The boy from East Prussia said he didn’t care what they took from him as long as they didn’t take his life.  He was safe now and nothing else mattered.  He spoke with a Polish accent.

I asked him what town he came from.

“Allenstein.”

“Did you see anything of the Russians in 1914?”

“Jawohl”—­he had seen plenty of Russian troops.  They behaved very well.  “Die sind besser als die Deutschen—­They’re better than the Germans....”

But the theatre orderly interrupted us and asked us to “send two or three across.”

I went to the Prep. to see if there were any new arrivals.  It was full once again and the wounded were streaming into the station.

It was quite dark outside.  The duckboards were lit up by rows of hurricane lamps.  The bombardment was still going on.

When I got back to the waiting-room all the prisoners were gone and English wounded were taking their places.  Soon the benches round the stove were crowded with dark figures whose hands and faces were lit up by the glow.

A man with haggard features and a bandage round his head began to talk in a mournful voice: 

“Oh, it’s ’ard ter lose yer mates.  There was three of us—­we was always together—­we couldn’t bear the idea o’ separatin’.  One of us copped a packet [got wounded] about three months ago an’ went inter dock [hospital]—­’e wasn’t ’alf upset when ’e left us, though ’e was a sure Blighty—­’e was afeard they’d send ’im to another mob when ’e got well agin.  But ’e came back to us arter all—­we didn’t ’alf ’ave a bust up that evenin’.  The two of us was absolutely canned to the wide [dead drunk]—­’e wasn’t though, ‘e didn’ drink much—­’e was better’n what we was—­well-spoken like—­didn’ go arter no tarts—­didn’ do no swearin’.  Yer never came acrorst a better mate’n what ‘e was!  We was goin’ over the top when a shell busted in front of us.  It blinded me for a moment and then when I could see agin—­gorblimy—­it must ‘a’ copped ’im in the stomach an’ ripped it open—­ugh!—­’e was rollin’ over wi’ all ’is guts ‘angin’ out—­ugh!—­yer should ‘a’ ’eard ’im groan.  ‘Me own mate,’ I says ter ’im, but ‘e didn’t rekkernize nothin’ and then we ’ad to go on—­yer can’t stop when yer goin’ over!  Soon arter me other mate copped it too.  Somethin’ bowled ’im clean over, but ‘e gets up again an’ shows me ’is arm.  ‘There’s a bastard,’ ’e says, as cool as yer like—­’is ’and was blown clean orf at the wrist!  He just turned round an’ was walkin’ orf to the dressin’ station when a shell busted atween us.  It copped me in the ‘ead an’ knocked me senseless.  Arterwards I ’eard me mate ’ad bin blowed ter bits.  Oh, it’s ‘ard when yer’ve bin together all the time an’ shared everythink.”

He buried his face in his hands and made no further sound except an occasional sniff and a hasty drawing in of the breath through trembling lips.

“It’s bloody murder up the line,” said a full Corporal.  “We were in a trench four feet deep and up to our waist in water.  A Jerry sniper spotted us and one man got biffed, [killed] and then the next, and then the next all along the trench.  We were packed together like sardines and had no cover at all for our heads and shoulders.  I got the wind up terribly ’cause I knew my turn was coming.  He only gave me a Blighty though—­I reckon I’m bloody lucky!”