10 
LAND & WATER 
May lo, 1917 
never leave a dug-out so long, as Ihen's a moan or a 
groan ..." 
Jlic rest of this lethal discourse escaped me /or \vc passed 
on. A bombii;g class was being put through its paces, and 
as we drew near the O.C. thought it discreet to take cover in a 
caged trencli in the rear, for they were practising with live 
bombs. The N.C.O. was a realist and had apparently dis- 
dained such precaution for he kept hispupils posted in a shallow 
trench in front of us with no other cover than a few sand bags 
grouped round the bomber who was about to throw. The 
bomber drew out the ])in with tin- thumb and forefinger of 
his left iiand keeping the levi-r tirml>- clasped against the barrel 
with his right. 
" Now this 'ere bomb is as full of TXT. as a egg is full of 
meat." explained the N.C.O.. "and the meat in it is pretty 
high. If \eT \vaits more than five seconds after yer let's go 
the lever, you — well the bomb won't wait for you — see f " 
The boniiber stood rigid as a Cireck wrestler, his right arm 
held against his hip. 
" That's it. Now rcniemlxT you don't crook your arm as 
if you was bowling in cricket, and you don't hook it up as if 
vou was putting the weight You "just throws from the hip. 
It gives you an ache in the back like lumbagij at first, but 
vou sooii gets used to that. Steady on there, my lad," 
he said sharply as he saw the bomber relaxing one of his fingers. 
'■ Don t do tliat. A bloke what did that last week, he's got 
a white cross now. He's what you might cull ' missing.' 
Now then." 
The bomber threw. The bomb pitched'about sixty yards 
ahead — a good throw. For an appreciable space notliing 
happened ; and one or two eager spirits stood on tip-toe 
craning their heads over the sand-bags. 
" Keep yer blooming heads down ! A chap what put his 
head up last week is in Blighty now. " 
As they ducked there was a report like n b inch howitzer, 
a sheet of flame, and a cloud of woolly wliite smoke. 
" It's nc^t what you might call King's Enghsh," said the 
O.C. to me as we did a half-right ; " l)ut these N.C.O.'s talk 
sense, and you can't possibly mistake what they mean." 
Which is true, 
We skirted a sand-dune and came upon a company drawn 
up in ranks some ten dee]i listening to an exhortation from a 
Corjwral of painfully scientific attainments on the i)ro- 
])erties of noxious gases. J suspect that Corporal of being 
a bachelor of ^Science in ])rivatc life, perhaps a L'niversit\- 
Lecturer. He was much too good for this savage world. 
The men, who were standing easy, glanced at liim sus- 
piciously from time to time as though they thought they were 
being " had." 
" Never breathe into your mask." the coqM)ral was saying. 
" cr you'll get it full of your own . . ." The wind carried 
his voice away for a moment — " di-oxide." 
■' That bloke don't know what he's talking about ; 
'c's balmy," muttered a man with a Cockney accent a few 
yards away as he examined his gas mask. " It ain't ox- 
hide ; it's flannel." 
" He means the gas what you breathes out of your inside, 
Bert," said his neighbour helpfully. 
The speaker stared sullenly. '" I don't breathe any gas 
out of 'my inside," he retorted combatively, " I ain't a bhnkin' 
sewer ' 
" Stop talking in the ranks," shouted the sergeant, 
" Use the tube and breathe gently through that." con- 
tinued the lecturer in a refined voice ' Don't take deep 
breaths or you'll get some gas in. It's owing to officers 
and men moving up and down the line and breathing hard 
that they get slightly gassed. Don't exert yourselves too 
much." 
" Now he's talking sense," said Bert appro\ingly, ' what 
price fatigues .' " 
The O.C. and 1 had withdrawn to the shelter of a clump of 
ciders to light a cigarette as the lecturer digressed to the 
subject of Gas Blankets and Vermorel solution. Occasionally 
as he raised his voice some of his sacramental words such as 
"cyanosis " and " pulmonary epithelium " reached us followed 
always by a profane commentary from the furtive couple 
behind the elder. 
" .\mmonia inhalatioas from the capsules should be 
immediately given by the stretcher bearers " said the lecturer. 
" They'll have to give the poor bloke first aid with a 
dictionary if they talk to him like that." 
" I will now proceed to say a few words about teai-shells. 
Tear-shells look like • duds '. They don't explode at first ; 
the fuse only burns enough to set the gas going. The gas is 
Phosgene. This induces irritation of the lachrymatory 
glands. ..." 
" What's 'e getting at now, Bert ?" 
" I dunno. I fink he means it makes yer do a weep ' 
" i wonder whether it 'ud make a Jock weep," i-umin- 
ated the other doubtfully. " I'umiy chaps the Scotties. 
I know a chap what knew one— knew one, mind yer. He used 
ter say as it took tw(j years to know aScotty, but after that 
'e'd cat out of yer hand." 
"Ah! The Hun's a funny blighter, Alf. He's always 
' off side.' His notion of starting a fight is to begin by kicking 
you in the guts. . . . Say, Alf, if you met a Hun wot put's 
his hands up and said ' I've got a wife and ten children,' what 
'ud you do ?" 
" I should say ' Yer oughter be ashamed of yourself." 
But I dunno. I might give the blighter a fag and tell him to 
'op it. And I might not." 
"Shun!" shouted the sergeant. "The company will 
now march in single file into the trench beginning with No. 1 
of the rear rank. Right about t u i-rn. Quick — Mar-rch! ' 
They filed into the re\ctted trench some forty yards in 
length in which a small flask had been placed. It was a de- 
canter of Phosgene of the choicest vintage. We moved up t<> 
the exit of the trench. 1 caught a whiff of something colour 
less, pungent and sweet as pineapjile, and my eyes smarted 
])aiiifully. At that moment No. i enrerged from "the ordeal, the 
others treading on his heels. They wept copiously and with 
hilarity as though they had all been attacked by a fit of 
hysteria. But a very phlegmatic hysteria. It would have 
disappointed the Hun. 
" denuine sorrow I calls it," said on 
" Like pepper." commented another. 1 am i ^^^i'l 
like that since I was a nipper." 
" I'm feeling that bereaved I fink 1 could bury some pore 
chap, Alf. What price that blinking corporal ? " 
" Fall in," shouted the sergeant. " 'Elmets on !" 
Each man carried in his hands one of the old fashioned 
gas-helmets of flannelette, soaked in a solution of glycerine 
and oaustic soda, which you slip over your head like a sack. 
But there are different ways of doing it. Some held it as 
though it were a nose-bag and began mouth first, tossing it 
over their heads like a horse determined to get the last oat. 
Others put it on as a child puts on a ])aper cap out of a ' cracker, ' 
carefully pulling it down on both sides as though afraid of 
tearing it. Tney all proceeded to tie the strings demurely 
under the chin like a dairymaid with a sun-bonnet. From 
each helmet protruded a snout of gutta-percha, and as they 
breathed heavilv little drops of safiva glistened on the end of it. 
They then turned and glared at each other through the goggh - 
liko eye-holes. Here surely was the fraternity of " Tli'. 
Black Hand." They looked like a secret murder society. 
" Fancy that coming at you in dead silence over the top 
with the point of the bayonet," commented the O.C. 
They filed off into a subterranean chamber— with an 
emergency exit — where a retort lay in wait for them with a 
gas of eight atmospheres or a pressure of about 120 lbs. to a 
square inch. As the man in charge turned on the tap the 
fog-coloured smoke escaped in little wisps through the chinks 
of the chamber, and gi\-ing it a wide berth we strolled away. 
A whiff of that gas and you feel as if the blade of a knife 
were going down vour lungs. The corporal was adding a few 
belated platitudes" to his hooded pupils about the advisabiUty 
of reserving vour gas helmet for use against gas. 
'■ That fellow seems to alternate between the obscure and 
the obvious " I remarked to the O.C. as we walked noisele-ssh' 
, down the sandy slojx'. 
" True " rejoined the O.C. " But there is something 
in what he says about gas helmets being meant for gas. 1 he 
average Tommv thinks they're meant for a Wolseley valise. 
You know the story about old S.— the G.O.C, of my Division ? 
No! I thought that story was all over the front, from Dan 
even to Beersheba. Well" he had a passion for gas helmets. 
Every G.O.C. and O.C. has a bee in his bonnet— I daresay I've 
got one myself and it buzzes at times. With some it's 
machine-gun emplacements, with othei-s it's dumps, with 
others it's buttons. With old S— it was gas helmetsr. And 
when there was nothing doing and he got fed up with Divi- 
sional Routine Orders, he'd come stalking about the back of 
the trenches seeing if he could catch anyone without his gas . 
helmet. Well one day he came up and he suddenly discovered I 
he'd forgotten his owii. So the first soldier he met he stopped, 
took his gas helmet , and slung it o\er his arm. And the next 
moment whom should he meet but one of our subs without 
a helmet. 'What's the meaning of this?' he fumed. 
Where's your helmet?' The Sub stammered something 
.ibout having left it in his dug-out. ' I don't belieA-e you would 
know how to put it on if you had one ' said the G.O.C, ' lake 
mine and and show me how you put it on.' So the Snb took it, 
and opened it, and out fell a pair of dirty socks, a still dirtier 
towel, a packet of woodbines— and an obscene postcard. . . 
'Vhat did yt>u sty ? Oh. no! We never got strafed about 
gas helmets again. Yes, the cwporal was right. Mind that 
wolf-hole ' — my men are enthusiasts about wire. " 
