ok here, Simpkins," said the corporal when the relief was
completed, "this is your first visit to the trenches, isn't it? Well,
you can sit down now and have a sleep, or you can write or read if you
like. But, whatever you do, don't go showing your ugly face over the
top; because this place ain't healthy." He turned away, and Reggie was
left to his own resources.

"Come round the corner," said Ginger in his ear. "I'll show you a spot
to sleep. I know this 'ere bit like me own back parlour."

And so--had any one been sufficiently interested in his doings to
report the fact--it might have been noted that ten minutes later our
friend was sitting on the fire step writing a lurid epistle to Miss
Belsize, while Ginger lay peacefully asleep beside him, breaking the
complete silence with his snores.

At last the letter was finished, and Reggie gave way to meditation.
Everything was so utterly different to what he had anticipated that he
could hardly believe he was actually in that mystic place the trenches.
To his left a crumbling wall ran along until it bent out of sight, a
wall which in most places was three or four feet high, but which at one
spot had been broken down until it was almost flush with the ground,
and the bricks and rubble littered the weeds. In front of him lay the
town, desolate, appalling, with a few rooks cawing discordantly round
the windowless houses. And over everything brooded an oppressive hot
stinking stillness that almost terrified him. . . .

After a while his gaze settled on the place where the wall was broken
down, and his imagination began to play. If he went there--it was only
about ten yards away--he would be able to look straight at the Germans.
So obsessed did he become with this wonderful idea that he woke up the
sleeping Ginger and confided it to him. There being a censor of public
morals I will refrain from giving that worthy warrior's reply when he
had digested this astounding piece of information; it is sufficient to
say that it did not encourage further conversation, nor did it soothe
our hero's nerves. He was getting jangled--jangled over nothing. It
was probably because there was such a complete nothing happening that
the jangling process occurred. A shell, a noise, anything; but not
this awful, silent stagnation. He bent down mechanically and picked up
half a brick; then just as mechanically he bowled the half-brick at the
lump of debris behind the broken bit of the wa