But there was harmony in our Company Mess, as if our certainty of a volcanic future had put an end to the occasional squabblings which occurred when we were on one another’s nerves. A rank animal healthiness pervaded our existence during those days of busy living and inward foreboding The behaviour of our servants expressed it; they were competing for the favours of a handsome young woman in the farmhouse, and a comedy of primitive courtship was being enacted in the kitchen. Death would be lying in wait for the troops next week, and now the flavour of life was doubly strong. As I went to my room across the road, the cool night smelt of mown grass and leafy gardens. Away toward Corbie there was the sound of a train, and bullfrogs croaked continuously in the marshes along the river. I wasn’t sorry to be back; I was sure of that; we’d all got to go through it, and I was trying to convert the idea of death in battle into an emotional experience. Courage, I argued, is a beautiful thing, and next week’s attack is what I have been waiting for since I first joined the army. I am happy tonight, and I don’t suppose I’ll be dead in a month’s time. Going into my billet I almost fell over a goat which was tethered among some currant bushes in the garden.
Five days passed us by. We did easy field-training; the Battalion Sports were a great success, and we were defeated, in an officers’ tug-of-war, by our 9th Battalion who were resting a few miles away. Saturday evening brought a feeling of finality, for we were moving up to Morlancourt on Monday and the intense bombardment had begun that morning. Barton and I (and our bottle of ’38 brandy) dined at Battalion Headquarters. Kinjack was full of confidence; he told us that the French were holding on well at Verdun, which would make all the difference. But the doctor looked thoughtful, and even the brandy couldn’t make Barton optimistic about his ability to command a company in open warfare.