BATALLION RELIEF

“Fall in! Now, get a move on!” ( Curse the rain. )

We splash away along the straggling village,

Out to the flat rich country green with June...

And sunset flares across wet crops and tillage,

Blazing with splendour-patches. Harvest soon

Up in the Line. “Perhaps the War‘ ll be done

By Christmas-time. Keep smiling then, old son!”

Here's the Canal: it's dusk; we cross the bridge.

“Lead on there by platoons.” The Line's a-glare

With shell-fire through the poplars; distant rattle

Of rifles and machine-guns. “Fritz is there!

Christ, ai n't it lively, Sergeant? Is't a battle?”

More rain: the lightning blinks, and thunder rumbles.

“There's overhead artillery,” some chap grumbles.

“What's all this mob, by the cross-road?” ( The guides )...

“Lead on with Number One.” ( And off they go. )

“Three-minute intervals.”... Poor blundering files,

Sweating and blindly burdened; who's to know

If death will catch them in those two dark miles?

( More rain. ) “Lead on, Headquarters.”

( That's the lot. )

“Who's that? O, Sergeant-major; do n't get shot!

And tell me, have we won this war or not?”