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[pg 280] CHAPTER XXI RESTING <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> The night breeze sweeps La Bassée Road, the night dews wet the hay, The boys are coming back again; a straggling crowd are they; The column lines are broken, there are gaps in the platoon, They'll not need many billets now for soldiers in Bethune, For lusty lads, good, hearty lads, who marched away so fine, Have now got little homes of clay, beside the firing line. Good luck to them, God-speed to them, the boys who march away, A-swinging up La Bassée Road each sunny, Summer day. </div> <div class="stanza"> (From "Soldier Songs.") </div> </div> "Gorblimey! This ain't arf a blurry march," said Bubb, changing his rifle from one shoulder to the other and straightening himself up. "I'm feelin' my feet, my 'eels are rubbin' against sandpaper." "We'll soon be there now," said Bowdy Benners. "Another half hour. I remember the place well. We haven't been here for—how long? Almost a year and a half. Then there were some good fellows with us. Old Fitz [pg 281] and Snogger and Flanagan and Captain Thorley and Billy Hurd. Gone west, the poor devils." "I wish I 'ad gone west," said Bubb, whose head was sinking forward. "This ain't worth living for, this damned march. If I did go west I wouldn't mind; there's a lot of good men waitin' to welcome us there. We'll never drink beer with better blokes again." "True for you, Bubb," said Bowdy. "Brave boys, the whole lot of them. Here, Spudhole, I'll carry your rifle for you. You look done up." Bubb straightened himself. "Thanks, Bowdy, but I'd rather carry me 'ipe myself. Wot would these draft men think if they see me gettin' 'elped along? I'm not a rooky, Bowdy." "Righto," said Bowdy, with a laugh. "Your independence will be the death of you one day." A halt was called at this juncture and the men threw themselves down by the roadside. The dusk of an October evening was settling on the poplar-lined roadway. The spinneys on either side were wrapped in shadow and a cold wind swept across the fields. In a farm somewhere [pg 282] near a dog barked and a cart rumbled along a lane. The chiming of a church bell could be heard calling the faithful to prayer. Bowdy took off his pack, lit a cigarette, and sat on a milestone which bore the inscription: "A Cassel 5 kilo." The milestone, which indicated the wrong direction, had been reversed by the peasantry when war broke out in hopes of turning the German Army in a wrong direction. Bubb lay flat on his back, his feet cocked up, his tunic open. "Wunner if Fifi is kickin' about now," he said. "She wasn't 'arf a bird. Ole Snogger was fair gone on 'er, so was pore Fitz. Bet yer, she'll be lookin' for a new Tommy this time. Why don't ye go in an' say things to 'er, Bowdy? Ye're a devil for fightin', a devil for drinkin', and ye're no damned good at all when a wench is about. If I 'adn't me own bird back off Walworth Road wiv 'er barrer, I'd lead Fifi a dance." "Wot about the girl at Gorre," said Bowdy Benners. "You forgot all about Walworth Road when you went to see her on a stretcher with a ground-sheet for a uniform." Bubb never wanted to be reminded of this incident, [pg 283] but at the present time he was too tired to pay any heed to Bowdy's remarks. At seven o'clock the platoon arrived at Y—— Farm and the men were conducted to the old barn in which a few of them had billeted before. Bowdy and Bubb sat down on the straw and took off their puttees, lit their cigarettes and fumbled in their pockets for money. Fifi, of course, would give them soup and coffee free; but they felt it becoming to them to offer money, even though it was not accepted. "Come along," said Bowdy, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Fifi will be waiting for us." They went down the crazy stairs and across the farmyard towards the house. Everything about the place was the same as of old, the midden, the sloughy pools, the up-ended waggons, the grunting of the pigs in the stye, the restless movement of cattle in the byre and the noisy growling of the dog. Bubb recalled the night of his return from the café of Jean Lacroix. "The same blurry dawg," he said to Bowdy. "The same." "Look!" whispered Bubb, as the two got near the door. "There's Fifi. Gawd! She 'asn't 'arf changed.... Stout.... She must be married." [pg 284] They entered. Fifi rushed forward to meet them, and clasping Bubb with both arms she kissed him on the lips. Then she kissed Bowdy, who blushed as red as a beetroot. "Well, I'm damned," said Bubb. "Ye're not 'arf a giddy one, Fifi." She must have been working hard during the day, for her hair was all untidy, her linen soiled and stained, her skirts in the same condition. "Back from the trenches?" she asked. "Back again," said Bubb who could follow the remark, though spoken in French. "Trenches no bong," he said. "Ploosier mon camerads mort, more blissée. Guerre never fini." "The sergen, is zee dead?" asked Fifi, speaking in English. "The bon sergen." "'E's dead," said Bubb. "Also Flanagan; also Captain Thorley...." "Mon père mort," said the girl, and her eyes filled with tears. "Mort à Verdun." There was a long silence. The two soldiers sat down near the stove. Fifi put a basin of soup over the fire. Madame Babette came in from the byre, her heavy shoes covered with cow-dung, and placed a pail of milk on the [pg 285] dresser. She shook hands with Bubb and Bowdy. "Back from the trenches?" she enquired. "Back for a month's rest," Bowdy replied. "I s'pose you're married now, Fifi?" Bubb remarked, fixing his eyes on the girl. She did indeed look like a married woman; the old sprightly manner was gone; her face was pale and quiet now, and a tinge of sadness had crept into her voice. The old Fifi, the full-throated coquette of eighteen months ago, had given place to a prudent housewife whose interests did not extend beyond the marches of the farm. "I am married," she replied. "A good husband?" asked Bubb. "Très bon," said Fifi. "He will be in from his work directly." "Ye've forgotten Fitzgerald, the Irishman," said Bubb. "'E was a good man. 'E's dead now; killed by an oboo grand." Fifi chuckled. Bubb looked at Bowdy and could not resist giving expression to the thoughts which came into his mind. "It's just like these 'ere French birds," he muttered. "They'll 'ave their bit of fun wiv a bloke an' then when 'e goes away it's 'Goodbye [pg 286] and be damned t'yer, and we don't care wot 'appens t'yer.'" Fifi, who seemed to have made great progress in her knowledge of English, laughly loudly at Bubb's remarks. Then she raised a warning finger. Somebody had come to the door and this somebody was rubbing heavy boots on the cobbles in an endeavour to get the dirt from the soles. "My husband," said Fifi. He came in, stood for a moment, and gazed awkwardly at the two soldiers. Bubb stared open-mouthed at the man, Bowdy contracted his eyebrows and rubbed one eye with a miry finger, then the other. "Bon soir, m'soo," said Bubb. "Ye're damned like a mate as we 'ad, old Fitz." "I'm not surprised at that, Spudhole," said the man, coming forward and gripping both the men's hands and shaking them as if they were pump handles. "Not a bit surprised, for I am ole Fitz." "But ye're dead," said Bubb. "Almost had been ... but luck was with me," said Fitzgerald, still pump-handling. "And you. I heard you two were killed, Bowdy and Bubb ... I never expected.... [pg 287] It's damned strange what does happen.... We've no end of things to talk about.... Fifi, get a meal ready, the best bottle of wine ... we have much to say.... It's all gushing out.... God! it's good to see you two here." Fitzgerald sat down, crossed his legs, felt in his pockets and brought out a packet of English cigarettes. "Have a fag, Bubb—Bowdy," he said, laughing boyishly. "I've left England, but I can't resist these.... Oh! damn it!... Isn't it good to see you two here.... Old Snogger.... I know, I saw it in the press. Thorley, too, and Flanagan.... We'll go into the corner and have a talk.... We won't be disturbed and rations will be ready in no time. I'm excited, Bowdy. Bubb, I'm off my head. I'm so glad, so damned glad that I could give you a punch right on the tip of your nose.... But you'll not understand the feelings which give rise to a manifestation of gladness such as that, Spudhole." Bubb laughed. "Blimey! Ye're just the same ole Fitz, same as ever," he said. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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