Page:War's dark frame (IA warsdarkframe00camp).pdf/178

146 tection. They bound one's temples. Constantly perspiration rolled from beneath the brim into But I had never dreamed what a one's eyes. friendly place a communication trench could be. It was good to touch the yellow walls, supported by rattan work, to know that a shell would have to make a direct hit to limit our progress now. Here and there, as a matter of fact, there were breaches in the walls, but for a little while the crying in the sky was mournful rather than angry, and the explosions were muffled and farther away.

We circled a number of the usual traverses and machine gun emplacements, but the trench was surprisingly short. It scarcely gave us time to smile at Tommy's fancy, expressed on neat signboards at the junctions. These had, it appeared, the official stamp, for our guide spoke of such thoroughfares as Oxford Street, Kingsway, and the Strand, as if he had been conducting us through the peaceful racket of London. The Strand went straight to our destination, and we emerged from it into a wide plaza, terminated opposite by a parapet of interlaced logs and sand bags. A few silent figures, with rifles through loopholes, braced themselves there. We walked with an air of stealth. When we spoke our voices were lower. We were in the front line.