We stepped out into the darkness.  The snow had turned into rain that fell in a steady drizzle.  I was so tired that I had no desire left except to get back to my tent.

“I wonder how much longer this is going to last?” I said to my friend.

“I’ve given up hoping.  The war’s a deadlock that may continue for years.  All I look forward to now is the spring and the warm weather.  And perhaps we shall get leave some day.”

“We’ve only been out here six weeks—­we won’t get leave for another eight or nine months.”

“It’s something to think about and look forward to, anyhow.”

We said good-night to each other and retired to our tents.  Most of the men were already in bed.  They were smoking their cigarettes as they lay stretched out on the floor.  One of them was reading a newspaper by candlelight.  I wrapped myself up in my blankets and wedged myself tightly in between my two neighbours.  Although I was wearied out, I felt compelled to glance at a paper.  There might perhaps be some hint of peace, some little glimmer of hope to go to sleep with and dream about.  I took up my copy of the Times which I received irregularly.  I began to read the leading article but was so irritated by its unctuous hypocrisy that I turned the page over and scanned the headlines.  Suddenly a big drop of water splashed on to it.  I became aware of the rain outside, swishing down upon the canvas, and, looking up, I saw a glistening patch of moisture collect above my head.  Another heavy drop descended, I stretched out my arm and pushing my fist against the wet patch drew it down the canvas as far as the brailing.  But the moisture continued to gather, and soon it was dripping in many places.  My kit-bag, standing upright next to me, was getting wet, so I placed the Times over it and let the water trickle off towards the ditch.  Then a man shouted from the other side of the tent: 

“It’s coming through like anything, my whole pillow’s sopping wet.”

It was more than he could bear.  Each little discomfort taken separately would have been altogether negligible.  But when petty discomforts accumulate there comes a time when one more, however small it be, has the effect of a sudden infliction.  He ground his teeth with fury at those pattering drops of water, but the realization of impotence seemed to descend upon him with such power that he lay back and closed his eyes, a prey to violent mental agitation.  Then he uttered a foul oath, blew out his candle, pulled the blanket over his head and tried to go to sleep.  I heard one of the other men laugh and say good-humouredly, “’E’s gettin’ on—­’e’ll soon be swearin’ wi’ the best of us.”

The man referred to was rather refined and had resisted the habit of swearing far longer than any of us.  I was amused, and my own equanimity, which had been on the verge of collapse, was restored by this incident.