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[pg 288] CHAPTER XXII THE MARRIED MAN <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Come, all you true-born country lads, I'll sing a song to you, You'll like to hear it one and all, for what I say is true; The turf is wet upon the bog, the snow is on the farm, You'd better take a wife to bed, she's sure to keep you warm; She will not want for golden chains from any pedlar's pack, When she will have your two strong arms clasped tight around her neck; Believe me, all who hear these words, believe me young and old, 'Tis snug and warm to have a wife when Winter days are cold. </div> <div class="stanza"> (From an old "Come all ye.") </div> </div> "Where can I begin and tell everything?" said Fitzgerald, breaking a piece of bread and bringing it up to within an inch of his mouth. "I suppose that night when I was buried in the dug-out will do to start with. 'Twas the devil's own night. I got lost first of all, and me going up with a message to Captain Thorley. 'Twas very important, a mine going up in the morning. So the young German prisoner whom we had taken said. [pg 289] Therefore, our men holding the front line had to retire for safety to the support trenches. So up I goes from Headquarters, running like hell (I'm getting ungrammatically excited, Spudhole) and gets lost. Took the wrong turning, flops into a trench that was full of muck. I stuck there for goodness knows how long, holding on to the piece of paper on which the message was scrawled. I thought I was a permanent fixture, stuck in that trench for duration. But somehow I did get free and eventually found myself in our front line. How I got there I don't know. I mind seeing you, Spudhole." "There was some dirt coming along our way at that time," said Bubb. "'Twas that shell that did it," said Fitzgerald, gazing absently at his piece of bread, which he still held between finger and thumb. "Someone said 'Whoo! There she comes!' and there was a rush for the dug-out. I got mixed up in the scramble and was carried in with the rest. But I still clung on to my message. Then the shell came down on the dug-out and I was out of the doings, just like a gutted sprat. "As far as I can judge I was underground that night, the next day, the night after, and got pulled out the day following at twelve o'clock. Some [pg 290] men of the regiment that relieved us saw a bayonet that stuck up through the roof of the fallen dug-out move as if someone was shaking it." "I saw that 'ere bay'net," said Bubb. "Stickin' up over the roof." "Well, these fellows, when they saw the bayonet wobbling, guessed that someone was alive under the ground, and they began to dig like hell," said Fitzgerald. "Eventually they reached me, still alive, with a wound on the back of my head, and they pulled me out. The air had got in somehow, I suppose.... Well, I came to my senses in hospital in Versailles, and I got up, so I was told, and rushed along the ward like hell, with a nurse or two clinging to my shirt tail. 'Where are you running?' they asked me. 'I'm going on a message to Captain Thorley,' I told them. 'There's a mine going up at dawn.' 'Oh, that's all right,' said the nurses. 'Captain Thorley has got the message and everything's all right.' And they wheedled me and coaxed me until I went back to bed. "So I was told; but I didn't remember anything about it. Even now my mind gets mazed at times when I'm excited, and queer ideas come into my head." [pg 291] "You haven't eaten one bite yet," said Bowdy Benners. "That bit of bread hasn't gone into your mouth, and we've been sitting here for the last ten minutes." "Well, I'm not hungry," said Fitzgerald. "I'm feeding on the pleasure of seeing you two here. Fifi, the wine!" he called to his wife. The woman brought a large bottle, placed it on the table, and patted her husband on the head with an affectionate hand. "She's a divine creature," said Fitzgerald, when Fifi went. "How did it happen that the gods were so good to me? I don't know.... But to get on with my story," he continued. "After a while I found myself in England. I don't even remember crossing the Channel. I was in a muddle all the while. Sometimes I would think I was in the trenches and I would wake up from my sleep, jump out on the floor and stand against the wall, thinking that I was on the firestep on guard. I must have been a troublesome patient.... And then one night when I was in a big bed in a big house in England I thought that somebody put a cold hand over my forehead. I shouted out 'Who's there?' I opened my eyes, looked up and saw a man with a black beard standing at my bed. [pg 292] "'Who are you ?' I asked. "'Your Sergeant-major,' said the man. 'I want you to present arms,' he said. 'At the word "one" you give the rifle a sharp cant up to the right side, gripping it at the small of the butt with the right hand and at the outer band with the left....' I stared at the fellow and this seemed to annoy him. 'Dumb contempt!' he yelled. 'You'll be for it!' and he raised his fist and made one smash at my face. I dodged the blow and then a man in a warder's uniform rushed in and pulled the sergeant-major away. "Good God, Bowdy, where was I? Guess. I was in a lunatic asylum.... 'Twas enough to turn my brain. And it's a difficult job to prove that you're sane when you're in a madhouse. They won't believe you, for some damned reason or another. I used to go up to the warder and say: 'Look here, matey, I'm as right as rain,' and he would nod his head and say: 'Oh, yes, of course you are.' But 'twas easy enough to see that he didn't believe you. God! I often felt like strangling the man.... It wouldn't do me any good, I knew, to kick up a ruction; so I kept very quiet and well-behaved. [pg 293] "At the end of six weeks I was discharged and sent to a convalescent camp; not as good as the one that Flanagan had been in when he got wounded. Impossible to swing the lead there. I got sick of it in no time, so I applied for a transfer to the B.E.F., somewhere in France. "'Do you really want to go out there again?' my mates asked me. "'Of course I do,' I told them. "'Then you must be mad,' they said. "But I had no luck with my application. 'Out to the trenches again,' said the M.O. Tut, tut, man! I'll bring you before a Board and see what it says.' "The Board said 'Discharge' and I was discharged with a pension. So there I was out on my own, a wash-out. Patrick Fitzgerald, pensioner, non bon, one that had done his bit, who had been through the thick of it, in the doings, a brave boy, lion-hearted, and so on. My friends took me into their arms and made no end of a fuss of me. England had reason to be proud of her sons, they said, and took me about to swell dinners." "Just like ole Flan when 'e was at 'ome," said Bubb. "I hobnobbed with big bugs," Fitzgerald [pg 294] continued, "grand old men who were in the know and who knew everything, having inside information; well-dressed women who preached economy to the masses, who denied themselves luxuries which they were healthier without, who rode on common buses and advertised the fact, and who travelled by tube as an example to those who always travel by tube. Nobody paid much heed to them as far as I could see. The people with whom I stopped denied themselves the services of a butler and took in his place an extra female servant. They were very rich, and self-denial was their greatest craze. In furthering their country's cause they displayed as much ingenuity as a cautious billiard player who just misses the balls. I grew tired of it all, wearied to death," said Fitzgerald, placing his bread on the table and pulling the wine bottle towards him. He pulled out the cork, filled his mates' glasses, but took no notice of his own. "It doesn't do for me to take any now," he said, in an apologetic voice. "It goes to here." He tapped his head with his fingers. "There was once," said Bubb.... "Yes, but that's a thing of the past," said Fitzgerald. "I did go into a pub when I was in London. I wanted to have a yarn with the [pg 295] Old Sweats who frequented the taproom. I made them merry and they carried me home. 'Twasn't honey after that. Old Fitz, the boy who had been through the thick of it and who had done his bit, was rather a burden to his friends. He had wild ways; his manners were unbecoming, he had said dreadful things when under the influence of alcohol. My friends took me aside, lectured me and suggested that if I was placed in a little cottage somewhere out of sight, given a few pounds in addition to my pension, I would be much happier.... "I left them; the brave boy who had done his bit and who went through the thick of it vamoosed. I didn't even wait for the additional few pounds.... Then an uncle of mine died and left me six hundred pounds. I collared this, wrote to Fifi, whom I had not forgotten.... She remembered me.... Her father was killed at Verdun. What could I do but come over and see her? 'Twas an easy matter then. I had some money, I loved her; so we got married. She's a grand woman, Bowdy. I didn't understand her when we were billeted here; I don't even understand her yet.... Oh, how she misses her father, but she bears it as a Frenchwoman can. I tried to console her at [pg 296] first, but I say nothing about her loss now. First she used to say, when we spoke about her father's death: 'C'est la guerre,' but now it's different. It's now: 'He died for France and it's an honour to die for one's country.'" Bubb filled his glass, Bowdy did the same. The two soldiers looked at one another, then at Fitzgerald. Fifi came up to the table. Bowdy raised his glass in the air, Bubb followed suit. "Here's to Fitzgerald," said Bowdy. "And to Fifi," said Spudhole. "Long life and happiness——" "And no end of 'appy children——" "Victory for the Allies!" "And 'ell for the Boche!" said Spudhole, bringing the glass of wine to his lips. THE END <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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