<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">Between the Lines</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">When</span> consciousness came back, he found he lay</p><p class="line">Between the opposing fires, but could not tell</p><p class="line">On which hand were his friends; and either way</p><p class="line">For him to turn was chancy -- bullet and shell</p><p class="line">Whistling and shrieking over him, as the glare</p><p class="line">Of searchlights scoured the darkness to blind day.</p><p class="line">He scrambled to his hands and knees ascare,</p><p class="line">Dragging his wounded foot through puddled clay,</p><p class="line">And tumbled in a hole a shell had scooped</p><p class="line">At random in a turnip-field between</p><p class="line">The unseen trenches where the foes lay cooped</p><p class="line">Through that unending battle of unseen,</p><p class="line">Dead-locked, league-stretching armies; and quite spent</p><p class="line">He rolled upon his back within the pit,</p><p class="line">And lay secure, thinking of all it meant --</p><p class="line">His lying in that little hole, sore hit,</p><p class="line">But living, while across the starry sky</p><p class="line">Shrapnel and shell went screeching overhead --</p><p class="line">Of all it meant that he, Tom Dodd, should lie</p><p class="line">Among the Belgian turnips, while his bed...</p><p class="line">If it were he, indeed, who'd climbed each night,</p><p class="line">Fagged with the day's work, up the narrow stair,</p><p class="line">And slipt his clothes off in the candle-light,</p><p class="line">Too tired to fold them neatly in a chair</p><p class="line">The way his mother'd taught him -- too dog-tired</p><p class="line">After the long day's serving in the shop,</p><p class="line">Inquiring what each customer required,</p><p class="line">Politely talking weather, fit to drop...</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And now for fourteen days and nights, at least,</p><p class="line">He had n't had his clothes off, and had lain</p><p class="line">In muddy trenches, napping like a beast</p><p class="line">With one eye open, under sun and rain</p><p class="line">And that unceasing hell-fire...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">It was strange</p><p class="line">How things turned out -- the chances! You'd just got</p><p class="line">To take your luck in life, you could n't change</p><p class="line">Your luck.</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">And so here he was lying shot</p><p class="line">Who just six months ago had thought to spend</p><p class="line">His days behind a counter. Still, perhaps...</p><p class="line">And now, God only knew how he would end!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">He'd like to know haw many of the chaps</p><p class="line">Had won back to the trench alive, when he</p><p class="line">Had fallen wounded and been left for dead,</p><p class="line">If any!...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">This was different, certainly,</p><p class="line">From selling knots of tape and reels of thread</p><p class="line">And knots of tape and reels of thread and knots</p><p class="line">Of tape and reels of thread and knots of tape,</p><p class="line">Day in, day out, and answering "Have you got"'s</p><p class="line">And "Do you keep"'s till there seemed no escape</p><p class="line">From everlasting serving in a shop,</p><p class="line">Inquiring what each customer required,</p><p class="line">Politely talking weather, fit to drop,</p><p class="line">With swollen ankles, tired...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">But he was tired</p><p class="line">Now. Every bone was aching, and had ached</p><p class="line">For fourteen days and nights in that wet trench --</p><p class="line">Just duller when he slept than when he waked --</p><p class="line">Crouching for shelter from the steady drench</p><p class="line">Of shell and shrapnel...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">That old trench, it seemed</p><p class="line">Almost like home to him. He'd slept and fed</p><p class="line">And sung and smoked in it, while shrapnel screamed</p><p class="line">And shells went whining harmless overhead --</p><p class="line">Harmless, at least, as far as he...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">But Dick --</p><p class="line">Dick had n't found them harmless yesterday,</p><p class="line">At breakfast, when he'd said he could n't stick</p><p class="line">Eating dry bread, and crawled out the back way,</p><p class="line">And brought them butter in a lordly dish --</p><p class="line">Butter enough for all, and held it high,</p><p class="line">Yellow and fresh and clean as you would wish --</p><p class="line">When plump upon the plate from out the sky</p><p class="line">A shell fell bursting... Where the butter went,</p><p class="line">God only knew!...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">And Dick... He dared not think</p><p class="line">Of what had come to Dick... or what it meant --</p><p class="line">The shrieking and the whistling and the stink</p><p class="line">He'd lived in fourteen days and nights. 'T was luck</p><p class="line">That he still lived... And queer how little then</p><p class="line">He seemed to care that Dick... perhaps 't was pluck</p><p class="line">That hardened him -- a man among the men --</p><p class="line">Perhaps... Yet, only think things out a bit,</p><p class="line">And he was rabbit-livered, blue with funk!</p><p class="line">And he'd liked Dick... and yet when Dick was hit,</p><p class="line">He hadn't turned a hair. The meanest skunk</p><p class="line">He should have thought would feel it when his mate</p><p class="line">Was blown to smithereens -- Dick, proud as punch,</p><p class="line">Grinning like sin, and holding up the plate --</p><p class="line">But he had gone on munching his dry hunch,</p><p class="line">Unwinking, till he swallowed the last crumb.</p><p class="line">Perhaps 't was just because he dared not let</p><p class="line">His mind run upon Dick, who'd been his chum.</p><p class="line">He dared not now, though he could not forget.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Dick took his luck. And, life or death, 't was luck</p><p class="line">From first to last; and you'd just got to trust</p><p class="line">Your luck and grin. It was n't so much pluck</p><p class="line">As knowing that you'd got to, when needs must,</p><p class="line">And better to die grinning...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Quiet now</p><p class="line">Had fallen on the night. On either hand</p><p class="line">The guns were quiet. Cool upon his brow</p><p class="line">The quiet darkness brooded, as he scanned</p><p class="line">The starry sky. He'd never seen before</p><p class="line">So many stars. Although, of course, he'd known</p><p class="line">That there were stars, somehow before the war</p><p class="line">He'd never realised them -- so thick-sown,</p><p class="line">Millions and millions. Serving in the shop,</p><p class="line">Stars didn't count for much; and then at nights</p><p class="line">Strolling the pavements, dull and fit to drop,</p><p class="line">You didn't see much but the city lights.</p><p class="line">He'd never in his life seen so much sky</p><p class="line">As he'd seen this last fortnight. It was queer</p><p class="line">The things war taught you. He'd a mind to try</p><p class="line">To count the stars -- they shone so bright and clear.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">One, two, three, four... Ah, God, but he was tired...</p><p class="line">Five, six, seven, eight...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Yes, it was number eight.</p><p class="line">And what was the next thing that she required?</p><p class="line">(Too bad of customers to come so late,</p><p class="line">At closing time!) Again within the shop</p><p class="line">He handled knots of tape and reels of thread,</p><p class="line">Politely talking weather, fit to drop...</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">When once again the whole sky overhead</p><p class="line">Flared blind with searchlights, and the shriek of shell</p><p class="line">And scream of shrapnel roused him. Drowsily</p><p class="line">He stared about him, wondering. Then he fell</p><p class="line">Into deep dreamless slumber.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">He could see</p><p class="line">Two dark eyes peeping at him, ere he knew</p><p class="line">He was awake, and it again was day --</p><p class="line">An August morning, burning to clear blue.</p><p class="line">The frightened rabbit scuttled...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Far away,</p><p class="line">A sound of firing... Up there, in the sky</p><p class="line">Big dragon-flies hung hovering... Snowballs burst</p><p class="line">About them... Flies and snowballs. With a cry</p><p class="line">He crouched to watch the airmen pass -- the first</p><p class="line">That he'd seen under fire. Lord, that was pluck --</p><p class="line">Shells bursting all about them -- and what nerve!</p><p class="line">They took their chance, and trusted to their luck</p><p class="line">At such a dizzy height to dip and swerve,</p><p class="line">Dodging the shell-fire...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Hell! but one was hit,</p><p class="line">And tumbling like a pigeon, plump...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Thank Heaven,</p><p class="line">It righted, and then turned; and after it</p><p class="line">The whole flock followed safe -- four, five, six, seven,</p><p class="line">Yes, they were all there safe. He hoped they'd win</p><p class="line">Back to their lines in safety. They deserved,</p><p class="line">Even if they were Germans... 'T was no sin</p><p class="line">To wish them luck. Think how that beggar swerved</p><p class="line">Just in the nick of time!</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">He, too, must try</p><p class="line">To win back to the lines, though, likely as not,</p><p class="line">He'd take the wrong turn: but he could n't lie</p><p class="line">Forever in that hungry hole and rot,</p><p class="line">He'd got to take his luck, to take his chance</p><p class="line">Of being sniped by foes or friends. He'd be</p><p class="line">With any luck in Germany or France</p><p class="line">Or Kingdom-come, next morning...</p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Drearily</p><p class="line">The blazing day burnt over him, shot and shell</p><p class="line">Whistling and whining ceaselessly. But light</p><p class="line">Faded at last, and as the darkness fell</p><p class="line">He rose, and crawled away into the night.</p></div><p class="byline">Wilfrid Wilson Gibson</p></body></html> · Great War