“It’s doubly hard when you’re married,” said another.  “I haven’t got the wind up about myself at all, but I can’t help thinking about my wife....  They’re going away now, thank the Lord.  You never know when they won’t be coming back though—­that’s just the worst of it.”

The noise of the propellers was indeed dying away.

Several voices muttered “Thank God,” but one man’s teeth were still chattering as though he was so absorbed by his own fear that he had not noticed the disappearance of its cause.  Soon there was complete silence and one by one we fell asleep.

Another clear day and another clear night.  We lay awake listening anxiously to the bursting of bombs and the muttering of anti-aircraft fire.  But we went to sleep in the end and felt drowsy all the following day—­a clear day.  Casualties came in from a camp that had been bombed overnight, and we saw shattered limbs, smashed heads, and lacerated flesh.  Several of our men were looking pale through lack of sleep and had dark rings round their eyes.

Another clear night.  The agonizing vigil began again, but I was so weary that I went to sleep a few minutes after lights out.  Sullen thunders mingled with my dreams and did not wake me up.

Another clear day.  Would the fine weather never end?  Late in the afternoon, however, a few clouds collected on the horizon.  In the evening the entire sky was overcast and not a star was to be seen.  And as we went to bed we heard the rain swishing down upon the canvas roof.  The unspeakable joy we all felt at the prospect of an untroubled night!

“Bloody fine, this rain:  we’ll get some proper sleep now, thank God.  I never had the wind up so much in all my life, and I’ve been out here since ’15 and in some pretty hot places too.”

“I reckon the longer yer out ’ere the windier yer get.  I joined up in ’14 like a bloody fool.  At first I didn’t care a damn for anything.  Then I was wounded on the Somme an’ sent across to Blighty.  I dreaded comin’ back agin.  I only ’ad a little wound in me ‘and, an’ I used ter plug it wi’ dubbin’ an’ boot-polish ter keep it raw.  It didn’t ’alf ’urt, but it gave me a extra week or two in ’orspittle.  I ’ad to go in the end though—­the M.O. didn’t ‘alf give me a tellin’ orf.  Jesus Christ, didn’t I ‘ave the wind up when we went up the line!  An’ now I’m scared at the slightest sound, an’ I sometimes wake up out o’ me sleep shiverin’ all over.  When I was on leave a motor-car backfired in the street—­it didn’t ’alf make me jump; me mate ’oo was with me said I looked as white as a sheet.  The longer yer out ’ere the worse yer get—­it’s yer nerves, yer know, they can’t stand it.  In the line it’s always the new men what’s the most reliable....”

“That’s a bloody fact.  When we first come out, I thought all the Belgian civvies a lot o’ bloody cowards takin’ cover whenever Fritz came over. We used to stand an’ look at ’im.  They wasn’t cowards, it was us who was bloody fools.  They knew summat about it, we didn’t.  All the same, I know one or two old reg’lars ‘oo was in it from the first an’ never ’ad the wind up any time—­there’s not many like that though, generally it’s the old soldiers what’s the worst o’ the lot for wanglin’ out o’ risky jobs.”