‘Then Madeley got ’old of ’is man, who was blubberin’ an’ swearin’ summat awful, an’ near twisted ’is arm off. I were busy keepin’ some o’ the other buggers off ’im, but ’e didn’t pay no attention to nobody else, ’e just lugged ’is man out the back door an’ into the yard, wi’ the old girl ’ollerin’ blue murder; and Madeley lugs ’im into the urinal, an’ gets ’im down an’ rubs ’is face in it. I’d got out the back door too, be that time, as I seed some red-caps comin’ into the bar; an’ when ’e’d finished I saw Madeley stand up an’ wipe ’is ’ands on the seat of ’is trousers. “There, you bugger,” ’e says; “now you go ’ome an’ talk to yourself.”-“’op it,” I says to ’im, “there’s the fuckin’ picket outside”; an’ we ’opped it over some palin’s at the bottom o’ the yard; one of ’em came away, an’ I run a bloody great splinter into the palm o’ me ’and. Then we just buggered off, by some back streets, to The Crown, an’ ’ad a couple o’ pints an’ went ’ome peaceable.’

‘Look at ol’ tear-gas!’ Martlow cried. ‘Thought you didn’t like fightin’, Weeper?’

Weeper’s whole face was alight with excitement.

‘A like a scrap as well as any man, so long as it don’t go too far,’ said Weeper. ‘a’d ’ave given a lot to see thee go for that miner, Madeley. It’s them chaps what are always on the make, an’ don’t care ’ow they makes it, as causes ’arf the wars. Them’s the bloody cowards.’

‘Is it all true, Madeley?’ asked Corporal Hamley.

‘It were summat like, but I misremember,’ said Madeley, modestly. ‘But it’s all true what ’e says about folks at ’ome, most on ’em. They don’t care a fuck what ’appens to ’us’ns, so long as they can keep a ’ole skin. Say they be ready to make any sacrifice; but we’re the bloody sacrifice. You never seed such a windy lot; an’ bloodthirsty ain’t the word for it. They’ve all gone potty. You’d think your best friends wouldn’t be satisfied till they’d seed your name on the roll of honour. I tol’ one of ’em ’e knew a bloody sight more’n I did about the war. The only person as ’ad any sense was me mother. She on’y fussed about what I wanted to eat. She didn’t want to know anything about the war, an’ it were on’y me she were afraid for. She didn’t min’ about aught else. “Please God, you’ll be home soon,” she’d say. An’ please God, I will.’

‘An’ then they give you a bloody party,’ said Glazier. ‘Madeley an’ I went to one. You should a seed some o’ the pushers. Girls o’ seventeen painted worse nor any Gerties I’d ever knowed. One of ’em came on an’ sang a lot o’ songs wi’ dirty meanings to ’em. I remember one she sang wi’ another girl, “I want a Rag.” She did an’ all, too. When this bloody war’s over, you’ll go back to England an’ fin’ nought there but a lot o’ conchies and bloody prostitutes.’