and ordered a further supply of German
soda-water.

We drank to the confusion of the enemy, in his own brandy and
soda-water, out of his own mugs, sitting on his own chairs at his own
table, and "dear old Charlie," who was a little etoile, as afterward I
became, with a sense of deep satisfaction (the noise of shells seemed
more remote), discoursed on war, which he hated, German psychology,
trench-mortar barrages (they had simply blown the Boche out of
Gommecourt), and his particular fancy stunt of stealing a march on the
infantry, who, said Captain Lowndes, are "laps behind." Other officers
crowded into the dugout. One of them said: "You must come round to mine.
It's a blasted palace," and I went round later and he told me on the
way that he had escaped so often from shell-bursts that he thought the
average of luck was up and he was bound to get "done in" before long.

Charlie Lowndes dispensed drinks with noble generosity. There was much
laughter among us, and afterward we went upstairs and to the edge of
the wood, to which a heavy, wet mist was clinging, and I saw the
trench-mortar section play the devil with Kite Copse, over the way. Late
in the afternoon I took my leave of a merry company in that far-flung
outpost of our line, and wished them luck. A few shells crashed through
the wood as I left, but I was disdainful of them after that admirable
brandy. It was a long walk back to "Funky Villas," not without the
interest of arithmetical calculations about the odds of luck in
harassing fire, but a thousand yards or so from Pigeon Wood I looked
back and saw that the enemy had begun to "take notice." Heavy shells
were smashing through the trees there ferociously. I hoped my friends
were safe in their dugouts again....

And I thought of the laughter and gallant spirit of the young men, after
five months of the greatest battles in the history of the world. It
seemed to me wonderful.

XX

I have described what happened on our side of the lines, our fearful
losses, the stream of wounded that came back day by day, the "Butchers'
Shops," the agony in men's souls, the shell-shock cases, the welter
and bewilderment of battle, the shelling of our own troops, the lack
of communication between fighting units and the command, the filth
and stench of the hideous shambles which were our battlefields. But to
complete the picture of that human conflict in the Somme I must now tell
what happened on the German side of the