Our men did not shoot. They, too, sat on the parapets drying their legs, and grinning at the gray ants yonder, until these incidents were reported back to G.H.Q. ⁠—where good fires were burning under dry roofs⁠—and stringent orders came against “fraternization.” Every German who showed himself was to be shot. Of course any Englishman who showed himself⁠—owing to a parapet falling in⁠—would be shot, too. It was six of one and half a dozen of the other, as always, in this trench warfare, but the dignity of G.H.Q. would not be outraged by the thought of such indecent spectacles as British and Germans refusing to kill each other on sight. Some of the men obeyed orders, and when a German sat up and said, “Don’t shoot!” plugged him through the head. Others were extremely shortsighted⁠ ⁠… Now and again Germans crawled over to our trenches and asked meekly to be taken prisoner. I met a few of these men and spoke with them.

“There is no sense in this war,” said one of them. “It is misery on both sides. There is no use in it.”