It lies in whether one is used to the thing or
not. Nothing comes easy at first, especially in the trenches. Later on, it
is all in the day's work.
When our relief came we crawled back to our trench and spent the night in
our dugouts. Next day we got a change of rations. We had "Maconochie." "He"
is by way of a stew. Stew with a tin jacket. It bears the nomenclature of
its inventor and maker, although Maconochie's is a firm. This is an
English ration and after bully beef for weeks, it is a pleasant enough
change.
The weather was fine: clear overhead, blue sky and just a hint of frost,
though it was not very cold. After dinner the first day in the trenches, I
suddenly noticed an excitement among the English soldiers. We became
excited, too, and strained to see what was happening.
There, sheer ahead of us, darting, twisting, turning, was a monoplane right
over the German trench. It was a British plane, and taking inconceivably
risky chances. We could see the airman on the steering seat wave to us. He
seemed like a gigantic mosquito, bent on tormenting the Huns. Their bullets
spurted round him.
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