‘Ah,’ said one of the men, ‘that’s all hooey. You can’t go by that. They’re always changing their minds. When I went down for the rations they were saying we were all going back to the corps rest camp.’

Everybody began to talk at once.

‘Mail up, lads.’ Mister Paterson had appeared. He gave out two or three letters. There was a tearing of envelopes and quiet again for a few moments.

Charlie Venable had a letter, in a bulky packet. He opened it and sat frowning over it for a while. Then he climbed to his feet and moved among the men of his section. He bent over as he came to each of them and put something down in the grass.

The men watched him, puzzled.

‘Fags?’ said Baldy. ‘What’s up, Charlie?’

‘Four fags each,’ said Charlie, ‘and five left for me. Guess who they’re from?’

‘Your ma,’ said Baldy. Someone said the Red Cross. Someone else said the Overseas League.

‘Alfie Bradley,’ announced Charlie.

There was silence again. It was a long way back to remember.

‘Listen to this,’ said Charlie. His voice was tight and hard.

Dear Charlie [he read]: I expect you’ll be surprised to hear from me after all this time. I would have written earlier but I haven’t been well enough. Well, Charlie, I’ve had it. I lost one eye on the beach and they’ve been trying ever since to save the other one. They thought they could do it, but the doctor has just told me straight out that it’s no go, and I’ve got to settle down to the idea of being totally blind. He says they’re going to get me into Saint Dunstan’s, and that it’s not so bad really. They teach you all sorts of things there. The worst thing is telling Floss. She still thinks it’s going to be all right and I haven’t had the nerve to write to her yet. What does feel rotten, Charlie, is lying here in the dark and listening to the news on the wireless. I’m wondering all the time what’s happened to you chaps and whether you’re all right, and I feel so rotten and helpless not being with you. Well, Charlie, the nurse is writing this for me and I can’t go on for ever. Give my regards to all the boys and write as soon as you can. Enclosed are fifty fags. Sorry I can’t send more, but it’s the best I can do on hospital pay. Look after yourself. Keep well. Ever yours, ALFIE

‘He’s worried about us,’ said Charlie. ‘The poor little bugger’s lying there with his eyes out an’ he’s worried about us. Bastards,’ he said savagely, ‘whoreson bastards. Wait till I get up there again.’