brass and the
appetite we can't buy any milk or heggs 'ere.
Pages:
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200