Slowly I wander through the streets. Occasionally someone speaks to me. I do not delay long for I have little inclination to talk.
On my way back from the barracks a loud voice calls out to me. Still lost in thought I turn round and find myself confronted by a Major. “Can’t you salute?” he blusters.
“Sorry, Major,” I say in embarrassment, “I didn’t notice you.”
“Don’t you know how to speak properly?” he roars.
I would like to hit him in the face, but control myself, for my leave depends on it. I click my heels and say: “I did not see you, Herr Major.”
“Then keep your eyes open,” he snorts. “What is your name?” I give it.
His fat red face is furious. “What regiment?”
I give him full particulars. Even yet he has not had enough. “Where are they?”
But I had had more than enough and say: “Between Langemark and Bixschoote.”
“Eh?” he asks, a bit stupefied.
I explain to him that I arrived on leave only an hour or two since, thinking that he would then trot along. But not at all. He gets even more furious: “You think you can bring your front-line manners
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