Viii.--Eve Of Assault: Infantry Going Down To Trenches

Downward slopes the wild red sun. We lie around a waiting gun; Soon we shall load and fire and load. But, hark! a sound beats down the road.

"'Ello! wot's up?" "Let's 'ave a look!" "Come on, Ginger, drop that book!" "Wot an 'ell of bloody noise!" "It's the Yorks and Lancs, meboys!"

So we crowd: hear, watch them come-- One man drubbing on a drum, A crazy, high mouth-organ blowing, Tin cans rattling, cat-calls, crowing....

And above their rhythmic feet A whirl of shrilling loud and sweet, Round mouths whistling in unison; Shouts: "'O's goin' to out the 'Un?

"Back us up, mates!" "Gawd, we will!" "'Eave them shells at Kaiser Bill!" "Art from Lancashire, melad?" "Gi' 'en a cheer, boys; make 'en glad."

"'Ip 'urrah!" "Give Fritz the chuck." "Good ol' bloody Yorks!" "Good-luck!" "Cheer!" I cannot cheer or speak Lest my voice, my heart must break.