features in the sun and
lovingly watching Lomar pulling at a fat (and dubious) cigar, aired the
Battalion's sentiments with: "This is orlright. Anything except
Paschendaele or my ole woman."

A Battalion offers widely divergent contrasts in the psychology of men
composing its ranks, and it is with the intention of bringing the reader
into intimate and personal touch with all these types of men that this
chapter is penned. Nick names are as common as daisies in the Army and
by this medium a large number of characters will be portrayed and the
fate awaiting each one later recorded. To those who imagine that Death
has set laws for claiming this or that type there will be ample
argumentative data--but this is a factor upon which no scientific
grounds can be used as a base for theories. Life is chance!

There are good, indifferent, and bad soldiers among the Normans. The
first can be disposed of briefly: They are never adrift, never for
Company Orders, always spotless and first on parade; perpetually shining
and exhibiting glistening buttons before the Company-Sergeant-Major in
vague hope of promotion. A detestable type, fortunately in the minority.
Of "indifferent" in the above sense but inordinately proud of their
Battalion on parade and who gave of their best when demanded, 80 per
cent. of the Norman element was formed.

And the bad! Dare devils and schemers of the deepest dye, ever on the
qui vive to dodge fatigues, caring not a brass button for the C.O.
himself. Martel, Leman, White, Evans. Good fellows all. Afraid of
nothing except hard work, shining-up and guards. Nebo, whose ankle when
its owner was nabbed for a working party, would twist beneath him and
features twisted in pain would murmur: "Can't--can't carry on." The Duo
(Blicq and Clarke), imperturbable and calm, had strong aversion to
exertion in any form. The appearance of a N.C.O. requiring "Four men for
fatigue." sent the two flying headlong for the doorway with a great show
of towels and soap. Always in trouble, they always wriggled out. Stumpy,
also, too tired to slip away, too tired to be anything but a hindrance
when they did put him on a job, but never too weary to eat a dinner not
his own. But to them all, good, indifferent or bad, the Battalion's name
and record came FIRST. To no unit, however famed, would they acknowledge
superiority and every General who reviewed them was unable to repress
appreciation of the outcome of this latent esprit de corps