The Red Horizon

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white on Gl

grey from Gl

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and dusky evenings and its spirit of brooding quiet. Nothing will persuade me, except perhaps th

g, it looks squalid and dilapidated, and smells of decaying vegetable matter, of manure and every other filth that can find a resting place in the vicinity of an unclean dwelling-place. But

of ages from the barn-roof at dawn, to the noisy little children with the dirty faces and meddling fingers, who poke their hands into our haversacks, to the farm servants who inspect all our belongings when we are out on parade, and even now we have

es, indispensable to the firing line, but the last straw on the backs of overburdened soldiers. The march to the barn billet was a miracle of endurance, but all lived it through and thanked Heaven heartily when it was over. That night we slept in t

wn to the yard and the dovecot was voluble. Somewhere near a girl was milking, and we could hear the lilt of her song as she worked; a cart

s, its murmur or its menace. All night long it was in the air, and sweeping round the barn where we lay, telling all who chanced to listen that out there, where the searchlights quivered across the face of heaven, men were fighting and killing one another: soldiers of many lands, of

akish ears. They were terribly lean, almost as lean as some I have seen in Spain where the swine are as skinny as Granada beggars. They were very hungry and one ate a man's food-wallet and all it contained, comprising bread,

red a plentiful supply of very cold water on the close cropped pates. The panes of the farmhouse window made excellent shaving mirrors and, incidentally, I may mention that rifle-slings generally serve the purp

uld have a certain charm of its own, make everybody merry, and banish all discomforts due to frost and cold for ever. Thus the men thought, though most of our fellows are teetotallers. We get rum now, few drink it; we are sated with cigarettes, and smoke them as if in duty bound; the stolen delight of the last "fag-end" i

es to an end about six o'clock. In the evening we go into the nearest village and discuss matters of interest in some café. Here we meet all manner of men, Gurkhas fresh from the firing line; bus-drivers, exiles from London; men of the Army S

s crime here. A soldier out of doors at midnight in the cathedral city was merely a minor of

s men can on St. Patrick's Day. We sang Irish songs, told stories, mostly Cockney, and laughed without res

als-that is when we become what is known officially as "barn orderly." A barn orderly is the company unit who looks after the bi

rish, and watched her waddle across the midden towards the house, my duties were ended. I was at liberty until the return of the battalion. It was all very quiet, little was to be heard s

ng knitting. It was good to be there lying prone upon the barn straw near the door above the crazy ladder, writing letters. I had learned to love this place and these people whom I seem to know so very well from having read René Bazin, Daudet, Maupassant, Balzac and Marie Claire. High up and far away t

n that the battalion was to have a bath that afternoon and

farmyard, the horse lines to the rear were full of movement, horses strained at their tethers eager to break away and get free from the capt

knew a little of her language. They asked about her son in the trenches; she had heard from him the day before and he was quite well and hoped to have a holiday very soon. He would come home then and spend a fortnight with the family. She looked forward to his coming, he had been away from her ever since the war started; she had not seen him for eight

ball cartridge which we carried. The rifle is with us always now, on parade, on march, in café, billet, and church; our "best friend" is our eternal companion. We carried it into the church

ures, there was the suggestion of war in the collection boxes for wounded soldiers, in the crêpe worn by so many women; one in ev

ravery of women who remain at home. Opposite us sat the lady of the café, her head low down on her breast, and the rosary slipping bead by bead through her fingers. Now and aga

full marching order. To-day they sang a hymn well-known and loved, the clarion call of their faith was started by the choir. As one man the soldiers joined in the singing, and their voices filled the building. The other members of the congregation looked on for a moment in surprise, then one after another they started to sing, and in a mo

them their nation for all that was being done to help in the war; prayers were said for the men at the front, those who were still alive, as

following, we took our way back to our billets. On the march a mate

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she looke

d been killed. She is awfully upset about it and no wonder. She was always

e "petit gar?on," the café lady's son; next Sunday another mourner will join with the m