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Page 60
Four of us and one N.C.O. were left behind to load a lorry. And then we,
too, packed up and set out to follow the unit.
Thinking to take a short cut across country we ascended the hill-slope,
jumping and clambering across shell-holes and striding through long
grass and weeds. Now and again we would chance upon some narrow winding
track that soon lost itself again amid the tangled growth.
Low clouds burdened the sky and a fine rain began to fall. The top of
the hill was hidden in grey mist.
We passed a heap of broken concrete blocks from which the twisted ends
of iron rods projected. A little further on a concrete shelter stood
intact except for deep vertical fissures. I peered into the narrow
entrance that sloped steeply down. I slipped in the soft mud, but by
stretching out my arms and clasping the outer wall I just saved myself
from falling flat on to a rotting corpse that lay half-immersed in
greenish-black water. I drew slowly back, feeling sick with horror.
As we climbed the hill-side the devastation increased. The trees and
bushes were torn, splintered and uprooted. Only a few grey trunks
remained standing like scarred, bare poles. We approached the summit and
crossed shell-hole next to shell-hole, for not a square yard of ground
had remained untouched. Some of the holes were wide and deeply
funnel-shaped, others were shallow, and others were hardly
distinguishable, the earth having been churned and tossed up time after
time. On the very top of the hill, there was nothing left of the trees
that had densely clothed it a few months before, except fragments of
wood and stringy lengths of root. Even the grass and weeds had been
destroyed and blasted by the bursting of innumerable shells.
We walked along the crest between upright bundles of splinters that
projected from the ground in two parallel rows--all that remained of an
avenue of pines and larches.
We descended the further slope by a narrow gulley. Here the shell-holes
were less frequent. A miry path led through an abandoned camp--a chaos
of riddled and shattered boards and contorted iron sheeting. Dead
Frenchmen were lying everywhere. From a drab heap of mud and clothing a
human arm projected. The terminal finger-joints had dropped off. The
blackened skin was drawn tightly over the back of the hand which seemed
to clutch frantically at some invisible object.
A little further on two soldiers were scraping the soil with sticks.
"Gorblimy--'e ain't 'alf rotten--puh--don't 'e stink! I 'ope 'e's got
summat in 'is pockets arter we've bin takin' all this trouble."
"Yer never find much on these 'ere Froggies, the rotten bastards. They
don't 'ardly get no dibs [money, pay]. Canadians and Aussies--them's the
blokes yer want ter look for. Fritz ain't so bad neither. I got a bloody
fine watch orf a Fritz last year down on the Somme--sold it to an
orficer for thirty bleed'n' francs!"
"Put yer stick under 'im an' 'eave 'im out!"
One of the men pushed his stick obliquely into the ground and levered up
the putrefying corpse. The other turned the pockets inside out. A few
soiled and mouldy bits of paper came to light, but nothing of any value.
"Just our bastard bleed'n' luck! Let's see if we can't find a Fritz or a
Tommy!"
Robbing the dead was always a recognized thing at the front, but our
Corporal, who was rather an unsoldierly individual, did not seem to
think it quite the proper thing, and shouted:
"What d'you want to rob the dead for? Why don't you leave them alone?"
"What's it got ter do wi' you?" answered one of the treasure-seekers.
"Why don't yer mind yer own bleed'n' business? What's the use o' lettin'
good stuff go west? A dead un can't do nothin' wi' watches an' rings an'
five-franc notes! Gorblimy, 'ave a bit o' sense! It's allus your class
o' blokes what makes a bleed'n' fuss!"
Having thus vindicated their rights, the two men turned away in order to
continue their search for the legitimate spoils of war.
We walked on and the gulley widened out into a level crater-field. The
hill loomed dimly behind us, and, looking ahead through the rain and
mist, we could see the reddish blur of a ruined village.
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