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Bullets & Billets

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<h1>Bullets & Billets</h1>   <h2>By Bruce Bairnsfather </h2>   <h3> 1916 </h3>     <h3> TO MY OLD PALS, "BILL," "BERT," AND "ALF," WHO HAVE SAT IN THE MUD WITH ME </h3>      <center> <ANTIMG src="img01b.jpg" width-obs="40%" alt="frontispiece"> </center> <hr>  <h2> CONTENTS </h2> CHAPTER I Landing at Havre—Tortoni's—Follow the tram lines—Orders for the Front. CHAPTER II Tortuous travelling—Clippers and tablets—Dumped at a siding—I join my Battalion. CHAPTER III Those Plugstreet trenches—Mud and rain—Flooded out—A hopeless dawn. CHAPTER IV More mud—Rain and bullets—A bit of cake—"Wind up"—Night rounds. CHAPTER V My man Friday—"Chuck us the biscuits"—Relieved—Billets. CHAPTER VI The Transport Farm—Fleeced by the Flemish—Riding—Nearing Christmas. CHAPTER VII A projected attack—-Digging a sap—An 'ell of a night—The attack—Puncturing Prussians. CHAPTER VIII Christmas Eve—A lull in hate—Briton cum Boche. CHAPTER IX Souvenirs—A ride to Nieppe—Tea at H.Q.—Trenches once more. CHAPTER X My partial escape from the mud—The deserted village—My "cottage." CHAPTER XI Stocktaking—Fortifying—Nebulous Fragments. CHAPTER XII A brain wave—Making a "funk hole"—Plugstreet Wood—Sniping. CHAPTER XIII Robinson Crusoe—That turbulent table. CHAPTER XIV The Amphibians—Fed-up, but determined—The gun parapet. CHAPTER XV Arrival of the "Johnsons"—"Where did that one go?"—The First Fragment dispatched—The exodus—Where? CHAPTER XVI New trenches—The night inspection—Letter from the Bystander. CHAPTER XVII Wulverghem—The Douve—Corduroy boards—Back at our farm. CHAPTER XVIII The painter and decorator—Fragments forming—Night on the mud prairie. CHAPTER XIX Visions of leave—Dick Turpin—Leave! CHAPTER XX That Leave train—My old pal—London and home—The call of the wild. CHAPTER XXI Back from leave—That "blinkin' moon"—Johnson 'oles—Tommy and "frightfulness"—Exploring expedition. CHAPTER XXII A daylight stalk—The disused trench—"Did they see me?"—A good sniping position. CHAPTER XXIII Our moated farm—Wulverghem—The Curé's house—A shattered Church—More "heavies"—A farm on fire. CHAPTER XXIV That ration fatigue—Sketches in request—Bailleul—Baths and lunatics—How to conduct a war. CHAPTER XXV Getting stale—Longing for change—We leave the Douve—On the march—Spotted fever—Ten days' rest. CHAPTER XXVI A pleasant change—Suzette, Berthe and Marthe—"La jeune fille farouche"—André. CHAPTER XXVII Getting fit—Caricaturing the Curé—"Dirty work ahead"—A projected attack—Unlooked-for orders. CHAPTER XXVIII We march for Ypres—Halt at Locre—A bleak camp and meagre fare—Signs of battle—First view of Ypres. CHAPTER XXIX Getting nearer—A lugubrious party—Still nearer—Blazing Ypres—Orders for attack. CHAPTER XXX Rain and mud—A trying march—In the thick of it—A wounded officer—Heavy shelling—I get my "quietus!" CHAPTER XXXI Slowly recovering—Field hospital—Ambulance train—Back in England.      <h2> LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS </h2> <ANTIMG width-obs="40%" src="img01a.jpg" alt="Bruce Bairnsfather: a photograph" /> "Bruce Bairnsfather: a photograph" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img02.jpg" alt="The Birth of 'Fragments': Scribbles on the farmhouse walls" /> "The Birth of "Fragments": Scribbles on the farmhouse walls" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img03.jpg" alt="That Astronomical Annoyance, the Star Shell" /> That Astronomical Annoyance, the Star Shell, Which Momentarily Enables You to Scrutinize the Kind of Mud You Are In <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img04.jpg" alt="Plugstreet Wood" /> An Impression of the Famous Bois de Ploegsteet <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img05.jpg" alt="A Hopeless Dawn" /> "A Hopeless Dawn: Rain, Mud, Damp Coke, and Dug-Out Off Down Stream" <ANTIMG width-obs="100%" src="img06.jpg" alt="The usual line in Billeting Farms" /> "The usual line in Billeting Farms: A Three-Sided Red-Tiled Building, With a Rectangular Smell in the Middle" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img07.jpg" alt="Chuck us the biscuits, Bill. The fire wants mendin'" /> "Chuck us the biscuits, Bill. The fire wants mendin'" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img08.jpg" alt="Shut that blinkin' door. There's a 'ell of a draught in 'ere" /> "Shut that blinkin' door. There's a 'ell of a draught in 'ere" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img09.jpg" alt="A Memory of Christmas, 1914" /> "A Memory of Christmas, 1914: 'Look at this bloke's buttons, 'Arry. I should reckon 'e 'as a maid to dress 'im." <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img10.jpg" alt="The Sentry" /> What He Doesn't Know About Fire Buckets and the Time the Rum Comes Up Isn't Worth Knowing <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img11.jpg" alt="A Messines Memory: 'Ow about shiftin' a bit further down the road, Fred?" /> A Messines Memory: "'Ow about shiftin' a bit further down the road, Fred?" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img12.jpg" alt="Old soldiers never die" /> "Old soldiers never die" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img13.jpg" alt="Photograph of the Author. St. Yvon, Christmas Day, 1914" /> Photograph of the Author. St. Yvon, Christmas Day, 1914 Officers, 2nd Lieutenant: 1 Bairnsfathers, Bruce: 1 Holes, Shell: 1 <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img14.jpg" alt="Off 'in' again" /> Off "in" again <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img15.jpg" alt="Poor old Maggie! She seems to be 'avin' it dreadful wet at 'ome!" /> "Poor old Maggie! She seems to be 'avin' it dreadful wet at 'ome!" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img16.jpg" alt="The Tin-opener" /> The Tin-opener <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img17.jpg" alt="Subterranean Voice, Commenting on the Abnormal Activity of the Mortar Across the Way: They're devils to snipe, ain't they, Bill?" /> Subterranean Voice, Commenting on the Abnormal Activity of the Mortar Across the Way: "They're devils to snipe, ain't they, Bill?" <ANTIMG width-obs="45%" src="img18.jpg" alt="Old Bill" /> First Discovered in the Alluvial Deposits of Southern Flanders. Feeds Almost Exclusively on Jam and Water Biscuits. Hobby: Filling Sandbags, on Dark and Rainy Nights      <h2> FOREWORD </h2> Down South, in the Valley of the Somme, far from the spots recorded in this book, I began to write this story. In billets it was. I strolled across the old farmyard and into the wood beyond. Sitting by a gurgling little stream, I began, with the aid of a notebook and a pencil, to record the joys and sorrows of my first six months in France. I do not claim any unique quality for these experiences. Many thousands have had the same. I have merely, by request, made a record of my times out there, in the way that they appeared to me. <center> BRUCE BAIRNSFATHER. </center>        <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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