CHAPTER XV

CARPE DIEM

"Home again!" said Begbie Lyte as he watched his servant unrolling his
valise in the little field we had left a fortnight before, and the rest
of us laughed, for he voiced the thoughts of all.

It required a bit of an optimist to see a home in that apparently
comfortless situation, but men just relieved from the firing line are
not over-critical, and the prospect of a night under the stars, but away
from the crash of shell and the "phit" of striking bullets, was pleasant
enough to satisfy the most chronic grouser.

We had, of course, only reached this billet about dawn, so without
wasting any time over such niceties as washing we bundled our clothes
into a sort of pillow in the head of our "Wolseleys" and drew from the
depths of that wondrous combination of a valise and bed that luxury of
luxuries on active service, a pair of pyjamas, and were soon dozing
comfortably in dreamland.

Our men, lacking such comforts as Wolseley valises and pyjamas, merely
denuded themselves of their equipment, and, with perhaps a preliminary
search for "trench pets," slept in their greatcoats under shelters
rigged up with waterproof sheets. They had no blankets, for it was
summer, and blankets and rum issue are alike "Nah pooh" on the 1st of
June. We had in fact turned in our blankets before starting southward
from Bailleul.

Here and there bivouac fires had been lighted, and round them small
groups sat and talked over our recent losses. In another day they would
mention them no more, though they would never forget them.

Presently even these fell asleep, and when, a few hours later, the moon
showed herself between the clouds she looked down on a still and silent
camp, the only signs of life being the dying embers of the fires and the
dark forms of the sentries moving slowly up and down the field.

Custom permitted us to sleep on till noon the next day, and then
everybody had a grand clean up. A shower-bath was extemporised by the
simple process of standing over a ditch naked and unashamed while a
patient _batman_, with the aid of what is called, in official language,
"one pail, collapsible canvas," poured water over until, breathless but
refreshed, the victim shouted to stop. Later on sundry private soldiers
whom one had known in civil life would approach and ask for the loan of
the pail. Such is democracy in the "Colonials."

Bath being over, the razor was vigorously applied and a week's growth
scraped