THE CALL OF THE TRENCHES

Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 296, 3 September 1918, Page 3

THE CALL OF THE TRENCHES

NOSTALGIA IN PICCADILLY

(By Lieutenant J. B. Morton.) JSven lilwuvs Cooper, in lii'r lagged ciiiiLJjOHi'U Inline, luoKcd miserable. 'I'lierc was patiicticaliy liK'e an appeal in the old biscuit-box in tho ttjNici-, ns U it knew ihat. mis was Witliyham's hist day mere- Every dumb, inanimate thing in the dugout eeeracd to know lie was going away. Ho had a quaint feeling that, ho would not be able to slink out unobserved by 'them. Ho stood near tlio table, looking round the. walls oozing with slime. This dugout was liko many others he had boon in. It was just a type. Even tho rats were the smiidnrd kind, bloated and imnien.se. His face was pale, ami there, was a weary look about, his eyes, bul. he held himself erect, and tried to keep ii vigour in his movements. He was thinking hard. Sruno days ago the JI.O. had told him that his heart was badly strained, and lie had just receiver! his orders to go, down to the Base. There came back to his mind many jests about "cushy" jobs, and ho remembered, almost with a sense of guilt, ho.w he had of ton jokingly wished lie was oip of all tho mud and tumult discomfort of trench life. And now that his chance had como to him, dramatically unexpected, he was beginning to realise that a man can be genuinely sorry to leave- the trenches. Ho had not believed such,a thing -possible before.

A thousand fragments of ideas swam n.boiit i" his mind. He romombered hours.of holi, nights of mental torture.) He tried to persuade himself that in his heart he wae glad to go. How often in his imagination he had been about to leave the trenches for the Inst time Hw many times he had spoken enviously of R.T.O.'s and M.L.O.'s. He had thought at the time that he would give anything to changenliioes with thpin. /But it was no good protending. He was not glad to go. There was a kind of magic in all these well-known things, the table, the rats, the /rickety biscuit-boses, tho slimy walls, and, of course, Gladys Cooper. He turned towards the doorway of the dugout, and listened to the shells, and the bursts of machine-gun fire.' The magic was in those sounds, tjjo. Outside in the trench the sun' shone palely after a heavy shower of rain. The duckboards glistened. 'He heard somebody splashing through tho mud, cureing at every step. He smiled. He know the exact value of those curses now. Suppose that man, stumbling through the water and mud, were suddenly told that he could go to the Baso for good; he would he overjoyed at first, and then would come these other feelings. It was had enough to lcavcy one's friends, but, after all there would be meetings !at«r (hu They had already planned dinners in London. It was,' tlien, utterly ridiculous to worry over leaving a few boxes and tins, a table, several,, rats, and the liploss image of an actress who was most gloriously and bountifully alive over the water. Ho did not at tho time realise how inextricably the personalities of his friends were intertwined 'vith all these other things. He turned hack into the dugout to gather up his belongings. In a corner sat Vickers, humming as he waited for some water .to boil, a spoonful of tea in oiifl hund. Thore would never bo ten Mike that again. . . . Half-way down Piccadilly Withyham henrd liinis.elf named in a well-known 'voice. He turned to mcot tho. sunburnt face of Heat'herstone. "You on. leave, Withyliam ?".. "Yes."

"So am I. How about a dinner or something to-night,? Bonnor's back, too. Might do a show after." "I'm on," said .Withybam. "Splendid. Well, we may ns well meet at- the Berkeley Grill at 6.15, in the* vestibule. I'll book a table. By the way, how's the baso job getting on? Lucky beggar you aro to got a rest for a bit. . . . ."

Withyham found himself one of a party of five that night. Bonnor had brought with him two wounded officers from their battalion. Something that Withyham had tried to forget stirred in. him when he heard the familiar voices,, and looked at the circle of familiar faces. Presently-Heatherstone looked tip from a cutlet. "Bit different, from those old dugouts. What?. Jolly old Vickers and his teR. Remember Vickers, Withyhnra?"

After that the talk centred on the trenohes, and Withyham listened to reminiscences and anecdotes, and picked up the threads of tho old way of life. The dazzlingly white table-cloth faded slowly to the colour of brown mud. The assiduous waiter vanished, and there, in his corner s was Vickers making tea, that wonderful tea of his. Withyham felt that he had never been really hungry or thirst? or tired since h> left the trenches. He was jerked out of his reveries by a dig in the ribs. "Wake up, old man," said Bonnor. "Are you coming to seo Gladys Cooper in. the new show?" "Yfis; I'll come." "Do you remember that, photo you used to lug round with you wherever we went?" "Of course I do." A taxi granted up to the door, and the five of them squeezed in and drove ofF, Withyham puffing at a cigar in defiance of his heart. As ho sat in his stall ho recalled the photo in it? absurd little frame. Uo looked at tho stage. "You were much more wonderful," he said, "out them in your ridiculous frame, with tho slime dripping round you. That's the place to sue you. . . ." And so again the lure took hold o\ his soul, the magic that has always called across tlio world to men of the. English-speaking races, bidding them out, to open places and strange adventures, And as insistent, as the call of tho Yukon' is the call of those trenches in Franco. They loavc their brand upon n man's spirit. "When once ho has known tlieni he does not forgot.