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Page 38
"I bet 'e's took some photographs--'e'll be over to-night. I reckon
we're bloody lucky to be at a C.C.S."
"D'yer think 'e wouldn't bomb a C.C.S.?"
"Course 'e wouldn't--'e knows as well as what we do that there's some of
'is own wounded at C.C.S.'s."
"Yer've got some bleed'n' 'opes--do anythink, 'e would. Didn't yer see
it in the papers? 'E bombed a French C.C.S. at Verd'n an' knocked out
umpteen wounded."
"I bet that's all bloody lies--yer can't believe nothin' what's in the
papers."
"Can't yer! If yer don't it's because yer don't want ter. I believe yer
a bleed'n' Fritz yerself, always stickin' up fer the bastard. Everythink
what's in the papers is true--the Government wouldn't allow it if it
wasn't! That's got yer, ain't it?"
"Yer want ter look at it a bit more broad-minded. Course 'e makes
mistakes sometimes like anybody else--'ow do 'e know it's a C.C.S.--'e
can't see no Red Crorss at night?"
"Mistakes be blowed--'e knows what's what, you take my word for it ..."
We gathered idly round the disputants, glad of a distraction that would
help to pass the time. A third person joined in the argument:
"If 'e bombs 'orspitals an' C.C.S.'s it's our own bloody fault. Look at
our C.C.S. 'ere. There's a ordnance park and a R.E. dump up the road.
There's a railway in front an' a sidin' where troops is always
detrainin'. Then there's a gas dump over yonder. An' if we're bloody
fools an' leave the lights on at night, 'ow can 'e tell what's what when
everything's mixed up together? Why the bloody 'ell don't they put
C.C.S.'s away from dumps an' railways? Why don't they stick 'em right in
the fields somewhere? I bet we'll cop it one o' these nights, an' serve
us right too."
German aeroplanes had passed overhead almost every clear windless
night, but the buzz of propellers, that often went on for hours, and the
dull boom of bombs exploding far away had never caused anything more
than slight uneasiness and apprehension.
One night, after we had been at the C.C.S. for about a month, we heard
the uproar of a distant air-raid. Early the next morning a number of
motor-ambulances arrived with their loads of wounded men. A camp, a mile
or two from the station, had been bombed and fifty men had been killed
and many more wounded. One of the "cases" brought into the theatre had
been hit on the forehead. The bomb-fragment had not penetrated the
skull, but had passed along its surface. The scalp hung over the
forehead loosely like an enormous flap, the red, jagged edge nearly
touching the eyebrows. Since then I thought of this man every time there
was an air-raid.
The event increased our uneasiness. After each "bombing-stunt" we
thought: "We were lucky this time--it will be our turn next though."
Moreover, we began to realize our helplessness. We were compelled to
remain in our tents during a raid and there was no possibility of taking
shelter. We could have put on our steel helmets--they would at least
have afforded some head protection, but hardly any of us had the courage
to do anything that might be regarded by the others as a sign of fear.
The discussion about the bombing of hospitals had made us all think of
air-raids. We had nearly finished our day's work when we noticed a few
clouds on the horizon. We felt relieved. Perhaps the sky would be
overcast and we would have an undisturbed night.
"I can't stick night raids," said one of our number. "They don't put my
wind up a bit, but they interfere with my sleep and make me feel tired
in the mornings."
A man who had been in the war from the beginning answered:
"I can see you haven't been out here long, and have never been in a
proper raid. I'll never forget the last time we were bombed. We were out
on rest about fifteen miles behind the line. Fritz came over and I had
the wind up so badly that I left the tent to go into the open fields.
(I'd had a taste of it before, you know, and that makes all the
difference.) Then he bombed us before I knew where I was. I ran for my
life. There was a hell of a crash behind me and a bit caught me in the
shoulder and knocked me down. When it was all over I got up and went
back, although my shoulder hurt like anything. A lot of our fellows were
running about and shouting. Where my tent used to be, there was a big
bomb-hole and my mates were lying dead all round--fourteen of them. I
didn't recognize most of them, they were so smashed up. Fritz had
dropped one right on the tent. I reckon I was lucky to get off with a
Blighty! I was in hospital six weeks and then I got ten days' sick leave
in London. Fritz came over one night--Christ, I didn't half have the
wind up! We were sitting in the kitchen, mother and father didn't seem
to mind much--they didn't know what it meant. Fritz had never dropped
any our way before. I never heard such a barrage, at least not for
aeroplanes. It wasn't so bad as out here all the same--you could take
shelter, anyhow. Air-raids are bloody awful things, they put my wind up
much more than shell-fire."
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