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Peat, Harold R.

"Private Peat"

Stare ahead into the dark anywhere and something
will move.
We had our eyes set, and we peppered away. An English officer strolled by,
and addressed a fellow near me. "What the ... what the blinkety-blank are
you shooting at?"
"Me, sir ... m-me, sir? Germans, sir...." And he went on pumping bullets
from his old Ross. The officer smiled.
For myself, I was detailed for guard. I stood there on the firestep with my
body half exposed. I did not feel very comfortable. I thought if I could
get any other job to do, I would like it better. The longer I stayed, the
more certain I became that I would be killed that night. I did not want to
be killed. I thought it would be a dreadful thing to be killed the first
night in. A few bullets had come fairly close--within a yard or two of my
head. I determined there and then, should opportunity offer, I would not
stay on guard a minute longer than I could help.
My chance came sooner than I had hoped for. I hadn't realized, what I
discovered after a few more turns in the trenches, that guard duty is the
easiest job there is. I was eager for a change, and when I heard an English
sergeant call out: "I want a Canadian to go on listening-post duty," I
hopped down from my little perch and volunteered: "I'll go, Sergeant.


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