Reliving the Trenches: Memory Plays by Veterans of the Great War 9781771125024, 9781771125048, 9781771125055, 1771125020

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title
Copyright
Contents
Acknowledgements
Introduction: Embodiments of War Memories
Editorial Principles
The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bullay Grenay Introduction
Introduction
The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay by H.B. Scudamore, R.W. Downie, W.L. McGeary, and H.R. Dillon
Glory Hole Introduction
Introduction
Glory Hole: A Play of 1914–1918 by William Stabler Atkinson
Dawn in Heaven Introduction
Introduction
Dawn in Heaven by Simon Jauvoish
Appendices
Appendix One: The P.B.I. Program
Appendix Two: War Service Summary: The P.B.I. Authors and Cast Members
Appendix Three: "A Canadian Volunteer’s Last Prayer," a poem by Simon Jauvoish
Works Cited

Citation preview

RELIVING THE TRENCHES

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Reliving the Trenches Memory Plays by Veterans of the Great War

edited by

Alan Filewod

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Wilfrid Laurier University Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. Funding provided by the Government of Ontario and the Ontario Arts Council. This work was supported by the Research Support Fund.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Title: Reliving the trenches : memory plays by veterans of the Great War / edited by Alan Filewod. Names: Filewod, Alan, 1952- editor. | Container of (work): Scudamore, H. B. P.B.I. | Container of (work): Atkinson, William Stabler, 1891-1963. Glory hole. | Container of (work): Jauvoish, Simon. Dawn in heaven. Description: Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200416855 | Canadiana (ebook) 20210091398 | isbn 9781771125024 (hardcover) | isbn 9781771125048 (epub) | isbn 9781771125055 (pdf) Subjects: lcsh: World War, 1914-1918—Drama. | csh: Soldiers’ writings, Canadian (English) | csh: Canadian drama (English)—20th century. | lcsh: World War, 19141918—Literature and the war. | csh: Soldiers’ writings, Canadian (English)—History and criticism. | csh: Canadian drama (English)—20th century—History and criticism. Classification: lcc ps8309.w3 r45 2021 | ddc c812/.52080358403—dc23 Front cover image: The Conquerors, Sir Eric Kennington. Beaverbrook Collection of War Art, Canadian War Museum, Accession No. 19710261-0812. Cover design by Martyn Schmoll. Interior design by John van der Woude, jvdw Designs. © 2021 Wilfrid Laurier University Press Waterloo, Ontario, Canada www.wlupress.wlu.ca

Printed in Canada Every reasonable effort has been made to acquire permission for copyright material used in this text, and to acknowledge all such indebtedness accurately. Any errors and omissions called to the publisher’s attention will be corrected in future printings. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit http://www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

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University of Toronto Archives. 2002-85-23ms

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Contents Acknowledgements / ix Introduction: Embodiments of War Memories / 1 Editorial Principles / 25

The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bullay Grenay Introduction / 29 The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay by H.B. Scudamore, R.W. Downie, W.L. McGeary, and H.R. Dillon / 39 Glory Hole Introduction / 173 Glory Hole: A Play of 1914–1918 by William Stabler Atkinson / 181 Dawn in Heaven Introduction / 307 Dawn in Heaven by Simon Jauvoish / 315 Appendix One: The P.B.I. Program / 398 Appendix Two: War Service Summary: The P.B.I. Authors and Cast Members / 403 Appendix Three: “A Canadian Volunteer’s Last Prayer,” a poem by Simon Jauvoish / 414 Works Cited / 417

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Acknowledgements

Archivists are unsung heroes of historical research, and I extend my thanks and deep respect to the librarians and archivists at Mount Saint Vincent University Library. They are the keepers of the aging microfilms of the Canadian Drama Collection, and they made me welcome on my visits there. Without them this book would not exist, and I hope its publication demonstrates the importance of their collection. Also unsung are the support staff that who make archival research possible. I give thanks to the workers at Library and Archives Canada who have spent years digitizing the service files of the Canadian Expeditionary Force. As a young man I had a summer job microfilming records in the Patent Office (now the Canadian Intellectual Property Office) in Ottawa and I remember the crushing grind of opening files and placing them under a camera, page by page, for hours on end. There are hundreds of thousands of service dossiers on lac’s Soldiers of the Great War site, each page handled by working fingers. That immense labour deserves recognition and gratitude. I also thank Linda Warley for her sharp proofreading eye as this book developed, for her patience with my obsession for years and for her willingness to venture into the cold rain to tour the battlefields of Ypres and Vimy Ridge. The staff of wlup—Lisa Quinn, Siobhan McMenemy, and Murray Tong in particular—have been warmly supportive of this project, and I thank them for taking it on. ix

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Finally, I dedicate this book to the memory of Patrick O’Neill. He was a persistent and tireless archival researcher whose work broadened our understanding of the theatre history of this country we call Canada. I have no doubt that without his labours these plays, and many others, would never have been discovered.

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I N T RO D U C T I O N

Embodiments of War Memories

The three plays in this volume are important but overlooked literary documents of the First World War that relive and stage trench warfare as experienced by combat veterans. Two of them are published here for the first time, and the third for the first time in its entirety—parts of it having appeared serially in The Canadian Forum in 1921. Written between 1920 and 1934, these plays are rare examples of war memories framed in dramatic form to reembody the lived experience of the war in the trenches and the rear echelons. In the years after the war ended, many returning soldiers struggled to adapt to the new era of peace and to make sense of the horrors they had survived. It was a collective struggle. They formed veterans’ associations, held reunions, and raised funds for memorials. Their activities were fuelled by grief, by tribute, by trauma, and often, by pride in victory. At the University of Toronto, the “Varsity Veterans” campaigned to raise money to build what now stands as Soldiers’ Tower, attached to Hart House. Four returned soldiers whose studies had been interrupted by the war came up with the idea of gathering as many fellow vets as they could to 1

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mount a play about their experiences. In this they were helped by the availability of the new Hart House Theatre, the university’s experimental theatre that opened in 1919 in a basement space used as a rifle range during the war. When their play, The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle from Bully Grenay, opened in the spring of 1920, thirty returned soldiers donned their uniforms and picked up their kit to muster on stage and re-enact their experiences, and to reexperience the camaraderie of army life. They were not the only ones to turn to the theatre to relive their war. Eight years after his discharge from the Canadian Expeditionary Force (cef), an insurance broker and playwright in the Okanagan Valley sat down to write a play about his time in the trenches in the Ypres salient. He had enjoyed some previous modest success writing comedies for a Vancouver producer, but this play was something different. No contrived plot, no comic relief, no heroics, no resolution. The play he wrote, Glory Hole, A Play of the Great War, stages the actuality of daily life as he remembered it. It is an unremarked masterpiece of Canadian theatrical modernism— unremarked because he didn’t publish it. And seventeen years after his war ended with a bullet in the shoulder at Vimy Ridge, a physician and occasional poet in Winnipeg wrote and produced, also with a cast of veterans, in a one-off performance, a feverish and harrowing play about his experience of the cruelty of the military justice system in the field. This too was never published. With scenes of lurid expressionism mixed with realism, it surfaces as a unique work of theatrical modernism that shifts our understanding of theatre history in Canada. These authors all served in the same areas of France and Belgium, principally in the Ypres salient and the Lens sector, between 1915 and 1918 and saw action in the major battles of the Canadian Corps, the main combat formation of the cef, including the Second Battle of Ypres and the battles of Mount Sorrel, Hill 60, Arras, Vimy Ridge, and Passchendaele. They served an 2

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average of sixteen months in the front lines; the shortest duration was three months, the longest was forty. Three of them served as privates, one as a sergeant, and two as junior officers, both of whom won the Military Cross. Four served in the infantry, one in the Canadian Engineers, and the sixth in the artillery. Three of them were wounded, one losing an arm. They are, in the larger context, typical and unremarkable representatives of the 630,000 members of the cef. What makes them unique is that they chose to embody their memories of the war in theatrical form. Theatrical Modernism and the Refusal of the “Great War Myth” Studies of Canadian literature emerging from the war have had little, if anything, to say about drama, for the simple reason that there was not much of it. Unlike the flood of poetry and narrative prose produced during and after the war by men and women who served, there was almost no theatrical writing by Canadians, apart from occasional playlets published in trench newspapers, and the comic skits, recitations, and monologues performed by the army concert parties that Jason Wilson documents in his Soldiers of Song.1 But literary drama from the war was scarce. After the serial publication of parts of The P.B.I. in 1921, the first play about the war by a Canadian veteran to appear in print was published in 2003 by the author’s grandson.2 The publication of these plays is a significant addition to the canon of Canadian literature emerging from the First World War.

1 2

Jason Wilson, Soldiers of Song: The Dumbells and Other Canadian Concert Parties of the First World War, Wilfrid Laurier up, 2012. Norman McLeod Craig, You’re Lucky If You’re Killed, ed. J. Marshall Craig, iUniverse, 2003. Although Vance refers to it in his Death So Noble, this text has received little notice, as it was self-published in the United States.

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What little research there has been into drama written out of the experience of the war has focused on the army concert parties that entertained the troops during the war, and there has been little critical or historical research into Canadian drama from the war.3 The publication of these plays is thus a major expansion of the canon of Canadian war drama and, when seen in the critical space opened by the triangulation of literary studies, theatre history, and life writing studies, impacts each of these disciplinary conversations. In the field of literary studies, they are examples of a Canadian war literature that implicitly refuses to engage with the “Great War myth” of national formation that Jonathan F. Vance, Neta Gordon, and Joel Baetz see as recurrent in novels, poetry, and contemporary drama.4 In the field of life writing they reveal how memoirs can be hidden in the conventions of literary drama and popular culture. In terms of theatre history, they broaden our understanding of early theatrical modernisms in Canada because in their theatrical and textual realism and their formal experimentation these plays are unique in Canadian drama of the 1920s and 1930s. Analyses of literary productions of the war tend to begin with what Gordon and Baetz call “the Great War myth,” and which McKay and Swift excoriate as “the Vimy trap” that has become the cornerstone of a conservative reading of Canadian history.5 This myth is so pervasive that it can be described as a national pedagogy. For example, the Canadian War Museum’s online 3

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Patrick O’Neill, “The Canadian Concert Party in France,” Theatre History in Canada 4, no. 2 (1983): https://journals.lib.unb.ca/index.php/tric/article/ view/7462; Wilson, Soldiers of Song. Jonathan Vance, Death So Noble: Memory, Meaning and The First World War, U British Columbia P, 1997; Neta Gordon, Catching the Torch: Contemporary Canadian Literary Responses to World War 1, Wilfrid Laurier up, 2014; Joel Baetz, Battle Lines: Canadian Poetry in English and the First World War, Wilfrid Laurier up, 2018. Ian McKay and Jamie Swift, The Vimy Trap, or, How We Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Great War, Toronto: Between the Lines, 2016.

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exhibition on the First World War points to the victory at Vimy Ridge, achieved by citizen soldiers hammered into a professionalized army, as the moment in which a colony grew into nationhood: “The victory at Vimy was a defining event for Canada, considered by many contemporaries and later scholars to be a significant event in Canada’s progress to full independence from Britain.”6 This myth is pervasively reproduced in popular culture, such as the “Vimy Ridge” episode of Historica Canada’s televised Heritage Minutes, in which a voice reads a letter to his mother while the camera pans over the battle, ending with the words, “And Mother, I thought, we are a nation. This is us.”7 That the Great War myth should be a preoccupation of literary scholars is understandable, as it was in large part a literary invention, beginning with the rhetorics of sacrifice that Vance explores in his groundbreaking Death So Noble.8 Poetry, novels, and art, whether popular or “high” culture, comprise an important part of the public sphere where these rhetorics circulate. But there was almost no theatrical response to the war, other than nostalgic tours of reconstituted army concert parties, of which the Dumbells were the most famous. Shakespeare notwithstanding, theatre in Canada was a marginal art form that carried little cultural capital. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t popular—it was, although the vaudeville shows that dominated theatrical taste in Canada migrated to radio over the course of the 1920s and playhouses became cinemas. Despite this popularity, there were few outlets for serious drama; Canadian repertory companies looked for commercial successes that they could 6 7 8

Canadian War Museum, “Vimy Ridge,” https://www.warmuseum.ca/ firstworldwar/history/battles-and-fighting/land-battles/vimy-ridge/. Historica Canada, “Vimy Ridge,” https://www.historicacanada.ca/content/ heritage-minutes/vimy-ridge. It was also an architectural invention, expressed most forcefully in Walter Allward’s monumental Canadian Vimy Ridge memorial, where Mother Canada looms over Pas de Calais in France and weeps for her fallen sons.

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take on the road, and public taste preferred plot-driven comedies and melodramas. It was not until the 1920s that a theatrical system that treated drama as a literary art began to emerge in what has since been called “the Little Theatre movement.” We see so few plays from soldiers of the war because there was no producing system to encourage them. It should not be surprising that soldiers who saw some of the worst fighting in the war and chose to write plays about it did not perpetuate the myth of a nation forged in the trenches, presenting instead a vision of the war in a mode that Baetz, citing E.K. Brown, describes as “the harsher manner.”9 I suggest two reasons to explain this. The first is that at least some of the authors had an uneasy alignment to the ideology that sought to transform settler colonialism into national statism. Two of these plays were written by immigrant-settlers (one an English homesteader, the other a Lithuanian Jew), and both served in the trenches as privates. Glory Hole and Dawn in Heaven are angry plays that reflect their authors’ disillusionment with the army. They may have resisted the conflation of army and nation that the Great War myth proposed. The extent of the social unrest this conflation provoked, and the reaction that reinforced it, can be seen in the public reception of the painting on the cover of this book. Sir Eric Kennington was a prominent British war artist, who in 1918 spent time with the 16th Battalion, “The Canadian Highlanders,” of the Canadian 1st Division. This was the battalion in which William Stabler Atkinson served in the Battle of the St. Eloi Craters at Ypres, and which he depicts in minute detail in Glory Hole. In Kennington’s painting, weary soldiers, some of them ghostlike, march through the ruins of a devastated town. When he finished the painting in 1920, he titled it The Victims. This aroused controversy, led by the former

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Baetz, 12.

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commanding officer of the battalion, and to appease his critics Kennington renamed the painting The Conquerors, the title it still bears.10 But in Glory Hole and Dawn in Heaven, the men in the trench clearly are victims in a harsh, impersonal, and oppressive system of power, as were their authors, both of whom came home from the war with damaged bodies. The second reason for the “harsher manner” of the plays is that the refusal of the myth of the war entailed a refusal of the narrative forms in which that myth had been encoded. Looked at in this way, these plays mark an important development in modernist theatre in Canada, where there was no tradition of the new dramatic realism that had begin to emerge in the art theatres of Europe in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. There, authors like Ibsen and Strindberg broke the conventions of plotdriven dramaturgy in favour of dramatic action derived from the psychological lives of characters interacting with their social and physical environments, using the language of common life. The naturalist ideal of a drama without plot and artifice, as expressed by Zola, may be a receding horizon that can never be reached, but it spurred writers to develop dramatic forms that broke with convention to replicate everyday life and were received as radical, and indeed obscene, in their day. Although Canadian audiences could see Ibsen’s plays when they toured from New York, and although some astute Canadian critics, notably Hector Charlesworth in Saturday Night, championed the new “modern drama,” no such plays were written in Canada until after the war—because, as Charlesworth pointed out, a non-commercial art theatre required some form of public support. That was an idea that had just come into public awareness in Britain in 1904 when William Archer and Harley Granville Barker published their Scheme and Estimates for 10

Eric Kennington, The Conquerors, oil on canvas, 1920. https://www .warmuseum.ca/collections/artifact/1017199/.

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a National Theatre (which would take almost sixty years to realize). It would find its Canadian advocates, especially in Vincent Massey, who devoted much energy over the years to the cause of public subsidies. Massey founded Hart House Theatre to promote art theatre and Canadian drama, and to draw the link between the two, and in 1928 his two-volume Canadian Plays from Hart House Theatre was the first anthology of Canadian drama. B.K. Sandwell, like Charlesworth, was an influential liberal journalist who took up the cause of Canadian theatre, although for him the issue was economic as much as cultural. As he argued repeatedly at luncheon clubs, the theatre in Canada was “annexed” to the New York stage. Almost every theatre in Canada was owned or contractually bound to the immense American booking syndicates, which functioned much like modern film distribution companies (of which they were the direct precursor), a fact deplored by liberal nationalist critics at the time because of the steady flow of melodramas, musicals, and vaudeville shows across the border. Looking back from a time when experimentation and creativity are primary theatrical values, it can be hard to appreciate how rigidly entrenched genre conventions were. To gauge how radical the plays included here were, we can contextualize them in what Gordon Williams, writing of the British theatre that thousands of Canadian soldiers would have seen, calls “theatrical provision” during the war.11 Because it is there, in the base camps and on leave in London and Paris, that soldiers saw theatre, many for the first time. One of them was William Stabler Atkinson, who spent the last two years of the war in England, first as a patient in an army hospital and then as a staff member. In his spare time he went to the theatre, and the light, witty comedies he wrote after the war would have suited any of the theatres in London. 11

Gordon Williams, British Theatre in the Great War, A Re-evaluation. Continuum, 2003, 3.

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When Canadian troops arrived in England, they discovered a popular theatre culture that ranged from ubiquitous seaside Pierrot troupes to rep theatre melodramas to West End spectacles. They saw them in London and in the purpose-built theatres erected on army bases by the Navy and Army Canteen Board. There they could see roadshow productions of London hits and army concert parties, which were organized at the division and battalion level, some informally and some officially, many under the aegis of the ymca. Like vaudeville and music halls, the concert parties featured skits, recitations, music, and stand-up comedy. They could also see blackface minstrel shows; one such was performed by “The Cantanks” of the 1st Canadian Tank Battalion at the Garrison Theatre in Bovington in 1918, two days after the end of the war.12 The cast featured both officers and other ranks, and like many such entertainments, it included female impersonators. In 1919, Raymond Massey (destined to be a major Hollywood actor) staged blackface minstrel shows in Siberia—to a likely baffled multinational audience that included Russian, Czech, and Japanese troops—and on the troopship at sea, to keep the men of the Canadian Siberian Expeditionary Force occupied and entertained.13 When soldiers went on leave they had access to a wide range of services through the ymca’s Beaver Hut in London, including West End theatre tickets. They would see hits like Walter Howard’s Seven Days Leave, which ran for two years at the Lyceum theatre. It was a spy drama set on the coast of Cornwall, with the final act set on a German U-boat. We see echoes of this genre of spy melodrama in The P.B.I.; what seems improbable to today’s reader was common fare for wartime audiences. Or they might enjoy

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1st Canadian Tank Battalion, “Cantanks Minstrel Show” program, www .torontopubliclibrary.ca/detail.jsp?Entt=rdmdc-1918cantanksvs& r=dc-1918cantanksvs. Raymond Massey, When I Was Young, McClelland and Stewart, 1976, 215–221.

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topsy-turvy comedies like J.E. Harold Terry’s hit General Post, in which a pompous British lord tries to comprehend a world in which his tailor can be a brigadier general with a Victoria Cross. These plays were absurd and entirely unrealistic, but as Gordon Williams argues, they were popular because they were among the few dramas to even acknowledge the war and the social anxieties it produced.14 Most of these melodramas and comedies were written to wellworn templates descended from the “cup and saucer” realism of the late nineteenth century (the genre perfected and then demolished—critically at least—by Oscar Wilde and Bernard Shaw). Country estates, London drawing rooms, “society” characters and their servants, and complicated plots predicated on a secret or a hidden menace dominated the dramatic stage—during wartime, often involving a spy ring. Such were the plays audiences expected to see and playwrights were expected to write, bound by tradition, conservatism, and the box office. Some war plays by Canadians followed this pattern. A revealing example, and one that helps us to understand why Atkinson and Jauvoish both refused to perpetuate this dramatic model, and why their work was radical, is a play by Oliver Hezzlewood, an Oshawa businessman who served as a recruiting officer and “was sent overseas on a special mission” (likely a junket to give him a quick tour and “I was there” credit).15 Unlike the three plays in this volume, Hezzlewood’s play, The Invisible Urge, written in 1926, shows no evidence of life writing, although the foreword to the published text claims “many authenticated incidents of thrilling adventure and of miraculous interposition are worked into the plot.”16 A précis of the 14 15

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Williams, 184. Oshawa Public Library. Portrait and biographic statement of Oliver Hezzlewood. http://localhistory.oshawalibrary.ca/pdfportal/pdfskins/ greatcanadianindustry/pg_0026.pd. Oliver Hezzlewood, The Invisible Urge, in Poems and a Play, (Toronto: Ontario Press), 1926, i.

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play reveals the way that the dramatic mechanics of melodrama distort the reality of the war. A young man, Harold Foster arrives at his friend’s family cottage in Ontario after a bracing 600-mile canoe trip. A thoughtful, melancholic poet, he puzzles over the invisible urge that leads men to sacrifice their lives for their ideals. He loves Helen, his friend’s sister, who is ardently courted by a loutish neighbour. As servants set up lights for a fancy-dress masquerade in the woods, Harold and his friend dress like an Indian and a habitant, and speak of serious matters in fake dialect. His friend’s father returns from a secret trip to Ottawa with news of impending war. The friends all vow to join up, but the lout refuses on the grounds that someone must take care of the women. Helen begs Harold to stay home. But he must obey the invisible urge. She breaks off their relationship. The second act takes place in a military hospital in France. Harold, now a captain, is recovering from wounds incurred heroically and dashes off to his unit, despite the doctor’s orders. No sooner has he left than Helen enters. She is now a nursing sister, having joined to find and reconcile with Harold. Hearing that he has returned to the front, she dons the uniform of a wounded soldier and resolves to follow him to the trenches. Her brother, Harold’s best friend, now a major, enters with a wounded soldier. He is himself seriously wounded but defers treatment to tend to his man. As the soldier dies, he sees a vision of the White Comrade, who we take to be Jesus. Meanwhile in the trenches, a group of soldiers watch out as Harold, out of sight, rescues one of his men in no man’s land. To distract the Germans, they sing sentimental war songs. Helen enters in disguise, ostensibly to deliver a message to Harold. Suddenly the Germans open heavy fire. Overhead, an airplane buzzes around them to save Harold’s life. The Germans shoot it down. Helen wonders who that brave pilot might be.

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The third act returns us to the cottage, where there is an elegant reunion party after the war. Harold now blinded, is melancholic. His friend, the major, is dead and buried in France. Helen loves him but he avoids her. A man enters to announce the arrival of a newly returned officer, a heroic pilot awarded the Victoria Cross for risking his life saving a soldier on the battlefield. He has been in a prisoner of war camp. In fact, it is the churl from the first act. Harold defers to him as the better choice for Helen, but we learn that the churl-turned-hero is now married and has a rich wife in England. Harold, alone in the room, soliloquizes that he can never burden his beloved and must keep his love secret. But she hears the soliloquy and assures him of her love. The sudden shock of hearing this miraculously cures his blindness.

The plot of The Invisible Urge is ludicrous, its style derivative, and its masculinist sentiments ugly. It is stuffed with the murderous rhetoric of sacrifice and glory that the men in Glory Hole and Dawn in Heaven mock. But it is useful to read it because it shows how fidelity to tiresome and discredited dramatic conventions was a codification of a conservative, indeed reactionary, ideology. Put against plays like this, the modernism of Glory Hole and Dawn in Heaven is startling. The formal innovations in the plays were solutions to a new problem: how to show and tell the truth of the war without the distortions of dramatic convention. There is a direct relationship between the authors’ purposes and their dramatic models. In the case of The P.B.I. the medley of comedy, melodrama, and commemoration is a triumphalist victory cry that evokes the gaiety of wartime entertainments, but underneath that is an elegiac need to document the lived experience of the war in a collective display of solidarity. But by the end of the 1920s, the rush of victory had given way to acrimonious disillusionment as the world slid toward economic depression and fascism. The austere minimalism and grief-laden rejection of dramatic artifice in Glory 12

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Hole is made possible by the template of the memory play, in which we occupy the author’s field of vision, devoid of sentimentality. By the mid 1930s, at the height of the Depression, at a time when Canadian politics had become radically polarized and the discourse of the Great War had become politicized, Simon Jauvoish found the techniques of expressionist theatricality a powerful dramatic method to express his moral outrage in Dawn in Heaven. All three of these plays are important early examples of what can be called naïve modernism in Canadian theatre.17 These plays make possible a significant revision of the history of theatrical modernism in Canada by expanding its scope beyond the existing historiography that attributes its source to the European and American influences on Roy Mitchell and Lawren Harris’s Theosophically influenced stagings at Hart House Theatre, and to Herman Voaden’s “symphonic expressionism” in the plays he wrote and staged at the Central High School of Commerce in Toronto in the 1920s. The plays in this volume disrupt that genealogy by providing examples of a modernism that emerged locally as solutions to problems of form and representation. The P.B.I., in its staging, is one of the first attempts at collective documentary in Canadian theatre, Dawn in Heaven is a rare example of early theatrical expressionism, and Glory Hole is a naturalist text that seeks to eliminate dramatic artifice in its narrative structure in favour of detailed re-enactment. All of these were radical formal innovations in their time in Canada. While these plays may seem to be out of step with the overall literary effort coming out of the war, they are Canadian examples 17

By “naïve modernism” I refer to the fact that modernism was culturally asymmetrical, often emerging from local and self-discovered solutions to the crisis of realist representation in the early twentieth century. Along with the “high” modernism of the metropolitan avant-garde art world, there were other, diverse expressions of modernism, as James Harding and John Rouse argue in Not the Other Avant-Garde: The Transnational Foundations of Avant-Garde Performance (Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 2006).

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of an international tendency in post-war drama and theatre towards anti-heroic realism in the late 1920s and early 1930s. There had been plays written in Canada during the war years as jingoistic propaganda, including a crowded genre of pageants for children, but few of the plays identified as having been written by soldiers offer any sentiment of patriotism. By the end of the 1920s, with rising unemployment and the fear of another war, literature coming out of war experience expressed the angry and despairing mood of the “the harsher manner,” with R.C. Sherrif’s Journey’s End and Sean O’Casey’s The Silver Tassie appearing in 1928, Robert Graves’s Good-Bye to All That and Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front in 1929, and Charles Yale Harrison’s controversial Generals Die in Bed in 1930. William Atkinson wrote Glory Hole in 1929, and Simon Jauvoish wrote Dawn in Heaven in 1934. All of these works spit on the heroic myth, which was why there was much public controversy about those that were published. Because Atkinson and Jauvoish did not publish their plays (for reasons we can never really know), they did not intervene in the public sphere in the way that published works of poetry and prose did. These were private, introspective projects that were conceived without pressure to engage with public sentiment. Jauvoish did stage his play as a one-off commemorative event, but the only critical review of it reflects its bleakness and its capacity to evoke memories of trauma. As theatre history has often showed, the unpublished play is also the not-yet-produced play, and the ones included here stand up in dramatic quality and potential to the other plays mentioned above. Glory Hole is grim and almost documentary in its minimalist plot, and in my critical judgment is a better play than Journey’s End. Dawn in Heaven’s expressionism is lurid, but no less so than Sean O’Casey’s The Silver Tassie, and its rage no less deep.

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Life Writing Behind the Scrim of Genre Read through the lens of literary and theatre history, these three plays are important early examples of modernism in Canadian theatre. Read through the lens of life writing, they emerge as unrecognized memoirs of the war that document the experiences of the authors, and in the case of The P.B.I., the actors. In this sense they are slippery texts, simultaneously fictive and non-fictive, story and testimony. Rebecca Schneider offers a way to understand this slippage in her study of re-enactment in art and culture, when she notes that “the theatre ceases to be ‘just pretend’ when explored as a vehicle for the collective reconstitution of the so-called real.”18 Her observations about Civil War re-enactors suggest why these playwrights sought to recreate their experiences theatrically: “Many fight not only to ‘get it right’ as it was but to get it right as it will be in the future of the archive to which they see themselves contributing.”19 In The Canadian Experience of the Great War: A Guide to Memoirs, Brian Tennyson lists 1,885 texts—memoirs, autobiographies, letters, diaries, poems, short stories, and novels—in his exhaustive list of life writing from the war. Tennyson makes the point that he included creative works “on the grounds that they also constitute a creative form of memoir of their author’s war-time experiences.”20 The fact that the plays in this book incorporate incidents and characters that can be verified historically by reference to the playwrights’ service records supports the argument that they are disguised memoirs. Atkinson’s claim is the most explicit; in his preface to Glory Hole he states that he took his characters from

18 19 20

Rebecca Schneider, Performing Remains: Art and War in Times of Theatrical Reenactment, Taylor and Francis Group, 2011, 61. Schneider, 10. Brian Douglas Tennyson, The Canadian Experience of the Great War: A Guide to Memoirs, Scarecrow Press, 2013, xxv.

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“actual persons for the most part, the experience being my own.” The P.B.I. truth claim is materialized in the bodies of the returned soldiers who mobilized to perform the play and re-enact their daily routines. Jauvoish’s truth claim in Dawn of Heaven is found in the detailed recreation of the military trial that found him guilty of insubordination and the grim re-enactment of his traumatic experience of field punishment. Historians have not recognized these plays as war memoirs because they are cloaked in genre conventions that conceal the operation of life writing. The P.B.I. may look like a musical comedy, Dawn in Heaven may look like an expressionist fable, and Glory Hole may look like a three-act tragedy in which very little happens. In each case the interplay of drama, theatricality, and life writing is more complex than a cursory reading might perceive. They are examples of what Marlene Kadar and Jeanne Perreault call “unlikely documents of auto/biography,” and as such are among the earliest known autobiographical plays in Canadian drama.21 Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson offer insight into how memoir can be discerned in other genres in the introduction of their influential Getting a Life: Everyday Uses of Autobiography, when they write that “in telling their stories, narrators take up models of identity that are culturally available. And by adopting ready-made narrative templates to structure experiential history, they take up culturally designated subjectivities.”22 These plays were written to conform to genre templates because there were no culturally available models of autobiographical drama at the time of writing. Here we come up against a long-standing problem in life writing studies, which has been unsuccessful in theorizing the historically

21 22

Marlene Kadar, Linda Warley, Jeanne Perreault, and Susanna Egan, eds., Tracing the Autobiographical, Wilfrid Laurier up, 2005, 2. Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson, ed., Getting a Life: Everyday Uses of Autobiography. U Minnesota P, 1996, 9. Emphasis in original.

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intertwined relationship of theatre and life writing. In our present cultural moment we are immersed in a performance environment in which the auto/biographical is everywhere. Much of this derives from the modernist turn from literary text to performance text—the authorizing textuality of the performing body—that has its origins in radical postwar revolutions against the authority of form. One sign of life writing’s difficulty with this history is that neither drama nor theatre is included in Smith and Watson’s “Sixty Genres of Life Narrative” in their field-defining Reading Autobiography.23 Dramatic representation has historically been a problem for life writing scholars because, as Evelyn Hinz has proposed, life writing and drama are intersecting and reciprocally informing narrative fields that share “a spacialization of time.”24 But while drama has always told life stories, the emergence of overtly and intentionally auto/biographical dramatic forms is a recent phenomenon. The most obvious forms of life writing drama, such as the “biodrama” and autobiographical monologues noted by Thomas Couser, are recent developments that were made possible by modernism’s rupture of the classic plot-centred dramatic form.25 Despite the long history of tragedies, chronicle plays, and romantic historical dramas that sought to personify the movement of historical forces in exemplary lives, today’s theatrical genres of life writing are products of modernism. By disrupting the poetics of the dramatic plot and supplanting the authority of the performing self over Aristotle’s privileging of plot as the “first principle” of drama, early twentieth-century modernism introduced new theatrical and dramatic forms capable of staging non-fictive actuality. These 23 24

25

Sidonie Smith and Julie Watson, Reading Autobiography: A Guide for Interpreting Life Narratives. U Minnesota P, 2010. Evelyn Hinz, “Mimesis: The Dramatic Language of Auto/Biography,” in Essays on Life Writing: From Genre to Critical Practice, ed. Marlene Kadar, U Toronto P, 1992, 203. G. Thomas Couser, Memoir: An Introduction, Oxford up, 2012, 29–30.

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forms included the first researched biographies in dramatic form, as pioneered by Emil Ludwig, and the emergence of actualitybased documentary theatre in the years following the First World War.26 The development of contemporary life writing in the vortex of theatrical modernism produced a proliferation of new genres and forms, from re-enacted reminiscence (a form made famous in 1954 by Hal Holbrook in Mark Twain Tonight) to ponderous dramatic biographies (such as George Hulme’s epic The Life and Death of Adolf Hitler), memory plays, verbatim documentary plays, and an immense genre of what are clumped together as “solo shows,” often autobiographical or confessional performances by actors and performance artists. It is not too far a reach to say that life writing or life staging is one of the definitional conditions of postmodern theatrical performance. What, then, of autobiographical dramatic writing before modernism opened a space for it and gave it a theatrical vocabulary? Between the traditional concept of the history play, which since Aeschylus has invariably focused on the lives and deeds of individuals, and the modernist invention of auto/biographical performance, there is a lacuna in which the autobiographical compulsion found dramatic expression in plays that were presented as conventionalized and genre-defined dramas in which the operation of life writing is hidden by the scrim of genre. In the theatre, a scrim is a curtain that can reveal a scene or conceal it behind another, depending on the direction of light upon it. In these plays, life writing is concealed by a scrim of genre because the playwrights, 26

The pioneer of the modern biographical drama was Emil Ludwig, whose prose biographies of Napoleon, Lincoln, and many others were international bestsellers. His dramatic biography of Bismarck was his attempt to circumvent the German government’s ban on the third volume of Bismarck’s autobiography. A court action brought by the deposed Kaiser Wilhelm produced a judgement that the play was “historically accurate and absolutely objective.” Emil Ludwig, Bismarck: The Trilogy of a Fighter, G.P. Putnam’s Son, 1927, viii.

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far removed from the formal experiments of metropolitan theatre cultures, had no models of non-fictive dramatic representation on which to draw and no access to an avant-garde theatre culture that might have offered theatricalist solutions.27 To identify these plays as life writing, we have recourse to two archives. The first is the texts themselves, which survive in microfilmed typescripts, copied in 1982 from originals submitted for copyright registration by Canadian playwrights (or playwrights with Canadian addresses) for deposit in the United States Copyright Office and found there by the late theatre historian Patrick O’Neill, who secured the grant to have them filmed. The collection consists of some 700 manuscripts on forty-four rolls of microfilm. They are for the most part amateur attempts at playwriting: melodramas, religious plays, and comedies predominate, but twenty-eight are indexed under the subject heading of “World War One 1914–18.” Of these twenty-eight, only the three examined here can be identified as being authored by returned soldiers.28 This identification is made possible by the second archive, the Soldiers of the Great War database compiled by Library and Archives Canada, which has undertaken a massive project to digitalize and make public the service dossier of every soldier who served in the cef. Thus the detailed service records of the playwrights can be read alongside the plays to determine whether these texts are in fact autobiographical life writings. As a form of life writing itself, the dossier presents the subject as constituted by institutional service. The archived dossiers of the cef include attestation (sign-up) papers, discharge documents, 27

28

“Theatricalist” refers to genres of dramatic performance in which theatrical techniques function as textual elements; this term includes various forms of meta-theatrical drama 
and what is now referred to as “devised” performance, in which the performance text is created in the rehearsal process. Mount Saint Vincent University, Catalogue of the Canadian Drama Collection, Mount Saint Vincent up, 1984, 28–29.

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exhaustive medical records (including X-rays, dental charts, medical board findings, and medical officers’ remarks), and detailed pay records. Every time a solider was transferred to a new unit, admitted into hospital, granted leave, or sent on a course, a notation would be added; from these notations we can trace each soldier’s progress through the war. As life writing, the dossier records not just what the soldiers (and the 1,880 nursing sisters who served in the cef) did, but what was done to them. When we read these plays against the authors’ dossiers, we can relate their theatrical strategies to their authors’ war experiences. That is, in the end, why it is important to recognize and honour these plays as voices from the war that pass on lived experience and the feelings that lingered. Those experiences were harrowing, and as memoirs of combat experience the plays are unique in that they re-enact both felt and observed behaviours. We are in that sense overhearing, whether on the stage or in the theatre of the mind, the voices of men as they prepare for battle, as they labour in work parties—as the men in Glory Hole grouse, their “rest” time is made up of wiring parties, carrying parties, bath parties, and burying parties—and as they joke and bicker with one another. We see and hear their relationships with their corporals and sergeants, and witness numerous acts of casual brutality and injustice. Dramatic memoirs like this may lack the reflective literary insights that written memoirs can offer, but they are unique in their capacity to recreate the moment-to-moment details of daily life. We are well familiar, for example, with the often repeated narrative of soldiers hunting for lice in clothing seams; in these plays we hear what men said when they found them and how they made humour out of abjection. We know that men slept in muddy dugouts; here we see how carefully they folded their kilts to keep the pleats as they used them for blankets. We see what and how they ate, and what they said as they did so, and how they carried their spoons. Most importantly, these plays take us into the trench as the workplace of men who labour 20

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INTRODUCTION

on a job they hate. They form deep attachments, but they are at the same time cynical and private. They live in simmering anger that frequently boils over. Their lives are numbed by trauma, and we see what that does to their bodies. In each case, the authors make use of the affective somatic and auditory work that theatre enables, by transmitting feeling into the sensorium, and indeed into the body, of the spectator. In these plays we see a need to relive auditory and visual memories and pass them on to spectators. The P.B.I. parades—in the most literal sense in the drill formation scenes—the lived material culture of the war; the three dozen veterans who comprise the cast recreate their experience of trench life and combat in full kit. Dawn in Heaven re-enacts the horrifying punishment exacted on the author and stages lived trauma, and Glory Hole recreates in minute detail the living conditions and coping behaviours of men living in squalor and fear. The plays are repositories of evidence of lived culture that comes alive in the moment of re-enactment, in what Schneider calls “the syncopated time of reenactment, where then and now punctuate each other.”29 They are rich in ethnographic detail. Hearing and seeing the “crown and anchor call” that starts The P.B.I., with its rich lode of topical slang, we are left with the auditory and visual memory of that action, or at least the ghost of that memory. From the dialogue we hear the accents and cadences that men spoke, we hear their jokes and songs and insults. Having heard them, they persist in our own memories. Bearing witness by making us witnesses in turn is an affordance latent in theatrical texts that recreate lived experience. In the doubled temporality of past action and present feeling in performance, we can come as close as humanly possible, quoting Rebecca Schneider, to “literally touch time.”30 29 30

Schneider, 2. Schneider, 2.

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We can identify the scrim of genre in these plays and perceive the life writing through it from historical distance, but it is more difficult to determine how the authors’ contemporary audiences might have perceived this play of genre and memoir. Scrims work both ways; they reveal and conceal, depending on the position of the viewer. From our vantage point, familiar with a modern practice of life writing drama and theater, we can see in these plays a point of emergence where life writing disrupts the containment of genre, but for the producers of The P.B.I. and Dawn in Heaven, on the other side of the scrim, genre was a means to stage experiences that audiences recognized as authentic. And even in those audiences, there were those who saw past the scrimming effect more clearly than others. The eminent drama critic Hector Charlesworth reviewed The P.B.I. twice in the national magazine Saturday Night. When it premiered at the University of Toronto’s Hart House Theatre in March 1920, he made the point that, “I must confess that some of the bits which won an immediate response from the returned men in the audience were beyond my experience, a fact which bespeaks the fidelity with which the episodes were written.”31 Three months later, when the show moved to a commercial theater, he elaborated on that point, which he clearly saw as important: The fact that it is played by real soldiers gives a verisimilitude or bearing to the characters entirely untheatrical, but in essence dramatic. As such it makes a very potent appeal to the demobilized soldiers. Every one of thousands of returned men who have seen the play has been wildly enthusiastic about it because it brings back to him with a strong sense of reality scenes in which he himself has participated.32

31 32

Hector Charlesworth, “Music and Drama,” Saturday Night, 20 March 1920. Hector Charlesworth, “Music and Drama,” Saturday Night, 5 June 1920.

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An anonymous reviewer who saw the play in Ottawa on its national tour provides further evidence that audiences were drawn to the play because of its testimonial witnessing, writing that “old soldiers find the play true to war times and enjoy it and to those who were unable to reach the fields of battle it gives an opportunity to gain a knowledge of what Canadian soldiers went through in the trenches. The trench scene is particularly accurate and more than one expeditionary force man felt like ducking under his seat when the ‘silent susans’ commenced to fall.”33 When Simon Jauvoish staged Dawn in Heaven more than a decade later, the anonymous reviewer of The Winnipeg Tribune had a similar response: “the gripping scene of a shell-shocked soldier being brought back from the line by his tired companions brought out the sweat on the brow of an ex-soldier who has assisted in a like undertaking.”34 These memory plays by returned soldiers are evidence of a transitional moment in dramaturgy, in which the urgent need to create a theatre of the real and the lived, haunted by trauma, forced the emergence of theatrical forms that moved beyond fiction. It is now over a century since the war ended, but its voices and gestures are preserved in these plays. It is because they can be seen as historical re-enactments with dramatic overlays that they have enduring value as literature, memoir, and historical evidence.

33 34

“Crowded Houses Greet the ‘P. B. I.’” Ottawa Journal, 12 June 1920, Newspapers.com. “War Play at Auditorium Great Success.” Winnipeg Tribune. 14 May 1934, Newspapers.com.

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Editorial Principles

All three plays exist as uncorrected typescripts on microfilm. Numerous strikeouts and typos suggest they are first drafts. They contain many inconsistencies, and in some cases the text is barely legible because of faded type (possibly due to depleted typewriter ribbons, complicated by the effects of time on microfilm reels). The objective here is to bring these plays into the public eye, and to that they end have been copyedited as they would have been had they been published in their days. Spelling has been standardized, but the authors’ original punctuation remains intact, barring a few minor edits for clarification. Punctuation in a playtext is an important guide to the reader that suggests the author’s preferred rhythm and cadence of the text in performance. All three texts have been copyedited for consistency in format and in style, particularly in stage directions. The major style change is in page formatting. The typescript of Glory Hole follows the older British style that places the speaker’s name in the centre of the page with the dialogue underneath it. That has been converted to the contemporary style of placing the speaker’s name at the left margin and indenting the dialogue. In all three plays, some characters speak in stage dialect (including mangled attempts at French). These have been lightly edited (adding apostrophes to clarify the meaning of words with dropped Hs, for example). Atkinson writes Charbonneau’s heavy 25

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French accent using spellings very similar to those William Henry Drummond popularized in his widely circulated “habitant” poems. It may be that the intended readers of Atkinson’s day would have been more familiar with these spellings than we are today. They can be difficult to read at first glance, but they have been retained as Atkinson wrote them. In these plays, dialect and accented voices are an important component of the memory of war. Soldiers in any army can be crude in speech; there is a reason we “swear like a trooper.” But literary convention in the 1920s and 1930s forbade the transcription of swearing, and both theatrical decorum and the law forbade its utterance. All of these plays struggle with that prohibition; it is in fact implicit in the title of The P.B.I. (the “Poor Bloody Infantry”) and explains the occasional substitution of “bally” for “bloody,” then considered a highly offensive term. (Shaw had scandalized British theatre goers in 1913 when Liza Doolittle shouted “Not bloody likely!” in Pygmalion.) The P.B.I. tempered its language because it was written for immediate production, but Atkinson clearly wrestled with it, using both “b—” and “bloody,” writing “dam” for “damn” and in one instance getting away with “feck.” Jauvoish, five years later, was more comfortable with “bloody” and “damn.” The texts here retain the authors’ usages. The self-censorship of rougher language in these plays may strike a false note, especially when considered as life writing, but audiences and readers of the time were accustomed to filling in such elisions. The restraint did not go unnoticed. According to an article in the University of Toronto student paper, The Varsity (using promotional language given to them by the producers in a press release), a week before the premiere, Not only in the stage-setting and the army-equipment but also in the script and the acting, there has been a constant endeavour to obtain accuracy and realism. This Belasco-like striving for artistic

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verisimilitude has halted short only in one direction.35 The authors of the play have been extremely careful to exclude the troops’ ultra-picturesque phrases, and also any other material that was at all doubtful. Even the oldest and most unsophisticated professor may come to this production, confident that his enjoyment of the evening will not be marred by any objectionable lines or suggestive situations.

I have made as few changes in the texts as possible, except in one case where I have made a significant intervention. The P.B.I. exists in two forms: the original production script and a serialized version that appeared a year later in The Canadian Forum. The serialized version differs in several ways. It reduces the number of characters from forty to twenty-two; eliminates the spy plot and some of the combat sequences; adds more wisecracking humour (some of which may have emerged in performance); and adds much more detailed stage directions. The original text was written to be read only by the actors, and stage directions are minimal. But in the serial version, longer stage directions describing the sights and sounds of battle offer visual and auditory memories to readers. I have taken some of those sequences and inserted them in the appropriate place in the original text.

35

“Extra Performance of P.B.I. to be Held,” The Varsity, 3 March 1920. David Belasco was a prominent New York producer and director famed for his ultrarealist productions.

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I N T RO D U C T I O N TO

The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bullay Grenay

The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bullay Grenay had the longest life of the three plays in this volume. It premiered on March 10, 1920, at the University of Toronto’s Hart House Theatre for a sold-out oneweek run, reopened in May of that year for a week at the Princess Theatre in Toronto with the same cast, and subsequently toured Ontario in the summer of 1920.1 In Ottawa, both Sam Hughes, the controversial former Minister of Militia who had established the cef, and his arch-rival Arthur Currie, the commanding general of the Canadian Corps, were in the audience. In the fall of 1920, the students who had created the show formed a private company, P.B.I. Productions Ltd, and leased commercial rights to Fred M. Fisher, who had served as a captain in the 70th Battalion cef and the Canadian Army Pay Corps. Fisher took it on the road in Ontario and western Canada in 1921, offering a smaller-cast version under the title Mademoiselle of Armentieres. From the press reviews 1

Publicity for the tour named Downie as producer and credited authorship to “W.L. McGeary M.C.” presumably for brevity in newspaper ad costs, and because the M.C. was a taslismanic authenticator of heroism.

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Publicity card for the first production of The P.B.I. Hart House Fonds, University of Toronto Archives

of that production, it seems to have been based on the truncated version published in the Canadian Forum in 1921, with additional songs; a photograph of the final scene in the Calgary Herald shows twenty-one actors on stage, which conforms to the serialized text. Fisher staged it a final time in Barrie, with the Barrie Soldier’s Club in 1928, retitled Old Bill in the Billets; by this time the play had skewed to the point that reviewers identified the character of Hawkins, the Old Bill clone, as the leading part. The reference to “Old Bill” is significant because the “Old Bill” cartoons drawn by Bruce Bairnsfather, featuring his iconic grizzled British Tommy, were madly popular during the war. Even before the war was over, a musical comedy based on the cartoons had opened in London under the title The Better ’Ole, taken from the caption of his famous cartoon which depicts Old Bill and another soldier sheltering in a shell hole as artillery explodes around them: “Well, if you knows of a better ’ole, go to it.”2 A New York 2

Gosling, Linda, A Better ’Ole: The Brilliant Bruce Bairnsfather and the First World War, The History Press, 2014, 65.

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production of the show toured into Canada in 1919 and played in Toronto at the end of December. The young veterans who wrote The P.B.I. two months later were most likely in the audience. The play they created bears the stamp of The Better ’Ole in its nostalgic revisiting of army life, its improbable plot, and its in-jokes and military caricatures. The P.B.I. had four authors, all of whom served at the front, and their composite experience gives the play its multiocular perspective. All were University of Toronto students (or recent graduates) and members of the university’s Great War Association, the Varsity Veterans. They all had similar war experiences, differentiated by rank and service branch. The play was written and staged in 1920 at a point when many of the participants still retained a sense of military identity and camaraderie. The four authors all had extensive combat experience. Harold Scudamore, who initiated the project, was a divinity graduate who served for a year in England and then transferred to the infantry for service in France as a private in the 4th (Central Ontario) Battalion. He lost an arm at the battle for Hill 70 in March 1918. Harry Robertson Dillon was a captain in the field artillery who served four years at the front with the Second Division, commanding an ammunition column and later a trench mortar battery. He won the Military Cross for rescuing an officer from no man’s land and directing his battery under machine gun fire. His dossier includes a record of a court martial acquittal in January 1919 for assaulting a German civilian in Cologne. Ralph Waldo Downie had gone overseas in the First Contingent in 1914 and saw action in the Second Battle of Ypres when posted to a field engineering company. He served as a quartermaster sergeant and was later promoted to lieutenant and posted to an engineer-training depot in Quebec. William McGeary was a captain who fought at Ypres and Mount Sorrel with the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry. He received the Military Cross for gallantry in 31

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July 1917, at which time he was serving with the 38th (Ottawa) Battalion in the Lens sector. He returned home in 1918 with a wounded arm. In another sense, The P.B.I. had more than four authors; it actually had closer to forty. The four nominal authors wrote the scenario and plot, but the entire cast of veterans contributed their own material, in the form of dialogue, jokes, characters, slang, jargon, uniforms, and memories, and, most importantly, their remembering bodies. The play expanded to embrace the people who needed to be in it; this explains the presence of silent characters. In this very important sense, The P.B.I. is a collective creation that assembles the shared experience of the cast and frames it in the cohering conventions of a melodrama about the coming of age of a young officer, a wartime romance behind the lines, and a German spy in the ranks. The skimpy plot is interspersed with comic sketches, dialect humour, and musical interludes; the overall form in effect replicates the front-line concert party entertainments that the authors would have seen in France. Its mix of sentiment, nostalgia, and commemoration captured the post-war mood at a time when overt criticism of the war would have been publicly unacceptable. Inside that light entertainment frame is a much more serious enacted memoir validated by the entire cast. This autobiographical component emerges not in the text but in the material conditions of its production and performance. In its stage descriptions, the play repeatedly stresses its authenticity, beginning with the character descriptions—which in the typescript version take up six pages. They are extraordinarily specific in minor authenticating details, as in this description of a common type in the cef: Private Marmaduke Meredith, known in the platoon as “the Duke,” is a gentleman ranker with an excellent education and a sarcastic and biting tongue….He wears the ribbon of the Military

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Medal, and, being No.1 on the Lewis gun, is armed with revolver and wears the Lewis gunner’s laurels on his sleeve.3

Some may be construed as composite self-portraits of the authors as they reflect on their own naiveté: Lieutenant Edward Brock Green is a young lieutenant who has been granted his commission in Canada. His training has been along the lines of peacetime “spit and polish” warfare, and he has failed to grasp the fact that there are as good men in the ranks as anywhere in the army. He has a good heart and fine character, but it takes the hardships of the trenches to fit him into his niche. He is dressed regimentally and aggressively displays his rank on his cuff.4

The speaking parts include not just the roles demanded by the plot, but what seems to be a deliberate attempt to stage a taxonomy of military types and ranks: the green lieutenant, an inspiring first-contingent major who has risen from the ranks, a crusty sergeant, sappers, a signaller, a surgeon, medical orderlies, staff officers, a gas corporal, an engineer officer, a comically fatuous brigadier general, a prim staff captain, a French officer, and so on. Many sequences in the play seem designed only to demonstrate the accuracy of the representation. Platoon parade formations, drill commands, gambling games, and medal ceremonies all function as memoir and testimony. Even the program for the show documents something of the grim irony of trench humour with its dedication, in “loving memory,” to the defeated German soldier and its production credits: “Troops by Miss Canada,” “Costumes by the

3 4

See The P.B.I., page 42 of this book. The P.B.I., 43.

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Army Clothing Depot.”5 The script is filled with stage directions specifying gear and equipment, which was likely provided by the cast. The play specifically calls for cultural artefacts and materiel of the soldier’s daily lives. Extracted from the stage descriptions, they include a crown and anchor dice game, specific service badges, ribbons, medals, wound stripes, revolvers, rifles, a steel mirror, a clasp knife, steel helmets, id bracelets, bully beef, gas masks, a mouth organ, a Lewis gun, sandbags, a field telephone, a wind vane, a gas gong, trench signs, a periscope, bayonets, grenades, and ammunition. This inventory of a soldier’s daily life is auto-ethnographic material culture. But the documentary aspects of the play are not just textual and material. Equally important are the scenographic authenticators and the unprecedented attempt to re-enact the experience of combat on stage. In the published version of the text, scene descriptions are extremely detailed, from the signage in the estaminet to the names of the magazines on the officer’s dugout table, to the disposition of the platoons along the trench, to the trench itself: A fire-bay and part of the two adjacent traverses is seen. The trench is in good repair, the bottom being provided with bath mats and the sides revetted with A-frames and corrugated iron while the batten of the fire-step is supported by expanded metal and two-by-four uprights. On top of the traverse at the right flank of bay is a small roughly whittled windvane. To the military left of this, there projects over the parapet a small box-periscope which has been camouflaged with a twist of muddy sand-bag.6

5 6

P.B.I. Productions. Program for The P.B.I., March 1920, Hart House Collection, University of Toronto Archives and Record Management Services. Harold B. Scudamore et al., “The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay,” Canadian Forum, Nov. 1921, 430.

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It matters to this play that these details are exact and complete, just as it matters that the character types are documented. These descriptions are not there to help future producers, as is normally the case with stage descriptions, because no such future was planned. They are there to solidify, validate, and enact memory as evidence, confirmed by the collectivity of the cast. So too are the combat sequences. In the third act, a wiring party, including the hero and the green officer, goes over the top to fix a communications line in no man’s land, which is depicted as “a tangled mess of rusty barbed wire in which numerous holes have been blown by enemy shellfire. This wire, with the corkscrew stakes and wooden posts on which it is strung, is all that is visible above the parapet except for the blue sky.” Combat is depicted from the point of view of the men who stay behind in the trench, and its immediacy is achieved with sound effects. Again we see the imperative to get it right: “A distant German machine gun away off on the right flank starts a continuous rat-tat-tat hammering and it is answered by the scolding, staccato splatter of an equally distant Lewis Gun firing in short jerky bursts.”7 Against this, the play stages the practiced routine of the men who live in this soundscape: “Percy finds the box and, taking out two grenades, holds one in each hand. Duke gives the pan of his Lewis Gun a slight twirl to make sure that the cartridge is engaged under the feed arm and then he clicks back the cocking handle. Percy makes a move as though he were going to pull the pin out of his bomb.”8 The subjunctive gesture, “as though he were going to pull the pin” is itself evidentiary, because it can only be recognized by someone familiar with that type of grenade. This level of gestural knowledge, of habituated movements, poses, and postures, functions as documentary evidence that authenticates the actors as veterans. 7 8

Scudamore et al., The P.B.I., Canadian Forum, 433. Scudamore et al., The P.B.I., Canadian Forum, 433.

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Finally, as the party returns, missing some of its members but with a captured German, the scenographic war intensifies in a stage description that itself stands as a powerful act of witnessing: The Boche lays down a hurricane barrage. The shells go hurtling over, the big ones rushing at the supports with an expresstrain howl; the whiz-bangs zipping wickedly down on the front line. No Man’s Land is leaping with heaving geysers of ugly black earth, shot through with swift tongues of flame. The Hun machine guns start sweeping around, roaring like a cataract and rattling like a flock of steam-riveters as they pour out a torrent of hissing lead that cuts through the air like a tremendous scythe. The Vickers and Lewis guns soon take up the chorus and start their mad and frantic chattering while a fusillade of rifle fire ripples and crackles along the front. Fritz is now shooting up flares of innumerable varieties—white Very lights; ruby, green, orange, and golden rockets, some of which are single balls of fire while others are clusters and showers of fiery stars.9

It is unlikely that the stage of the art deco Hart House Theatre at the University of Toronto could do justice to these directions, but they testify to the need to objectify and share the experience of battle and to offset the jocular comedy with somatic memoir. During the war, the basement of the University of Toronto’s Hart House student centre, which in 1919 was turned into the theatre where The P.B.I. played, had been used as a rifle range, complete with simulated trench and scenic backdrop of a Belgian village, for the Canadian Officer’s Training Corps (cotc). For the two authors who had trained in the cotc (Scudamore and

9

Scudamore et al., The P.B.I, Canadian Forum, 435.

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Downie) and many of the actors, Hart House was the place where their war had begun and where it ended, in simulations of the war they survived.

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The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay A P L AY I N FO U R A C T S

by H.B. Scudamore, B.A. R.W. Downie W.L. McGeary H.R. Dillon

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Original cover for The P.B.I. University of Toronto Archives 2002-85-23ms

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Dramatis Personae

Private Michael Sullivan, known as “Mike, the Oldtimer.” He is the owner of the “crown and anchor” game. He is an inveterate gambler; an Irishman in disposition. He is dressed in private’s uniform, with Mons Ribbon;10 three wound stripes, red chevron and four blues;11 he wears the bombers’ red grenades. Lance Corporal Percy Wilkins, three blue chevrons, lance corporal’s stripe. He is neatly dressed, and is a typical “ladies’ man.” Private Herbert Hawkins, more generally known as “’Erbert ’Awkins, the Grouch.” His continual grousing is merely camouflage which conceals the sterling character of a British Tommy. His speech betrays him as having been born within the sound of “Bow Bells.”12 In his address he is smart and soldierly, and wears the crossed rifles of the marksman. He is a British reservist who enlisted in Canada and is somewhat up in years.

10

11

12

Mons ribbon: the ribbon to the Mons Star, awarded in 1917 to all members of the British forces who had enlisted between the outbreak of the war and November 1914. Most Canadian recipients were members of No. 2 Canadian Stationary Hospital. The mention of the ribbon here identifies the character as a First Contingent soldier who had served for a period of time with a British unit. Inverted (point up) service chevrons worn on the lower sleeve. Each blue chevron denoted a year’s service. The red chevron identifies a soldier who enlisted in 1914 in the First Contingent. One traditional definition of a Cockney is someone born within hearing distance of the bells of the church of St. Mary-le-Bow in Cheapside, London.

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Private Marmaduke Meredith, known in the platoon as “the Duke,” is a gentleman ranker with an excellent education and a sarcastic and biting tongue; he comes strongly to the front when under fire. He wears the ribbon of the Military Medal, and, being No.1 on the Lewis gun, is armed with revolver and wears the Lewis gunner’s laurels on his sleeve. Mademoiselle Julie Duvall, of Bully Grenay, is the daughter of Madame Peronne by her first marriage; it happens that she is at the estaminet where our platoon is in rest billets. Julie is the typical “Cantinière”: bright, vivacious, volatile, with a spirit of “bon camaraderie” which manifests itself in her cheerful amiability towards all comers; although at times she may appear flirtatious, she is really only trying to enliven the otherwise very dull life of the soldier. She is dressed in bright colours and wears a small, white, lace-edged apron. Private Oley Svenson, who appears in the company records as an American-Swede; he has not been long in France, and wears no medals or decorations. He hides his real purpose under a morose and taciturn exterior, but his true German character breaks forth at times and shows itself in acts of intemperate and brutish violence. Being a battalion scout, he wears on his left sleeve a green slash, on which is a brass “fleur-de-lis” denoting he is also a sniper; he is armed with a revolver. Mademoiselle Suzanne Delpierre is the heroine of the play, and a refugee whose mother and father are at Mons in the hands of the Boche: when the Germans approached Mons in August, 1914, Suzanne was sent by her parents to a place where her girlish beauty would be safe. She is living in Bully Grenay with her aunt, Madame Peronne, and in order to repay her aunt, she has engaged in making dresses. Suzanne is a girl of good breeding, of charming manners, 42

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enticing beauty, and lovable disposition. She is dressed simply but in excellent taste, usually appearing in a black frock, set off with white lace colors and cuffs. She is in mourning “pour la Patrie.” Private William Walton is the hero of the play. He is a typical young Canadian; filled with the zest of life and love of adventure. He is of amiable, cheerful disposition, and of strong character. He treats the war as an adventurous game. He is armed with a revolver, and wears the red brassard of the runner, until in Scene II he is promoted, when he appears with the stripes of a full corporal.13 He wears shorts, and throughout appears smart and soldierlike. He has the Mons Ribbon and wears two wound stripes. Private John Hicks is a mouth organ fiend, and a rear-rank private. He wears two blue service chevrons. Sergeant James Hall, an efficient, ideal sergeant. He usually appears wearing belt and sidearms, and has his sergeant’s stripes on both sleeves. He wears a dcm and Mons Ribbon, a red and four blue service chevrons, and two wound stripes.14 Lieutenant Edward Brock Green is a young lieutenant who has been granted his commission in Canada. His training has been along the lines of peacetime “spit and polish” warfare, and he has failed to grasp the fact that there are as good men in the ranks as anywhere in the army. He has a good heart and fine character, but it takes the hardships of the trenches to fit him into his niche. He is dressed regimentally and aggressively displays his rank on his cuff.

13 14

Runner: a trench messenger charged with delivering orders from battalion or company headquarters. dcm: Distinguished Conduct Medal, awarded to privates and noncommissioned officers.

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The “Chocolat” Boy is a youngster of the indeterminate age but is probably between nine and twelve years old. He wears a balaclava knitted cap on his head, a nondescript blouse, a pair of khaki trousers, a pair of discarded puttees, and discarded army boots; he is usually sucking a cigarette, and carries a huge wicker basket filled with oranges, chocolate, gingerbread, boiled eggs, etc. He is a street gamin, a born mimic, and his wits have been sharpened by the hardships of war. Adolphe Peronne, the proprietor of the “Café de la Paix,” Bully Grenay, is a “vallon,” and before the war was a German secret service propagandist. He has married Madame Peronne for the sake of her estaminet, which affords him an opportunity of entering the community, where he may carry on his work. He is a contemptible, snakelike character shuffling about in sabots. He wears a black-peaked blue miner’s cap, a faded blue smock, and bag-like brown corduroy trousers. He smokes a big briar pipe, and lounges at every opportunity. His malignant disposition shows whenever he is angered. Private “Nobby” Clark, a faithful replica of the Nobby Clark that was in every platoon in the army. He is a runner. He has no particular characterizations; he is simply “an old soldier that never dies but simply blocks the way.” He wears the runner’s red arm brassard and carries a revolver. Private “The Dud”, a simple, nameless hero. He is dull, inarticulate, and always blundering. He occasionally does the right thing, but always at the wrong time. He has lost most of his equipment, but what has remained with him, it is badly kept, poorly adjusted on his person, giving him a sloppy appearance. He is dressed just as a simple private. Private George King, a Kentish lad passing by the name of “Jarge;” he has been out for a long time, but, having a phlegmatic intellect, 44

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and an insatiable thirst for beer, he will never be in the slightest danger of receiving promotion. His voice is loud and raucous, and his delight is maudlin song. He is dressed as a private. His clothes are too large for him. Private Henry Harris is a batman. He is indolent, lazy, and loquacious when allowed to be. He delights in giving forth news items. He is a private; he wears an officer’s ordnance cap, a pair of fawn-coloured officer’s breeches, a pair of spiral puttees, light shoes, and dessert spoon stuck in his puttee. Madame Peronne is a typical French bourgeoise. She has been deceived by Peronne and so her naturally cheerful and warmhearted nature has been so shocked that she is apathetic to the events in progress. She is somewhat stout; wears a dark calico skirt and blouse and a large checked calico apron. Signaller Jack Roberts is an on duty at “Don” Company Hdqtrs. He wears the crossed signal flags on a blue slash. The Silent Signaller, who is on duty with Roberts, has no speeches. He is dressed similarly to Roberts. Corporal Binks is the battalion gas corporal. He has a bustling and officious air, which ideally represents men on staff employment of headquarters. He wears, in addition to corporal’s stripes, a green and black brassard. Lieutenant Robinson is an officer in the Canadian Engineers. He is a businesslike itinerant who takes a lively interest in the war and is always ready to see the humorous side of any situation. He is efficient without being fussy and makes light of the general as he comes under another command. He wears his rank badges on his 45

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shoulder straps and disregards wearing a Sam Browne belt in the forward area. Sapper Tompkins only has a speaking part. His voice is rather rough and hoarse. Captain Pearson, the adjutant of the Umpteenth Canadian Infantry Battalion, is very correctly and regimentally dressed with a pair of short-necked spurs. He wears the Military Cross and is officiously brusque in manner. Brigadier General Wellington Montagu-Smythe has two and a half rows of good old “plum and apple” ribands.15 He wears a monocle; he is a pompous, egotistical nonentity, whom a kindly Providence has provided with an efficient staff. He is a “dug out” from the “United Services Club.” A relic of an Afghan war. The hot tropical sun, and quantities of good liquor, have cultivated a florid gorgeousness of complexion. Gout has turned his nature into an irascible and blustering volcano. Staff Captain Algernon Chomondeleigh is not as big a fool as he appears. His affected manners fail to conceal considerable executive ability; he is foppishly dressed in cream breeches, white leggings, with chamois gloves, light collar and shirt, and carries a heavy riding crop. Colonel Redington, the battalion oc, is a quiet, hard-working officer.16 He is very efficient, and refrains from any conversation when in company with the General.

15

16

“Plum and apple ribands”: the reference to the ubiquitous plum and apple jam is similar to the American coinage “fruit salad” to describe an array of medal ribbons. oc: Officer Commanding.

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Major Mackenzie, the officer in command of “Don” Company, is an original First Contingent man, has risen to his present rank through sheer ability, representing the acme of perfection in a regimental officer. He is a severe disciplinarian but tempers his authority with kindness and common sense, and accordingly is respected and loved by all his subordinates. He is rather past middle age and his hard service has left furrows of care upon his face. He is erect and has quiet assurance in his bearing. He wears his rank upon his shoulder straps and the ribands of the dso and mc, as well as the Mons Star.17 Private Jock McTaggart is a middle-aged Scot from Glasgow. He represents the home-loving superstitious Gael. He is a reliable, efficient soldier, with a rugged, kindly nature. He wears three blue chevrons. He is a stonemason in civilian life. The Hun is an officer, lieutenant in rank. He is of fairly good physique but absolutely demoralized by fear. His face has that unnatural dugout pallor and his knees are knocking together with fright. He is wearing a German shrapnel helmet, and is dressed in the regulation German Army uniform. He wears his Iron Cross on a ribbon round his neck. Stretcher-Bearer Brand is an efficient but rather callous man; he usually assumes the initiative. On his left sleeve he wears a white band, on which is a red cross. He has a medical pannier, full of bandages, etc., which is marked with a red cross. He carries no weapon of any sort.

17

dso: Distinguished Service Order, awarded for gallantry to officers of the rank of major and above. mc: Military Cross, awarded to junior officers and warrant officers for gallantry.

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Stretcher-Bearer Compton is of a mild and kind-hearted type, relying upon the more aggressively spirited Brand. He is dressed in the same way as Brand. Private Raymond Ritchie is the medical orderly in the advanced dressing station. He is industrious but not at all sentimental. He wears camc badges, and on his left sleeve is embroidered a red cross.18 Captain Clark is the medical officer of the camc in charge of the advanced dressing station. Long service has dulled his susceptibilities to the suffering of the wounded. He wears the uniform of the officers of the camc with rank badges on the cuff of his jacket. He’s wearing leather leggings and spurs. The Ambulance is a Mechanical Transport man; he wears gauntlet, reefer jacket, and an exceedingly dirty, soft and floppy cap. Also officer’s breeches, and his puttees are rolled à la cavalry. Private “Spud” Murphy is a company runner and an inveterate gambler. He poses as the fountainhead of information from headquarters, and carries himself with an air of conscious importance. He carries a revolver, and on his left sleeve is the brassard of the runner. The French Officer is an elderly lieutenant of the reserves. He is very brisk and businesslike. His moustache is steel gray and is cut au Marshal Foch. He wears a Moroccan ribbon, and is dressed in regulation manner, with an automatic revolver on his belt in black leather holster.

18

camc: Canadian Army Medical Corps.

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The French Gendarme is dressed in “horizon bleu”; he is also wearing a revolver, and produces a pair of handcuffs when Peronne is arrested. The British Lance Corporal of Foot Police is a burly, big fellow with a florid complexion and highly waxed moustaches. On his left arm he wears a black brassard on which are the letters M.F.P. in red. The Private of M.F.P. is similarly dressed, but without the stripe. Each wears revolvers. Total Number of Characters ………40.19

19

This note regarding the number of characters is included in the typescript, presumably to keep a running account of the number of parts available to be assigned to accommodate the number of campus veterans who wanted to participate.

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Act I Scene I

The time is about May, 1918, and the place is Bully Grenay, where the action takes place in the courtyard, whose three sides consist of dwellings on right and rear and of a barn on left. The whole building is continuous and all the roof is covered with red tiles, except some places on the barn roof where some tiles are broken or have been blown away. The dwelling part of the structure is built with red bricks, while the barn is made of stout wooden beams supporting walls of mud-and-straw mortar-plaster. The court is paved with red bricks. The building on the right of the court is an estaminet, having a door that is divided into an upper and lower half, each opening separately. On both sides of the store are windows having small rectangular panes of glass and provided with green shutters. Hanging from the lintel of the door is a string of onions, and in the windows are crudely scrawled signs advertising: Bière anglaise 3 Pence and OEUFS EGGS 1/2 franc Above the door is a painted signboard reading:

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CAFÉ DE LA PAIX ESTAMINET ADOLPHE PERRONE DEBITANT EN BOISSONS The rear wall contains a large wagon gate through which can be seen the house across the street. To the right of this gate is Suzanne’s shop, which is provided with an ordinary one-piece door, to the right of which is a green-shuttered window. To the left of the door there’s pasted a patriotic poster advertising: L’EMPRUNT NATIONAL And above the door is a sign reading: SUZANNE DELPIERRE MODISTE On the wall, between the gate and the barn, is a placard printed in large blackface type and reading: MEFIEZ-VOUS TAISEZ-VOUS LES OREILLES ENNEMIES VOUS ECOUTENT!20 The barn on the left, in which is quartered No. 16 Platoon of the Umpteenth Canadian Infantry Battalion, has two large wagon shed

20

Roughly, “Be careful, keep your mouth shut, enemy ears are listening!”

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entrances without doors. On the post between these two entrances is a painted legend: Billet No. 9 Horses 8 Men 40 In front of the estaminet are two circular wine tables around which are nine chairs, some of which have the backs broken off. In addition to these chairs, there are four benches in the courtyard— one on each side of the estaminet door, one in front of Suzanne’s shop, and one to the left of the road gate. When curtain rises on Scene I, a “crown and anchor” game is discovered at left front. JULIE and MADAME are serving beer and wine to troops seated at tables right rear. Troops stumble sleepily out of the barn, with straw in hair, with boots unlaced. They are in their shirtsleeves and start to shave around the well, using steel mirrors. Others are cleaning rifles; still others are loafing about, mostly with tunics unbuttoned. One man is sitting near the doorway “reading his shirt.”21 As the curtain rises, MIKE is heard, chanting the “come all ye” of the “crown and anchor” sharks.22 MIKE

21 22

Come on, my lucky, lucky lads, Who’s to give the old man a start? My lucky, lucky lads. Lay it down thick and heavy. If you never speculate you will never accumulate. How about it?

Reading his shirt: examining it for lice. Crown and anchor: a gambling game using two six-sided dice marked with crowns, anchors, hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades on a cloth gameboard.

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Well, well. We’re away for a starter. Good bet to you, sir? Half a franc on the old mudhook?23 Good bet to you, Chummy? Here you are, a half up and a half down. Five francs to the first lucky threes. Come on, my lucky, lucky lads. Lay it down like showers of rain. Don’t let it mould your jeans. What? Murder on the old jam tart?24 Well, here’s hoping three of them turn up. Tomorrow we get glass cups to shake the bones in. Then you get a chance to hit the old man a wallop. Make your leave money, boys. I hear a rumour that leave is opening up for the Canadian corpse.25 That’s the stuff to give them. A good bet to you, sir? Five up and five down on the name of the game. You come here in wheelbarrows and go away in limousines. Lay it down thick and heavy, my hearties. The more you put down, the more you pick up. Well, well, and your friend the working party’s badly backed. Who says a bit more on of the curse of Scotland?26 Or the lucky old Kimberly “di”? 23 24 25 26

Mudhook: the anchor in crown and anchor. Jam tart: the heart in crown and anchor. The game patter borrows from Cockney rhyming slang. Canadian corpse: this pun on Canadian Corps is a telling example of morbid front-line humour. Curse of Scotland: the diamond in crown and anchor.

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Lay it down think and heavy, My lucky, lucky lads. Green envelopes are taken on the borders as a franc.27 All wooden money gladly received if the amount is not written in pencil. Lay it down thick and heavy, My lucky, lucky mateys. The Snow Bank is behind us for backing my lucky lads. And the blue sky above is the limit. We play anything from pennies to pounds. No more on the name of the game or the lucky jam tart? Are you all finished, my lucky lads? Third and last time. Up she goes. Cooked dice are no man’s dice; change or double your bets? Are you all done? Are you all set? Up she comes again— Two lucky old sergeant majors.28 And the lucky old Kimberly.29 Just as I told you, but you wouldn’t listen to the old man. Well, we are all paid. Well paid. And away we go to the war again. Lay down thick and easy, My lucky, lucky lads. 27 28 29

Green envelopes: soldiers were issued a limited supply of green envelopes for letters home that were exempt from censorship. Lucky old sergeant majors: the crown in crown and anchor, after the rank badge of a company sergeant major. Kimberly di: the diamond in crown and anchor, named after the famous South African diamond mines.

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Before the end of the “crown and anchor” patter, LANCE CORPORAL PERCY WILKINS, the “ladies’ man,” PRIVATE HERBERT HAWKINS, the platoon “Grouch,” and the “DUKE,” a gentlemen ranker, saunter across the stage and sit down at the small table right front. As the “crown and anchor” patter ends, JULIE DUVAL, a “cantinière,” brings them over three beers on a tray. JULIE

Voila, messieurs.

PERCY

Tres bon for the troops, oui?

JULIE

Oui, monsieur Percy.

PERCY

Bon santé.

JULIE

Bon santé, monsieur. You have a bad time in the trenchees?

PERCY

Oui, oui, kill beaucoup Boches. Beaucoup bombard. Bombard no bon. No bon war.

JULIE

No bon war. Guerre fini this automne?

PERCY

Canadians fini war toute suite, and then… PERCY takes out a mouth organ and plays “Après la Guerre Fini,” while the troops whistle the refrain.

JULIE

Naughty boy. JULIE hides her face in her apron, runs off to the estaminet door in mock embarrassment.

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HAWKINS

What a hell of a war. The Army Saifety Corpse hog all our rum; the base-wallahs glom on to our strawberry jam; a bloke couldn’t rustle a bite to eat in this bloomin’ town even if he had a haversack full of bobs and tanners, which we ain’t, since the ruddy paybloke is still snoring away in his cushy billet.

DUKE

Have a heart Hawkins. Grousing because the paymaster wasn’t down at the field kitchen to issue our dollar-ten with the breakfast bacon. Here, we only got out of the trenches this morning.

HAWKINS

Well, if this crush were any bally good…

PERCY

Cheese it, ’Erbert, and drown your sorrows in a “vin blink”—I paid for the last round.

HAWKINS

Julie, Julie! JULIE appears in the doorway of the bar.

JULIE

Que voulez-vous, monsieur?

HAWKINS

Three beers, mam’selle.

JULIE

Oui, monsieur. JULIE disappears into the bar. HAWKINS sings “Oh, It’s a Lovely War.” During the singing OLEY SVENSON, a German spy masquerading as an American-Swede, who is a battalion scout, gets up from the “crown and anchor” game, shoves a big roll of money into his pocket, and

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moves to left front. He takes out a clasp knife and starts to carve his briar pipe. When the song ends, the DUKE speaks to HAWKINS. DUKE

You get a lot of fun out of life, Hawkins. Just one glorious no-stop hymn of hate. What don’t you change the record?

HAWKINS

No blinkin’ chance. I’m grousing for the duration and nothing will stop me but the blue flares when peace is declared. Re-enter JULIE with three beers and places them on the table.

PERCY

Say, Julie, where is that little refugee that used to be here?

JULIE

Oh, Suzanne. She here still. Now she makes the dresses.

PERCY

What? Dressmaking? Gee, I wish I had a job like that.

JULIE

Oh, la, la! Exit JULIE to the bar.

HAWKINS

Say, Percy, you’re an awful boy for the girls. Ain’t you satisfied with having Julie sweet on you, without trying to alienate the affections of this dressmaker refugee?

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PERCY

Don’t be a fool, ’Erbert. Bill Walton is so strong with Suzanne I wouldn’t stand a ghost of a chance.

HAWKINS

Maybe yes and maybe no. When Bill Walton gets here, won’t the major blinkin’ well keep him so busy chasin’ around on odd jobs that he won’t get no time to go courtin’ with Suzanne.

PERCY

Guess again, ’Erbert. Take it from me, Bill and Susan will be as thick as a brass hat and his fortyfoot dugout.

HAWKINS

Nor ’arf. Walton is a willing worker, and everybody from the blooming lancejack to the bally officer sez, “Let Bill do it.” That’s the hell of being a good soldier. You don’t ’arf have to work.

DUKE

You seem to have lots of leisure, you columndodging old leadswinger.

HAWKINS

Well, Bill Walton don’t. Look as how he gets up the line every time, to guide the other battalion round by the hand, and tuck them all in their little cots, and kiss them all goodnight.

PERCY

Well, when he gets out, they’ll give him a little extra rest.

HAWKINS

Extra rest! Extra work, you mean. That’s all the thanks a fellow gets for soldiering. I sez, if you wants to get off on a cushy, bomb-proof job as traffic cop, if you wants a trip down to the rest camp; or any other blighted holiday, you’ve got to be a blinkin’ dud. 59

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Enters SUZANNE, the heroine, from her shop door. PERCY jumps up and touches his cap. PERCY

Bon jour, mam’selle.

SUZANNE

Bon jour, monsieur.

PERCY

It is a tres bon morning. Oui?

SUZANNE

Oui, oui. You have a good trip in the trenches?

PERCY

Beaucoup bombard, mam’selle.

SUZANNE

Personne blessé?

PERCY

Naw, nobody wounded in our platoon.

SUZANNE

Where is Monsieur Beel Walton?

PERCY

Oh, he rest in trenches last night. He’ll be here soon. Say, Bill Walton’s… Enter PRIVATE BILL WALTON, the hero of the play, from the road gateway. His tin hat is on crooked, his gas respirator is still at the alert, his uniform, the red runner’s brassard on his left sleeve, and his revolver holster, are all plastered with mud. His puttees are caked with gumbo and slithering down. He is dead tired, and obviously has had a hard trip. Everyone greets him, even the “crown and anchor” sharks suspending their operations for a moment.

PERCY

Welcome to our city, Bill.

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DUKE

Wipe your feet before you come in, Bill.

HAWKINS

Oh, Bill, you’re out of luck. Your billet’s ’orrible punk; you ’as to hit the hay under the ’ole in the roof, where yer catches all the rain. BILL has now reached centre stage.

BILL

Cheerio, fellows. BILL crosses to Suzanne at right front.

BILL

Bon jour, mam’selle.

SUZANNE

Good day, monsieur Beel. How are you?

BILL

Tres beans, Suzanne but beacoup fatigue.

SUZANNE

Asseyez-vous ici, Beel. I get you some café. BILL sits down and Suzanne enters the bar.

BILL

Home again. And so this is Paris.

PERCY

Gee, Bill, I wish I could get a skirt that would look after me like that.

HAWKINS

Who do you think you are? A bally officer with a harem. BILL has placed his head on the table, and he is soon sound asleep.

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PERCY

Don’t you call me an officer, ’Erbert, or I’ll soak you one. The dialogue continues in good-humoured chafing.

HAWKINS

We might as well be scrappin’ as sitting around ’ere like blasted mummies.

PERCY

Come on down the road to “Ack” company’s billet.

HAWKINS

Cradle-snatching again.

PERCY

Go on, Hawkins, you’re just jealous. HAWKINS gets up from the table, and moves over towards PERCY at centre stage.

DUKE

Say, Percy, I think you have already presented every mademoiselle from Poperinge to Amiens with one of your aluminum rings.

PERCY

Oh, I still have a few left. PERCY takes an identification bracelet out of his trousers pocket. On it are strung seven souvenir rings, made of aluminum and bent horseshoe nails. He is also wearing a ring on the little finger of his left hand.

HAWKINS

Wot ’opes. The DUKE gets up from the table, crosses to PERCY, and counts the rings.

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DUKE

Seven. Almost enough to last you until tomorrow noon.

PERCY

Cut it, you killjoys. Are you coming or aren’t you? Enter SUZANNE with a glass of steaming coffee. She finds BILL asleep. She strokes his head, and then gently awakens him.

DUKE

We will have to go with you, Percy. You’re not safe without guardians.

HAWKINS

Suppose we might as well, for it ain’t ’arf slow around this blinkin’ billet; what with no money and nothin’ to do at all. Just as they start across the stage, SERGEANT JIMMY HALL, the platoon sergeant, enters from the road gate.

HAWKINS

Lor’ lumme, wot now?

SERGEANT

Here men. There is a parade called.

HAWKINS

Wot?

SERGEANT

I mean it. There is a parade. I know you expected a day off after the tour. So did I. But there is a new officer just up from Bexhill and he wants to take over at once.30 Can’t help it. Be ready in twenty minutes. Dress—battle order with forage caps.

30

Bexhill: the Canadian Officers Training School at Bexhill-on-Sea in Sussex.

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The troops hurry into the barn, the “crown and anchor” sharks leaving last. BILL

Say Sarge, I just got in. May I be excused?

SERGEANT

Officer wants to see every man. You had better fall in; I’ll explain. SERGEANT speaks to BILL confidentially.

SERGEANT

Probably he just wants to tell us how the war is being fought in Piccadilly.

BILL

Alright, Sarge. The SERGEANT enters his billet in the house.

BILL

Beaucoup busy, Suzanne. A bientot.

SUZANNE

Cheerio, Beel. JULIE calls SUZANNE from the estaminet door.

JULIE

Suzanne, ici, s’il vous plaît.

SUZANNE

Oui, Julie. Toute suite. SUZANNE picks up the empty coffee glass, and enters the estaminet. The troops return to the court with equipment, rifles, etc. They get busy cleaning up and grousing as they work. Some go over and help BILL scrape the mud off his outfit.

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DUD

This outfit is gettin’ worser every day.

HAWKINS

We’d be a blinkin’ sight better off up in the trenches. I’m fed up with this button-polishin’ mob.

PERCY

We don’t get that trench stoop out of our necks before they start shooting parades at us.

DUKE

This new blighter must be one of those reckless Reggies that are overflowing with vim and vigour. And chock-full of fancy ideas on pipeclay and efficiency.

PERCY

Yes, and I’ll bet he’s one of those milk-fed warbabies that were home in their feathered beds when we fellows were over here sharpening our teeth on hardtack and barbwire. Enter SERGEANT from his billet, and places LANCE CORPORAL PERCY WILKINS as a marker.

SERGEANT

Fall in, No. 16. The platoon falls in; the front row there are now, from right flank, LANCE CORPORAL PERCY WILKINS, OLEY SVENSON, NOBBY CLARK, MIKE the “oldtimer,” the DUKE, BILL, and others. The left flank man of the rear rank is the DUD.

SERGEANT

31

No. 16 Platoon—shun.31 As you were. Now jump to it. Platoon—shun. Stand—at ease. Easy.

Shun: the command to stand at attention.

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Enter MR. GREEN, the new lieutenant, from the road gate.32 SERGEANT

Platoon, shun. SERGEANT salutes OFFICER.

SERGEANT

All present and correct, sir.

GREEN

Very good, Sergeant. Platoon, rear rank—one pace step back—march. Sergeant, we will inspect the platoon. THE CHOCOLAT BOY is heard outside on the road.

BOY

Chocolat. Chocolat. THE CHOCOLAT BOY enters; he is a youngster of nine to twelve years of age, smoking a cigarette, and carrying a wicker basket filled with oranges, chocolate, gingerbread, boiled eggs, etc. He watches the parade for a few minutes and then mimics the officer.

GREEN

32

I say, Sergeant. Beastly looking lot of uniforms. No fit at all. Look at those abominable caps. Not a single stiff one among the lot. Must get them all properly wired. See that all those cartridges are removed from the rifle-slings.

Mr. Green: in British and Canadian army protocol, subalterns (second lieutenants and lieutenants) were by tradition addressed as Mister rather than by rank.

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ADOPHE PERONNE, the proprietor of the “Café de la Paix,” slinks in and sits down on a bench at the right rear. He watches the inspection. The officer starts the inspection with Percy. GREEN

Who is this man, Sergeant?

SERGEANT

Lance Corporal Percy Wilkins, sir.

GREEN

Corporal, where is your cap badge, and your collar badges?

PERCY

Please sir, I have never been issued any.

GREEN

Sergeant, do these men ever give away their badges as souvenirs?

SERGEANT

No sir, never.

GREEN

What. Never? The SERGEANT refrains from making the obvious retort, but smiles on learning that the officer may possess a sense of humour. The officer next inspects OLEY SVENSON.

GREEN

Who is this man, Sergeant?

SERGEANT

Private Oley Svenson, sir.

GREEN

Why hasn’t he got a rifle?

SERGEANT

He is a battalion scout, sir, and has been returned to the platoon to train some company scouts. 67

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GREEN

Right, Svenson, you must not carry so much stuff in your pockets. It spoils the fit of the uniform. The OFFICER next inspects MIKE SULLIVAN, who is wearing a shrapnel helmet, on which is some melted candle wax.

GREEN

Who is this man, Sergeant?

SERGEANT

Private Michael Sullivan, of the bombers, sir.

GREEN

Where is your forage cap, Sullivan?

MIKE

Please, sir, it was lying on the parados of the trench and it was blown up by a pineapple.

GREEN

A what?

MIKE

A pineapple, sir. A small trench mortar bomb, sir.

GREEN

Oh, I see. That’s alright. Sergeant, see this man gets a new cap at once. The SERGEANT suppresses a smile, while some of the men grin openly.

SERGEANT

Yes, sir. The OFFICER next inspects the DUKE.

GREEN

Who is this man?

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SERGEANT

Private Marmaduke Meredith, sir. No. 1 on the Lewis gun, sir.

GREEN

Did you shave this morning?

DUKE

Please, sir, I shaved late last night.

GREEN

Sergeant, when did these men get in from the trenches?

SERGEANT

About three o’clock this morning, sir.

GREEN

So you shaved then?

DUKE

Yes sir. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I wasn’t clean. The OFFICER next passes to BILL. He steps back a pace and surveys him with marked disapproval.

GREEN

Sergeant, who is this man?

SERGEANT

Private William Walton, a runner, sir.

GREEN

Worst man yet.

SERGEANT

But, sir. He… The OFFICER interrupts impatiently.

GREEN

No excuses, Sergeant. There have been enough for one day. This man has had practically all morning in which to clean himself up. There is no excuse for any man being in such a state. 69

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SERGEANT

But, sir… OFFICER interrupts again, a little more angrily.

GREEN

Disgrace to the platoon, Sergeant. Abominable. Mons ribbon, too. Should be an example to the new soldiers. These old men get very sloppy and careless, Sergeant. They need constant checking up. The troops in the rear rank start shuffling around.

GREEN

Stop moving about in the rear rank. Here, Sergeant. I won’t look at any more of these men. It is too beastly heartbreaking. Both ranks of the platoon are still standing rigidly at attention.

GREEN

Rear rank—shun. There is a titter in the ranks, and CHOCOLAT BOY openly mimics the officer. MR. GREEN becomes very flustered.

GREEN

As you were. The men stand steady, with the exception of DUD, who slumps down into this position of “At ease.”

GREEN

As you were, I said—shun. The DUD shuns, and the platoon laughs almost openly. The CHOCOLAT BOY becomes offensively obstreperous, and the SERGEANT shouts at him.

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SERGEANT

Allez, allez, toute suite. Exit CHOCOLAT BOY, with thumb to nose.

GREEN

Platoon, ground—arms. Now, take out your emergency rations. The OFFICER starts to inspect the bully beef displayed, NOBBY CLARK has none.

GREEN

Where is your emergency ration of preserved meat?

NOBBY

Please, sir when we were up in the dugout, it was in my haversack. But I think a rat must have “et” it, sir.

GREEN

Sergeant, make a note of that.

SERGEANT

Yes, sir. As the OFFICER passes along the line, the front rank surreptitiously convey their bully beef to the rear rank. As the OFFICER completes the inspection, he suddenly shouts—

GREEN

Gas. As the face pieces of the gas respirators are whipped out from the respirator haversack, love letters fly from PERCY’s; a pair of socks fall from HAWKINS’s; candles, packets of cigarettes, and spoons from others.The DUD has forgotten to wear his respirator and stands sheepishly grinning on the left flank of the rear rank.All adjust the face pieces.

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GREEN

Take them off. Sergeant, I am disgusted with this platoon. With the platoon still standing rigidly at attention, the OFFICER steps back and addresses the platoon in a curt and supercilious voice.

GREEN

Now men, my name is “Green.” The platoon snickers; the CHOCOLAT BOY is seen hovering in the archway as an interested spectator.

GREEN

I’m to be in charge of this platoon in future, and I want to see a big improvement immediately. In the past, nobody has been checking you up, and you’ve become very slovenly. There is to be no more of that. The sergeant tells me that you have lost all of your polishing kit, so I’m sending to England to have some brasso and blanco sent for you. Audible groans are heard from the ranks.

GREEN

I’ll make soldiers out of you yet. That’s all. The DUD climbs up his rifle; the rest of platoon stand steady and titter.

GREEN

As you were. Platoon—slope arms. Dis—miss. Salutes are exchanged.The OFFICER exits to the street; the SERGEANT enters his billet in the house. The men break off, grouse, and drift to the barn.OLEY remains on the stage, and moves up toward the well.When all

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the other soldiers have entered the bar, ADOLPHE PERONNE sneaks across to OLEY. OLEY

Wie gehts? PERONNE springs to attention and salutes in the German manner military.

PERONNE

Sehr gut, herr leutnant.33 OLEY angrily motions to PERONNE to cut out the military mannerisms. PERONNE slumps back into his civilian attitude.

OLEY

Ich wunsch dich am acht Uhr diesen Abend sehen.

PERONNE

Zu befehl, herr leutnant.34 Enter SUZANNE from bar with water pail and crosses to the well. OLEY guiltily hastens away to the barn.

PERONNE

Mam’selle, why are you always loafing round the court? Stay at your work, or I shall… SUZANNE has reached centre stage; she angrily puts down the pail.

SUZANNE

33 34

Monsieur, for everything that I have in this house I pay you good silver. I owe you nothing. Although my father and mother are at Mons, in the hands

“How are you?” “Very good, Lieutenant.” “I want to see you tonight at eight.” “At your command, Lieutenant.”

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of the pig Boche, I will not be scolded by you. Madame, my aunt, is the only one here from whom I shall take orders. Remember that, Adolphe Peronne, you valloon.35 PERONNE makes no reply, but moves over to the road gate, where he stands smoking, and gazes morosely down the street. SUZANNE goes over to the apron bench, right front, and sits down. She is thoroughly angered but nonchalantly folds her arms, then looks defiantly round at PERONNE. The troops enter the court from the bar. They are now without equipment. PERCY

Tres jolie. Tres belle. Tres charmant.

JULIE

Oh, mon Dieu. PERCY looks upward, scans the heavens, and then, pointing with upraised hand, draws the attention of all.

PERCY

Say, boys, see the aeroplane scrap. White cloud, three o’clock, four fingers right. Everyone looks upward, including JULIE. PERCY seizes the opportunity of the diverted attention, and kisses JULIE.

DUKE

35

I can’t see them, Percy. Where are they?

In the list of characters, Peronne is described as a “vallon.” Given the fact of two typists who tended to spell some words differently, “vallon” and “valoon” appear to be the same word. The play takes place close to the Belgian border, and it may be that this is a play on “Walloon.”

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PERCY is still engaged with Julie, and does not bother to look up at his fictitious planes. PERCY

Oh, they’re behind that white cloud by now. Troops sit down at tables.

GEORGE

Julie, Julie. PERONNE turns round and advances towards Julie. When PERCY observes him, he picks up the pail, and moves off with it to the estaminet.

PERONNE

Depechez-vous, paresseuse.36 Sell those swine their beer. MADAME enters with beer, and serves GEORGE.

JULIE

I will when I am ready. You go mind your own business. By marriage to my mother, you became my stepparent, and you got my father’s estaminet, but you did not get the right to insult me! MADAME hurries across to PERONNE.

MADAME

Oh, Adolphe…

PERONNE

Mind your own affairs. Du ver… PERONNE with guttural murmurings exits to the road.

36

“Get selling, lazy girl.”

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MADAME

Oh, Julie, you must not so annoy the husband of your mother.

JULIE

I am sorry, Maman, but he is so odieux. MADAME returns to the estaminet. JULIE crosses to PERCY, who is now seated at table. SERGEANT enters from his bullet and crosses to Julie. CHOCOLAT BOY enters from road gate.

BOY

Chocolat. Chocolat. THE BOY mimics OFFICER.

BOY

Platoon—shun. As you were. Stand at ease. Dis—miss. Yes, no. I mean dat. Gosh, damn you. Chocolat, my lucky lads, chocolat. THE BOY walks round to BILL.

BOY

Chocolat, monsieur?

BILL

Righto, sonny.

HICKS

Say, Bill, before you fill your face with sweets, give us a wee song. He pulls out a mouth organ and starts to play “Pack All Your Troubles in Your Old Kitbag.” BILL sings, and the troops join in the chorus. During the chorus, BILL falls asleep again. The SERGEANT and PERCY lift JULIE onto the table, and she leads the

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next chorus, holding PERCY by one hand and the SERGEANT by the other.

CURTAIN Five-minute intermission

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Scene II

The same as Scene I, but five days later. With the curtain down, a hoarse voice sings a parody to the tune of “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” GEORGE

Oh, I don’t give a buck for old Von Kluck. And all his blinkin’ army, And I don’t give a damn for little William, For I know that he is barmy. Voices cry “More, More.” The curtain rises, discovering PRIVATE GEORGE KING, the Kentish lad, standing on a table. He is badly zigzag,37 and sings the refrain, supported by the other troops.

GEORGE

For tonight, I’ll merry, merry be, For tonight, I’ll merry, merry be, And damn the German armee.

DUKE

Old soldiers never die.

GEORGE

They simply fades away.

37

Zigzag: drunk.

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HAWKINS

Give us “Tipperary,” George.

GEORGE

Then all together my dear young Christian friends. They sing “Tipperary” in chorus. Enter HARRIS, the batman, who is a Whitechapel cockney, and servant to Mr. Green, by the road gate.

HARRIS

Come on, mateys, the game of baseball is just starting. SUZANNE enters from her shop, with some sewing. She crosses to bench at right front and sits down. The troops exeunt by road gate, including OLEY. They are followed by a group from the barn, which includes BILL. They turn north. BILL observes that SUZANNE is alone.

BILL

I have forgotten my fags; you fellows go on ahead. SUZANNE lays aside her sewing, takes from her blouse a small red-covered “French-English” conversation book, and studies it. BILL re-enters the barn. SERGEANT and JULIE come on to stage from the estaminet.

SERGEANT

I’ll see you at the game, Julie.

JULIE

I’ll be there with bell ons, Sergeant. Exit SERGEANT by road gate, taking the same direction as the troops.

JULIE

Voulez-vous m’accompagner, Suzanne?

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SUZANNE

Merci. Il me faut travailler. Exit JULIE by road gate, also turning north. Enter BILL from the barn.

BILL

Bonjour, Suzanne.

SUZANNE

Hello, Beel.

BILL

What have you there, Suzanne? SUZANNE makes an effort to hide the book.

SUZANNE

Rien de tout. Nothing.

BILL

Let me see. SUZANNE reluctantly hands over the book, and BILL reads the title.

BILL

“French-English Conversation Book, and List of Useful Phrases.”

SUZANNE

Happy now, Beel?

BILL

Oui, Suzanne. Après la guerre you are going to Canada?

SUZANNE

Peut-être. Perhaps.

BILL

Are you going to marry a Canadian?

SUZANNE

Will you teach me Canadian, Beel? 80

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BILL

You speak it tres bien, maintenant.

SUZANNE

Non, non. Apprenez-moi toute suite. BILL looks in the book and reads.

BILL

The first lesson, Suzanne. “Votre soeur est jolie.” Your sister is pretty. SUZANNE speaks the words after BILL.

SUZANNE

“Votre soeur est jolie.” Your sister is pretty.

BILL

“Elle m’est agreeable.” I like her.

SUZANNE

“Elle m’est agreeable.” I like her.

BILL

“Mais vous être plus belle.” But you are more beautiful.

SUZANNE

“Mais vous être plus belle.” But you are more beautiful.

BILL

“Je vous aime.” I love you. SUZANNE remains shyly silent.

BILL

Alright. Suzanne, have a try at it. I love you.

SUZANNE

Oh, it is not necessaire. BILL looks at her for a moment. A distant whistling is heard on the road.

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BILL

What do you mean, Suzanne? Not necessaire? Enter the DUKE and HARRIS.

DUKE

Hello, Walton. Why aren’t you at the ballgame?

BILL

Well, why aren’t you?

DUKE

We were, but we shouted ourselves dry, and came over to oil up a bit. Our mob is ahead, seven to five.

BILL

Fair enough.

DUKE

What’s the matter with you, oldtimer? Has that new officer taken the silver lining of your cloud?

BILL

Oh, I’d hardly say that. But I am getting a bit fed up with having him jump on me. Ever since he took over five days ago, he’s been nagging at me on every parade.

DUKE

That was a pretty raw one he handed you this morning. Everyone in the platoon was skygazing at the aeroplane scrap, and you’re the only one that Mr. Green bawled out.

BILL

Oh, well, c’est la guerre. The DUKE calls.

DUKE

Julie, Julie. The DUKE turns to BILL.

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DUKE

Have something to drink, Bill?

BILL

No thanks, I’m not thirsty. Enter MADAME.

MADAME

Que voulez-vous monsieur?

DUKE

Deux vins rouges, s’il vous plaît, madame. Exit MADAME and the DUKE speaks to BILL.

DUKE

Now, listen, Bill. If I were an oldtimer like you, I’d be damned if I let any young warbaby use me for a doormat, even if he were an officer. The DUKE turns to HARRIS.

DUKE

Say, Harris, what kind of a boss does he make?

HARRIS

Oh, he’s not such a bad lot once yer gets ter know ’im. He’s most orful green, and ’as had too many fool notions pumped into his cocoa at these here officer’s schools in England. But ’es got good stuff in ’im. MADAME enters with the wine.

DUKE

Bon santé.

HARRIS

Good ’ealth.

BILL

Godspeed!

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The DUKE and HARRIS drink. DUKE

Harris, it appears we are de trop.

HARRIS

We’re what?

DUKE

Gooseberries! Come along.

HARRIS

Oh, I compres.

DUKE

Ta-ta.

BILL

So long. Exeunt the DUKE and HARRIS by road gate; the DUKE goes out whistling “Un Peu d’Amour,” which is taken up by the violins, which play it as incidental music throughout the ensuing love scene of SUZANNE AND BILL.

BILL

Suzanne, what do you mean? Not necessaire?

SUZANNE

Officer not like you, Bill?

BILL

Not very much. But I don’t care so long as you like me a little bit, Suzanne.

SUZANNE

Is it necessaire, Bill, that I have to say?

BILL

Then you do? BILL crushes her to him, and kisses her. She yields with swooning abandon.

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BILL

Oh, Suzanne, I love you.

SUZANNE

Cher Beel, I love you, too. Oh, terribly much. SUZANNE takes a rose from her corsage; she fastens it in BILL’S left breast pocket flap.

BILL

It’s a beautiful rose, Suzanne; but you are far, far lovelier. SUZANNE moves back a step. In duet they sing “Roses in Picardy.” By the end of the song, BILL endeavours to embrace SUZANNE.

SUZANNE

Oh, you dear, silly boy, Beel.

BILL

Sweet Suzanne, will you marry me? SUZANNE snuggles into his warm embrace, and they kiss again.A whistle is heard in the roadway. BILL and SUZANNE part. Enter PRIVATE “SPUD” BROWN, the company runner.

SPUD

Say, Bill, the major wants to see you, toute suite.

BILL

Oh hell, what now?

SPUD

Cheer up, it’s not extra work this time.

BILL

What is it then?

SPUD

You’ve been made a corporal.

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BILL

What?

SPUD

I said it. A corporal. None of your lance-jacks but a full corporal. All the same Napoleon.

BILL

What do you know about that?

SPUD

Young Green didn’t seem very keen about your promotion, but the major said, “You are the man for the job.”

BILL

Ah, go on. Quit pulling my leg.

SPUD

Honest Injun. He wants you to hoist the stripes before we go into the line tonight. But come along, boy, a little action. BILL speaks to SUZANNE.

BILL

I have to go to see the major, Suzanne. SPUD turns to SUZANNE, and then points to BILL.

SPUD

Comprez corporal, mam’selle?

SUZANNE

Oui, oui, corporal. Some day sergeant. Très bon.

BILL

So long, Suzanne.

SUZANNE

Cheerio, Beel. BILL and the RUNNER start out for the road gate.

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BILL

Say, Spud, do you think I could wrangle a pass to Bethune this afternoon?

SPUD

Sure, have a try, anyway. As they go up the road gate, BILL has the rose in his hand, and throws a kiss from it to SUZANNE, and then puts it in his pocket. SUZANNE exits to her shop, as the troops, including OLEY, rush in.

PERCY

We showed ’em up, boys.

MIKE

They’re the boys. I backed ’em for a killing.

HAWKINS

Maybe the game was alright. But why didn’t they bring us tea? A distant bugle blows the supper call.

HAWKINS

Bread and cheese, and late as usual. The troops rush into the billet to get some mess tins, everyone jostling and making fun.

DUKE

Say, Hawkins, you better take both parts of your mess tin along; if the cook has “buckshee” and you miss out on it, you’ll be grousing again.

GEORGE

I don’t know what you blokes see in that game of baseball. The troops exeunt to supper, except OLEY, who also entered barn, but now comes out again, but without his

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mess tin. He moves over to the well. Enter PERONNE from the estaminet, and crosses to OLEY. SUZANNE is seen watching them from the window of her shop. OLEY and PERONNE meet beside the well. PERONNE hands OLEY an electric signal lamp, which OLEY tests and then puts in his pocket. PERONNE then gives him some paper money and a black-covered book; over the latter they engage in a whispered conversation. Enter SUZANNE from her shop; she quietly comes down stage towards right front where her workbasket is still on the table; she sits down but is observed by the conspirators. OLEY jams the black book in his pocket. PERONNE glares at her and then exits to the estaminet. OLEY turns his back on Suzanne, pulls the money and starts to count it. SUZANNE

Bonsoir, monsieur. You do not eat tonight? OLEY shoves the money into his pocket.

OLEY

No, not hungry.

SUZANNE

You lonely, n’est-ce pas?

OLEY

Yes.

SUZANNE

Oh, I am so sorry. You a big man, and so handsome. Why have no little mam’selle like the other soldat?

OLEY

I think there ban none good enough around here.

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SUZANNE

Am I not nice enough? OLEY crosses towards SUZANNE.

OLEY

Oh, yes, you are very nice.

SUZANNE

Oh, you méchant flatteur. SUZANNE rises.

SUZANNE

I like you, Oley. You’re not noisy like the other soldiers.

OLEY

What?

SUZANNE

You big and strong.

OLEY

You little devil. OLEY draws her against himself and tries to kiss her. SUZANNE breaks loose, and springs back angrily. OLEY again catches her, while SUZANNE resists, although she is still trying to get the book out of his pocket. She gets it halfway out. BILL enters, now wearing corporal’s stripes. He is carrying a small paper parcel in one hand.

BILL

Suzanne. BILL comes deliberately down stage as though he were going to clean up on OLEY.

BILL

You…

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OLEY hesitates a minute, and then slinks off into the road, turning north. BILL, with hands clenched, glares at SUZANNE. SUZANNE

O, Beel, fiez-moi! Je ne suis coquette. Je crois que ce cochon est espion et j’ai essayé d’obtenir des preuves, et enfin il m’a…

BILL

You flirt… BILL hurls the parcel on the ground, and exits through the road gate, turning south. The SERGEANT is heard in the road singing “A Broken Doll.” At first SUZANNE is dazed; then she stoops and picks up the parcel, opens it, and reveals a dainty lace collar. This she crushes to her lips, and sobbing heartbrokenly, rushes into her shop. It is now growing dusk. Enter the SERGEANT, still singing.

SERGEANT

Julie, Julie. Enter JULIE.

JULIE

Night, night, Sergeant.

SERGEANT

Julie, I’m going into the trenches tonight. Give me a kiss.

JULIE

I’m not a soldat, that one should order me comme ça.

SERGEANT

Julie, shun. JULIE springs to attention and the SERGEANT kisses her. Enter the DUKE and HAWKINS.

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HAWKINS

Lor’ lumme!

DUKE

Oh Sergeant, Sergeant. Consider the feelings of the troops.

SERGEANT

Oh, damn. The SERGEANT exits to his billet in confusion.

JULIE

Que voulez-vous? JULIE exits to the estaminet. Enter troops with their mess tins. Enter GEORGE, singing “Tip, Top, Tipperary Mary.” Enter PERCY and BILL, from south.

PERCY

See what I found on the road. Corporals, one; general service, Mark A; No. 16 Platoon, for the use of.

DUD

That a boy, Bill.

MIKE

That’s the stuff to administer to the tripes.

GEORGE

Well, Corporal, are you going to wet them?

BILL

Roll up, fellows, and we’ll christen them.

DUKE

Jolly glad to see you with those two stripes up, Bill.

BILL

Julie, Julie. Enter JULIE.

BILL

Beer for the bunch, Julie. 91

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DUKE

But I say, Corporal, you’re taking your promotion pretty seriously. You look as gloom as if you had just been struck off the leave roster.

BILL

Oh, I’m not feeling very well tonight, Duke. JULIE returns with the tray of beer.

CHORUS

Long life. BILL drinks half a glass and then exits to the estaminet.

DUKE

Ladies and gentlemen, once again the time has come when blankets will be rolled in bundles of ten, and placed at the door nearest the road. NOBBY speaks in a mocking voice.

NOBBY

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah. It is now fairly dark; lights are lit in the estaminet and in Suzanne’s shop. The troops exeunt to barn to ready for the trenches. PERCY and JULIE are left alone on the stage. The orchestra softly plays “Oh Frenchie.”

PERCY

Voulez-vous promenade avec moi ce soir?

JULIE

Naughty boy. PERCY tries to kiss her, she playfully repulses him.

JULIE

Brigand.

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PERCY

Julie, you’re an old dear. PERCY kisses JULIE.

PERCY

Julie, you’re the only girl I have ever loved.

JULIE

Comedian.

PERCY

Here, take this ring.

JULIE

Oh, merci. It is veree nice.

PERCY

And this cap badge, aussi.

JULIE

Merci bien. Chaque fois that I regard it, I shall think of you, Percy.

PERCY

That a stuff, Julie. JULIE is playing with the collar badges.

JULIE

What jolie little souvenirs.

PERCY

You can have them. He removes his collar badges, and gives them to her.

PERCY

And these too. He removes his shoulder badges, and gives them to her.

JULIE

Merci, nice boy, Percy.

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PERCY

Don’t mention it, ma cherie.

JULIE

You are très gentil. For that I shall give you one big kiss. They kiss. MADAME calls from within the estaminet.

MADAME

Julie, Julie.

JULIE

Oui, maman. Enter the DUKE, dressed for the trenches. He is not observed by the lovers. JULIE and PERCY snatch another kiss. JULIE throws PERCY a kiss as she enters the door of the estaminet.

JULIE

Au revoir, Percy.

PERCY

Cheerio, old thing. The DUKE crosses to PERCY.

DUKE

Well, Percy, lost another cap badge?

PERCY

Well, do you blame me?

DUKE

Far be it from me, dear boy. But I would respectfully beg to remind you that there is a little dress party on tonight, and that if you intend to honour us with your company, it might be desirable to attire yourself suitably for the occasion. We shall have as our host, Mr. Jerry Fritz-Boche, and we must dutifully try to furnish him with merry entertainment. 94

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PERCY

Can that piffle! Exit PERCY to the barn.

DUD

I bet you guys are all scared to lend me an issue.38

BILL

Here you are, Dud.

DUD

Thanks, Corp. The DUD, HAWKINS, and others, light cigarettes in the gathering dusk. Enter the SERGEANT, who places CORPORAL WALTON as a marker.

SERGEANT

Platoon, number. Form fours. Form two deep. Stand at ease. Stand easy. A distant bugle blows the “fall in.” Suzanne’s head and shoulders are seen silhouetted against the lighted window of her shop, as she sits at her table. Enter LIEUTENANT GREEN from the road.

SERGEANT

Shun. All present and correct, sir.

GREEN

Very good, Sergeant. Our platoon will be in the front line; company headquarters in close support; the password for tonight is “James.”

38

Issue: an army-issued item, in this case a cigarette.

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The OFFICER now gives a command to the platoon. GREEN

Platoon will move to the right in column of route. Form fours; right; at ease, quick march. GREEN moves off at the head of the platoon, which turns down the road to the south. At the command “quick march,” SUZANNE throws open the door of her shop, and stands in the flood of light, with her arms outstretched towards retreating column. As the platoon disappears from the court, she runs over to the gate, and stands gazing longingly after them. The troops start to sing, in tune to a mouth organ. The song is a medley of “Après La Guerre Fini,” “Mademoiselle from Armentieres,” “Wash Me in the Dixies,” and “When We Get to Berlin.”

CURTAIN ENCORE CURTAIN A distant bugle sounds the “advance.” The regimental band is faintly heard playing “O, Canada.”

CURTAIN Ten-minute intermission, in which the orchestra plays “O, Canada” and other pieces.

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Act II Scene I

The curtain rises discovering a company headquarters’ dugout in the close support trenches. The entrance to the dugout is in the right rear corner and is covered by a gas blanket. Nailed to the right wall and near the front of the dugout is a rickety table, on which there is a telephone. Above this table are two tomato cans, which have been slit down the side and then spread open to form a protecting shade for the candles which are burning in them. Along the back wall of the dugout is a double-decker chickenwire bunk. At the back and in the left corner stands a collapsible tripod supporting an officer’s canvas washbasin which is part of Green’s kit. On the floor around this are some small petrol tins full of water. Hanging from the bunk is a medium-sized bath towel. Nailed to the left wall is a small shelf on which are a couple of whiskey bottles, some Very light flares and other odds and ends. In the centre of the dugout is a raggedy table made of rough and weather-beaten pine planks, which have been slapped together by some amateur pioneer, who apparently had a hammer and nails, but no handsaw. On this table are maps, orderly-room chits, a copy of The Daily Mail, issues of La Vie Parisienne and two candles, one of which is burning in a whiskey bottle, and the other on a condensed milk tin, but both of which are shaded by the regulation tin cans. In one corner a SIGNALLER is seated at an instrument on a rickety plank desk. Another SIGNALLER is asleep in a chicken 97

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wire bunk. HARRIS, the batman, is working with some officer’s kit. There are no officers in the dugout. At right rear a stairway, with gas blanket, is seen leading up to the trench above. The SIGNALLER at the desk leaves his instrument, crosses over to the SLEEPING SIGNALLER, and kicks him on the soles of his boots. When the latter is aroused, the first SIGNALLER points to the instrument. Without a word, they change places, and shortly after, a message is heard coming over the instrument. JACK ROBERTS, the signaller at the instrument, writes down the message as it is buzzed off by the phone: SM 14:40 PXQ 8 words  OXO BM4 21/5/18 AAA Old Red Pepper inspecting line today. AAA Look out. AAA CUB VE RD FO FU39

ROBERTS

Say, Harris, where’s the officer on duty?

HARRIS

Oh, Mr. Green, he’s getting brave now, and went up the dugout steps to watch our flying pigs go over.

ROBERTS

Chase upstairs and give him this message. “Ack” company have just tipped us off that old Red Pepper is just coming our way with a whole flock of red tabs and brass hats.40

39 40

Although a theatre audience would be unable to read the note, it reinforces the authenticity of the play for the reader. Red tabs: staff officers, so called because of their identifying lapel tab.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

HARRIS

When the old brigadier general comes prowling around the front line, it always puts the wind up me. Looks as if there was going to be dirty work at the crossroads. HARRIS crosses, takes the message from signaller, and crosses to the dugout steps, where he meets SPUD, the runner.

HARRIS

Say, Spud, take this message up to Mr. Green?

SPUD

Righto. SPUD goes upstairs with message, and HARRIS returns again to his work. CORPORAL BINKS, the battalion gas corporal, is heard at the head of the dugout stairs.

BINKS

Is this “Don” Company headquarters?

HARRIS

Who wants to know?

BINKS

Gas corporal.

HARRIS

Aye. This is “Don” Company. Wot’s up now? Enter CORPORAL BINKS from dugout stair.

BINKS

I’ve got some vermorel anti-gas solution for your gas blankets. What have you got to put it in? HARRIS looks around the dugout, and then takes an empty whiskey bottle from the shelf, and hands it to the gas corporal.

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HARRIS

Here you are. Put it in this. The CORPORAL pours the solution into the whiskey bottle.

BINKS

Better label that bottle, son. For if somebody makes a mistake, and thinks he’s found some whiskey, you will be for it.

HARRIS

Alright, alright. We know how to carry on the war without gas telling it to us. Exit CORPORAL BINKS. SIGNALLER ROBERTS speaks to HARRIS.

ROBERTS

Spud’s taking a long time to get Green.

HARRIS

Oh, probably the boss is takin’ a tour round the trenches. GREEN enters by dugout stairs, with message in his hand.

GREEN

Oh, Harris, the general’s coming round. Get out my best jacket, and then fetch me some clean wash water.

HARRIS

Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but the tanks is blocked, sir.

GREEN

Oh, damn, yes. Well, get me the jacket, and then see if you can rustle some water. HARRIS lays out the tunic, picks up a petrol tin, and exits. GREEN proceeds to change his tunic, while he whistles “I’m on the Staff.” Enter LIEUTENANT ROBINSON, of the Canadian Engineers.

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ROBINSON

Good morning. Is this Major McKenzie’s dugout?

GREEN

Yes, but he’s out inspecting the line just now. I am in charge here. Anything I can do for you?

ROBINSON

Yes, I’m Robinson of the Engineers.

GREEN

Oh, an engineer. Just the man I’m looking for; our water supply is blocked.

ROBINSON

That’s my job. I sent a couple of men up to look after it. Know anything about it? HARRIS returns with some water.

GREEN

Ah, did you get some water, Harris?

HARRIS

I got some out of a shell hole, sir. Them tanks…

GREEN

Tell this engineer officer about the water tank.

HARRIS

Well, sir, it’s like this. We don’t seem to get no satisfaction out of them tanks nohow. Sometimes they gives water, and sometimes they don’t. I really can’t be responsible for them, sir. If I might make so bold as to suggest, sir, I would say as how a tank placed close at hand like, with a different kind of tap like, sir, would be much better. Then I could keep my eye on it, sir. What with the quality of the stuff we are getting now; what with the tea and full of sandbag, what with the distance I has to go for water; what with the way them Heinies shell the tanks… 101

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TOMPKINS, an engineer sapper, is heard up the stairway. TOMPKINS

Where is that perishin’ cook? Where is he? I say. Whoever did expect a valve to work with a rat in it. Where did I put it? In his blinkin’ dugout. He can have it for his tea. ROBINSON goes to the foot of the stairs and calls up.

ROBINSON

Tompkins.

TOMPKINS

The tank is fixed, sir. There was a dead rat jammed in the valve, sir. They will leave the cover off, sir.

ROBINSON

All right, Tompkins, you may return to the dump. ROBINSON turns and comes forward, and then speaks pensively.

ROBINSON

Sometimes it gives water, and sometimes it don’t. Last time it was a shirt; this time it is a rat. Well, I hope he enjoys his tea. ENGINEER OFFICER addresses GREEN.

ROBINSON

41

Oh, I say, Green, that piece of Cinnabar Trench is in a hell of a mess. Couldn’t you put a party on last night?41

Cinnabar Trench, outside of the French town of Lens, had been the object of a bloody and futile Canadian assault in August 1917 in the battle for Hill 70. Nine months later, at the time of the play, it is still the front line, now occupied by Canadians.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

GREEN

I did put in a requisition for sandbags.

ROBINSON

Sandbags, sandbags? Sandbags at six pence apiece? Why didn’t you send to the dump for screens and A-frames?

GREEN

A-frames?

ROBINSON

Yes, A-frames. Why, men, we have hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Millions of them… The voice of the ADJUTANT is heard on the stairway. The ADJUTANT is a captain of the Canadian Infantry, Pearson by name.

ADJUTANT

What, raving again? Enter the ADJUTANT.

ROBINSON

Cheerio, Pearson. And how is the mighty adjutant this afternoon?

ADJUTANT

Fine. And how is yourself ? And so old Pepper is going to honour us with his presence today. How is everything? I hear Cinnabar Trench is in an awful mess.

ROBINSON

Oh, that is all fixed up, if you can only hold the old duffer here for fifteen minutes.

ADJUTANT

How so?

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ROBINSON

Remember that dud rumjar in sap seven?42 We have carried it out and put it in that old sunken gunpit. The general should arrive here about three, and the rumjar is due to go off about three-fifteen. It is close enough to shake him up a bit.

ADJUTANT

Yes, Old Pepper is as brave as a lion, but like everybody with any sense, a good excuse will keep him in the dugout. He doesn’t want to see the front line anymore then we want him to inspect it. It is only a mistaken sense of duty that makes him come up here at all.

ROBINSON

And, I suppose it is a similar mistaken sense of duty that brings you here.

ADJUTANT

Green, your returns this morning were all wrong again. How often have I to tell you that M.F.B. 284 is always to be rendered in triplicate, and B. 872 in duplicate. You’ve mixed them up again. How in thunder do you think…

ROBINSON

…you’re going to carry on the war without all those nice little duplicates, quadruplicates. Raving again. Give the boy a chance. VOICES are heard at the top of the stairs.

ADJUTANT

42

Hello, he’s here already.

Rumjar: a German mortar shell, often improvised.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

Enter the BRIGADIER GENERAL, the COLONEL, and the STAFF CAPTAIN. The ADJUTANT and ROBINSON and GREEN spring to attention. GENERAL

Good afternoon, gentlemen. Fine afternoon, Pearson.

COLONEL

Sir, this is Mr. Green, one of my new officers. He’s in charge of No.16 Platoon.

GENERAL

Oh, yes, quite so. You have joined a very fine unit, my boy. GENERAL turns to his STAFF CAPTAIN.

GENERAL

Now, are we all ready? The ADJUTANT turns to STAFF CAPTAIN.

ADJUTANT

Hold him a minute, will you, old top? STAFF CAPTAIN to GENERAL.

STAFF CAPTAIN

There is a telephone here, sir.

GENERAL

Oh, yes. Get me my headquarters, I want to speak to Colonel Blake. The OPERATOR busses the call repeatedly. The GENERAL gets impatient and crosses to the instrument.

GENERAL

This won’t do at all. Such delay, such delay. 105

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ROBERTS

Kiwi is on the line now, sir. The GENERAL takes up the instrument.

GENERAL

I’ll speak to them myself. Hello, hello, is that Kiwi? I want to speak to Colonel Blake. Ouch! The GENERAL jerks back violently and the instrument falls to the floor.The GENERAL picks it up and carries on.

GENERAL

Dammit. Don’t blow at me. What’s that fool blowing down the thing for? I have pressed the button. Confound you. I have shaken the transmitter. Who are you? The R.T.O.?43 I don’t want the R.T.O. It’s the general speaking. I want my headquarters. I say I want my headquarters. Get off the line. Don’t twitter. The bally thing whistles (crash to come in here) and sings and plays tunes by turns. A violent explosion is to take place as the GENERAL pronounces the word “whistles.”

GENERAL

Good God. What’s that? ENGINEER speaks to ADJUTANT in stage whisper.

ROBINSON

43

There goes that “dud” rum jar.

R.T.O.: Railway Transport Officer.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

ADJUTANT

They’re very active with big stuff this afternoon, sir. Lots of his big minnies coming over, and plenty of heavy stuff. GENERAL turns to ENGINEER OFFICER.

GENERAL

Ah, an engineer officer. I wish to get through to my headquarters. Can you not fix this instrument?

ROBINSON

I think the last one came down on the line, sir.

GENERAL

Quite so, quite so. Damn it, I can’t hear a word. The thing does nothing but squeak. Most annoying. I wanted to go round the front line, but I have to keep in constant touch with my headquarters.

ROBINSON

I have just been round the front line myself, sir, and it is in excellent shape. But it’s mighty hot up there just now, sir, and swarming with flies.

GENERAL

They are putting over some heavy stuff.

ROBINSON

Yes, sir, quite a lot.

GENERAL

Well, of course I fully intended to go round the sector, but I think it better that I should go back and turn that heavies onto them. As the signals have broken down, and I am not in touch with my headquarters, I must go back. STAFF CAPTAIN to GREEN.

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STAFF CAPTAIN



The old boy is peevish. He knows he has missed his afternoon tea. Haven’t you something to offer him?

COLONEL

Would you care to have something, sir?

GENERAL

Oh, yes, I really would enjoy a little refreshment after my tiring walk. GREEN hands the GENERAL a bottle and a glass. GENERAL looks at the label as he pours himself a glass.

GENERAL

Hem. And a very fine old blend, too. GENERAL raises his cup.

GENERAL

Here is to your very good health, gentlemen. The GENERAL drinks, preceding all the others, who therefore do not taste the stuff before the GENERAL starts spluttering and spitting.

GENERAL

Dammit, I’m poisoned. I never had such an indignity before. Where is that man? What do you mean, sir?

GREEN

Sir, I…er… GENERAL interrupts in a howling passion.

GENERAL

What do you mean, sir? Talking back to me? I didn’t say you might speak to me. Colonel, I expect action in this. Come along. Come along. 108

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

COLONEL

Lieutenant Green, report to me in the morning. The GENERAL, the STAFF CAPTAIN, the COLONEL, and the ADJUTANT exeunt. Immediately the GENERAL’s back is turned, ROBINSON takes up the bottle, sniffs at it, cautiously tastes it.

ROBINSON

I’ll be eternally damned.

GREEN

Wh-wh-what happened?

ROBINSON

Why, the general’s taken a bracer of anti-gas solution. ROBINSON sets the bottle down and turns to GREEN.

ROBINSON

You are a bright one. ROBINSON flops on the bench and bursts forth into guffaws of ribald laughter, while GREEN gazes at him in hopeless dejection.

GREEN

Can’t see where the laugh comes in. ROBINSON speaks between further bursts of laughter.

ROBINSON

No, I don’t suppose you do. But if I were you, I’d crucify that batman of yours. Well, I must run along after the old gen. The dear boy will probably put his foot through a duckboard, and I’ll have to be there to fix it. Oh, you’ll learn. Chin-chin, old bean. Exit ROBINSON. GREEN sits down dejectedly at table.

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GREEN

I’m afraid I’m done for now. Enter MAJOR MACKENZIE, the officer commanding “Don” Company. He is an original First Contingent man, who has risen through sheer ability to his present rank. He represents the acme of perfection in a regimental officer.

MAJOR

Good afternoon, Green. The C.O. has just been speaking to me in the trench. He commented on the slackness of your platoon. What do you think is the cause of it?

GREEN

Their slackness is positively appalling, sir. They are sullen, almost to the point of insubordination.

MAJOR

Um…I don’t remember any case of insolence being borne out. Before making charges, have you consulted the men’s previous records?

GREEN

Oh, up ’til now, they seem to have gotten away with it pretty successfully.

MAJOR

Yes?

GREEN

They think they’re smooth, but they’re not going to put it over me.

MAJOR

No? Now, look here, Green. Have you spoken to Sergeant Hall before making these charges?

GREEN

Why, no.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

MAJOR

Have you made any inquiries as to character or previous service?

GREEN

No, I haven’t.

MAJOR

Well, Green, when a steady old platoon like No. 16 goes suddenly to the bad, there can only be one of two causes for it—either lack of discipline of any kind; or too much discipline of the wrong kind. You say that you have never consulted your platoon sergeant?

GREEN

He always sticks up for them.

MAJOR

Good old Jimmy Hall. He probably would. So you consider it beneath the dignity of an officer to go to the fountainhead of information? I see. Let me tell you this, the sergeants are the very backbone of any battalion. They are efficient, capable, and earn their stripes by good hard work. They have the confidence of the men. How do you think they achieve this? Born to it?

GREEN

Well, er…I don’t know.

MAJOR

Then learn. The colonel has always insisted that every man jack in the battalion do his work, and shoulder his fair share of the burden. Every N.C.O. is recognized as such by the officers, and made to take his share of responsibility. The men realize their non-coms are not unnecessarily interfered with; at the same time they know their officers take a personal interest in them and in their welfare. 111

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The result was that this platoon went through hell for your predecessor, MacDonald. And when he went “west,” they followed Sergeant Hall for two weeks. They have an inborn respect for the voice of authority; but remember, my boy, that voice of authority must prove worthy of their respect. Military schools teach you many things, but bear this in mind, though soldiers may be trained in England, they are made out here in France. GREEN

I am sorry, sir.

MAJOR

I feel you have the right stuff in you, Green. Only you must realize that your real education as an officer is only beginning. Don’t be so vain as to think you have nothing to learn from your sergeant; be proud of him, and of every man in your platoon. Every one of them is dependent on you for his wellbeing in the army. And, Green, in No. 16 Platoon you have a remarkably fine bunch of boys.

GREEN

I’m afraid I’ve been a fool, sir. And have never really understood my responsibilities before.

MAJOR

Tonight you have your first taste of real soldiering. You will take charge of the wiring party.

GREEN

Yes, sir.

MAJOR

Now run along, Green. Find Sergeant Hall, arrange your details with him, and then have a look over the frontage where you will be working. This working party chit will give you the necessary directions. 112

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

The MAJOR hands GREEN a signal message form. GREEN

Yes, sir. GREEN exits by dugout stairs; the MAJOR soliloquizes.

MAJOR

44

And so they come and go. Young Green is not better, nor worse than the rest of them. There was Red Cameron who came to us at Messines. He was the most insufferable young cub I ever met; but when a wounded Boche at Mount Sorel played “kamerad” and then killed him, his platoon wiped out a whole German company in retaliation.44 Then there was good old Lanky Miller: a steady, conscientious plodder who never missed a show, who was always the odd man when honours came along, who didn’t even get a wound stripe; man, he broke right down and cried when the M.O. ordered him out after he was blown up. Next, came Forsythe, the animated tailor’s dummy, who went “berserk” at Fresnoy, and cleaned up three German machine guns. Then there was Little MacDonald, whom the platoon thought was yellow; poor lad, he never lived to wear the V.C. he won at Passchendaele. How the men loved them all! Beat the Boche; that is the one idea. Play the game; win, lose, or draw, but come up smiling every time. It’s not the man that counts but the regiment; it’s not the regiment but the job; and

Played “kamerad”: pretending to surrender to set up an ambush.

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wherever there is work to do, the British race is the race to do it. And so I am getting too old for a line job, and they are going to send me to the staff. What will I do away from the boys? I may be an old martinet, but I try to play the game. In my heart there is a soft spot for my men. They seem to understand me. I must go out now to see how they all are; God bless ’em. CURTAIN

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Scene II

The curtain rises on No. 16 Platoon’s dugout in the front line. There is a game of poker and a game of dice in progress at the table. Some men are writing letters, and some are sleeping. HICKS is playing on his mouth organ, “Good Byes.” PERCY

Cut the comedy.

GEORGE

Choke the orchestra.

HAWKINS

Can’t a fellow get a little sleep?

MIKE

Where’s a hand grenade? HICKS continues playing.

PERCY

Can it, you.

DUKE

Stop his M. and V. ration.45

MIKE

Fight, fight! There is a general uproar, during which all the sleeping men are awakened.

45

M. and V.: meat and vegetables.

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HICKS

If you don’t like it, lump it. Try it yourselves,

DUD

I would, if it was a slide trombone.

HICKS

Ah, cheese it. Be reasonable and ask the Y.M.C.A. to get you a player piano.

DUKE

To be sung a song of sweet lullaby. Hawkins, how about “Sing Me to Sleep”? Hawkins sings a parody on “Sing Me to Sleep.” As the song ends, PRIVATE JOCK MCTAGGART is heard at the top of the dugout steps.

JOCK

Hoot’s mon, and is this No. 16 Platoon?

DUKE

Here’s Jock McTaggart back off leave. Right you are Jock. Come in. How’s she loggin’? Enter JOCK.

PERCY

Hello, Jock. How is Glasgow and our old friend Mr. Machonochie?46

HAWKINS

Did you have a good time, matey?

JOCK

Hoot’s laddie, and fer what did you think I went on leave. Mon, it was guid to be back a wee bit wi’ the wifie. Ah, she’s a guid lassie; and many’s the fine evening we spent roamin in the gloamin’.

46

Machonochie: the maker of the Irish stew (“mulligan”) that was a staple of the trench diet.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

JOCK sings “Roamin’ in the Gloamin’,” and the troops reply with “Take Me Back to Old Blighty.” JOCK

But for all that, it’s guid to be back again wi’ you braw laddies. Fechtin’ in France; that’s the life for a Scotsman. And how goes the battle, lads?

DUKE

Oh, we’re winning now, Jock.

JOCK

And hoot’s mon, Bill’s a corporal the noo. Congratulations, boy. Guid for you. Well, what’s the news?

HAWKINS

Too blinkin’ much. We’ve got a new warbaby to break in, and he sure takes the biscuit, he do.

JOCK

All recht, laddie. I’ll listen. Get it off your chest.

HAWKINS

He’s a darb, he is. He’s all spit and polish.

PERCY

He yanks us out on parade before we get decently back into rest billets and then reads the riot act like a blinkin’ brigadier.

DUKE

Jock, when he gets you polishing your brasses, you’ll think you’re for guard at Buckingham Palace.

MIKE

You need to manicure those thumbnails of yours, Jock, for he likes to see the white spot down the muzzle of your rifle.

DUD

If you’re lousy from the rest camp, Jock, look out. He’ll run you for it, and you’ll have another entry on your conduct sheet. 117

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DUKE

It’s a damn disgrace for any soldier to harbour such abominable parasites.

GEORGE

He’s been after us all.

MIKE

The Dud has the life of rag doll.

DUKE

The sergeant’s going around like a man who has started on leave and been sent back from Boulogne.

HAWKINS

And the rest of us trots it to the orderly room with the major every blinkin’ morning.

PERCY

But Walton’s got it worst of all.

JOCK

Cheer up, laddies. You’ll all shin be dead.

BILL

That’s right, Jock. This new officer is greener than most, but if he can stand us, I guess we can stick him.

HAWKINS

He’s got me fed up. I’m working a base ticket, I is.

JOCK

Oh, dinna lay it doon sae thick. BILL and JOCK engage in conversation aside, while PERCY speaks to the DUKE.

PERCY

Say, Duke, you’re good at French. Write a letter to Julie for a guy.

DUKE

Ladies again. What sweet sentiments does young Lochinvar wish to send to his lady of the badges? 118

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

PERCY

Oh, just tell her that I love her as much as ever. Keep smiling, and keep away from sergeant majors and quarterblokes.47 Those quarterblokes are bad actors. While the DUKE writes the letter, PERCY sings, troops harmonize.

PERCY

The boys in the trenches fell A-sobbing and a-sighing When they learned that the Quarter Could not drink water; When they learned that the Quarter Could not drink water.

MIKE

Ah, the dirty quarterblokes. Robbin’ the fightin’ troops of their little tot of rum. Shure, take away the rum and a fellow might as well be a civvy, for all the fun he’ll get out of the war. Besides, what kind of a soldier does he make that turns up his nose at a snort of S.R.D.?48 I’ll tell ye, when it comes to a dirty bit of bombin’, or maybe a turn with the bayonet, he ain’t there, that’s all. Take it from me, if you want the war won, gives the troops their rum regular and often. That’s me opinion.

GEORGE

Rum! That’s good stuff.

47 48

Quarterbloke: a quartermaster, in charge of issuing equipment. S.R.D.: Army-issued rum. The initials on the jug are thought to stand for Supply Reserve Depot, but were said by the troops to mean Service Rum Diluted. See Martin Pegler, Soldiers’ Songs and Slang of the Great War, Osprey Publishing, 2014, 173–174.

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Enter the SERGEANT. SERGEANT

You found the platoon alright, Jock?

JOCK

I spiered roond for a bit, but I found them. The DUKE has finished the letter, and hands it over to PERCY.

SERGEANT

Say, boys, give me mail for censor.

BILL

Here you are, Sarge.

PERCY

Here’s another.

SERGEANT

What Percy, still writing to the chickens? The SERGEANT glances at the address on PERCY’s envelope, and then reads it aloud.

SERGEANT

“Mademoiselle Julie Duval, Bully Grenay.” Ah, what’s the big idea? Are you interested in that girl?

PERCY

Well, I guess so, Sarge. At the present time she is wearing the badges and the crest of this battalion, and she is tied by my ring, too.

SERGEANT

Don’t get fly, Percy. Don’t get fly. When we’re out on again, you’ll find that Julie’s my girl, and you’ll see how much three stripes count with a mam’selle. SERGEANT exits with letters.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

DUKE

What ho, my gay young Lothario, your hated rival flees discomfited.

HAWKINS

I don’t want none o’ yer French goils, I wants the goils at ’ome.

BILL

Take a fling at “I Want to Go Home,” ’Erbert. HAWKINS sings the trench parody “I Want to Go Home.”

MIKE

Cut the row, here comes old Mac. MAJOR enters by dugout stairs.

BILL

Party—shun.

MAJOR

Carry on, boys. How’s everything, Walton? Everybody happy?

BILL

Yes sir. Except that Hawkins has just been singing, sir.

MAJOR

That’s the stuff. Don’t let me interrupt. The MAJOR speaks to JOCK.

MAJOR

Glad to see you back, McTaggart. Is your wife getting her separation allowance alright now?

JOCK

She is, sir. So shin as ye took holt on it, sir, it was straightened oot at once.

MAJOR

Good. And how is that lad of yours, King, that was sick? 121

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GEORGE

He’s all right now, sir. He’s got a dog, and called him MacKenzie after you, sir.

MAJOR

Splendid, King splendid.

DUD

I want to thank you, sir, for the letter you wrote my mother when I was sick over at the field ambulance.

MAJOR

Oh, that’s nothing.

DUD

It did cheer her up, sir. She says she prays for me and the major every night.

MAJOR

See that you are always good to her, Simpson.

DUD

Aye, that I will, sir. I didn’t see home before I enlisted, sir. My muvver thought I was in too big a hurry to join up, and she thought there were lots of others to go before I went. But I told her it was my duty to get into uniform, so she said “Go and God Bless You.”

MAJOR

Well, Simpson, it’s the women who are the real heroines in this war. We take our fun where we can get it, and grin through the rest. While for them is nothing but anxiety, suspense, and waiting. Waiting for the return of their husbands, sons, brothers, and lovers. Well, boys, I must go. Good afternoon, boys.

ALL

Good afternoon, sir. Exit MAJOR up the dugout stairs.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

MIKE

Good old Mac.

HAWKINS

He’s the ossiffer wot maikes the paybloke step lively. When I came back off of leave, the old skinflint wasn’t going to pay me; maybe I was overdrawn, but Mac made him come acrost anyhow.

MIKE

Sure, and last trip in when the rum was short, b’gorrah, he made the quarter’s ears burn. I heard him.



(Sings) If the Quarter drinks your rum Never mind, He’s entitled to his tot, But if he drinks the lot, Never mind.



Oh, he don’t stand for no nonsense, does Mac. There ain’t nobody puts anything over on this company when he’s around.

HICKS

How the hell do you expect the quarter to have any rum with chaps like Mike around, and his sidekicks from trench mortars?

MIKE

What do you mean?

HICKS

What do I mean? I’m talking about you and your three pals out of the toc emmas.

MIKE

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

DUKE

Give us the truth, Hicks, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help your rum issue. 123

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HICKS

Oh, this here bird, and three trench mortar merchants—you know what they’re like—were passing by old Dinkie Dan’s stores when they see him opening rum. They wait until his back is turned, then they lift an empty case from behind the shack, nip round the corner, and exchange it for a full one. Then they’re off on a glorious drunk. That was the time Mike got the fourteen days No. 1. Ain’t that so, Mike? Mike bursts forth into song, others joining in. Tune, “Glory Be to God.”

MIKE

Oh, and it was glorious,49 One jar of rum between the four of us. Glory be to Bill there were no more of us, For the four of us, we drank it all alone. The curtain goes down as the men are singing the refrain.

Oh, and it was glorious, One jar of rum among the four of us. CURTAIN

49

Martin Pegler, in Soldiers’ Songs and Slang of the Great War, includes three known versions of this song, with the note they were the only ones to survive. They are all somewhat different from the one included here. In Glory Hole, Atkinson alludes to yet another version (“Salubrious and glorious—one bottle of Bass amongst the four of us”), and Jauvoish cites another yet in Dawn in Heaven.

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Act III Scene I

CHICORY TRENCH—A section of the front line opposite Lens.50 A fire-bay and part of the two adjacent traverses is seen. The trench is in good repair, the bottom provided with bath mats and the sides revetted with A-frames and corrugated iron while the batter of the fire-step is supported by expanded metal and two-by-four uprights. On top of the traverse of the right flank of bay is a small roughly whittled windvane. To the military left of this, there projects over the parapet a small box-periscope which has been camouflaged with a twist of muddy sandbag. Further to the left and wired against the wall of trench is a small signboard on which is painted in black: BAY 13 To the left of the fire step is a blue Mills Grenade box. Wired to the traverse of left flank is a larger sign indicating that this is:
 CHICORY F.L.

50

Chicory Trench has been part of the German lines until August 1917, when it was captured by the Canadian 18th Battalion in the battle for Hill 70.

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A big minenwerfer has at some time exploded immediately behind the trench, blowing away most of the parados.51 On the parapet there are growing tufts of rank grass and red poppies. About 30 feet out in no man’s land is a tangled mess of rusty barbed wire in which numerous holes have been blown by enemy shellfire. This wire, with the corkscrew stakes and wooden posts on which it is strung, is all that is visible above the parapet except for the blue sky. Chicory Trench is being held by the Umpteenth Canadian Infantry Battalion, whose dispositions are as under: Front Line Platoons: 14-15-16…10-11-12…6-7-8 Close Support Platton: 13 9 5 Company Headquarters D C B Support Company A Battalion Headquarters   B.H.Q. Thus Fire-Bay No. 13 is occupied by a Lewis gun crew which the left flank post of No. 16 Platoon. It is sundown and just starting to grow dusk. When the curtain rises, it discovers the following characters seated on the fire-step of the bay on the right hand of the communication trench. In right corner, JOCK MCTAGGART is writing a letter on his knees; beside him the DUKE, rubbing off the Lewis gun with an oily rag; next to him HAWKINS, gazing up into a trench mirror, which serves as a periscope, next him, and in left corner, is OLEY, carving away at his pipe. After the curtain rises, there is a silence of a few seconds.

51

The parados is the rear wall of the trench opposite the parapet. This detail is included to offer a logical reason why we can see though the invisible fourth wall of the stage.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

A salvo of four shells comes shrieking over and they explode near at hand. The SERGEANT comes down the trench from the left flank. The SERGEANT goes along trench to the right flank. DUKE

Why so melancholy, Jock?

JOCK

I have a presentiment, laddie.

DUKE

How is that?

JOCK

Leave’s unlucky.

HAWKINS

It’s the truth; old Jimmy Hayes only lasted three days after he got back from Blighty; and Dintie Moore was nappoo’d the same night as what he returned.52

DUKE

You’re a Job’s comforter. One would think you were trying to get Jock’s wind up.

JOCK

Aye, but Herbert’s right. I have a premonition.

DUKE

You’re full of superstition, Jock.

JOCK

No; but predestination accounts for everything. If your number is on the shelf, it will get you. Enter the SERGEANT from (stage) right. It is becoming dark.

52

Napoo’d: killed. A short form of the ubiquitous trench phrase “napoo fini” (finished, over, dead), from “Il n’y en a plus.”

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SERGEANT

Stand to, men. The password for tonight is “Haig.”

DUKE

“Haig” it is.

SERGEANT

Jock and Hawkins, you’re for wiring party tonight. Corporal Walton will give you the detail.

JOCK

Verra guid, sergeant.

SERGEANT

What’s wrong, Jock?

JOCK

Oh, naething, sergeant.

SERGEANT

Duke, you and Oley will have to do sentry duty while the party is out.

DUKE

Righto, Sarge. Exit Sergeant to left.

HAWKINS

Wot a war. Just one damn working party after another. Wish I was a Yankee instead of being in the P.B.I.

DUKE

Hawkins, my son, you’re a fighting man and you’d mutiny if someone tried to transfer you from the Mud-Wallopers.

HAWKINS

Maybe you’re right, Duke. The poor bally infantry do the work for the whole blinkin’ h’army, but they’re the blighters what are winnin’ the ruddy war.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

The DUKE, HAWKINS, and JOCK get up from the fire-step, take their rifles and stand around in trench. CORPORAL WALTON enters from right. BILL

Wiring party will assemble in this bay, right after stand-down, each man to take four bombs.

HAWKINS

Where are we going to work, Corp?

BILL

On the same job as last night, wiring out by the sunken road.

HAWKINS

Who is in charge?

BILL

Mr. Green.

HAWKINS

Lord save us; that caps it. BILL exits to the left.

OLEY

Duke, I ban going out in one of the saps to snipe. OLEY exits to right.

JOCK

Duke, you’re staying in tonight. If I stop one, mail this letter to the wifie in Scotland. JOCK hands the DUKE the letter he had been writing before stand-to.

DUKE

Nonsense, Jock. You will be all right. GEORGE enters from left, with his rifle in hand.

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GEORGE

Who’s going out tonight?

DUKE

Jock and Hawkins.

HAWKINS

I’m fed up with these working parties; next time we go over, I’m going to get a decoration, a blighty, or an R.I.P.

GEORGE

Well, lad, I ’ope see you gets them all. GEORGE exits to the left.The SERGEANT enters from the left.

SERGEANT

Where is Oley?

DUKE

Went out to do some sniping.

SERGEANT

Confound those headquarters men and their nonsense; his place is right here at stand-to. It is now very nearly dark. OLEY enters from right.

SERGEANT

Where have you been, Svenson?

OLEY

Sniping.

SERGEANT

In future you stay here in your bay, at stand-to.

OLEY

All right.

SERGEANT

The scout officer wants to see you at the battalion headquarters tomorrow morning at nine. See you get there on time. 130

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

OLEY

All right.

SERGEANT

Stand down, boys. See that you take off your bayonets before you go out on the wiring party, so the flares won’t shine on them. SERGEANT exits to the left.

HAWKINS

Fat lot of use, taking your bayonet off, when we’ve got to keep our brasses polished. I calls it risking our blinkin’ lives. A single whiz-bang screeches over and explodes. Bill comes down the trench from the left flank. TROOPS enter from both flanks. The darkness of night has now settled down over the trench. A distant German machine gun away off on the right flank starts a continuous rat-tat-tat hammering and it is answered by the scolding, staccato splatter of an equally distant Lewis gun firing in short jerky bursts.

BILL

All right, boys. Get ready. TROOPS remove their bayonets, with the exception of the DUD. Examine the safety pins of their bombs; pick up their coils of barbed wire and corkscrew stakes; some slip a clip of ammunition into their rifles, and others examine the bolts.

BILL

Everyone got their four bombs?

MIKE

Jake-a-bon, Corp.

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HAWKINS

All set, Corp.

GEORGE

I’m ready.

JOCK

I am ready too, Corporal.

HAWKINS

Take care, Dud. You’ve got your bayonet taikin’ me eye out.

BILL

Unfix your bayonet, Dud. The DUD unfixes his bayonet.Enter MR. GREEN from right.

BILL

Party all ready, sir.

GREEN

Right, Corporal. No talking men. Keep closed up, and follow me. The German machine gun on the left flank opens up again, ripping off some wicked bursts in the direction of Bay 13. Green ignores its fire and goes over the parapet, the troops following in Indian file, as they go out. The party follow Green over the parapet in the following order, viz., GREEN, MIKE SULLIVAN, HERBERT HAWKINS, NOBBY CLARK, the DUD, GEORGE, HICKS, MCTAGGART, four other characters, and BILL WALTON last. BILL checks them off.

BILL

One, two, three, four…etc. As JOCK climbs out of the trench, he speaks to the DUKE.

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JOCK

Goodbye, Duke.

DUKE

So long, Jock.

BILL

Eleven, twelve, and I make thirteen. BILL climbs out over the carpet at the tail end of the party. A few seconds of silence follow the disappearance of the last man. The DUKE is doing sentry duty; OLEY is sitting on the firestep.

OLEY

Give me first turn as sentry, Duke.

DUKE

Why all the ambish, Oley?

OLEY

At eleven o’clock I make cocoa.

DUKE

Righto. I don’t care when I do my turn, so up you hop. OLEY steps up and relieves the DUKE, who sits down on the fire-step. Three gas shells go wildly over and explode far behind with a gentle phut. Then along the whole front there ensues a deathly lull, oppressive in its ominous quiet. PERCY comes down the trench from the right flank, walking very cautiously and holding his bayonet scabbard with his left hand so it won’t clash against everything and make a noise.

PERCY

Fine night, Duke.

DUKE

But too quiet for my liking. The Heinies aren’t putting up a single flare. 133

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PERCY

Guess Fritizie’s got a working party out, too.

DUKE

Yes, he’ll be patching up the holes our heavies blew in his wire this afternoon.

PERCY

And it will be a case of “I’ll leave you alone if you don’t annoy me.” PERCY sits down under fire-step beside the DUKE.

PERCY

Pretty lonely in this empty old trench.

DUKE

There is not the life here that you find in the rue de la Paix or la boulevard des Italiens.

PERCY

Why are you always raving about Paris, Duke? Old London Town is twice as fine a burg.

DUKE

Some say good old London.

PERCY

What’s the use of wasting a good leave in a city where everybody parlez-voos in a foreign language? All the girls…

DUKE

Girls again; Percy, Percy. Muffled bombing is heard from the direction in which the working party disappeared. OLEY peers over the parapet even more intently than before. With startling suddenness, there comes the dull crash of a volley of bombs. Although muffled by distance, the noise has the unmistakable crump-crump-crump sound of exploding potato mashers. Percy finds the box and, taking out two grenades, holds

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one in each hand. Duke gives the pan of his Lewis gun a slight twirl to make sure that the cartridge is engaged under the feed arm and then he clicks back the cocking handle. Percy makes a move as though he were going to pull the pin out of his bomb. DUKE

Bombing.

PERCY

What’s up?

DUKE

Mills grenades and potato mashers.

PERCY

They’re going at it hammers and tongs.

DUKE

It’s at the sunken road; our fellows have tackled a Boche patrol.

OLEY

They’re catching it! The bombing dies away except for an occasional explosion.

DUKE

Oley, report this to Company Headquarters. Off you go. OLEY exits slowly. Flares commence to go up from the Boche lines, and there is a rattle of German machine-gun fire.

PERCY

Duke, I see somebody.

DUKE

This way fellows, this way. A couple of flares swim up, one after another, from the enemy lines. The DUKE and PERCY crouch down

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below the parapet but as the flares start to dim and then gradually go out, the two watchers resume their scrutiny of no man’s land. The DUKE sees a figure nearing the trench. DUKE

Who are you?

NOBBY

It’s Nobby. NOBBY tumbles into the trench. Machine guns are rattling away more violently.

DUKE

What happened, Nobby?

NOBBY

They was waitin’ for us in the sunken road, Duke. Others of the party tumble into the trench. Whiz-bangs start swishing over. HAWKINS jumps into the trench. JOCK MCTAGGART is silhouetted on the parapet and stops for just the fraction of second to glare back and shake his fist at the enemy lines.

HAWKINS

Hurry up, Jock.

JOCK

The swine! With a blood-curdling shriek, a whiz-bang screeches straight at Bay 13. There is a blinding flash, a terrific crash. JOCK staggers and then limply tumbles and flops into the trench as a shower of earth and debris comes raining down. The troops all duck for cover, cowering on the duckboards and flattening themselves against the traverse while they wait with bated breath for the next

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shell to come screaming down and blow them all to bits. The DUKE is the first to recover and he shouts out. DUKE

Stand to! The troops jump up on the fire-step and man the parapet. HAWKINS and MIKE each jam a cartridge into the chamber of their rifles, working the bolt with a convincingly businesslike click. PERCY bends over JOCK’S prostrate body.

DUKE

Stand to. They may be coming over. The Boche lays down a hurricane barrage. The shells go hurtling over, the big ones rushing at the supports with an express-train howl; the whiz-bangs zipping wickedly down on the front line. No man’s land is leaping with heaving geysers of ugly black earth, shot through with swift tongues of flame. The Hun machine guns start sweeping around, roaring like a cataract and rattling like a flock of steam-riveters as they pour out a torrent of hissing lead that cuts through the air like a tremendous scythe. The Vickers and Lewis guns soon take up the chorus and start their mad and frantic chattering while a fusillade of rifle fire ripples and crackles along the front. Fritz is now shooting up flares of innumerable varieties— white Very lights; ruby, green, orange, and golden rockets, some of which are single balls of fire, while others are clusters and showers of fiery stars. After a noisy rafale of some duration, the barrage begins to grow less violent.53

53

Rafale: a French term meaning gust; in the military sense, a burst of fire.

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PERCY

Here, Dud, help me with Jock. PERCY bends over JOCK.

PERCY

Are you hard hit, Jock? JOCK makes no reply; JOCK is unconscious.

PERCY

Give me a shell dressing, Dud!

PERCY

He’s a goner, boys. Get a stretcher, Dud. We may be able to do something if we get him to the dressing station. Enter SERGEANT from the left.

SERGEANT

What’s up?

PERCY

Wiring party was surprised, Sergeant.

SERGEANT

Are they all back?

PERCY

I haven’t called the roll. Enter the DUD with stretcher.

DUD

Jock got a whole whiz-bang to himself, Sergeant.

SERGEANT

Give him a hand; let’s get him on the stretcher. The SERGEANT, PERCY, and the DUD lift JOCK on the stretcher.

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SERGEANT

It looks like a wooden cross for poor old Jock. Hicks and Nobby, go out with him for the dressing station. HICKS and NOBBY pick up stretcher and carry it out right, and down the communication trench.

SERGEANT

Duke, Mike, Hawkins, and Oley, stay in this bay. The others, get your own fire posts.

DUKE

Sergeant, Bill Walton and Mr. Greene aren’t in yet.

SERGEANT

Corporal Wilkins, warn the boys on the right that the platoon officer and corporal are still out.

PERCY

Right, sergeant.

SERGEANT

I’m going to the left. SERGEANT exits to the left, and PERCY exits to the right.

MIKE

Sure, and it was an elegant shindy.

HAWKINS

It was all right while our bombs lasted.

MIKE

The Huns was waitin’ for us in the sunken road; but Mr. Green was right there with the goods.

HAWKINS

We got off all our bombs. Then Mr. Green shouts to us to hop it. He’s a hot one.

MIKE

He and Bill Walton covered us coming in. Bill was right there, as usual. When a flare went up, you could see him picking off the Huns in great style. 139

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HARKINS

Not ’arf. When last I saw ’em, they was in a shell hole. Mr. Green sings out to us, “Go on, I’ll follow you,” he sez, and so we hops it. Enter SERGEANT with DUD from left.

SERGEANT

Any sign of Green and Walton?

DUKE

Not yet, Sergeant. The SERGEANT gets up on the fire-step and there is a pause for a second or so.

DUKE

Something moving out in front, Sergeant.

SERGEANT

Looks like three men. But steady.

DUKE

There are three.

SERGEANT

Who are you?

BILL

Is that sixteen platoon?

SERGEANT

Hop down, Bill.

DUKE

What ho, here’s a Prussian Guard! A terrified FRITZ appears over the parapet, with hands raised high above him; the unnatural dugout pallor of his face is still further heightened by terror. He is bleating pitifully, “Kamerad,” and he is shaken by paroxysms of fear.

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HUN

Kamerad! Kamerad! The DUD comes to the “On Guard” position and covers the prisoner, as the latter flops into the trench.

DUD

Put up your hands, you bloody Hun. The DUD frisks the prisoner. BILL WALTON and GREEN appear, both holding their revolvers in their hands. Both are wounded. They collapse into the trench. BILL staggers.

SERGEANT

Pass the word for stretcher-bearers, Hawkins. Exit HAWKINS to left, and he is heard to cry—

HAWKINS

Stretcher at the double. The cry is caught up, and is repeated down the trench growing fainter and fainter away. HAWKINS returns. The DUD finds an Iron Cross on the prisoner.

DUD

Ain’t this luck! Just the souvenir for my girl.

SERGEANT

Mike, take the prisoner to headquarters.

MIKE

Allez, toute suite. You squarehead. MIKE slings his rifle on his shoulder, and marches after the stumbling HUN. GREEN sits down weakly on the fire-step; BILL collapses. Enter stretcher-bearers BRAND and COMPTON from the left. COMPTON gives BILL a drink of rum.

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GREEN

Sergeant, are all the men in?

SERGEANT

Yes, sir. But Jock McTaggart was badly hit, and has been taken out. STRETCHER-BEARER BRAND fixes up GREEN’S wound in left upper arm, while COMPTON fixes BILL’S right shoulder. Enter MAJOR MACKENZIE from the right, with OLEY.

MAJOR

Here, what’s up?

SERGEANT

Everybody’s accounted for, sir; but Mr. Green and Corporal Walton are wounded. The MAJOR crosses to GREEN.

MAJOR

Not badly hurt, I hope, Green.

GREEN

Just a flesh wound in the arm, sir. I’ll be able to carry on.

MAJOR

No, my boy. You must go out and have it properly attended to. The MAJOR turns to BILL.

MAJOR

How are you, Walton?

BILL

Oh, this time it’s nothing at all, sir. I’m able to walk out. The MAJOR turns to the SERGEANT.

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MAJOR

Sergeant, send two men down with them to the dressing station. You will take charge of the platoon. I’m going down to see the prisoner. SERGEANT details stretcher-bearers BRAND and COMPTON.

SERGEANT

Brand and Compton, you’ll go.

DUKE

Well, best of luck. The party exeunt by the C.T. to the regimental aid post, BRAND supporting MR. GREEN and COMPTON helping BILL.

HAWKINS

Lor’ lumme, them two is lucky blighters. CURTAIN

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Scene II Curtain rises on the interior of an advanced dressing station in an old dugout. CAPTAIN CLARK, a medical officer, is writing at a rough table. PRIVATE RAYMOND RITCHIE, his orderly, is fussing around at a box which is littered with bandages, bottles, etc. The dugout is lit by candles. BRAND’s voice is heard without. BRAND

Here is the dressing station, sir. The blanket covering the entrance to the dressing station is pushed aside. LIEUTENANT GREEN, PRIVATE BRAND, followed by BILL, who is supported by COMPTON, enter. RITCHIE, the medical orderly, goes up to GREEN.

RITCHIE

Shall I take off his bandages, sir? CAPTAIN CLARK crosses to GREEN.

CLARK

Where are you hit?

GREEN

Flesh wound, left upper arm.

CLARK

Oh, that’s nothing serious. CAPTAIN CLARK, after examining GREEN, turns to BILL.

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CLARK

Oh, just a bit in the right shoulder. The casualty clearing station will take that out for you. CAPTAIN CLARK turns to RITCHIE.

CLARK

Put them both on stretchers, Orderly, tag them, and we will ship them out whenever the ambulance comes.

RITCHIE

Yes, sir. BRANDON and COMPTON help RITCHIE arrange the stretchers, and then to put GREEN and WALTON on same.

BRAND

Well, Bill, I hope you make Blighty all right, for then I will be next for leave.

BILL

Tough luck; but the medical officer says it’s only a trip to C.C.S.54 CAPTAIN CLARK speaks to RITCHIE.

CLARK

You may give those men a shot of rum before they go. ORDERLY produces a jar of rum from under his box, pours out the rum.

BRAND

It’s a lucky thing we get some casualties.

COMPTON

You’re right. It’s our only chance to get buckshee rum.

54

C.C.S.: casualty clearing station, a triage unit set up near the front.

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RITCHIE hands them the tots of rum. RITCHIE

Here you are, boys.

BRAND

Bon sante.

COMPTON

Here’s how. The stretcher-bearers drink the rum, and prepare to leave. COMPTON gives both GREEN and BILL a cigarette, and lights on match for them.

BRAND

Good trip, sir.

COMPTON

So long, Walton. BRAND and COMPTON exeunt. After a pause, BILL speaks to MR. GREEN.

BILL

How are you feeling, sir?

GREEN

Oh, I’m fair enough, thanks.

BILL

It looked for a few minutes as if we were going to get cut off out there.

GREEN

Amusing the way we nabbed that Heinie. He seemed to have quite lost his direction.

BILL

Sir…I…er…I’m afraid that back in billets I didn’t give you the support I should have done.

GREEN

Well, I know I have a lot to learn. 146

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They smoke for a few moments in silence. BILL

Sir, did you notice anything strange about that shindy tonight?

GREEN

No, I can’t say I did.

BILL

Those squareheads seemed to be out there waiting for us.

GREEN

That’s a fact. The Germans have a remarkably fine intelligence organization.

BILL

They’ve got some very clever spies, sir. There is a slight pause.

GREEN

Say, Corporal, how about that foreigner in the platoon?

BILL

Oley Svenson? Oh, he’s O.K. sir. But now you mention it, I’m not so sure about it. The sergeant found him absent at stand-to tonight.

GREEN

I think this Mr. Oley will bear watching.

BILL

Now I think of it, sir, he’s pretty thick with the estaminet-keeper at our rest billet in Bully Grenay. CAPTAIN CLARK comes across from his writing.

CLARK

What was the rumpus up the line tonight?

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GREEN

Oh, we were out on the wiring party, and walked into a bunch of Heinies.

CLARK

We just had one of your men in here.

GREEN

Who was it? CAPTAIN CLARK pulls an identification disc this pocket and reads.

CLARK

“No 387456 Private Jock McTaggart.”

BILL

What! Poor Jock!

GREEN

Which of the men was he, Corporal?

BILL

You didn’t know him, sir, for he just returned from leave this afternoon. He had a hunch that he was going “west.” Noise is heard outside, and the ambulance orderly enters. ORDERLY salutes.

AMBULANCE Ambulance up. Sir. ORDERLY

CLARK

Give him a hand with the stretchers, Ritchie. RICHIE and the ORDERLY pick up the stretcher on which GREEN is lying and start to carry it out.

CURTAIN

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Act IV Scene I

Curtain rises disclosing the same estaminet courtyard which was seen in Act I. All men of the platoon on stage. SUZANNE is sitting right front, with her sewing. JULIE is in front of the estaminet, with PERCY and some of the other troops, standing about her. MIKE, OLEY, the DUD, and HAWKINS are playing a game of “Polish banker” left front. As rises, JULIE is heard singing “La Madelon.” “JARGE” is sitting near SUZANNE, and as JULIE finishes the song, he speaks to SUZANNE. GEORGE

Julie is like the girl in this song, she likes all the soldiers.

SUZANNE

Que voulez-vous, all the soldiers love Julie.

GEORGE

But she loves the sergeant best of all.

SUZANNE

Mais, non. C’est monsieur Percy.

GEORGE

What, Percy? Well, well. GEORGE scratches his head in meditation and crosses over to the game of “Polish banker”.55

55

Polish banker: also known as bank, Polish bank or Russian bank; a gambling game played with a standard deck of cards.

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MIKE

Napoo, fini.

OLEY

All the same Serbia.

MIKE

Broke to the wide. Oley, that’s five hundred francs of my hard-earned kale you’ve collected.

OLEY

I ban lucky.

MIKE

I’m going down to the major to borrow the odd franc.

DUKE

What’s wrong with the soldier’s hope, the padre? MIKE exits by the road gate. The DUKE sits in on the game, and it continues with OLEY as the banker. Enter the CHOCOLAT BOY.

BOY

Chocolat. Chocolat. Avant la guerre quatre sous. To hell with the Kaiser. Après la guerre six sous. Très bon chocolat! Roll up for rum. Yes, no. Dirty quarterblokes. Tous les troops zigzag. Sergeant Major no bon. Chocolat! All the Americans have a good time Kissing the WAACS behind the line.56 Hinky-pinky parlez-vous. Chocolat!

56

WAACS: Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps, a branch of the British army established in 1917. Some 7,000 women served in it, mainly as catering, logistics, and medical personnel.

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The BOY sells chocolate to NOBBY CLARK and to PERCY. DUD

I’m broke.

OLEY

No?

DUD

Yep, not a red.

OLEY

How about that Iron Cross?

DUD

I want to send it to my girl.

OLEY

I’ll give you twenty francs for it.

DUD

No.

DUKE

It’s worth fifty francs, Dud.

OLEY

I’ll give you thirty.

HAWKINS

Aw, pay him a decent price for it.

OLEY

I’ll give you forty.

DUKE

Don’t be such a piker, Oley. You’ve cleaned out the whole gang.

OLEY

I’ll give you fifty, but not a franc more. The DUD holds out the Iron Cross to OLEY.

DUD

Here you are.

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OLEY gives him the fifty francs, takes the Iron Cross, and puts the ribbon round his neck, wearing the medal in the German manner. PERCY

You seem pretty proud of it, Oley.

DUKE

Say, boys, he’d pass for a goose-stepping squarehead. OLEY springs up as if to fight, the others jump up to restrain him.

PERCY

Put it away, Oley. OLEY unbuttons his tunic and puts the Iron Cross away out of sight.

HAWKINS

There is always somebody crabbin’ the game.

PERCY

Sit down, Oley. Can’t you take a joke?

DUKE

Go on, play the game.

OLEY

No more play. OLEY shoves his money into his pocket, and scowling angrily, moves off to the left front. He resumes carving his pipe. The DUKE sings “Keep Your Head Down, Allemand.” The CHOCOLAT BOY approaches OLEY.

BOY

Chocolat, monsieur?

OLEY

Get out. 152

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OLEY attempts to hit the BOY a cuff, but the latter nimbly dodges the blow. Pantomimes fingers to nose. DUKE

Cut that out, you cur. OLEY glances at the DUKE, but does not accept the challenge to fight. “SPUD” MURPHY enters by road gate, with sack of parcels, and bunch of letters in his hand.

SPUD

Mail up, boys. SPUD distributes the letters and parcels.

SPUD

A flock of perfumed missives for you, Percy. SPUD passes out the rest of the mail in pantomime. He distributes the parcels in silence. Some of the men carry their parcels into the barn.

SPUD

Here’s one for you, ’Erbert. HAWKINS opens his parcel; a look of disgust spreads over his face; he pulls a can of bully beef out of his parcel, and angrily hurls it into the road. Then his face is wreathed in a smile as he produces cigarettes and a pair of socks.

SPUD

Here’s one for you, Duke. SPUD hands the DUKE a box of Laura Secords, which the DUKE opens and passes round.57

57

Laura Secords: the iconic Canadian chocolates.

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HAWKINS

Not even a paper for me?

SPUD

No. Not even a Daily Mail.

DUKE

You won’t be seeing the Daily Mail any more, Herbert. It is being saved for the American paper war.

GEORGE

Is the Americans goin’ to go to war?58 The DUKE crosses to SUZANNE with his box of chocolates.

DUKE

Have some bonbons Canadiens, Suzanne?

SUZANNE

Merci, infiniment.

DUKE

Will you sing me “Pour la France”?

SUZANNE

Oh, I only know him in French?

DUKE

That’s jake-a-bon, Suzanne. We’re all French here. SUZANNE sings “Pour la France.” OLEY appears to be annoyed by the song. He is the only one who does not applaud. SUZANNE crosses toward OLEY.

SUZANNE

58

Don’t you like the song, Oley?

A sarcastic reference to the delayed American participation in the war. The American Expeditionary Force began to arrive in France in June 1917 but did not arrive in force until early 1918. By the time of the events of the play, they had already seen action.

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OLEY

No. Me no understand French songs.

SUZANNE

Beau chanson. All about the brave poilus.59 You brave soldat too, Oley?

OLEY

A brave soldier fights hard for his country.

SUZANNE

Yes, and sometimes it is not known. Enter BILL WALTON by road gate; he is just returning from hospital, and wears a third wound stripe.

BILL

Cheerio, boys.

DUKE

Welcome back, Bill.

HAWKINS

Didn’t you make Blighty?

BILL

No, I only got as far as the casualty clearing station.

PERCY

Tough luck, Bill.

BILL

Oh, I had a jake week at the rest camp.

DUD

Say, there’s Suzanne over there waiting for you. BILL looks round and sees SUZANNE and OLEY standing together. He turns his back on them and speaks sarcastically.

BILL

59

Yes, so I notice.

Poilu: an affectionate word for a French soldier, similar to the British “Tommy.”

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DUKE

What’s become of Mr. Green?

BILL

Oh, he left the C.C.S. for rest camp a couple of weeks ago.

DUKE

He didn’t show up too badly on the wiring party?

BILL

You’re right. He has as much nerve as anyone in this outfit, and he’s got a damn good head, too, when you get to know him off parade. HARRIS staggers into view in the road gate, carrying an officer’s bedroll. This he lets drop at the gate, and enters the courtyard.

PERCY

What’s up, Harris? Has a new officer joined?

HARRIS

No, it’s Mr. Green. He’s back again.

BILL

How is he?

HARRIS

Oh, jake-a-loo. HARRIS calls to JULIE.

HARRIS

Julie. Give us a beer.

PERCY

Say, Bill, I just got five dollars in a letter from home. Five good old simoleons. Come on and have a drink, fellows. PERCY, the DUKE, HAWKINS, and BILL sit down at a table. JULIE enters with the beer for HARRIS.

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PERCY

Julie. Four vin blancs.

JULIE

Oui, monsieur.

PERCY

I say, old dear, have you got some “oofs” and pommes de terre “fritz”?

JULIE

Oui, monsieur. Combien des oeufs? Quatre? Huit?

PERCY

Give us a whole blinkin’ dozen, mam’selle.

JULIE

Oh, la, la.

PERCY

Beaucoup money Canadien. JULIE exits to bar. SERGEANT enters from road gate and crosses to PERCY.

SERGEANT

So you are in the millionaire class now, Percy?

PERCY

Correct first guess, Sarge. This afternoon I’m Julie’s best customer. JULIE enters with the wine on a tray. She serves the table, PERCY last, and stands by his chair.

JULIE

Voila. Oeufs toute suite. JULIE exits the estaminet, and HARRIS wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, goes over to the bedroll, picks it up and departs.

HARRIS

I’ll leave you to it, Sarge. 157

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JULIE enters with tray on which are four plates of fried eggs and potatoes. SERGEANT

Promende avec moi ce soir, Julie?

PERCY

Oh no, Sarge, she’s giving me her evening.

SERGEANT

Oh, no, Percy, you’re giving your evening to transport piquet.

PERCY

Damn those three stripes.

JULIE

Oh, no, Sergeant. No promenade with you. Quarterblokes and sergeants no bon for mademoiselles.

SERGEANT

Then I’m through with you, Julie. Toute fini. You’re not the only girl in Bully Grenay. The SERGEANT exits in a huff through road gate.

JULIE

Me fache.

PERCY

Pourqoui fache?

JULIE

You and Sergeant make scrap about promenade with me. You have no right to talk about me comme ça. JULIE turns to BILL.

JULIE

You would not talk like that, would you, Monsieur Beel?

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BILL

Oh, Julie, Percy just jaloux.

JULIE

Eh bien. Ce ne fait rien. I like you best, Monsieur Beel.

BILL

That’s good. I thought nobody loved me any more.

JULIE

Merci, monsieur. I like you very much. Enter MR. GREEN and SERGEANT.

SERGEANT

Platoon—shun.

GREEN

Carry on, men. Mighty glad to see you all again. GREEN notices BILL and turns to him.

GREEN

Hello, Walton. So you beat me back?

BILL

Oh, I just rejoined about half an hour ago, sir. GREEN addresses the troops.

GREEN

Well, men, I’ve got some news for you. Some good and some bad; Major Mackenzie is going on the staff, and he’s taking Sergeant Hall with him. We are sorry to lose them. However, Walton, there is good news for you. You are to be platoon sergeant.

BILL

Yes, sir. GREEN shakes hands with WALTON. SUZANNE is seen observing this.

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GREEN

Walton, there is not a man in the battalion whom I would prefer to have as my platoon sergeant. GREEN turns to the estaminet and calls.

GREEN

Mademoiselle, mademoiselle.

JULIE

Oui, monsieur.

GREEN

Serve drinks to the platoon, s’il vous plaît, mademoiselle. JULIE exits to the bar, and GREEN turns to the sergeant.

GREEN

Sergeant, how is the billet? Comfortable?

SERGEANT

Not too bad, sir, as barns go. SUZANNE crosses to MR. GREEN.

SUZANNE

Un moment, s’il vous plaît, monsieur.

GREEN

Oui, mademoiselle. JULIE enters with drinks for everybody. SERGEANT takes one and sits down. SUZANNE leads the OFFICER downstage, and they converse in confidential whispers. BILL is seen jealously watching them.

SUZANNE

Monsieur, you know Oley?

GREEN

Oui, mademoiselle.

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SUZANNE

I think he is a spy. I have seen him in conversation with Adolphe Peronne, who gives him beaucoup money, little black book and torch electrique.

GREEN

Torch electrique. Ah, a signalling lamp. When was that, mademoiselle?

SUZANNE

Just before Monsieur Beel was wounded.

GREEN

So Walton was right in his suspicion. The Germans knew about our wiring party, and Svenson used that lamp to give them the information. Merci, mademoiselle. I shall look into this at once. SUZANNE goes back to her sewing. The SERGEANT jumps up from the table, and the OFFICER crosses towards him, giving JULIE money for beer as he passes her. JULIE is standing near BILL.

GREEN

Sergeant, we’ll look at the billet. GREEN and SERGEANT enter the barn.

JULIE

Your officer is beaucoup changé, Beel.

BILL

Oui, he’s a good scout. All the same Julie.

JULIE

Oh, Bill. Toujours le même. PERCY gazes jealously at BILL and JULIE. The ADJUTANT enters from road gate.

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BILL

Party—shun.

PEARSON

Did Mr. Green come in here, Corporal?

BILL

Yes, sir. He is in the billet. BILL doubles to the barn, and calls MR. GREEN.

BILL

Mr. Green, the adjutant wants you, sir. The CHOCOLAT BOY approaches the adjutant.

BOY

Chocolat, monsieur? Oranges?

PEARSON

Allez, allez. BOY exits to road. The DUD starts shuffling around.

PEARSON

Don’t you know I am an officer?

DUD

Please, sir, I don’t belong in your crush. I’m in Major MacKenzie’s company.

PEARSON

Now then, my man, don’t they take any notice of officers in your company?

DUD

Well, sir, it ain’t that exactly; but I’ve always been one, as you might say, to keep meself to meself.

PEARSON

Stand to attention! The DUD shuffles up to “attention.” GREEN enters from barn and salutes.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

PEARSON

Please remain here for a few minutes, Mr. Green. The colonel wishes to see you and your platoon.

GREEN

Yes, sir. The ADJUTANT exits by road gate.

GREEN

Stand easy, men. The C.O. is coming presently, so smarten up a bit. The troops bustle round, and the OFFICER turns to the SERGEANT.

GREEN

Sergeant, we must get more straw for the billet. I’ll see the town major about it. How have the meals been lately?

SERGEANT

Not too bad, sir. But it would help a lot if we could get some fresh vegetables.

GREEN

Right, Sergeant. I’ll see we get some. Enter the BRIGADIER GENERAL, with his STAFF CAPTAIN, followed by the COLONEL, the ADJUTANT, and MAJOR MACKENZIE.

GREEN

Platoon—shun. Salutes are exchanged.

GENERAL

Colonel, let your men stand easy.

COLONEL

Mr. Green, have your platoon stand at ease. 163

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GREEN

Platoon, stand at ease. The GENERAL pompously addresses himself to the men.

GENERAL

This is not to be a parade, men. Just stand easy, but listen to what I have to say. Er, aw, this morning there was something in divisional routine orders that I fancied might interest you, so when I was visiting your colonel just now, I asked to be give an opportunity to speak to you; and just came up. These orders…er… He fumbles around in his pocket. The CHOCOLAT BOY is heard outside in the road.

BOY

Chocolat! Chocolat! The BOY enters court, takes in the scene for a moment, and then commences to mimic the GENERAL behind his back, to the amusement of the troops. Enter estaminetkeeper from bar, ADOLPHE PERONNE, and watches from right rear.

GENERAL

Er, aw, Algie, where are those billy-be-damned orders? The STAFF CAPTAIN has taken out some papers as soon as the GENERAL began to speak. These he now hands to the GENERAL.

STAFF CAPTAIN

I have them here for you, sir.

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The GENERAL fumbles with the papers, then turns to the COLONEL. GENERAL

Aw, Colonel, this platoon…

COLONEL

Yes sir, yes sir. The GENERAL glances at the orders.

GENERAL

While on a wiring party three weeks ago, this platoon was attacked by a strong enemy patrol. Er, aw. During this encounter with the enemy, Lieutenant… GENERAL consults papers and reads extracts from them.

GENERAL

Er, aw. “Lieutenant Edward Brock Green, Canadian Infantry, greatly distinguished himself, while No. 48135, Corporal William Walton, showed conspicuous bravery by covering the retirement of the party, and by capturing an enemy officer.” GENERAL looks up from orders, and addresses the troops generally.

GENERAL

Er, aw. I may tell you men. This gallant action gave us a most valuable prisoner, who furnished most frightfully important information. Frightfully. The GENERAL reads from papers.

GENERAL

Er, aw. “In recognition of the distinguished gallantry displayed on this occasion by Lieutenant 165

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Green, His Majesty, the King, has awarded him the Military Cross.” The GENERAL glances up at GREEN. GENERAL

I want to congratulate the recipient of this honour. MR. GREEN steps up and salutes the GENERAL.

GENERAL

Mr. Green, I am proud to have you as an officer in my brigade. GENERAL shakes hands with GREEN. GREEN salutes and steps into background.

GENERAL

I also note, men— He consults the orders again and reads.

GENERAL

Er, aw. “That the Field Marshal Commanding-inChief has seen fit to award Corporal Walton the Military Medal for bravery in the field.” General looks up from orders and speaks.

GENERAL

Colonel, where is this corporal? WALTON steps smartly up and salutes, while SUZANNE is seen to be taking a great interest in the affair. The GENERAL has forgotten WALTON’s name, and he consults the orders again.

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GENERAL

Aw, I have it. Corporal Walton. Corporal, I am proud of you, my brave man. It gives me pleasure to congratulate you. The GENERAL shakes hands with WALTON, who steps on pace back and salutes.

GENERAL

Er, aw, I think we should give them three hearty British cheers. Now, men, take the time from me. The GENERALs waves his papers aloft, and a ragged “Hurrah” comes from the assembled party.

BOY

Chocolat!

VOICES

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah. SUZANNE is now left front; OLEY is right front, and more or less alone; while ADOLPHE PERONNE is standing right rear, near the road gate. Enter an elderly FRENCH LIEUTENANT during the cheering, with a FRENCH GENDARME in horizon blue, also BRITISH LANCE CORPORAL and PRIVATE OF MILITARY FOOT POLICE. M.P.s salute and stand at attention. After a quick glance around the FRENCH OFFICER walks swiftly up to PERONNE, drawing pistol as he crosses stage. OFFICER speaks to PERONNE in low voice. PERONNE collapses in nearby chair, and the GENDARME quietly handcuffs him. Everybody on stage is staring at group. The GENERAL splutters.

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GENERAL

What the devil? What’s this going on here? The FRENCH OFFICER salutes and speaks in broken English.

FRENCH OFFICER

Pardon, mon General. I do not know that you are here.

GENERAL

What? The devil you don’t! Can’t you see?

FRENCH OFFICER

Pardon, General. I regret that I disarrange you. But I must do my work. OLEY is seeing creeping inch by inch towards the road gate. MIKE and HARRIS turn in by the road gate. They start, straighten up, and spring to attention. The FRENCH OFFICER points to SUZANNE.

FRENCH OFFICER

Thees mademoiselle report that Adolphe Peronne is espion—spy. We observe, and it is so. SUZANNE points at OLEY, who has hastened his creep.

SUZANNE

Beel, Beel! OLEY dashes for the gate. MIKE tackles him, and the batman seizes OLEY by the arm. Several others hurl themselves on the struggling trio. The voice of MIKE rises above the foul gurgles of the spy.

MIKE

Give me them five hundred francs, you damned squarehead.

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THE P.B.I. OR MADEMOISELLE OF BULLAY GRENAY

DUKE

Chew off his ear.

HAWKINS

Let me tickle him wiv a bayonet.

PERCY

Jump on his neck.

DUD

Let me soak him. SUZANNE has moved to centre of stage. SUZANNE is meanwhile launching a torrent of invective against OLEY. As soon as fight begins, BILL WALTON places himself between the fracas and Suzanne, thus bringing them close to each other in the centre of the stage. The men disentangle themselves from the pile about OLEY. OLEY is hauled to his feet by MIKE and the DUD. The DUD frisks him for his Iron Cross, while MIKE gets his money back. MIKE and DUD tear off OLEY’S tunic. Only then do the MILITARY POLICE rush in with drawn gats, and take OLEY into custody, bringing him right up to front of stage. The CHOCOLAT BOY has picked OLEY’S cap up from the ground. SUZANNE and BILL WALTON move to left front of stage. JULIE and PERCY are in centre of stage. MADAME is standing in doorway holding her apron up with her hands, and with her face concealed behind it. The BRIGADIER GENERAL and COLONEL are up stage to right, near the road gate, where they have moved when the scrap started with OLEY. MAJOR MACKENZIE and the SERGEANT are standing to the right of JULIE.

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The DUKE, HAWKINS, and the DUD are left front. The CHOCOLAT BOY is wandering around the stage with his cap cocked jauntily on his head. The troops are ranged in a semicircle around the back of the stage. BILL WALTON takes SUZANNE into his arms, as he exclaims. BILL

How could I suspect you, Suzanne!

SUZANNE

Oh, Beel! SUZANNE crumples up in BILL’s embrace. The BRIGADIER GENERAL is flabbergasted, and shows that he feels overlooked. He is near road gate, but SUZANNE’S denunciation has attracted his attention to her. He humphs, grunts, and stamps around. MIKE climbs up on the cart, of which the two large wheels are at the back, and small one at the front. In one hand he clutches his roll of money; in the other he waves his “crown and anchor” cloth. JULIE calls PERCY’S attention to WALTON and SUZANNE by pointing at them.

PERCY

And me! PERCY seizes JULIE and kisses her.

MIKE

Yeeto, yeeto! SERGEANT and PERCY lift JULIE on the table. JULIE sings “En Avant La Cantinière,” supported by French characters. All harmonize in the chorus. Then all characters sing to the tune of “Rolling Home.”

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ALL

“Rolling home, rolling home, rolling home With the old army-e-e-e Ah, we have some fun. Killing off the Hun, And when our job is through, To the empire we’ve been true. And we’ll go rolling home, rolling home.” CURTAIN First Encore: Repeat above song. Second Encore: Bugler is heard sounding “Retreat.” Third Encore: “Lor’ luve a Duck,” spoken by the DUD and HAWKINS.

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I N T RO D U C T I O N TO

Glory Hole: A Play of the Great War 1914–1918

In Glory Hole, William Stabler Atkinson dramatizes the death he narrowly escaped.1 Glory Hole is a remarkable play for its time, because Atkinson minimizes the narrative arc of a drama to empty it of almost all dramatic action so that dramatic plot is superseded by re-enactment. In his preface to Glory Hole, Atkinson is explicit about the need for theatricalized documentation. He had begun writing the play in 1928 but ran into problems with the need to frame his memories in a narrative plot. Originally, he writes in his author’s note, he envisioned two scenic locations, a dugout in which the men of the platoon make their home on the front line, and a scene in the actual trench. But to move characters from one scene to another requires the artifice of plot and its ensuing mechanics, and that 1

Atkinson does not explain what “glory hole” actual describes. It may be the listening sap or the dugout itself. Or it may have been the entire trench. From a nearby trench, Agar Adamson, then a major in the ppcli, wrote to his wife on March 5, 1916, “The British had a very bad time of it in these trenches and are accordingly named the Glory Hole, Suicide Corner, Dead Man’s Corner, Mount Pleasant, etc., etc.” N.M. Christie, ed., Letters of Agar Adamson, 1914–1919, Nepean: cef Books, 1997, 157.

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he wanted to avoid. A businessman in Vernon, British Columbia, where he was variously a hospital administrator, an insurance broker, and a tax accountant, Atkinson was also an experienced playwright whose plays—mainly comedies—demonstrate adroitness at complicated plotting. It wasn’t lack of skill that stumped him in Glory Hole, but rather a desire to avoid having plot intrude on memory. He found his solution when he read R.C. Sherriff’s Journey’s End, and took from it the idea of a play set entirely in a closed, claustrophobic space in which men come and go. In his author’s note he writes that he took his characters “from actual persons for the most part, the experience being my own, except for the climax, my own battalion being withdrawn two days before it blew up, but the trench wasn’t empty when it did, I was told, there being much loss of life—whether this is so or not I have no actual proof—only hearsay to go by.” Behind the thin scrim of the “ready-made narrative template” of a war drama, Glory Hole is a staging of memoir and re-enactment. Unlike Simon Jauvoish and the authors of The P.B.I., Atkinson was an experienced playwright, albeit for a theater profession that barely existed. He had some significant successes: his comedy So This Is Canada (about three returned soldiers trying to make a go of fruit farming in the Okanagan Valley of central British Columbia) ran for six weeks in Vancouver and was picked up by the impresario John Shuburg, who promoted it as the “World’s Funniest Show” and gave it a western Canadian tour in October 1926.2 Atkinson had a follow-up success in 1931 with his comedy The Man from Saskatchewan at the Dominion Theatre in Winnipeg. There is no hint of theatrical interest in what we know of Atkinson’s pre-war life. He had immigrated to Canada in 1910 from Yorkshire to take up a homestead grant in Saskatchewan; the 2

“So This Is Canada for Walker Soon,” Winnipeg Tribune, 4 Sept. 1926, Newspapers.com.

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homestead failed, and Atkinson was knocking about the prairies looking for work in the building trades when the war started. He missed the first recruitment drive, which reached its quota very quickly, but enlisted as soon as a second drive commenced at the end of 1914. He joined the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders of Canada in Winnipeg, which was one of the feeder units for the 16th Battalion cef, “The Canadian Scottish.”3 That was the unit made famous by the British war artist Eric Kennington in The Conquerors, his portrait of exhausted, kilted soldiers slogging though a mire of death and mud. Atkinson’s dossier is particularly full because he saw service at the front as an infantryman and, in England and Canada, as a military hospital staff sergeant. He actually enlisted in the cef twice; after being discharged with pneumonia and pleurisy in 1917, he signed up again in 1918 to serve in a military hospital in Vernon, British Columbia, where he resided for the rest of his life with the woman he had met and married in England. From the 138 pages of his service record we know that when he enlisted in 1915 at the age of twenty-four he stood five foot, eleven inches tall and had no tattoos; when he was discharged he had a tattoo of a snake on his right leg and his chest expansion had shrunk an inch and a half. He had a “Very Good” military character, but once had his pay suspended for five days for gambling. He was “tall, erect, not rugged but fairly well built,” his complexion was fresh, his eyes were blue, and his hair was fair, but he would not stay healthy for long. He was recurrently sick during his nine months in the trenches of Ploegsteert and the Ypres salient, suffering from lice-induced trench fever, influenza, bronchitis,

3

The 16th Battalion was initially comprised of recruits from four feeder reserve regiments 
of the Canadian Militia: the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders (Winnipeg), the Seaforth Highlanders (Vancouver), the Gordon Highlanders (Victoria), and the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders (Hamilton). 


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appendicitis, and inevitably pleurisy. Atkinson’s dossier confirms the events of the play as memoir and its affect-producing narrative structure as re-enactment; the play he wrote re-enacts the experience of sharing a cramped, dangerous space with men he knew, and the experience of watching their interactions, entrances, and exits. We can read the character of Danny, sick, coughing his guts out and an outsider in the squad, as Atkinson’s avatar in the play. Danny rarely speaks but observes everything until his death. The autobiographical “I” that speaks is, in memoir re-enactment, the eye that watches. Glory Hole is life writing as life staging, but it is not a reenactment of what Atkinson did; rather it is a restaging of what he saw and heard. The play recreates his visual and aural fields with exactitude and is filled with scopic detail. The play is set in a dugout, a small room dug into the face of a traverse trench immediately behind the front line. The detail of his description is holographic: The dugout is a sandbag earth affair, with one step down into it from entrance at rear. Dirty scraps of paper on the floor, which should be of earth. Some loose sandbags and two bundles of new ones, also a couple of empty, long ammunition boxes and an old iron flat-bottomed dish pan which can be used for candles as some pieces of wood stuck in the walss stick out for candle brackets. There is a small hole on the wall at left with some metal lath in front to form a grate—this is for a charcoal fire—at right there is a hole in the wall which is a listening sap—a pile of earth to the inner side gives impression of the excavation. This sap is for listening in on enemy operations which consist at this time of a mine under this sector stretching along a hundred yards or so of front line.4

4

See Glory Hole, page 187 of this book.

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Atkinson includes a drawing that shows the listening sap as a vertical shaft accessed through a hole dug into the wall; in his sketch we can see the top rung of a protruding ladder. The effect of the description is one of claustrophobic and wretched containment which is intensified by the call for “the impression of heavy or drizzling rain” to underline “the misery of the mud and continuous downpour.”5 The action of Glory Hole never leaves that mud, and the plot is as spare and bleak as its setting. The play begins with a squad of soldiers settling into the dugout as they relieve British troops. There are six men crammed into the dugout that is their home, and Atkinson is extremely specific about their appearance, their kit, their voices, and their manners. We are seeing what he saw. As in The P.B.I., the character descriptions are a recalled ethnography; they include a character who echoes The P.B.I.’s Marmaduke Meredith: Private Monteith, ‘Monty’: Public school education—morose until gets his rum. Sort of ne’er-do-well. DRESS: steel helmet— usual pack and equipment—greatcoat—rubber sheet over shoulders. He is a middle-aged man and a philosopher—a distinct type of remittance man. UNIFORM can be Seaforth kilt—gas helmet—khaki hose tops—has bottle of wine with him and other sundries as may be referred to during action of play.6

The specificity of the Seaforth Highlanders kilt is an authenticator that locates the play in time and place: these are men of the 16th Battalion, Atkinson’s unit, and they have just moved into the salient after a relatively quiet but miserably wet and muddy winter near Bailleul, twenty kilometers southwest of Ypres, rotating between divisional reserve and trench duty. In the nine months that Atkinson had been in the unit, the Canadian divisions had 5 6

Glory Hole, 188. Glory Hole, 189.

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undergone extensive changes in tactics, training, organization, and weaponry as they transformed into the professionalized fighting force that a year later would take Vimy Ridge. The reference to a steel helmet pinpoints the exact date and place of the action. As noted in the battalion’s war diary, the soldiers of the 16th Battalion had been issued steel helmets for the first time on March 28 and moved into the salient to relieve the British 50th Division.7 This was one day after British and Canadian sappers had blown a 600-meter section of German trenches at St. Eloi, five kilometers south of the 16th’s position; as described in the Canadian Army’s official history, “the eruption blotted out old landmarks and collapsed trenches on both sides like packs of cards.”8 For the next three months the salient would be the scene of some of the bitterest fighting in the war as both sides fought desperately to control the seven craters and the heights of Hill 60 and Mont Sorrel. In the time Atkinson had been in the unit, from July to March, the 16th had 158 casualties; in the ensuing five months they would lose another 653.9 As the soldiers of Glory Hole move into the salient they are about to experience a new, bloodier war. Much of the literature of the war by its veterans emphasizes the camaraderie of the trench, but in their muddy hole the six emotionally numb men of the section treat each other with rough disinterest. Half of them are British (as was Atkinson)—two Englishmen and a Scot—and their lines are written in dialect. They crack

7

8

9

War Diary, 16th Canadian Infantry Battalion, War Diaries of the First World War, Library and Archives Canada, www.bac-lac.gc.ca/eng/discover/military -heritage/first-world-war/Pages/war-diaries.aspx. G.W.L. Nicholson, Canadian Expeditionary Force 1914–1919: The Official History of the Canadian Army in the First World War, Ottawa: The Queen’s Printer, 1962, 139. Hugh M. Urquhart, The History of the 16th Battalion: The Canadian Scottish, Canadian Expeditionary Force in the Great War, 1914–1919, Toronto: Macmillan, 1932, 405.

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jokes, insult each other, and argue as they man an underground listening post to monitor German miners who are planting explosives to blow up the trench. One of the men rarely speaks but coughs incessantly, as Atkinson did, as we know from his medical records. By the end of the play, three of them are dead. The sparse plot, which begins late in the procedural action of the play, focuses on a teenager, “about sixteen or seventeen years old,” who has just arrived with a draft of reinforcements and remains in misery and terror throughout the play.10 Glory Hole is a play about conjuring an abject space, populating it with memory, and gradually emptying it. Contained in this space, the plot functions not as narrative but as affective pressure. In the trenches, the men are always waiting—for the next work party, for the next explosive or gas shell, for the next to die—and the procedural routines of trench life are intensified by that waiting. In Glory Hole, the countdown to the explosion is both an evocation of that pressure and the device that provides forward momentum in the plot. That plot is itself a re-enactment of the trench experience: nothing happens in the dugout except daily life and work; men come and go to live another day or die until the inexorable logic of war leaves a young teenager to die alone in the mud. This skeletal plot, “based on hearsay,” is the only obvious invention in the play. Its anti-sentimental minimalism is a remarkable theatrical achievement because it foregrounds the activities rather than the dramatic actions of the characters. We witness rather than feel, and in that way, reoccupy Atkinson’s visual and aural field of memory. The actors embody that memory through ethnographic stage descriptions that recreate the rituals and patterns of trench life: how they fold their kilts as bedding on the mud floor, how they play soccer in the cramped dugout with a ball of muddy paper, and

10

Glory Hole, 191.

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the play of light from explosive shells and flares. In one striking scene, Atkinson gives us a close-up look at the almost ceremonial way men apportion their daily rum ration; we watch every minute detail as closely as the men themselves. At the same time, Atkinson recreates the aural field: the sound of incessant rain, intermittent artillery and machine gun fire, the bits of doggerel the men recite to make conversation, their accents, and the tempo of their speech. More successfully than The P.B.I. or Dawn in Heaven, Glory Hole strips the artifice of genre and stage convention from restaged memory because Atkinson was experienced enough a playwright to understand how minimal a plot can be to do its work, and to apprehend, perhaps, that to restage life experience, dramaturgy must break through the boundaries of fiction. For William Stabler Atkinson, writing for theatre in a small town in western Canada, Glory Hole was a theatrical exorcism, and the only politics in it are the negotiations of men struggling to survive. Atkinson’s notable innovation in the play is the theatrical testimony of trauma through precise re-enactment of the experience of living and witnessing it.

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Glory Hole A P L AY O F 1914–1918

by William Stabler Atkinson Dedicated to the Canadian Expeditionary Force

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Author’s Note

The play Glory Hole might never have been completed but for my seeing in the January 2nd, 1930, issue of “The Stage,” the following extract from a weekly letter written by an actor who was touring Canada with an English company, and published each week in that theatrical newspaper. JOURNEY’S END 11

We have now reached the turning point in our Canadian tour, and with the close of our week in Victoria, our noses are

11

R.C. Sherriff’s Journey’s End premiered in London at the Apollo Theatre in 1928, with Laurence Olivier, then at the beginning of his career, in the leading role. It was widely performed and several film versions have since been made, most recently in 2017. Like Glory Hole, Journey’s End is set entirely in a dugout, where the characters—all junior officers—await the order for a major raid. Sherriff had served as an infantry officer in the British army at Vimy Ridge and Passchendaele, and his play captures the tone and ambience of the British officer class and the erosion of their public school sportsmanship ideals. Reading about Journey’s End seems to have offered a solution to a creative problem that Atkinson implies in his preface when he writes that he had originally envisioned a trench scene. How could he move the scenic locations without inventing narrative action—that is, plot—to explain the change of scene? Confining the play to the dugout liberated him from the artifices of dramatic plot, so that he could focus on the pressures of time and space as men await their fate helplessly. Journey’s End is about the cruel loss of idealism; Glory Hole is about men who never had ideals. In this sense it is more verbatim and existential, and less moralistic, than Journey’s End.

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definitely pointed homewards. Here for some comes the splitting of the ways, as at least two of the companies whom we have either tracked or preceded are now across the border and playing the Pacific seacoast of the States. These are the Stratford Festival Company who are now in America until their return to England in the spring and the “Journey’s End” company, who after a few weeks at Seattle and other places are settling in Los Angeles for, I believe, an indefinite run. While the popularity of every member of the company has been great as we who have been one week behind them for the last three months can testify, I have been rather surprised at the volume of serious criticism the play has evoked. Everyone admits it as an earnest attempt to paint a real phase of the war, but there is a decided tendency on the part of the Canadians to say: “now let’s have a greater play about the Privates.” The company have done very good business.

Glory Hole had been laying aside for over a year—then I had the pleasure of reading Journey’s End as published in the Royal Magazine in three issues. I have followed the doings of various companies through the medium of theatrical papers ever since it was produced professionally, and enjoy the wonderful reception it received everywhere. It seems to me to feel a long-felt want in the hearts of those who having been through the war, still have a desire to see it again the part of the looker-on. Glory Hole had a trench as well as a dugout scene originally—I now decided one set adequate, and that it could be safely split into various scenes without taking away from the interest of the play. I summarized it again, taking my characters from actual persons for the most part, the experience being my own, except for the climax, my own battalion being withdrawn two days before it blew up, but the trench wasn’t empty when it did, I was told, there being much loss of life—whether this is so or not I have no actual proof—only hearsay to go by. Then 184

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GLORY HOLE

my paper came from England and I saw the above cutting. It only needed this incentive for me to start in with renewed hope and to complete the Glory Hole. —W.S. Atkinson Vernon, B.C., Canada, Feb. 8th, 1930

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top: Atkinson’s sketch of the dugout from his manuscript. bottom: A contemporary stage designer’s rendition of Atkinson’s sketch. Artist: Jerrard Smith.

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Glory Hole A Play of the Last War in Three Acts and Five Scenes Nov. 23rd, 1929

THE SCENE THROUGHOUT is a dugout on the “Salient.”12 The dugout is a sandbag earth affair, with one step down into it from entrance at rear. Dirty scraps of paper on the floor, which should be of earth. Some loose sandbags and two bundles of new ones, also a couple of empty, long ammunition boxes and an old iron flat-bottomed dish pan which can be used for candles as some pieces of wood in the walls stick out for candle brackets. There is a small hole on the wall at left with some metal lath in front to form a grate—this is for a charcoal fire—at right there is a hole in the wall which is a listening sap—a pile of the earth to the inner side gives impression of the excavation. This sap is for listening in on enemy operations which consist at this time of a mine under this sector stretching along a hundred yards or so of front line. A sag in the chicken wire can be seen from inside the dugout— this wire is to afford some slight protection against the smaller type of bomb. Through the open door can be seen a section of the traverse—and a continued passage on along the trench until the turn. Star shells occasionally light up the darkness during the evening 12

The “Salient”: the area surrounding the town Ypres, surrounded on three sides by German trenches.

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scenes—and the rattle of machine guns in different degrees of sound is heard, especially at the “stand-to.”13 Practically during the whole of the action of the play the impression of heavy or drizzling rain must be given. Groundsheets thrown over the shoulders of the different characters can be wet and shiny on entrance to help with the impression of the misery of the mud and continuous downpour. As this is the only scene throughout, it is desired that as much realism be given, especially at the opening and on into Act II. Act III can be quieter—the situation more tense—less firing of machine gun—then into silence before final curtain—the expectancy of the impending mine being blown away at any time. The delivery of the lines must be governed by the direct questioning. A question must naturally receive an answer—but the next remark if irrelevant to the particular discussion should be made after a pause. The characters can smoke and do other incidental business as may be directed and which is logical throughout entire play.

The Scenes Act I, Scene I.

The dugout, Friday evening, 10 p.m.: “Canadians take over.”

Act I, Scene II.

Curtain lowered and raised to denote passing of time to next morning—daybreak—“stand-to.” Saturday morning.

Act II, Scene I.

The dugout. Saturday night—Dusk—“stand-to” follows opening.

13

The “stand-to” took place at dusk and dawn, when troops were armed and on the alert for an enemy assault.

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GLORY HOLE

Act II, Scene II.

The dugout. Sunday morning—“Stand-to” is over. Daylight.

Act III, Scene I.

Late Sunday evening—before evacuation of the front line.

The Characters Sapper of Engineering: Greatcoat—usual khaki uniform—high gumboots. Can double Stretcher-Bearer. Stretcher-Bearer: Regular uniform. Wounded Man: Greatcoat—kilts, etc. Private Monteith, “Monty”: Public school education—morose until gets his rum. Sort of ne’er-do-well. Dress: steel helmet—usual pack and equipment—greatcoat—rubber sheet over shoulders. He is a middle-aged man and a philosopher—a distinct type of remittance man.14 Uniform can be Seaforth kilt—gas helmet—khaki hose tops—has bottle of wine with him and other sundries as may be referred to during action of play. Private Harry Haines: A cockney—old South African15—boosefighter when he gets paid16—has a tenor voice and sings—optimist— Monteith is his sidekick—drops ‘Hs’—old soldier and philosopher. 14

15 16

A remittance man was usually a British immigrant, often a younger son from a prosperous family, sent to the colonies to find his way in the world, supported by a remittance from the family. Old South African: a veteran of the South African War, 1899–1902. Some 7,000 Canadian volunteers served during that war. Boosefighter: a boozer, a lush.

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Dress: same uniform as Monteith. Carries tablespoon in place of skean dhu above hosetop.17 Private Danny Roberts: Has bad cough—talks through his nose— quiet—makes a remark occasionally—rather the butt of the others, but nothing mean about their jokes. Canadian. This type can wear khaki pants if desired. Private Robert Binnie: Glasgow-born—small—originally street Arab type—always on the borrow—but goodhearted type. Carries spoon in hose top leg. Johnnie Charbonneau, “Frenchy”: Tall, well-built, dark-haired smiling type of French-Canadian. Talks broken English—happygo-lucky. Lumberjack-trapper-hunter, etc. before enlistment. Wears Seaforth kilt and likes it—but has blue or red knitted skullcap with tassel—a sort of toque—his steel helmet goes over this. Lance Corporal Mattie Rugg: Wears kilts and high leather trench boots. Sort of a missionary—backwoods Presbyterian preacher. Rather dour—Canadian-born—recites part of “The Day,” vis. “You’ve longed for the day, etc. etc.”18 Clean in his talk—looked upon this as a holy war and his duty to fight. Lieutenant Woods: Platoon commander—young man of twentysix—Canadian—more friendly than officious. Usual officer’s outfit—can wear plain riding breeches.

17 18

Skean dhu: the traditional dagger worn with a kilt and carried in a sheath inserted into the stocking. “The Day” was a famous British patriotic poem by Henry Chappell, “the Railway Porter poet,” published in the Daily Express at the beginning of the war.

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GLORY HOLE

Sergeant Gallagher: High leather boots—usual uniform—khaki riding breeches—greatcoat, etc. He is a sort of hard-boiled, soured type. Private George Ross, “The Kid”: Up in the front line for the first time—is about sixteen or seventeen years—said he was older on enlistment. Can wear Cameron or other kilt, as he is a draft.19

General Note There was always a mixture of regulation dress—you could wear trews20—wear pants or kilts. The types in this cast are good average size except for Ptes. Ross and Binnie—Haines and Monteith tallish, with Frenchy perhaps being the most imposing.

19

20

A draft: the battalions of the Canadian Expeditionary Force began as locally raised units, and most of the men of the 16th were from four militia regiments: the Gordon Highlanders from Victoria; the Seaforth Highlanders, from Vancouver; the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders, from Winnipeg; and the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, from Hamilton. As the war progressed, reinforcement drafts brought men from other feeder units as needed. Trews: tartan trousers worn as an alternative to the kilt in Highland units.

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Act I Scene I

AT RISE OF CURTAIN A dugout in the front line near “The Crater.”21 There is only one entrance and that is at centre slightly towards the left—the exact centre is not desirable. A candle is guttering on a piece of wood or a bayonet pushed into wall R. and this permits a dim light. Through the opening there is darkness with a flickering greenish light continually brightening it in very short intervals in different degrees to allow for the star shells or Very lights at different distances.22 The end of another dugout is seen through doorway which can be irregular at sides to permit more view. The trench mats outside are one or two steps higher than the floor of the set. Rain and wind effects are necessary—rain keeps up in a varying degree throughout the entire action of the play. Suggest piece of glass on step outside to give wet effect and to catch lights of the flares. Machine gun fire and odd rifle shots are heard at intervals— also deeper reports as from bombs or trench mortars. 21

22

On March 27, 1916, one day before Atkinson’s unit moved into the trench, British and Canadian sappers had blown up 600 meters of German trenches at St. Eloi, five kilometers from the action of the play, producing the largest human-made explosion to that point in time. Star shells: artillery shells with magnesium flares used to illuminate the ground at night; they were also used as signals. Very lights: flares shot from handheld guns.

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Forms of men are seen passing from left to right—pauses— hushed voices—other men pass from right to left—all are fully equipped—greatcoat—packs etc. VOICES

You the relief?—Yessir—Is Lieutenant Woods there?—He’s forward, sir— Muttering and movement.

HAINES

(Offstage) Sy—is it quiet up in this part, myte?

VOICE

Ain’t been quiet lately, chum—got it bad this afternoon.

HAINES

Who are you guys?

VOICE

Eh?

HAINES

What’s your bunch—

VOICE

(North-country accent) The first Derms.23

HAINES

Eh?

VOICE

The Derm Leet Infantry

HAINES

Imperials?

VOICE

Aye! Who are you?

23

Atkinson adds a note here: “(1st Durham).”

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES

(Cockney) We’re Can-y-dians—Canydian Scottish.

VOICE

Aye—fra Lunnon—

FRENCHY

You tam righ—all aboard ef you wan’ to fight— we from— Montreal—Keebec —Winnipeg— Vancouvair—all same Canadaw—who you say you wass?

VOICE

Who I wass—I’m a barstard as ain’t going to be ’ere longer an Ah can ’elp—a hell of a night chum. Form moves again.

HAINES

It allus seems to rain when we tyke over—eh Frenchy—

FRENCHY

You’re tam right—where’s the keed —

ROSS

Here Frenchy— FRENCHY moves past.

FRENCHY

You don’ go far boy wizout me—yet—

VOICES

“Pass the word for Corporal Rugg”—“Corporal Rugg”—“Corporal’s here sir”—

RUGG

Coming sir— Movement again.

HAINES

Hey—watch art fellow— 195

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LIEUT. WOODS



(Voice off) Not so much noise men! Where’s your listening post corporal?24

RUGG

Waiting here for orders sir—the post hasn’t been relieved yet sir—Orders were to wait until the front line was taken over.

WOODS

(voice off) Alright—then hold your men here and come with me.

RUGG

Yes sir—(to others) You fellows stay here until I come back.

HAINES

You ain’t got a h’umbrella Corp—’ave yer?

HAINES

Where are yer, Bobbie?

BOBBIE

Here—in the corner—gie the loan of a fag Harry?

HAINES

Only got some ’arf a mo’s—25

BOBBIE

Give us wan—hae ye got a motch—gie us the loan of a motch one av ye—

VOICES

—no lights there—watch out for a bomb mate—

HAINES

Git in the dugout if yer going to light a fag, Bobbie—Ow! Is that you Frenchy?

24 25

Listening post: a covert sap or hiding place in no man’s land where soldiers could monitor enemy activity. The term also signifies the actual work party. Half a mo’: rhyming slang for tobacco, a cigarette.

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GLORY HOLE

FRENCHY

Yes, by dam!

HAINES

Then keep off’n me blarsted feet.

FRENCHY

Mak em warm for you Harray. Enter FRENCHY centre. He shakes his groundsheet, which is shining with wet. He had it over his shoulders. Note: All characters must give impression of continuous rain throughout action of the play. Goes back to the door.

FRENCHY

Here—Keed—here— Enter PRIVATE GEORGE ROSS.

ROSS

What’s the matter Frenchy?

FRENCHY

Tink you better wait here—dis not so bad—eh?

ROSS

It looks pretty good to me. (Shakes groundsheet) What a night!

FRENCHY

(Lights cigarette) Pretty bad—so you say—and mebbe all the same tam next two free monts—mebbe some tam leetle snow all so for change. (They are stamping around to get warm.) You not smoke eh—

ROSS

Sometimes—but not just now thanks— Enter HAINES centre.

HAINES

(Dumps his pack down—groans with relief—blows hands through woollen gloves) Last time I’m going 197

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to pack them blarsted shell noses—to hell with the souvenirs—they weigh a ton if they wy a bleeding h’ounce.26 FRENCHY

Oh I guess dis mebbe las’ time you come in before you get your leave Harray—

HAINES

I been thinking about that for the larst ten days now—hell with it—(looks around and peers down hole). Sy—Frenchy—who’s in here?

FRENCHY

I dunno—who you think—

HAINES

Search me. (Turns and shouts outside) Hoy Bobbie— come in art av the ryne—gee what a night—just my B—— luck to ’ave me leave stopped—or I’d a been between sheets tonight—having hot drinks cocky— Enter BOBBIE BINNIE.

BOBBIE

This is not sae bad—eh? Officer’s dugout?

FRENCHY

I dunno—soon find out mebbe—

HAINES

Looks like it—good roof—waterproof—and a candle burning in the ’all gentleman, everything but the pianner—

BOBBIE

Didn’t think ye’d get back off leave for two days yet Frenchy.

26

Shell nose: the removable tip of an artillery shell into which a fuse could be inserted.

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES

You sure picked a hell of a night to come back ’ome—why didn’t yer swing it for another two or three days darn at the base.

FRENCHY

Me—I try pretty dam ’ard—but they mak me come wit ze new draft—Serjong Gallacher he come wit me from Dovair—me and the keed—

ROSS

Frenchy knows all where I live—up northern Manitoba—

FRENCHY

Shuah—in Canadaw— Enter MONTY centre.

FRENCHY

I live sometimes two tree hundred mile in de nort countree—away—sometam much closer—

ROSS

And we never even met.

MONTY

That’s a very strange—only three hundred miles!

FRENCHY

I know the keed’s town—when they have no town—

MONTY

You fellows going to kip in here?

FRENCHY

I tink so—officier’s dugout and Sarjong’s away down trench—

MONTY

Well—this suits me. (Drops pack, gets out cigarette.)

FRENCHY

You stay here keed—I come back soon—mebbe fin’ better place for sleep—eh? 199

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BOBBIE

Bet ye canna—the next dugout is a’blown tae hell—I was juist in.

FRENCHY

Mebbe—but lots more praps—(Exit FRENCHY centre.)

ROSS

Don’t you think Frenchy’s a good fellow, Harry?

HAINES

Frenchy’s a bit of orlright kid—nothin’ wrong with Frenchy.

ROSS

And he’s very patriotic—he’s all for Canada.

MONTY

Frenchy’s a chap who does things thoroughly— either hates or loves—he joined up the same time Harry and I did—down from the north to Winnipeg—but he was never very sure whether he was fighting for the king of England or the Hudson’s Bay Co. Not for a long time—now he’s decided it’s for Canada.

ROSS

He told me his mother was a MacDonald.

MONTY

No doubt that she was—a MacDonald—but up in Frenchy’s country—the early settlers, trappers, and Hudson’s Bay factors generally had Indian wives and gave them their names.— You’ll find lots of Campbells, McKays, and others up in the north—dating back couple of hundred years.

HAINES

But he ain’t none the worse for that kid—Frenchy’s got all kinds of guts—an he’s allus the same—he 200

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GLORY HOLE

allus been one of the bunch—me an’ Monty and Bobbie here an’ Frenchy—allus together. MONTY

You one of the new draft, sonny—

ROSS

Yes—there are fifty of us.

HAINES

That don’t help much—we’re abart h’eight shy in this section—must be getting ’ard up for men ’cause you’re only a kid.27

ROSS

Er, seventeen.

MONTY

Perhaps—bet you haven’t finished school yet.

ROSS

Oh yes I have—and I can do a man’s work if I have to.

HAINES

Sure you can—but I’ll bet there’s lots o’ blokes older’n you should be here—

ROSS

If I hadn’t come my brother-in-law would—and he’s wanted at home on the farm.

BOBBIE

You’re Canadian—thought ye was frae Sco’land.

ROSS

Ross is Scots enough isn’t it? But I was born in Canada.

27

Section: the smallest infantry unit, a subdivision of a platoon, numbering from ten to twenty men. We hear very early in the play that this section is eight men understrength after the attrition warfare of the Ypres salient in 1916. The arrival of one teenage soldier to fill the vacancies is an indication of the effect of the recruitment crisis of 1916–1917 on front-line troops.

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BOBBIE

Was ye? Gie us the loan of yer knife, kid—here’s some dry sandbags for when we go out—ah’ll cut the string.

HAINES

Bit of alright—eh—better take some kid—to sit on when we go out in front. (Examines them.) BOBBIE gives ROSS his knife back. Enter CORPORAL and SERGEANT GALLAGHER.

SERGEANT

I guess he’s still down there, Corporal.

CORPORAL

(Crosses to the hole and peers down) Hi—you still down there? (Waits for answer.)

SERGEANT

(To MONTY and HAINES) What are you doing in here?

HAINES

Wytin’ for h’orders—

SERGEANT

Then wait outside wi’ the others—ye’ll get your orders soon enough. Exit MONTY, HAINES, ROSS, and BOBBIE. Slowly. They leave packs. CORPORAL RUGG has gone over to the hole and is looking in.

SERGEANT

(Crosses to hole right.) Ah’m thinkin’ he’s gone.

CORPORAL

No he hasn’t—I can hear something—he’s comin’— SAPPER OF ENGINEERS appears at hole and looks up—he is perspiring—cleans his nose.

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GLORY HOLE

SAPPER

Was you callin’?

SERGEANT

Aye—we’re takkin’ over the noo—

SAPPER

That’s fine wi’ me chum.

SERGEANT

Anything to report?

SAPPER

Not a sarnd from ’em—Gawd’s trufe—but it’s ’ot down there—like a blarsted Turkish barf.

CORPORAL

Can you hear them working?

SAPPER

Nothin’ to ’ear—myte—he’s done ’is job ’as Heinie—and na he’s only wyting for the Kyser to sy—let her gow—

SERGEANT

And ye think that’ll be when?

SAPPER

(He is putting on his greatcoat—picks up rifle, etc.). Well, me and the captain figgered in abart three dys—now they’ve gorn and finished packing it.

SERGEANT

That’ll be around Sunday night—Ah’m thinking.

SAPPER

Sunday night—h’is generally a good night for h’any h’unexpected h’activity on the part of the h’enemy as I was sying to the captain this morning— (finishing buttoning his coat) naw if the b——s would only go to church like me and you would ef we ’ad the chance—

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CORPORAL

Did your captain report it to brigade headquarters?

SAPPER

Report it—sy—the whole blarsted division knows abart this ’ere mine—’owever it won’t do no ’arm to remind ’em. Na then (picks up his rifle, etc.)—if that’s all as I can do for you—

CORPORAL

That’s all I guess—goodnight Sapper.

SAPPER

Goodnight Corporal—Sergeant—goodnight—an’ me for out— SAPPER exits centre.

CORPORAL

(Examines hole—lashes torch inside) Not too good a job to have Sergeant—

SERGEANT

It’s better in here than being oot in the wet Ah’m thinking—

CORPORAL

I suppose it is—I guess I’d better detail two men for here to take turns listening.

SERGEANT

Sure—Lieutenant Woods gave orders for two—

VOICES off

“Pass the word for Corporal Rugg.” Enter ROSS.

ROSS

Corporal Rugg’s wanted at the listening post, Sergeant. ROSS stays in dugout.

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GLORY HOLE

CORPORAL

I’m coming—

ROSS

(At door of dugout) Corporal’s coming.

VOICES off

“Corporal Rugg coming up.” Exit CORPORAL RUGG. Enter MONTY centre. Pushes past ROSS.

MONTY

Is it right this part of the line is mined, Sergeant?

SERGEANT

What ye want tae know for?

MONTY

Because if it goes up—I’ll be one of the interested parties.

SERGEANT

(Suspicious of MONTY’s phrasing) Well it’s no going up yet—an’ ye’d better juist keep yer mooth shut aboot it.

MONTY

Why—that engineer has told everyone he met. SERGEANT is getting down into the hole.

ROSS

They wouldn’t leave anyone here if they knew for sure they’d get blown up, would they Monteith?

MONTY

Eh? Oh I don’t suppose so kid—hope not— Just as SERGEANT GALLAGHER is disappearing down the hole voices are heard off—“Pass the word for Sergeant Gallagher”—on the left—“Sergeant Gallagher”—

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MONTY

(Crosses to hole) You’re wanted Sergeant Gallagher—

SERGEANT

Aw shoot!—alright.

ROSS

(At door of dugout) Sergeant Gallagher’s coming—

VOICES

Sergeant Gallaghr’s coming up.

SERGEANT

Hell wi’ them— Exit SERGEANT centre. Just as SERGEANT is leaving, HAINES is heard to sing—“Somewhere the sun is shining-ger—somewhere’s a—”

SERGEANT

(Interrupts) Shet yer yappin’ great gob there—afore ye gits a bum in it—

HAINES

(Offstage) Well somewhere the sun is shining, Serge—

SERGEANT

Well, what the hell ef it is—ferget it—see—you know dam well they ain’t far away from this cornoer—(pause) Ye don’t want to tell the whole o’ God’s good world we’re takkin’ over the nicht dae ye—why the hell can’t ye use the brains God give ye—ef he gie ye enny—Where’s Corporal Rugg?

HAINES

(Just coming into the dugout) ’Anging on me lip.

SERGEANT

(Shouts) What’s that ye say—

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES

Up on the left—(brings in empty ammunition box— gives one to ROSS—throws other in corner) It’s ryning wors’n ever—son of a bitch of a night to be out in front.

ROSS

It’s pretty bad. Enter BOBBIE.

BOBBIE

Say the Serge is awfu crabbit the nicht—

HAINES

Well—I ain’t stying outside for him—must think I’m a bleeding duck—feck ’im—sy! They take off their knapsacks and throw them down. They put their packs in places they wish to take: Right: CORPORAL will stay here Centre: HAINES—MONTY—BOBBIE—DANNY Left: FRENCHY—ROSS (HOLE)

MONTY

My pack’s in the corner Harry—put yours next to it—

HAINES

(Throws it over) There she goes—gee I forgot them fuses—say kid—you kip with Frenchy eh— Enter PTE. DANNY ROBERTS centre. Coughing.

DANNY

Huh—best ye get moved out—(coughing at discretion of character taking part).

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BOBBIE

No we won’t—you and me over here Danny.

DANNY

(Coughs) Why didn’t you say you was coming in here—

HAINES

Ye seed me come in—some of you blokes wants a nursery-maid—not ’arf yer downt—

DANNY

(Takes off packs and sits and coughs) Orders was to stay outside—

HAINES

Well—why the hell didn’t yer—

BOBBIE

Yer best inside wi’ that cough Danny—a nicht like this—ay look at the wee fireplace—

HAINES

H’every convenience except a public bar—blimey—

BOBBIE

Let’s light it up—gies us the loan of a motch someone—

MONTY

You’ll want charcoal for that—

HAINES

Frenchy’ll git some—where’s he garn?

ROSS

He’s looking for a better dugout.

BOBBIE

Aye—one wi’ some of the sergeant’s rations in it—

HAINES

I’ve never seed that son of a gun git ’is bellyful yit—

ROSS

He likes onions very much—doesn’t he?

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES

Likes ’em—say you jest wait till he comes back—I’ll bet he’s sniffed some — watch ’im come banceing in—(imitates) and say “h’onion—boys—h’onions”— Enter FRENCHY centre.

FRENCHY

What’s zat you say about h’onion Harray? MONTY undoes his pack.

HAINES

Ain’t you got some?

FRENCHY

Nop—tomorrow mebbe—say dis dugout going to be alright for us—eh?

MONTY

We’ve been in worse dumps.

DANNY

Looks pretty lousy to me.

HAINES

Well—that saves us some work—we don’t have to mak it larsy for the next guys.

MONTY

There’ll be no next guys if it’s going to be blown up.

ROSS

I put your pack there Frenchy—next to me.

FRENCHY

Dat fine (goes and opens pack).

HAINES

Ye won’t need all that room Frenchy—closer we pack together the warmer we’ll be—

BOBBIE

Me and Danny’s sleeping way around the corner— Ah’m no wanting any bums to roll in on ma feet. 209

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MONTY

I prefer bombs to coal boxes or Jack Johnsons.28 (Gets out cake.)

BOBBIE

So dae I—there was seventeen of the Imperials buried in the trench this afternoon wi’ one of ’em— only just finished digging the last ’un oot as we came in.

HAINES

Seventeen—holy old cripes!

BOBBIE

Aye—seventeen—all at onct— (To MONTY) Gie us the loan of a piece of yer cake Monty.

MONTY

You don’t miss much—do you—remember—I bought this with my own good money—it’s not a parcel from home.

BOBBIE

No—thanks Monty—ye’re a fine man—ye don’t get nae parcels fra home do yer?

MONTY

Now you draw my attention to it—I don’t believe I do. BOBBIE looks at HAINES, who grins as MONTY passes the cake around.

BOBBIE

28

Well—Ah don’t either—so—

Nicknames for German artillery shells. A coal box was a six-inch shell that produced a cloud of black smoke. A Jack Johnson was a heavy artillery sixteenor seventeen-inch shell that produced a large crater; also known as an “Ypres Express.” A bomb in this context is a grenade.

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY passes to ROSS, who shakes head—DANNY refuses. MONTY

Frenchy? (Pushes cake to him.)

FRENCHY

Shuah—(puts cake down on floor)—look Monty— behold—(Shows bottle.)

HAINES

La vin du blanc—eh Frenchy.

FRENCHY

Shua—wait ’til I open heem—you get mess tin eh? All get tins except ROSS.

HAINES

H’onions and a bottle of Bass—who could want more? (sings) “Salubrious and glorious—one bottle of Bass amongst the four of us—”29

DANNY

You ain’t got any Bass—have you?

HAINES

Wel—yer kin kid yersells—Frenchy’s stuff’s anything you want!

FRENCHY

Now boys—who say—dis the last bottle I bring from leave.

BOBBIE

Thanks Frenchy—ye’re a gentleman and so was yer father afore ye.

29

The song is a variant of a popular ditty that exists in several forms. Simon Jauvoish cites another version in Dawn in Heaven, and another variant is referenced in The P.B.I. Bass was an iconic British beer.

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

FRENCHY

Montay?

MONTY

Merci beaucoup—

HAINES

Merci boooo for me an’ all myte—thankye—

FRENCHY

(Gives DANNY and ROSS and himself some) Dis with Montay’s cake mak fine meexture.

MONTY

Talking of mixture that draft of fifty was pretty well from all over Canada— ’nother smack in the eye for Sergeant Gallagher. He thinks the Canadian Highlanders should be all from Aberdeen and its immediate vicinity.

FRENCHY

O weel—I guess get pretty good men from everywher—eccusay—Anglais —Canayen—all the same—dollar ten a day—and same rain wet them all.

MONTY

Yes Frenchy, they’re all good men and the bullet with your number on it gets you whether ye’re wearing kilts, riding breeches or long pants.

HAINES

Well—a bullet ain’t so bad as a shell—I got a cheque for twenty quid on me—and if I gets mixed up with a high explosive—it’s goodbye cheque ’cause it’d be deducted from my pay—here I gets ready to leave— and they calls it off for a week.

FRENCHY

Harry—you pretty lucky man, I think—me—I got my leave all gone—yours all to come, eh? Wish I was you—

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GLORY HOLE

BOBBIE

You going on listening post wi’ us, kid?

ROSS

I don’t know—I haven’t been told to.

HAINES

You’ll be on it alright kid—say—don’t forget to take some of these sandbags out to sit on—saves ye getting a bad dose of piles.

BOBBIE

Ah’m wrapping some roond ma feet—ain’t you Danny?

DANNY

(Coughs) Ma feets wet now so they can’t git no worse.

HAINES

Put a couple of bags over each of ’em Danny—it’ll help keep ’em warm—you know—like we did afore. Enter CORPORAL RUGGS. Rain business.

CORPORAL

So this is where you guys are—say—you was supposed to be outside—eh?

FRENCHY

Shuah—but dere’s lot things we supposed to do in dees war we no do—eh—have little drop medicine—and some of Montay’s cake.

CORPORAL

Nothing to drink now thanks—I’ll put some cake in me pocket—thanks—now this post isn’t so bad—bit of a salient in front—(looks at watch) one of you go out and relieve one of section seven men at ten— it’s a quarter of ten now—you go Bobbie and take Private Ross wi’ you—Frenchy can follow—and he and Ross be there together. 213

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

FRENCHY

Dat suits me Corporal—but don’t lak much dat salient stuff—mebbe they can crawl up and we no see heem—so he come tree ways.

BOBBIE

I ken them salients fine.

CORPORAL

Not this one you don’t—it’s just high enough to make them machine gun bullets go over your heads.

BOBBIE

If ye dinna stand up.

CORPORAL

Then don’t stand up.

FRENCHY

Dat means crawling out through mud on our tummies.

CORPORAL

There’s a shallow sap out to it.

DANNY

Oh, and I guess it’s full of water.

CORPORAL

No it isn’t—not full—

HAINES

’Ow far out is it?

CORPORAL

Only fifty yards.

FRENCHY

Only fifty yards—dere’s some catch dere, Corporal.

MONTY

The catch is it will be about fifty feet off Fritz’s front line.

CORPORAL

It’s a bit more than fifty feet—say seventy-five or mebbe a hundred—there’s their barbed wire just ahead of you. 214

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GLORY HOLE

BOBBIE

And where’s our barbed wire?

CORPORAL

Just behind us.

FRENCHY

So we can crawl back through it—widout too much hurray!

CORPORAL

The sap goes under it—you’ve got to keep a close watch out for enemy patrols and wiring parties—and not give yer position awa’.

BOBBIE

Tell us something we don’t know.

CORPORAL

And if ye’ve quite finished grousing—’ll tell ye some more. Privates Charbonneau—Ross—and you Binnie—and Danny Roberts join in wi’ section seven for listening post—ye’ll find ’em in the next dugout—the sap out to the post is about ten yards further doon the trench.

BOBBIE

That’s no sae fae to go.

DANNY

This is the worst we’ve struck yet—(coughs)—if yer asks me.

HAINES

Grousing—grousing—grousing—say you wouldn’t be satisfied if we had a war made special for yer.

FRENCHY

(Begins to take off web equipment) Leave your pack only keed—you mustn’t take off your equipment in front line—see—I feex heem for you— (Consults little book.)

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

HAINES

Put your pack over here—there’s room for four of us, kid.

CORPORAL

You fellows all got your bombs?

MONTY

Yep.

HAINES

Aye, just a couple.

BOBBIE

Ah believe ah have—(searches) must have put ’em down somewhere—(looks around—lifts up packs). Gie us the loan of yer bombs—Harry—till I come back.

HAINES

Sy—hear what he sys—after me packing ’em in—I like your nerve.

BOBBIE

Ye can’t use ’em in here—gie us ’em!

HAINS

I will in a pig’s—

MONTY

(Interrupts) Oh, let him have them.

CORPORAL

(With notebook) You won’t need them Private Haines ’cause you and Private Monteith stay in here and take two hours on and two hours off in the sap (points to hollow right)—and be sure to report immediately if you hear any undue activity.

HAINES

H’undue h’activity! FRENCHY is putting sandbags on KID’s feet—fastens up his collar.

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GLORY HOLE

FRENCHY

Mebbe lak be blown to hell—eh?

HAINES

Or h’up among the h’yngels—sure I’ll let you know directly I come darn again.

CORPORAL

Forget the blowing up part.

HAINES

Oh I’m not kicking—this is an indoor job and I thanks you for it Corporal—(sings)—You’re only a one-stripe lance jack30—but yer heart is myde of ger-hold—eh?

MONTY

That means we can take off our equipment—we can’t go down there with it on.

CORPORAL

Alright—I’ll ask the sergeant .You other men ready— HAINES and MONTY take off equipment and begin to place it in back to left.

ROSS

I want two bombs, Corporal.

CORPORAL

Get Private Monteith’s—give him your bomb, Monty—you fellows stay here until I get back—and you or Haynes get into the sap as soon as you can— now you and Private Binnie had better go.

BOBBIE

Sure—come on kid.

FRENCHY

I come pretty soon.

30

Lance jack: a lance corporal, the most junior non-commissioned rank.

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Exit BOBBIE and ROSS centre. ROSS has gone out to the listening post just as there is a blinding flash outside— reddish in colour—and detonation—bomb dust and smoke—machine-gun fire and rapid fire in distance. VOICE OFF

Oh—I’m hit—here.

FRENCHY

The keed—(dashes out)

VOICE OFF

Stretcher-bearers! Exit FRENCHY centre. Others go to door.

CORPORAL

Someone’s got a blighty.

HAINES

Must have seen the listening post go out.

DANNY

Naw—it’s too close—that’s in our trench (rises but stops to cough). They meet a private soldier with hands to head being brought in by ROSS and——?31 He gives impression of having head wound.

ROSS

It’s his head.

CORPORAL

Looks like his eye—(goes to door and calls) stretcherbearers—pass the word for stretcher-bearers—this is with you fellows making such a row coming in.

31

In his tracking of which characters were where in the geography of the dramatic action, Atkinson seems to have run into trouble determining who was available to assist Ross.

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY

It looks as if they’re starting something tonight—but it wasn’t the row.

CORPORAL

Sergeant Gallagher reported that he stopped you singing and shouting.

HAINES

He’s full of bull and I will tell him so—(at wounded man) look up son—

WOUNDED MAN

It’s my eye.

FRENCHY

It looks lak ze eye was gone—but I tink you pretty lucky fellow zat eet was not your head—

BOBBIE

That’ll give him his ticket—looks as if you’ve got a legitimate blighty and you’ll be on your way home in a few minutes.32

HAINES

He’s got his ticket alright. Enter STRETCHER-BEARER—Red Cross man.

STRETCHER- Head wound—eh—eye

BEARER

gone—can you walk, mate?

Wounded man tries to rise—others help him. STRETCHER- I will

BEARER

32



take him to the dugout—give him the first aid there—it’s not bleeding much—how did he get it?

A blighty: a wound that required repatriation to England or home, also known as “Blighty.”

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

CORPORAL

Bomb—he’s from section seven—I know him—

STRETCHER- Alright—he’s

BEARER



ROSS

got his disc—come on mate— give me a hand fellow (to ROSS).33 I’ll help. They exit centre.

CORPORAL

You Monteith—had better get back down in that sap. The sergeant be coming round soon.

MONTY

I’m going Mattie. You stay up and light a fire to keep the porridge hot Hairry—leave your mess tins fellows—you can slip back for a drink between times.

CORPORAL

Come on Bobbie—if Ross comes back Haines—tell him to come up on the left—I’ll come back when I want you Danny. Exit CORPORAL

BOBBIE

(From exit) Say, if we’ve known we could have shoved our legs out and maybe got a blighty ourselves.

HAINE

No chance kid—I’m taking no risks I don’t have to—it’s me for leave any old time—and I got a cheque for twenty quid—anyhow that guy’s dam

33

Disc: identity tag.

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GLORY HOLE

lucky although mebbe he don’t think he is just now. Enter ROSS centre. BOBBIE

You betcher life he is.

FRENCHY

Hello keed—what’s up?

ROSS

It’s that wounded man—

FRENCHY

What’s matter wit heem now?

ROSS

He just died. They look at each other.

FRENCHY

Mebbe you better come along with Bobbie and me keed—corporal’s waiting. CURTAIN

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Scene II

Getting daylight—about 6.30 a.m. Saturday morning. The dugout—same as in Scene I. At rise of curtain: PRIVATE MONTEITH is down in the hole at right on listening duty. PRIVATE BOBBIE BINNIE is kneeling at left at a small charcoal fire—two mess tins are over small canned-heat stoves. It is raining hard outside—BOBBIE’S groundsheet—wet—is thrown over his shoulders—tied with a piece of string through the brass eyelet holes—this is also the case of other men. PRIVATE HAINES is smoking the last of the cigarette, huddled up on his pack at right with his coat around him—he is cold. Enter CORPORAL RUGG centre. HAINES

Good morning Corporal. Any sign o’ the rum yet?

CORPORAL

It’s coming up—Stand-to’s still on yet—ye’d better get outside Bobbie—and you Harry—put on your equipment and go with him—orders is for everyone to stand to.

HAINES

Gee—ay—I’m going back darn the ’ole soon’s I git some breakfast—what’s the time?

CORPORAL

(Looks at wrist watch) Pretty nearly seven o’clock— the listening post hasn’t come in yit.

HAINES

Gee—it’s getting’ pretty light for ’em to be out in front—(gets up stiffly).—Sy— it’s cold sleeping by 222

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GLORY HOLE

yerself—ain’t been a guy in here to git up agin all night—this single stuff’s alright for ’em as likes it— but me—I won’t ’arf myke up for it not ’arf I won’t once I girts my leave—(pause)—not ’arf I won’t— (Has put on coat and web equipment.) CORPORAL

That’s alright, Harry—move around a bit—you’ll get warmed—it’s orders though—we all got to be outside.

HAINES

Ow it ain’t orders as is tyking me artside this time cocky—it’s muvver nyture—see— Exit HAINES centre.

CORPORAL

(To BOBBIE) You’ll take flying sentry first thing Bobbie—seven to nine—and then you’re through ’til night.

BOBBIE

Ah’ll be getting my breakfast as well at the same time as well—eh Corp?

CORPORAL

Sure—you can stick around inside the door—only watch out for the sergeant—I heard the brigadier general may make an inspection sometime before night.

BOBBIE

If there’s no bums around.

CORPORAL

I guess—anyhow—keep your equipment on—or they’ll have you up. Enter FRENCHY centre. He has small sack with three bully beef tins and some biscuits.

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

CORPORAL

Where’ve you been Frenchy?

FRENCHY

Oh just leetle walk—feel pretty good now—and by dam—I am hungray.

BOBBIE

What you got in de sack?

FRENCHY

Oh nothin’ much—jes few extras—mebbe mak some bouillon—water—biscuit an’ bully ‘bif’— don’t lak to come back down from trench wit nothin’. Enter PRIVATE ROSS centre.

ROSS

Lieutenant Woods and the sergeant are in the next traverse, Corporal.

CORPORAL

Get outside then Frenchy—you shouldn’t be in here now—come on, Bobbie.

FRENCHY

Any man dat stay outside all tam in rain—I think he is crack—come on keed—get some rum—better fin’ your mess in—mebbe no drink it all—eh? CORPORAL and BOBBIE exit centre. Voices heard faintly—then louder—“Stand to is off”—“Stand to’s off”

FRENCHY

Alright keed—you stay here now—where’s Monty? Enter BOBBIE centre.

ROSS

He must be down in the tunnel yet.

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GLORY HOLE

FRENCHY

(Crosses to right to hole and looking down) Hi— Montay—rum’s op—come and get it—pretty soon all be gone—(comes back to ROSS). Guess dat fetch heem. CORPORAL looks in entrance.

CORPORAL

Rations are in the sergeant’s dugout!

BOBBIE

Who’s getting the rations? Enter DANNY centre. Coughs—is all in and muddy.

FRENCHY

Me—dat’s my job—give me two, tree sandbags (picks them up and exits centre).

BOBBIE

(To DANNY) Hell of a morning—ain’t it Danny?

DANNY

Got a warm drink Bobbie? BOBBIE gives him the mess tin and he drinks.

ROSS

Why don’t you go sick Danny?

DANNY

(Coughing) Ach—I’m alright—it’s only this dam coughing. Enter HAINES centre.

ROSS

(To CORPORAL) Did they tell you anything about us going out yet Corporal?

CORPORAL

Not yet Ross—The captain wants to see all the N.C.O.’s of this company after breakfast. 225

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

Enter PRIVATE MONTEITH through hole right. ROSS

Perhaps that’s what it’s about.

MONTY

Where’s the rum fellows? All are showing signs of cold, huddling up.

HAINES

Still coming up myte—nice and wet for a Saturday morning, ain’t it?

MONTY

(Working his shoulders and scratching his back) Gee that place down there makes you itchy—must be the heat.

HAINES

Garn—he ses the ’eat—sy—you’re larsy—

MONTY

I itch worse than before I went to the beach station.34

HAINES

I allus said that steam ’eat warn’t no good—’t jest ’atches out more h’eggs—s’elp if it don’t.

MONTY

Then the chap who wore this shirt before me must have had a devil of a lot in cold storage. (To ROSS) Hello Ross—you look frozen.

BOBBIE

Try some hot parritch kid.

ROSS

No thanks—I’m going to try and sleep and get warm.

34

Beach station: delousing station.

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GLORY HOLE

HAINE

You’ll get good and sick if you don’t h’eat, laddie.

ROSS

Don’t want anything—not just now—thanks— Monty—that man who got hit with the bomb in his head was married.

MONTY

Hard luck.

ROSS

He has four children—the stretcher-bearer knows him well. Pause

HAINES

Don’t worry abart it kid—it can’t be ’elped—you’ll feel better when you get a shot of rum.

ROSS

I don’t take it.

BOBBIE

Gie us yer rum then kid.

MONTY

Don’t give it to anyone Ross—take some of it if not all—as a medicine if you have any scruples.

ROSS

But I don’t really need it.

HAINES

Not ’arf you down’t—do he Monty—(To ROSS) Sy kid—watch ar corporal, when he gets through this he’s going to be a Baptist missionary I heard him sy—he takes his rum alright, not ’arf he down’t—(to MONTY)—do ’e—

MONTY

Yes—he does—and gets his morning thrill—and after he takes it—you will hear him recite—the 227

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

“Hymn of Hate” or “The Day”—or sing Jesus knows all about our sorrow. Enter FRENCHY centre. FRENCHY

(Carries two sandbags with rations—two tins jam without labels—two tins with labels—some cold bacon—two tins bully beef—two loaves white bread— tea—sugar—five potatoes—some charcoal—tin of tomato soup—tin of butter) Behold! Lots to eat boys—lots rations dis tam—

HAINES

H’i keep off ’em until the corporal comes—even Stephen—na then Bobby—

BOBBIE

What ye got in the wee bag Frenchy?

FRENCHY

(Gestures) H’onions Bobbay—h’onion (all smile).

CORPORAL

Well—don’t say I know anything about it.

FRENCHY

I tink I get caught—when sergeant from ozzer platoon—he stop me—say he lak lots rum dat man—and he gets lots—he say to me—who are you—hic—and I say Private Charbonneau—and he say—you dam fine Scotsman bedamme—and I say by gar I h’am! An’ he say hae you ze garlic—and I say onlay ze h’onion—and zen I run like hell.

CORPORAL

What kind of jam’s this—no labels?

FRENCHY

One of dem raspberry—and one strawberry jam— and two black current. 228

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GLORY HOLE

BOBBIE

Strawberry jam—

FRENCHY

I trade with ze sarjong—I tear de labels off—he now have apricot—and plum and apple—hope he lak it better ’n me.

HAINES

Better cache ’em away Frenchy.

MONTY

Did you get a newspaper Frenchy?

FRENCY

Shuah, ze London Chronicle—and the—(produces paper) Daylee Express— MONTY takes papers.

MONTY

Thanks, now we’ll get some real dope on the war.

FRENCHY

(Passes tins to BOBBIE who hides them) One tin buttair—one tin condense milk and one tin cream of tomat soup—the las’ two I buy from serjong major’s batman for two shell noses—good business eh? Soup pretty good for Danny eh?

HAINES

Watch out fellows—hide ’em. Enter CORPORAL RUGG centre.

CORPORAL

Rum up—boys— Enter SERGEANT followed by LIEUTENANT WOODS, who stays within entrance sheltering.

WOODS

How many in here, Sergeant? 229

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

SERGEANT

Six men and a corporal sir. SERGEANT starts to serve out rum for each man with small cup he has with him from S.R.D. jar. CORPORAL gets his first—sips it to visible impatience of others. Slight comedy business on part of HAINES and FRENCHY. BOBBIE begins with “Gies us the loan av—”

SERGEANT

Wait til the corporal’s though— BOBBIE passes to DANNY in corner. FRENCHY takes it and smiles a toast to SERGEANT. He then gets mess tin lid or tin cup for ROSS and gives it to him. HAINES drinks it in two drinks and runs finger around cup and licks finger. ROSS comes up with lid and sips some and goes away. SERGEANT watches him and so do others—he just sips it. MONTY passes it under his nose as wine and then, with a look and slight bow to the SERGEANT, drinks it.

WOODS

(During above business) This is the dugout with the tunnel—isn’t it Corporal?

CORPORAL

Yes sir—nothing to report though—no sounds of any sort—have there been Private Haines? 230

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES

Not a murmur—nothink whatever.

MONTY

I’ve just been relieved sir—and all’s quiet.

WOODS

That everyone, Sergeant?

SERGEANT

Yes sir— Exit WOODS. SERGEANT waits until he’s gone and pours out what is left in crock—enough to fill cup—drinks it and follows. Exit SERGEANT centre.

HAINES

Like pouring it darn a bleeding sewer—warn’t it?

FRENCHY

No good to waste lak that—how about rations, Corporal?

CORPORAL

Sure—come on boys—let’s get them divided and eat—Bobbie—you’d better be popping up and down the trench a bit—you’re on guard noo.

BOBBIE

Alright—ah’ll walk as far as the next platoon—ye’d better watch the parritch. Business of dividing rations with knife—cutting loaves into uneven parts etc. Ad lib talk as each gets his shares.

FRENCHY

You give me the keed’s and I show him how to feex up pretty good meal eh—boy? (Turns and grins at ROSS in bed) How you feel now?

ROSS

That stuff’s running all over me.

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MONTY

(Has thawed out a bit) My word—what a repast— reminds me of your wedding feast, Harry.

BOBBIE

Say—that was a fine wedding of Harry’s.

MONTY

I don’t remember very much about it—except that the blushing bride and I wakened up the next morning side by side in the bathroom.

HAINES

That was sure a hell of a place for me to find yer.

MONTY

It might have been worse—How is the good wife—Harry?

HAINES

She ain’t rote for two munfs—I heard she’d took in a boarder—an’ I don’t blame her neither—if she was ’arf as cold as I was this mornin’—

MONTY

It’s thirty below in Winnipeg—so the paper at the Y.M.C.A. said.

HAINES

Well I’m glad I ain’t there—this is bad enough—I mean as regards the wevver—I just been thinking it’ll be hell settling darn again to married life arfter all this freedom.

DANNY

Freedom, hell—anyhow you don’t have to get into an uproar about it—you ain’t got back yet.

HAINES

Well keep your b——dy hair on—you ain’t neither—wot I sy is I never had no luck—can’t get a blighty at no price—just gotter wyte for leave before I gits awy. 232

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GLORY HOLE

Business of meal going as may be directed. The charcoal fire should be an electric heater capable of heating two mess tins at once. The meal to be partaken of in as realistic a way as possible. BOBBIE

Where’d you take your blighty if you could get it—

HAINES

Right in my arm—left arm preferred—see—fru the fleshy part.

MONTY

You wouldn’t get past the first field dressing station with that.

HAINES

(Knowingly) Oh wouldn’t I—there’d be me behind that there blighty myte—and don’t you forget it—An H’i can swing it when I wants—not ’arf I can’t, I could work my ticket tomorrow if I wanted.

BOBBIE

Well why don’t you?

HAINES

What when I got a leave coming—but sy—if any of youse boys wants to go sick, just consult Harry Hynes—I can git you a guaranteed temperature in ten minutes—as will ’ave any H’em. H’o.35 think yer peggin’ art.

FRENCHY

How you get dat Harray—open up cartridge and eat some of de cordite eh.

35

M.O.: Medical Officer.

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HAINES

No you don’t—that’s h’old—this is the lytest—al yer gotter do is to slip ’arf an h’onion under yer h’arm—that does it—

BOBBIE

Aw-ha-wa!

HAINES

S’fact—got it on good authority—

FRENCHY

H’onion you say Harray—zen I tink mebbe you try wit ze h’onion I eat las’ night—all tam I tink he pretty strong be gosh.

HAINES

H’i did not—anyhow you like ’em strong—so what the hell—

MONTY

Well you fellows haven’t any kick coming so far— you’re alright as long as you don’t get your blighty in the guts.

FRENCHY

Dat’s pretty bad plass alright.

HAINES

The guts is napoo finny—

BOBBIE

Not if they can cut yer oppen and fix it at onest.

MONTY

There’s a fat chance to get operated on at once when the front line is three or four miles from an operating table. No—I reckon when you get yours in the middle—you’ve got your R.I.P.

ROSS

If it’s so vital—it’s a wonder someone hasn’t invented a shield for the stomach.

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES

Gee—I don’t want to carry no more iron around wiv me than I ’ave to—Anyways I’ll bet a guy could pack a piece of stovepipe ararnd his middle for a year—and then get it through the bean.

MONTY

It’s just luck—you can get it at the rest camp almost as easily as in the front line.

BOBBIE

Only not so much so.

MONTY

If you’re going to get it you are—look at that clerk at brigade headquarters—holding a cushy job—he shoved his head out of their super bombproof dugout to see a shell burst—and got some of it in the bean— napoo finny—

HAINES

A ’eadquarters guy, eh?—Well—what do want me to do—laugh?

BOBBIE

Are ye aboot through wi’ yer bread Monty?

MONTY

Sure—what do you want—

BOBBIE

Jest a little speck o’ the butter—and if ye must set wi’ yer knees cockit—push the jam tin juist a wee bitty awa’ from where yer sporran would be hanging—yer micht git summat scrachit.

MONTY

Very delicately put Bobbie—I shall do as you request. How are you getting along son? (To ROSS.)

ROSS

I’ll be having a good sleep as soon as I eat this?

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FRENCHY

Dat’s way keed—when a man gets full he feel pretty dam good, and he sleep pretty easy.

MONTY

We all will providing Fritzy doesn’t become too turbulent in our immediate vicinity—(Looks over at DANNY and nods towards him.) Still that never upsets Danny—in fact nothing ever does upset of him—not even when he lost his false teeth in the English Channel on the way back from leave—did it Danny?

HAINES

It upset me—feeding him on pap until he got some more teeth—and Danny allus told me he was a good sailor.

DANNY

Them teeth were made special for me in Portage la Prairie—

MONTY

I suppose they don’t make them specially for everyone in the town—do they Danny (laughs). Say Frenchy—that grub won’t last us three days the way you are scoffing it.

FRENCHY

When one ees hungray one eats—it ees good to eat when one can, for the next eating—who knows when it will come.

MONTY

That’s a dam pessimistic way to look at it—why just think of those poor devils who haven’t a roof over their heads.

HAINES

Now what the hell you giving the troops?

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GLORY HOLE

FRENCHY

Monty will make ze joke?

HAINES

This ain’t no joke Frenchy.

FRENCHY

I tink it could be worse.

ROSS

I don’t—it’s horrible—

FRENCHY

Bimbe keed—you get good sleep and then when waken up—everyting looks pretty good.

MONTY

This is only your first trip in Ross—wait until you’ve seen some of the lousy dumps we have sojourned in—we have lots to be thankful for.

FRENCHY

One ting I be thankful feer all tam—that dere pretty nearly allus lots to eat—eh? (Tucks in food.)

CORPORAL

(Clears throat) Ahem— MONTY nudges others—CORPORAL is oblivious of the others’ expectations. DANNY starts to cough and CORPORAL waits—he is very slightly under the influence of the rum but nothing vulgar about it.

CORPORAL

Ahem! And after the day—there’s a price to pay For the dead ones under the sod— And Him you have mocked for many a day Sez, Vengeance is mine—I will repay—

HAINES

Hi Mattie—that’s the last verse—what’s the idea—

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MONTY

Why not start the beginning—let’s have the start— Enter SERGEANT GALLAGHER centre.

SERGEANT

(He must be rather antagonistically full—he is slow in speaking and if someone talks he turns slowly and importantly and surveys them before he says anything in reply or “at” them.) You know Corporal Rugg, you’ve a hell of a mixed bunch in this section. The SERGEANT stands near the door just inside— BOBBIE BINNIE appears from time to time outside and cannot get in but looks at others past the SERGEANT.

CORPORAL

I find them alright Sergeant.

SERGEANT

Sae many different nationalities—sae many different nationalities.

FRENCHY

Dere is only wan nationality in dees battalion Sergeant and zat is Canayen—say all come from Canadaw—eh?

SERGEANT

(Looks at him and ignores the remark.) I’d like to know hoo they got intae it—mystery to me.

FRENCHY

If you wanna know—I join dese bunch because my mother she was Scotch lady—she die tam I was born—and my fader he die too—so my grandfather—he tell me—and dat is true.

SERGEANT

(Grins) That’s a good one Frenchy.

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY

If I may a deal with so delicate question—I should say a man should be what his mother was—as far as claiming nationality goes—should he wish—a man’s mother has had all the trouble in making him—or should I say in producing the complete but immature article—I was born in India—and my father in Ireland.

FRENCHY

And your mother—she?

MONTY

My mother—she was present at the time—I am pleased to say.

HAINES

There’d been hell popping if she hadn’t.

FRENCHY

Zen zat proof what my fader was right—ze mother ees ze important one—and my mother—she was Scotch lady.

SERGEANT

A Scotch lady! Ha! Ha! Ha! You’re a hell of a Scotsman you are! I’d call you a Hudson’s Bay Scotsman only you’re not as black as some of ’em.

FRENCHY

(Angry) What you mean by that? You tell me queek. I pure Canadian—de place I get born—my granfader and hees fader and mother—she was Scotch lady too—

MONTY

Sit down Frenchy—he doesn’t know what he saying when he’s drunk.

SERGEANT

The hell you say!—Takes more than four drinks of rum to put me on the floor—see? 239

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MONTY

Well—if you’re not drunk you should be dam well ashamed of yourself.

HAINES

You’re bloody right he should.

SERGEANT

I will have you up for office—you—you’re only a darn cockney.36

HAINES

Cockney—me! I was thinking that after five years I’d get a Canadian h’accent.

SERGEANT

You’ll never be anything but cockney.

HAINES

You’re darn right—and what of it? Why the hell shouldn’t I be? What the hell are you after all?

CORPORAL

Now Haines—shut up—shut up all of you. Come on Sergeant, I’ll go with you—I’ve got something to report.

SERGEANT

Something to report—eh? Well—I’m here to hear a report—go on—I’m listening.

CORPORAL

The listening post reports empty cartridges is in the post—there’s been firing from it and it’s against orders.

SERGEANT

Well—you can soon fix that. Who did it?

CORPORAL

It was the company that we took over from.

36

“Have you up”: common term for having a soldier “up” on charge for a disciplinary offence.

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GLORY HOLE

SERGEANT

Well—we can’t get them for it—so—

CORPORAL

I know that Sergeant—but it’s given the position of the post away and they’ll have a machine gun on it tomorrow night.

SERGEANT

They won’t—

CORPORAL

They’ve done so before—they were taking shots at it last night—weren’t they?

OTHERS

Sure.

CORPORAL

Private McNultie of seven section got a bullet through his sleeve and Danny there had one hit his rifle.

SERGEANT

That’s liable to happen any time—tell ’em from me they’re dam lucky—they got no kick coming—

CORPORAL

You’ll report to Lieutenant Woods then.

SERGEANT

Sure—but don’t get scared though—I’ll tell him— (coms back in) aye—an’ ye might as well know— leave starts in agin Sunday nicht. Exit SERGEANT centre.

HAINES

Hey—hurray!—leave—(business of excitement) na thin cocky—what abart it —sy—ain’t he some sergeant?

FRENCHY

He alright when he sober—but when he drun’— mak everyone want to fight him—for two peens I 241

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feex him good—(has knife in hand and rubs thumb along it). HAINES

Gee—listen to Frenchy—he ain’t ’arf a bloodthirsty bloke—ain’t ’e? Sy Frenchy—never kill anyone as brings yer good news. The breakfast is over and they are sitting back or scraping mess tens and rubbing with paper—clean knives in earth. HAINES starts whistling a pipe band air—“Bonnie Dundee”—taps with knife on mess tin for drum effect— others join in—second verse louder drum solo. Enter BOBBIE. He gives a little march with a swing at the end— FRENCHY starts in also with tapping and whistling.

CORPORAL

(Wakes up from doze—breaks in) Hi fellows you’d better quit that—the sergeant will hear you and put it in a complaint.

ROSS

That sounded fine—there’s always something about a pipe band that thrills you.

FRENCHY

I tink I never stop walking when I hear pipe band.

MONTY

It made Haines and me enlist in this regiment— didn’t it Harry?

HAINES

Me and Monty were working together—and we had money then boy.

MONTY

And we’d had something else as well—we were three parts Scotch coming out of the old George Hotel when the pipe band passed—playing “Bonnie 242

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GLORY HOLE

Dundee”—so after they’d gone we did a ‘reel’ into the recruiting office. BOBBIE

An’ the colonel wouldn’t have ye in the next day unless yer promised to sober up.

MONTY

That finished it—if he’d have insisted on us staying we’d have quit and this war would have been fought without our valuable help.

HAINES

Me and Monty would never be forced into nothing—would we myte?

DANNY

Why don’t you guys go to sleep while it’s quiet.

FRENCHY

Bes’ go to sleep when it ees cold—jus’ now I’m pretty warm—so what’s good sleep and no feel it?

MONTY

I don’t feel sleepy yet. BOBBIE hops out again.

HAINES

I gotter go down the ’ole again—or ye might get blowed to hell without me knowing of it.

ROSS

The corporal says there’s a meeting of the N.C.O.s this afternoon.

MONTY

They expect some red cap I guess37—and want to be sure the trenches have been cleaned—polished—and dusted.

37

Red cap: a staff officer, so named because of their distinctive red hatbands.

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BOBBIE comes in later and stands in door. CORPORAL

(Starts to recite again—standing up this time and with gestures and emphasis.) Ye’ve longed for the day— aye that ye have— Clears throat. Others listen. Now all set.

CORPORAL

Ye’ve toasted the day And ye’ve boasted the day And now the day has come— Blasphemer! Braggart!—and cowards all Little ye wreck of the numbin’ ball The blastin’ shell—or the white arms fall As the speed for human hope.38 Scratches head. Sits.

MONTY

38

Bravo Mattie—I like it better in English than German.

The corporal is misquoting the poem “The Day” by Henry Chappell, “the Railway Porter poet” of Bath. Originally published at the outbreak of the war in the Daily Express, and widely republished in newspapers around the world and on postcards, the actual lines are: You boasted the Day and you toasted the Day, And now the Day has come, Blasphemer, braggart and coward all. Little you reck of the numbing ball, The blasting shell, of the “white arm’s” fall As they speed poor humans home. “Henry Chappell (1874–1937),” Forgotten Poets of the First World War (blog), forgottenpoetsofww1.blogspot.com/2019/05/henry-chappell-1874-1937-british -poet.html

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES is getting ready to go down hole. CORPORAL RUGG sits down and pulls up his coat and goes into a doze again. HAINES

Give the corporal “The Flowers of the Forest”— Frenchy—whistle it.

FRENCHY

No he go conche.

DANNY

(Coughs.) No don’t do that—t’s bad luck. Pause

MONTY

Say Frenchy—ever read any of Drummond’s poems?39 French-Canadian stuff.

FRENCHY

He mak book—you say?

MONTY

Yes—lots of ’em.

FRENCHY

Non! I got no tam for read—lots of tam for walk and snowshoe and think an’ eat and sleep.

MONTY

Listen to this Frenchy—the rain outside—and the— er—fact that we happen to be inside reminds me of my leetle cabane—sort of fits in.

39

William Henry Drummond, born in Scotland, was one of the most popular Canadian poets of the early twentieth century. His fauxQuebecois dialect poems were widely read and anthologized well into to the twentieth century. Atkinson appears to have based Frenchy’s dialect on Drummond’s spelling.

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

FRENCHY

My leetle cabane—dat sounds pretty good Monty— you tell me—eh?

MONTY

(Says with gestures) I’m seeting tonight in my leetle dugout More happier dan de king, An’ every corner’s ringing out— Wit musique de old stove sing. I hear de tap of de winter rain— For the storm-gate’s open wide But I don’t care notting for win’ or storm— So long’s I safe inside—40 Wonderful sentiment and just fits our case.

HAINES

We’re O.K. so long as Fritz don’t bum us.

FRENCHY

Dat pretty good—who you say done it?

MONTY

Chap called Drummond—can’t tell you anything more—there’s another verse or two— For I look on the corner over there, and see it ma birch canoe—

40

Monty only slightly misquotes William Henry Drummond’s poem, “My Leetle Cabane.” Assuming Atkinson had access to the original while writing the play, the misquotation appears to be a deliberate device. In the original: I’m sittin’ to-night on my leetle cabane, more happier dan de king. An’ ev’ry corner’s ringin’ out wit’ musique de ole stove sing. I hear de cry of de winter win’ for de storm-gate’s open wide. But I don’t care not’ing for win’ or storm, so long as I was safe inside. William Henry Drummond, The Poetical Works of William Henry Drummond, New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1912, 140.

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GLORY HOLE

I look on the wall where ma rifle hang along wit the good snowshoe— An’ every’t’ing else in the worl’ I got, Is on dis place near me— HAINES

That just about hits it—all I gets here—except the missus.

MONTY

An’ here you are too, ma brave old dog, wit your nose up agin my knee— (pause). Come on over here Danny and put your nose on the corner of my kilt, let us have some atmosphere—

DANNY

(Grunts) Aw g-r-r-r—

ROSS

Do you know any more Monty?

MONTY

It’s so long since I thought of it—let me see—er— something about—when everything’s warm and bright—eh yes— On winter too when de stormy win’ blew—lak she blew tonigh’— (with redoubled vigour—rising)

Let them stay in de cities, on great big house— dem feller dat’s de riche man— For we’re happy and satisfy here, mon frère—In our leetle small cabane—pardon me—dugout. FRENCHY

Dat man Mister Drummond—he know what he talk about. 247

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

ROSS

I’ll try and get the whole of that poem when I—er— later on—

MONTY

(Covers up ROSS’s pause) Sure Geordie—I’ll give you an address in London where you can buy everything that was ever printed.

FRENCHY

Yah—he dam good man.

MONTY

(Quotes Shakespeare with attitude) And now to sleep—perchance to dream—ah—to free myself from—ai ’e’re this marr-tal coi—ah—for in the sleep of death—ah—who knows what dreams may come—ah—That is approximately correct I believe—Frenchy—have you shaken the mattress? Business with kilts: they place their kilts down—first taking care to place seams just right with creases—one kilt is used as a cover and the two greatcoats tuck in their feet. HAINES goes around and business of helping tuck them in—FRENCHY fixes up coat over ROSS and himself.

HAINES

I’m only going down for a few minutes—’cause— well—what the hell good is it—if she goes up—I’m down there and how can I tell you—and then if I could—you wouldn’t be ’ere to tell—so what the hell—

FRENCHY

Dat’s dam true Harray— MONTY, FRENCHY, and ROSS all lay on left sides.

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GLORY HOLE

ROSS

You don’t think anything will happen for another day or two—

FRENCHY

Oh shuah not—don’t worry keed—day got all feet up by dis tam—so go to sleep—day tell us jus what tam we quit trenchay—

HAINES

Sure—if we was going up—we gotta sty and we ain’t the only ones—so what the hell—

MONTY

Good morning folks—pleasant dreams—and Frenchy—I’m putting my head under the clothes— so no gas attacks.

FRENCHY

Alright Montay—but h’onion—Oh I am crazy over h’onion. HAINES puts his rifle and equipment handy at hole’s entrance first.

HAINES

(Singing as prepares to go down sap) She did want—for ’im to wed ’er— Just to give ’er chee-ild a nyme— He was cruwell and ’ard ’earted— And she died the dy it kyme— She was ‘por’ but she was honest—

BOBBIE and OTHERS

Aw shut up—close it—

HAINES

(Continuing) It’s the ‘por’ what gets the blame— Bringing sor-roow—to her ‘muvverh’ 249

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(Turns as he is disappearing down the hole.)

Wasn’t it a bleeding shyme?41 MONTY

(Puts head out from under greatcoat) Whew—oh— Frenchy—give me air.

FRENCHY

(Looks up) Someting you want?

MONTY

Oh—go to hell—

FRENCHY

(Grins. To KID) Das alright Keed—you pretty safe— so long I no turn around.42 CURTAIN

41 42

Atkinson adds a note to this line: “(Note: the ‘bleeding’ is optional).” It is a mark of Atkinson’s commitment to realism that he includes what is likely the first fart joke in Canadian drama.

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Act II Scene I

Saturday—late afternoon just before “stand-to.” At rise of curtain—DANNY is lying in far corner left giving occasional cough and smoking—at right sitting on pack or the mound of dirt is MONTEITH—smoking and reading torn piece of the newspaper—HAINES who is excited now he has heard he goes for leave Sunday night is kneeling with head down in a moslemic pose—candle ahead of him—examining the scenes of his kilt for “livestock”—his pack is open near, his “souvenirs” exposed— two or three silk handkerchiefs —four or five shell fuses (brass door knobs can do for them if hard to make models or obtain). Candles can be lit by various characters and put out by them when not needed throughout action of play—matches or lighter can be used. The mess tins are spread around—appearance of meal having just been finished by some of the men. HAINES

(Uses finger to “get” one or two) Ah—I see yer (lifts up kilt and runs candle up and down seams). Gotcher—and yer whole blasted family—(looks up at MONTY). Hear’em crack—Monty—ten little ’uns to every big ’un—don’t want to tyke any of these kind of souvenirs wi’ me to Blighty—

MONTY

When are they letting you leave the front line?

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HAINES

We go wi’ one of the sergeants—Sunday night after stand-to—or mebbe’s it’s Monday morning early—I should worry—there’s h’eight of h’us from ’ere.

MONT

Looks as if they’re taking the whole bunch of us out then before the mine goes up.

HAINES

Sure they are—ain’t I keep sying so? (Rises—he is wearing plaid shorts.)

MONTY

We’ll know for certain when the corporal comes back. FRENCHY appears at dugout entrance.

FRENCHY

How she come Harray?

HAINES

Pretty good boy—pretty good—now I knows where H’i h’am abart this leave.

FRENCHY

(He is on duty outside). Bobbay no come back yet.

HAINES

He’s out on a work party—somewhere down the line—gee—me and Monty got off that—but I guess we done our share of filling sandbags—hope I never sees one agin when I gets out of here. Enter BOBBIE. He is wet and muddy—carries a small spade which puts down inside door.

FRENCHY

Where you go to Bobbay?

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GLORY HOLE

BOBBIE

Communication trench—all blown to hell this morning—gie us a fag someone (looks around—no one does so he gets his own and lights up).

HAINES

’Ope you fixed it pretty good—I got to walk through there tomorrow night on leave kidoo.

BOBBIE

The hell you say.

HAINES

Aye—the hell I do—leave started agin—goes Sunday night wi’ the leave party.

BOBBIE

(Throws himself down) The leave party on Sunday night—

MONTY

Everything’s a party of some sort in this war Bobbie.

HAINES

One bleeding party after another—an’ they come quick an all—not ’arf they don’t.

FRENCHY

Shuah—first ting I see when we rest is concert partay—dat pretty good some tam—ze bath partay—ze ration partay—all not too bad—

BOBBIE

Then the wiring party—Frenchy.

FRENCHY

Shuah—dat ’most same as work partay—n’ carryin’ partay—

DANNY

And don’t forget the burying party—that’s the last party for some guys.

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FRENCHY

At dat tam de fella himself done hees last kick—so dat don’t count.

BOBBIE

An’ say—talking about burying parties—there’s them three Imperials on the wire in front of the post—the sergeant major says if it’s quiet and we can get ’em off to bring ’em in.

FRENCHY

Mebbe be quiet tonight, too much rain for much machine gun fire.

MONTY

You fellows must want a job.

FRENCHY

One of them got pretty nice kilt—under big greatcoat—no more good heem—eh—think hee’s officier.

BOBBIE

How do you know?

FRENCHY

Oh—I go up all sam as if hunt moose—and see—he got shot in neck.

HAINES

An’ you’ll git it in the neck as well one of these nights me lad—poking around Fritz’s wire for a kilt—H’i ain’t tyking no chances of going art in front for a hundred kilts.

MONTY

Well you don’t have to—you’re doing your listening here—(pause) aren’t you?

HAINES

Well—it’s like this mate, me and Frenchy—thought we’d give the kid a spell tonight—I’m going out wiv Frenchy. 254

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY

Why? The kid’s alright—sooner he gets broken in the better—everyone’s a bit scared at first.

FRENCHY

Shuah—me—I scared all tam—(grins) but dat keed pretty nice boy Montay—I mak him good soldier in lil time—not good yet too much war all tam at once.

MONTY

Oh quit kidding the troops Frenchy. What’s the kid to you?

FRENCHY

Oh—I dunno, he come from pretty near sam place I got born in Canadaw—he got no beeg brudder come fight for heem—only sistair—so I jus watch leetle bit dis fus tam in—dat’s all.

MONTY

That doesn’t say you’ve got to get Harry Haines in it as well.

HAINES

Aw—that’s alright Monty—what’s an oldtimer like me to worry about—you know what they say abart old soldiers.

FRENCHY

Old soldiers old—?

HAINES

Like hell—I was meaning “old soldiers never die”— it’s the new drafts as seem to git it first.

FRENCHY

Shuah—not good for new men—dis sitting down in wet shell hole all tam at night with lots of bullets go wheef all come one way—and shoot ’em back all tam—I think now mebbe bullet go “wheef” and don’ pass me.

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MONTY

And then you’ll get a blighty. BOBBIE has taken off greatcoat—cleaning up his boots etc. with paper.

FRENCHY

So you sa—mebbe dat’s not my luck.

HAINES

Well—there’s one sure thing Frenchy—the bullet that gits you don’t go “wheef”—that’s the one you get to dodge.

FRENCHY

So you say—but dat bullet mebbe come too quick for me bedamme! What’s matter with kilt Harray?

HAINES

Nothin’—only I ain’t puttin’ on no kilt tonight to go art in front an’ git ma knees all scraped wid the mud—not ’arf I ain’t—shorts is best.

MONTY

You’re a dam fool Harry to go—anyway—what do you want to bother with the kid for?

FRENCHY

Pretty nice keed all sam Montay—ef Harray go—I give him dat fine kilt I mebbe get.

HAINES

Sy—if I took it to my sister she’d see that guy’s ghost running up and darn stairs every night for a year.

FRENCHY

Don’ give it to your sister—you haf eet—Attract the young Mademoiselle—eh—when you come back?

BOBBIE

Och! The lassies over there are gettin’ like ’em over here—nah use at all for the common swat—they want (gesture)—officier. 256

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GLORY HOLE

FRENCHY

(Shrug) I finds lots gals if I wanter.

BOBBIE

Sure—you can talk nice to ’em in their own langwidge.

HAINES

(Has taken kilt and folded it carefully) Sure he can—all me and Bobbie can sy to ’em is—(with extravagant French gestures) Officier—no bong— Trenches—no bong—jig-a-jig—trays bong—How abart it kid? An’ I ain’t clicked yet—and believe me—I’ve tried some mighty ’ard looking ones.

BOBBIE

Ay Harry—hoos chances to gie us the loan o’ yer wee pants when yer go on leave—yer’ll no need ’em then.

HAINES

Won’t I—I gotter wear ’em to protect me from the wild women and supposing me sister asks me if I’m respectable—what’ll H’i sy?43

BOBBIE

(Grins) What’ll you say if she asks if yer respectable—why just this—gie us yer hawnd lassie! FRENCHY is still in door—BOBBIE has thrown ball of muddy paper near HAINES.

HAINES

Sy kid—next Saturday—watch me at the football match. BOBBIE and HAINES are in their shorts—Haines prances around the ball as if going to dribble.

43

Respectable: that is, wearing shorts under the kilt, as opposed to “going regimental,” or in modern colloquial usage, “commando.”

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HAINES

(Shouts) Hey—come on the Arsenal44—look art Buchan— HAINES passes to BOBBIE who takes pass—jumps around and passes to HAINES who “shoots” through FRENCHY in the door of the dugout.

BOBBIE

Come on Celtic—shoot your fule—

HAINES

Gowl—hurrye—good ole Arsenal— BOBBIE trots up to him and shakes hand in the most approved style. HAINES has “charged” FRENCHY in fun.

FRENCHY

Dat’s pretty good Bobby—but for me—I lak lacrosse—

BOBBIE

Ye would ef ye’d played fitba—

HAINES

Sy—he ain’t never seed a game—not a real ’un.

FRENCHY

Not see football—you dam right I have—in Mo-reeall in Keebec—pretty good team dere boy—and Winnipeg—

BOBBIE

Hae ye ever seed Partick Thistle—or Celtic or Rangers—no—then hoo can ye know—

HAINES

An’ the Arsenal—an’ Chelsea—

44

The Arsenal Football Club, based in London.

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY

There’s dam little football over there now—most of the professionals have enlisted.

HAINES

Well—what abart it—I’ll find a gym somewhere— just watch me old sport.

FRENCHY

You think I never play the football—well you watch—some tam show you pretty queeck.

BOBBIE

That fair-haired guy in the battalion team’s a pro Ah’m thinking—

HAINES

What, him! No he ain’t—you mean that tall ’un wiv the greasy ’air parted darn the middle—calls out to the other guys what plys wiv him (imitates Oxford accent) Oh good man Clifford—jolly good wha—

BOBBIE

Sure—that’s him—bet he’s been a pro then.

HAINES

Him—him a pro—he’s a h’amacheur—that guy’s from Victoria—a schoolmaster—he don’t have to play football to make his living—he don’t—bloody good centre ’arf I’m telling of yer—

DANNY

That fellow was playing right half (DANNY coughs and HAINES waits until he stops).

HAINES

(Turns to DANNY) He was playing centre ’arf—

BOBBIE

No he wasn’t—he’s a right half—I was a watchin’ him.

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HAINES

Whether you was watching him or you wasn’t—I know—that bloke was plying over to the left as much as he was to the right—he’s the pivot of the team.

BOBBIE

It was the wee fellow playing centre half—this fella was on the reet—reet half ah’m tellin’ ye.

DANNY

Sure he was—(coughs)

HAINES

(To DANNY) No he warn’t! (To others) How the hell can I argue wiv him when he’s coughing? You seed the match Monty—where was that tall bloke plying—him wiv his hair parted darn the middle?

MONTY

He was playing right half and then he went to centre half—There—see— Enter PRIVATE ROSS centre. ROSS carries tin with handle—he is rather upset.

FRENCHY

’Lo keed—lots water eh?

ROSS

Yes—but—I didn’t get any—

BOBBIE

Didn’t get any—whatsmatter —was they sniping ye?

HAINES

You’ve got to beat it like hell across that opening.

ROSS

That was alright—but there’s a man’s foot sticking out of the hole through the water—it’s got part of a boot on and it’s all white and—oh—we can’t drink that stuff. 260

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES

Why—as long as his foot’s out of it—I’d rather a bloke’s feet was out of it than in it—especially if they’re like Denny’s here—

ROSS

Oh—don’t—

DANNY

That water’s not to be drunk—ye’ll be getting typhoid—you fellows wait—there’ll be more water up with the rations.

FRENCHY

Oh sure—but this water pretty good if boil heem.

BOBBIE

That’s what we been drinking on and off—

ROSS

Don’t—you make me sick.

FRENCHY

Don listen to them keed—he mak ze joke—you’re aright.

ROSS

Has Corporal Rugg been back yet?

FRENCHY

No—he come pretty quick now—soon be stand-to.

ROSS

I think I’d better go out tonight Harry—thanks all the same.

HAINES

Now you don’t—you stick around here wiv Monty—yer’ll have to go tomorrow ’cause I’ll be gone by then I hopes. ROSS look at MONTY who just turns away and continues to smoke.

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ROSS

(Begins to take off his greatcoat) Should I go down first—Monty?

MONTY

I would suggest you find out what the corporal says about it Ross—Haines isn’t running this outfit—yet— Pause—awkward silence. Enter CORPORAL RUGG. FRENCHY hurries outside to go on guard again. The CORPORAL is very serious—flings his steel helmet down and squats.

MONTY

Well Corporal—what’s doing?

CORPORAL

Three sections have to provide one man each to stay in the front line Sunday night—we evacuate by 11:30— Pause—FRENCHY comes in slowly.

CORPORAL

Section one—No. 3 Platoon—section two, No. 2 Platoon, and section three, No. 1 Platoon— Lieutenant Wood drew for them.

ROSS

Number three section, No. 1 Platoon—that’s us— isn’t it?

CORPORAL

Yes.

DANNY

And who is it out of our section Corporal? (coughs)

CORPORAL

Don’t know yet—(Pause. Looks around at them.). Guess we’ll draw for it the same as the others are going to do. 262

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GLORY HOLE

ROSS

Are they sure the mine will go up Sunday night?

CORPORAL

Yes—if it don’t tonight (gets piece of paper from his notebook and slowly tears it into strips).

HAINES

Tonigh’—hey! What abart my leave?

MONTY

You simply wouldn’t be here to take it.

CORPORAL

Anyways—you’ll be left out of the drawing—that’s only fair ain’t it fellows?

MONTY

I should imagine so,

FRENCHY

Shuah! CORPORAL looks around at others. ROSS looks down. BOBBIE does odd business.

DANNY

But he ain’t got his leave yet.

HAINES

Yes—I have—I leaves here Sunday night or early Monday mornin’—see— Pause

CORPORAL

Well—what’s it to be?

MONTY

Keep his name out.

FRENCHY

Shuah—you put in two for Danny and mak up by gar! Pause

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DANNY

He ain’t going on leave yit!

HAINES

(Looks at DANNY) Aw—put my name in—Christ Almighty—I ain’t no piker—put it in Mattie.

DANNY

Do you put your name in as well Corporal?

CORPORAL

I will—if you want me to.

MONTY

(In sarcastic tone) Say—what in hell is this bunch coming to—you know damn well N.C.O.s are exempt—eh—fight it out among yourselves—I’m going down below. You can take the next two hours kid if you’d still rather stay in the dugout here than go out in front. (Looks around at them and exits Right. ROSS doesn’t speak.)

HAINES

Ross is going to stay in here with Monty, Corp. I’m taking on the listening post.

CORPORAL

What’s the matter kid?

ROSS

Nothing—I’ll go—(nervous).

FRENCHY

Me and Harry got it figured out Corporal—de keed too young for dis job.

HAINES

And this ain’t the kid’s game—too much out in front all at once is getting his goat—it’s only for tonight Corporal—and it’s pretty quiet ain’t it—not much doing when it’s ryning. (To ROSS) It’s alright kid?

CORPORAL

It’s up to you Harry—if you feel that way. 264

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GLORY HOLE

HAINES

Sure I do—or I wouldn’t do it—s’elp to me. CORPORAL writes names out and repeats each name as he does so.

CORPORAL

Come here Frenchy—read these as I give you them and roll them up and put them in this helmet—see—

FRENCHY

Shuah! DANNY sits up and leans forward.

CORPORAL

Here then—

FRENCHY

“Rugg”—you dam fool Corporal.

CORPORAL

Put it in.

FRENCHY

Wanner see it Danny?

DANNY

Naw!

FRENCHY

(Holds it high between finger and thumb after rolling it up and drops it in hat) Dat’s one— CORPORAL hands FRENCHY another slip.



Dis pretty good one—Charbonneau—wanner see it Danny—(same business as before dropping it in). CORPORAL hands him another slip.



Haines (same business—doesn’t speak). 265

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RELIVING THE TRENCHES

CORPORAL hands him another slip.

Roberts—Danny—see—mustn’t lose dat one—eh? (Same finger and thumb business in dropping slip in hat.) CORPORAL hands him another slip.



Ross (same business as before in dropping slip in hat). (He counts them.) One—two—three—four—five— CORPORAL hands him another slip.



Monteith—good old Monty—dat go in alright Danny—dat’s six. (Same business as before in dropping slip in hat.) CORPORAL hands him another slip.



Binnie—dat’s seven—dere she go Bobbay—now shake heem up— shake heem pretty good eh— mebbe you lak me draw—finish the job proper—

DANNY

Cover it with a cloth so he can’t see. FRENCHY looks at DANNY—BOBBIE gets a dirty towel and gives it to FRENCHY.

FRENCHY

I tink you pretty sick man Danny.

HAINES

Are you only going to draw one Corporal?

CORPORAL

Better draw three. 266

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GLORY HOLE

FRENCHY is monotonously shaking the helmet. BOBBIE

A good blighty will save the fellow mebbe and the next yan’ll be it.

ROSS

And the one whose name is chosen has to stay and—and—(gets up and walks to door). FRENCHY looks after him.

FRENCHY

Don you mind keed—you get pretty good luck so far—eh—(pats him on back and comes back shaking helmet). You be alright—you hold ze bag Corporal—an’ you all watch me pretty careful (doubles up sleeves as conjurer)—nothing up my sleefs—shuah—Danny! DANNY is about to speak but coughs—FRENCHY waits until he is through, shows sleeves again to DANNY— teasing DANNY and coughing.

DANNY

To hell wiv you—git on wit it—git on—

FRENCHY

So—(draws—opens ticket and looks—laughs). Oh— look—see Corporal—

CORPORAL

(Takes ticket) Roberts—that’s you Danny—you’re it! (Shows it to others and then gives it to Danny.) All look at DANNY as he examines it by lit candle. He turns on his bed and lies down with just a gentle smothered cough.

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FRENCHY

(Draws again) Dis tam—number two—(looks at it—doesn’t give it to CORPORAL)—dis looks pretty good man—Johnnie Charbonneau—dat’s first tam I play de second man—(Stretches out and gets number three). Who dis—eh—Ross—dat’s you keed—third tam you catch seem—pretty safe eh—dat’s all Corporal—here de two sleeps—less one—me— number two—and Ross—he number three—all finish. (Empties helmet on floor centre.) Relief is shown on all faces including ROSS’s.

HAINES

Gee—I sure was lucky—eh—me for leave naw—

SERGEANT

(Puts head into doorway of dugout) What’s wrong here—outside the lot o’ yer for stand-to. Business of getting ready.

SERGEANT

Corporal Rugg!

CORPORAL

Yes Sergeant,

SERGEANT

Ye come to ma dugout at once.

CORPORAL

Yes Sergeant. Exit SERGEANT.

CORPORAL

Hurry up and get outside—you fellows.

HAINES

Me and Bobbie’ll go out fust Corporal.

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GLORY HOLE

BOBBIE

It’s a wee bit light yet for guan oot in front.

HAINES

An’ if we wyte until dark—we might find a couple of Heinies whiting for us—come on— Exit BOBBIE and HAINES centre.

CORPORAL

(Looks at watch) You go on in an hour and then Frenchy—at half after six.

FRENCHY

Shuah Mattie. DANNY is coughing.

CORPORAL

Better get inside now—and you Danny—

FRENCHY

Danny follow me eh—keep fire going keed—pretty nice in leetle cabin here as Montay say when mak old stove sing musique eh—mak some bouillon next tam come in.

CORPORAL

It was a fair draw—you’ve got to do it.

DANNY

(Coughing and excited) I ain’t got to do nothing— not for you nor nobody—I’m going sick—so if you won’t parade me down to the medical sergeant or someone—I’ll parade myself. DANNY gets more and more excited until nearly into hysteria.

CORPORAL

They’ll see you’ve got cold feet.

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DANNY

Well—let ’em—I ain’t saying I ain’t—and I’m not staying here for nobody. I’m a sick man—I should have gone sick sooner—I should be in hospital—

CORPORAL

I wish to God you had before it was too late.

DANNY

It ain’t too late—you’re stalling me—I’m getting out of here (his nerves gone—picks up things and packs his kit).

CORPORAL

Leave your pack alone Private Roberts.

DANNY

(Nearly in tears) I won’t—I’m going sick—I’m ill—I am—

CORPORAL

(Pauses—grabs him by arm) Come on then—leave your pack—you won’t get away with it—I know dam well you won’t.

DANNY

Like hell I won’t—we’ll see (shows handkerchief) look at that—blood—every time I cough.

CORPORAL

Come on then. DANNY goes back and blows his light out. Exit DANNY and CORPORAL centre.

ROSS

(Crosses to hole right) Monty—(goes down so far and shouts) Monty! (Climbs out.) Enter MONTY through hole right.

MONTY

Now—what’s wrong—scared of being here by yourself? 270

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GLORY HOLE

ROSS

No—it’s not that—it’s Danny—he was to stay—he was picked in the draw and now he’s gone sick and it means Frenchy’s got to stay now.

MONTY

But he can’t—they won’t let him—swinging the lead now!

ROSS

He’s not swinging the lead—he’s really sick and they will let him—he’ll make them—he’s coughing up blood. FRENCHY looks in at door.

FRENCHY

Hello—wats matter?

ROSS

Oh Frenchy—it’s you—you’ve got to stay behind— the second man.

FRENCHY

Wassdat?

MONTY

Ross thinks because Danny is gone sick he’ll be sent out of the front line to hospital—that leaves you as the one to stay.

FRENCHY

He pretty sick man—dat Danny—all sam.

ROSS

He said he didn’t mind stopping a bullet but he wasn’t going to stay here waiting to be blown up by the mine. Enter CORPORAL. He crosses to DANNY’s bed and picks up his pack and blanket—looks at blanket and throws it back again.

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MONTY

I guess you lose out Frenchy—Danny may be a sick man—but for backing out like that—I’d call him a son of a—

CORPORAL

(Interrupts) Don’t Monty—Danny’s lying in the officer’s dugout—it’s been too much for him—he’s got a bad hemorrhage—and the way he’s bleeding— he won’t last ten minutes.

FRENCHY

(Gets out cigarette and lights up) Dat lets Danny out—poor Danny—he have pretty hard tam—all dat cough—

MONTY

Oh hell! (Sighs heavily—gets a cigarette.) Good God man—why worry about Danny—think about yourself. Enter BOBBIE. Agitated.

BOBBIE

Where’s the corporal?

MONTY

In the officer’s dugout with Danny—

FRENCHY

Whatser matter Bobbay?

BOBBIE

Harry Haines has just been killed—got him right through the head—just under his steel helmet—we were going out to the post—they got a machine gun dead on it. Exit BOBBIE centre. MONTY hurries out after BOBBIE.

FRENCHY

(Stops ROSS) Don you go keed—you stay here. 272

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GLORY HOLE

ROSS

But it was my fault—Frenchy it was my fault—I shouldn’t have let him go.

FRENCHY

Dis nobodys’ fault—dis only some war—dat’s all— FRENCHY looks at ROSS as he paces too and fro twice, mouth open as if gasping for breath—hand on his throat— violently suffering from shock—ROSS turns and throws himself down sobbing compulsively but quietly.

FRENCHY

(Stands in doorway shaking head, looks down at ROSS) Poor keed—dees no place for you— Exit FRENCHY to centre to left. Machine gun fire—star shells—it’s dark now—distant booms heard.

SLOW CURTAIN Curtain is lowered for a few seconds to denote the passing of time to Scene II. Sunday afternoon.

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Scene II

Sunday afternoon—still raining. At rise of curtain FRENCHY is discovered sitting in DANNY’S corner left, smoking. MONTY is down in the hole right. BOBBIE is lying right of doorway—candle behind him—writing. DANNY’s and HAINES’s packs are in pile at left of door toward front. ROSS is outside on guard—seen in background. Enter CORPORAL RUGG. He has mess tin with him. There is a strained air about all characters owing to the impending disaster. CORPORAL

(Shakes off wet) Still raining to beat the band! (Crosses to FRENCHY) How’s the cramps Frenchy?

FRENCHY

Oh, pretty good, Corporal—dey soon go now—I tink mebbe dat h’onion wasn’t just quite right.

CORPORAL

I got you some rum.

BOBBIE

There’s some hot water in my mess tin (nods) to make a hot drink.

CORPORAL

(Gets other mess tin and pours some hot water into the mess tin with rum in). Here you are Frenchy.

FRENCHY

(Drinks some) Gosh—dat go down pretty nice.

CORPORAL

Some more? 274

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GLORY HOLE

FRENCHY

Pretty soon—I jus put heem dere—so—(places tin at his left). I tink mebbe I get some sleep—(lays down flatter and CORPORAL puts some clothes over him tucks him in.)

CORPORAL

I know what the cramps is—I’ve had ’em—you get a cold across your stomach and the only thing is to keep warm.

FRENCHY

Oh shuah.

CORPORAL

You’re sweating now—so it’s doing you good. (Crosses to his place right after another look at FRENCHY—yawns—sits and gets out his notebook.) There is a silence broken only by odd rifle shots at intervals. MONTY enters from hole right. CORPORAL looks up but doesn’t speak.

MONTY

It’s one o’clock—not a sound of any sort down there. The odd man can pass doorway at intervals.

CORPORAL

Orders are for you just to take a spell now and then—you don’t have to stick down there steady— you’ll be on your own—Ross is needed outside on the post tonight.

MONTY

He should have been there last night—then Haines would’ve been going on his leave instead of—(lights cigarette).

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CORPORAL

Don’t say any more about it Monty—young Ross feels it pretty bad.

MONTY

So he damn well should.

CORPORAL

Why—it wasn’t really his fault—I guess I know how you feel—but you can’t alter it—all the cursing and blaspheming in the world won’t bring him back.

MONTY

Nor all the praying either.

CORPORAL

Nor all the praying Monty.

MONTY

Well—you won’t catch me doing any of that— now—(pause) where did they take him?

CORPORAL

At the back of Engineers farm—Danny’s buried along side of him.

MONTY

(Sigh—pause) How’s Frenchy’s cramps?

CORPORAL

They’re getting better he says—he’s had a drink of hot rum.

BOBBIE

He should hae gone to the doctor.

MONTY

Frenchy’s scared they’ll think he’s got cold feet— although I’d worry a hell of a lot what they think.

CORPORAL

I guess that was why he didn’t ask the medical sergeant for some dope.

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GLORY HOLE

BOBBIE

Och—he said he’s had cramps before—blames it on the onions—gies the loan of a green envelope—Mattie.

MONTY

You can have mine—I don’t need it. Enter SERGEANT, looks around.

SERGEANT

(Signifying FRENCHY) Asleep?

CORPORAL

Yep!

SERGEANT

I guess I’d feel kind of sick in the stomach meself if I was staying on here.

CORPORAL

Anything new Sergeant?

SERGEANT

We got a signal that they captured a wounded German down the line a piece and they found out that she goes up tonight sure—at midnight.

MONTY

They letting the mine go at midnight.

SERGEANT

Twelve sharp.

MONTY

Perhaps it’s only some of Heinie’s hot air—it may go up sooner.

SERGEANT

We are going to take a chance it’s right—anyhow— we’ll know for sure whether it is or isn’t—cause at 11:30 a green flair will go up on our right—that’s for the Heinies opposite us to get back a piece— they’re vacating this part of their front line nearest 277

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us—fifteen minutes later at 11:45 pip emma there’ll be a red flare go up—they’re supposed to be all out by then—and fifteen minutes after that—this piece of front line will be napoo finny. MONTY

And Frenchy?

SERGEANT

And them other two lads as well.

CORPORAL

Sh! (Nods over to Frenchy as he appears to be asleep.)

BOBBIE

It’s a sure son of a bitch—this time in.

SERGEANT

Sure it is—but I guess it can’t be helped. Exit SERGEANT centre to left.

BOBBIE

(Rises and puts his greatcoat on as if going on duty) Ah guess ets aboot ma turn for outside?

CORPORAL

(Looks at watch) It was that about half an hour ago. Exit BOBBIE centre.

CORPORAL

(To MONTY) What’s Ross doing outside all this time?

MONTY

How the hell should I know. Pause

CORPORAL

You don’t want to feel like that Monty—about it— FRENCHY is restless.

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY

Oh shut up. (Sits down right and lights another cigarette.) There seems to have been nothing but bad luck since we came in this time—since that kid was put in our section—and dam bad luck at that.

CORPORAL

Aye! It’s kind of hard to believe there’s a reason for everything—that everything is ordained. FRENCHY sits up a bit—lights cigarette.

MONTY

It’s damned hard—and I don’t believe it anyway— and because it happens to be Sunday afternoon— you needn’t start spouting religion to me.

CORPORAL

I’m not spouting religion.

MONTY

Well—don’t start, religion doesn’t come into this at all—it’s luck with a capital ‘L’—isn’t it Frenchy?

FRENCHY

The padre—he don’ say dat—

MONTY

He’d be crazy if he did—it’s his job!

CORPORAL

A padre isn’t fit to preach if he doesn’t believe what he says.

MONTY

Repetition begets belief—and how I hate that type of politico eloquent exhorter—you can’t call them ministers—unless you mean they minister to their own vanity—remember that big heavy flabby quadruple-chinned “hell for Sunday” spellbinding yap who once gave us his blessing, Frenchy?

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FRENCHY

I don’ lak you to talk lak dat Montay.

MONTY

Well he was—and he came up to me—of all others—put his fishy flabby clammy white hand on my shoulder and said in a voice you could hear to the end of the line—“you—you—my man— have shouldered the cross of duty—remember when you face the foe—remember—you will not die—you will step into immortality”—that was too much for Harry Haines—he turned and said to the fellow—“and where will you be cocky—when we are doing it—holding a cushy job down at the base eh?”

CORPORAL

And what happened then Monty?

MONTY

C.B. and a month’s pay stopped45—but it was oversubscribed by a few who agreed with Harry’s sentiments—including two or three of our own officers.

CORPORAL

That doesn’t make you an atheist Monty—you admit the parsons believe what they preach.

MONTY

And why shouldn’t they believe it—that’s what they get paid for. Why—you can believe anything if you keep thinking long enough.

CORPORAL

You don’t have to keep thinking it and believe it Monty—you can feel it.

45

C.B.: confined to barracks.

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY

Huh! Feel it nothing!

CORPORAL

(Pulls out letter) My dad is still carrying on his preaching—in the lumber camps in the bush. In that country it only needs a look through your open door at the tall timber—with the smell of the spruce—the jack pine—and the cedar coming into you—to make you feel you’re mighty close to something that’s bigger’n the whole world—more’n I ever could in a stone church with a grand pipe organ and a big choir.

FRENCHY

Dats pretty true—me I feel the sam ting often—lots tam when I live all along wit myself on trap line—jus my dogs an’ leetle cabine—how you say dat again Montay?

MONTY

(Shortly) I’ll write that down for you Frenchy and then you can learn it.

FRENCHY

(Surprised and hurt) Alright Montay—mebbe dat better still—I guess. Enter ROSS centre. Crosses over to FRENCHY.

ROSS

Feel any better Frenchy?

FRENCHY

Why shuah.

ROSS

You don’t think it’s appendicitis do you?

FRENCHY

(Grins and shakes his head) Oh no—shuah not—dat reech man’s seeckness—officier mebbe—but not private soldier—you nevair hear about poor trapper 281

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or lumbair jack catch heem appendicitis—no—dees is cramps—poor man’s seeckness. ROSS looks at others, who are silent—he seems to feel MONTY’s antagonism against him as responsible for HAINES’s death. FRENCHY

(As ROSS takes off ground sheet from his shoulders) Still rain—eh?

ROSS

Yes—it’s raining hard Frenchy.

FRENCHY

(Turns to the doorway) Look soon come dark eh?

ROSS

Oh not for an hour yet.

FRENCHY

How’s tam?

ROSS

(Looks at watch in light of doorway) It’s about half past three.

FRENCHY

Tam seem go pretty slow today—I tink it was more. FRENCHY turns over with his back to them and seems to go to sleep. ROSS looks from CORPORAL to MONTY. MONTY ignores him and quietly smokes and when his eye catches ROSS’s, MONTY looks away deliberately and gives slight spit. ROSS flings his ground sheet on floor and clenches his teeth. CORPORAL looks up at him.

ROSS

(Half in tears and half angry) Don’t look at me like that—don’t—don’t!

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GLORY HOLE

CORPORAL

What’s the matter Ross? MONTY ignores ROSS.

ROSS

You’re blaming me—all of you—you are—I know you are—it wasn’t my fault—I didn’t know Harry Haines was going to get killed—how could I know?

CORPORAL

I’m not blaming you Ross.

FRENCHY

(Turns round and half sits up). Shuah you didn’t know keed—it’s not your fault.

ROSS

Monty thinks it is—I can tell by his face.

MONTY

(Shakes ash off cigarette) Well Ross—you can’t say things would not have be better if you hadn’t come into the section.

FRENCHY

Dat’s not verray fair to ze keed—Montay— (pause)—Mebbe you not mean jus lak you say. MONTY rises and goes to door and looks out.

ROSS

Yes Frenchy—it’s true what he says—everything is going wrong since I came—I’ve brought you all bad luck—but it’s not my fault—I didn’t know Frenchy—you don’t think it’s my fault—do you?

FRENCHY

No I don’ keed—shuah eet isn’t—so don’ you worry (turns and lays again). Pause

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ROSS

(To CORPORAL) And there’s Frenchy—he’s ill— and he’s got to stay behind.

CORPORAL

Well—

ROSS

But you don’t want him to stay do you—you can think of some way to get him out of it. (ROSS kneels near CORPORAL)

FRENCHY

(Turns to ROSS) Don’ you worry about dat part keed—I tell ’em all here dat we all sam marionettes—dance all tam on end of string— someone else do pulling—

ROSS

You mean the general or the colonel—can they do something—

FRENCHY

No—dey dance all sam as me an’ you—all sam as everbody in worl’ —dis Someone—he Beeg Boss ovair all—Montay don’ tink so—he say—but all sam he do tink so—eh Montay?

MONTY

(Turns and in hard voice says) What I think it is my own private business—put in some more talk so that Frenchy can sleep—but don’t forget Ross— that if something happens to Frenchy—you’re next on the list.

ROSS

Don’t talk like that Monty—it’s because of Frenchy that it all seems so horrible—he’s different—oh you can’t understand Monty how I feel about Frenchy.

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY

I can’t understand—can’t I—perhaps you don’t think I’m missing Harry Haines—remember we’ve been through everything together since we enlisted—he always did what soldiers are supposed to do and did it with a grin.

ROSS

Yes Monty! And I believe that when a fellow tries to give his friends a square deal—he comes out alright in the end.

MONTY

Yes—if there is an end to come out of.

ROSS

My mother says it’s only a beginning.

CORPORAL

Well—you remember what your mother says kid— and believe it. CORPORAL rises and walks out. Exit CORPORAL centre.

ROSS

I’m sorry I said you didn’t understand, Monty.

MONTY

You needn’t be kid—you’re only in for your first time—after all—it’s better to try and think Haines is well out of it—and Danny—better than having to wait here with other two poor devils—in damnable suspense—waiting to get blown to hell.

ROSS

Don’t Monty—

MONTY

The private’s salary as well is rather low for such a demand upon a fellow’s services—for such a sacrifice—a dollar ten a day and all found. 285

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ROSS

But we shouldn’t think of it in dollars and cents.

MONTY

Everything in this world has its price kid.

ROSS

Frenchy’ll get a medal if he comes through, won’t he?

MONTY

If the mine goes up and he comes through—they’ll probably hold the court of enquiry and want to know why he’s alive—no kidding—this is the wrong place to get anything but a dam good burial.

ROSS

Let’s hope they take us all out at the last minute.

MONTY

There’s always that chance—but with just over eight hours to go (shakes head) well—hardly—

ROSS

Only eight hours—

MONTY

(Bitterly) It’s long enough as by this time it’s more than likely that the remaining three men will have been forgotten by all but our own battalion—it’s possible that those at headquarters will be waiting to view the fireworks—and red and green lights— from a high spot safely in the rear—as a sort of after dinner treat.

ROSS

You’re getting very, very bitter Monty.

MONTY

It’s not bitterness kid—but after a couple of years of this—I guess a fellow isn’t quite the same as when he started in—you get so many different jolts—that in time you kind of get numbed—once we began to 286

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GLORY HOLE

look forward to the end of the war—now we don’t even look forward to tomorrow—it’s about time I went down in the basement again. MONTY crosses to hole right and exits down. ROSS

(Stands as if stricken—he recovers himself—hears FRENCHY give a groan—crosses to him. Bends over him.) Frenchy—can I get you anything?

FRENCHY

(Raises himself up) Oh—you still here—I tink you gone—where’s Montay?

ROSS

He’s down in the sap.

FRENCHY

An’ the corporal—an’ Bobbay—

ROSS

They’re outside.

FRENCHY

Mebbe you get my water bottle—and fill heem wit some nice cool water—eh?

ROSS

Sure I will (picks up water bottle)—is this it?

FRENCHY

Dat’s heem—ef any lef’ you pour heem out—I tink I lak some fresh.

ROSS

I can get you some—there are a half a dozen coal oil cans full near the sergeant’s dugout.

FRENCHY

Dat fine—mebbe you go now—eh?

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ROSS

(Gets ground sheet and puts it on) I’ll get you some right away. Exit ROSS centre. FRENCHY slowly raises himself— opens his coat and pulls out from waistband of kilt a white pad with blood on. He crawls over to packs of HAINES and DANNY—picks out a towel and tears it up and makes pad and fixes himself—planting to audience that he is wounded in the stomach. He is in pain and shows it—gets things back in place and lays down just as ROSS enters centre with water bottle.

ROSS

Here you are Frenchy—take a drink now—I’m afraid it tastes like chloride of lime!

FRENCHY

Shuah (takes drink). Dis fresh water mak good disinfectant for drains—eh?

ROSS

It’s safest—you don’t want to get typhoid fever—do you?

FRENCHY

Ba gosh—I should say not—dat pretty bad ting (lays down)—dat— CURTAIN

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Act III Scene I

The dugout, about 11:30 Sunday night. There is a rattle of small arms fire outside and occasional star shells flaring as usual. The rattling of firing dies down soon after the green flares are seen, then beyond a slight distant report, there is developed an ominous silence. Men are seen slowly passing from left to right outside of dugout—slowly and with full equipment—packs, rifles, etc. They are evacuating the trench. Within the doorway is LIEUTENANT WOODS—inside watching CORPORAL RUGG gathering up the bits of odds and ends belonging to the others in dugout. A candle is burning on piece of wood right—also another on a bayonet near and a piece of candle burning also at left near where FRENCHY has been lying. Would suggest this act be played rather slowly at first then after entrance of FRENCHY—a little faster tempo. The SERGEANT has his rifle slung over his shoulder—the CORPORAL has his rifle near him. MONTY’S rifle is at the foot of his bed left. Enter LIEUTENANT WOODS. WOODS

(Looks at wrist watch—stopping over candle left.) Eleven twenty-eight—

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SERGEANT

Two minutes afore the green light comes—ef it dis come—

WOODS

It will come—unless they know of the prisoner’s capture—and even if they did the colonel says they wouldn’t have had the idea that he was in possession of such information. Where is the man staying behind?

SERGEANT

Went out for a few minutes since sir—he’s been kind of sick all day.

WOODS

He’s a French-Canadian—I think under the circumstances I’d refer to him as a Canadian—Sergeant.

CORPORAL

He hasn’t been out more than a few minutes sir.

SERGEANT

Well—as lang as he dinna gang too far—mixing in with them as guan oot and findin’ he canna get back (crosses to packs and picks up DANNY’s). LIEUTENANT WOODS gives look around—crosses to hole right and peers down. Enter STRETCHERBEARER or EXTRA man.

EXTRA

Captain wants you sir—

WOODS

Alright (sees flare, looks at watch). That’s the first one Sergeant.

SERGEANT

Yis ser. Right on time.

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GLORY HOLE

LIEUTENANT WOODS exits centre followed by EXTRA man. Green flare is seen in distance with reflection in trench. SERGEANT

Ye were a fule mon—too let that Frenchy gang oot o’ yer sight.

CORPORAL

He’ll be back Sergeant—he’s had pretty bad dose of cramps all day. This is Haines’s pack and that’s Roberts’s.

SERGEANT

Get hold of one—where is the rifles (crosses to MONTY’s rifle).

CORPORAL

They’re all here—that’s Monteith’s—

SERGEANT

Someone down there now? (Nods to hole right.)

CORPORAL

Private Monteith—he was told to come out at 11:30— Outside: last of men pass dugout.

SERGEANT

It’s almost that the noo (crosses over and listens).

CORPORAL

The listening post is called in at 11:40 pip emma.

SERGEANT

That’s five minutes afore the red flare if they go up—well—that gives most of us time to get out—some o’ them gone already—say—what the hell’s he got in his kit—(puts it down and opens HAINES’s pack).

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CORPORAL

I guess they’re his souvenirs—sure (as shell fuses drop out) and there’s some lace handkerchiefs—Haines had a married sister in London—she’s a widow now—and six kids—her husband was killed in 1914—he had a cheque for twenty quid on him he was giving her.

SERGEANT

Lieutenant Woods got the cheque—it’ll be sent to his wife now—but I’m noo packing all this hardware oot—and Ah’m no asking anyone else tae (dumps out noses). Two green envelopes—want one?

CORPORAL

Sure (takes one, SERGEANT keeps other). Nothing like that in Danny’s kit—don’t know anything about Danny Roberts.

SERGEANT

Never said an awfu’ lot did he?

CORPORAL

Always too busy coughing to talk much. Enter BOBBIE: Wet—has rifle with him—all ready to go except his kit.

BOBBIE

Did ya seen the green light? (Pause). Gee—Ah’m near droondit—whin do we leave Corporal—the ithers are mostly gone.

CORPORAL

Pretty soon—listening post come in yet?

BOBBIE

Not yet—what ye doing wi’ the shell noses Sergeant?

SERGEANT

Leaving them here—they were Haines’s— 292

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GLORY HOLE

BOBBIE

Will ye gie us them?

SERGEANT

Tak ’em if ye want—but before ye do—help the corporal take these kits and twa rifles to where the communication trench joins this one and gie a look roon for Private Charbonneau—ah’ll be gang the ither way.

CORPORAL

Alright Sergeant—leave them fuses until you come back Binnie. They gather up stuff. Exit CORPORAL and BOBBIE.

SERGEANT

(Crosses to hole right.) Say—ye doon there—ye can come up noo— SERGEANT looks around—sees all kits are packed but FRENCHY’s in the corner.Exit SERGEANT centre as if to look for FRENCHY. Enter MONTY from hole right. MONTY dusts himself—goes over to his corner and gets drink out of flask—rinses his mouth and spits it out—goes to door and looks out—returns and puts on his ammunition pouches of the web equipment—looks over to Frenchy’s corner—stands up straight—then crosses to it—looks down at it closely—then kneels—puts hand down—gets candle and examines hand.

MONTY

Blood! (He rises and walks to right—cleans hand). Enter FRENCHY centre. FRENCHY comes slowly—he looks back out and the light of the star shells shows on his drawn features.

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FRENCHY

Hello Montay.

MONTY

Hello Frenchy—how you feel now?

FRENCHY

Oh pretty good—(with difficulty)—dem cramps bad ting—

MONTY

Are you sure it is the cramps?

FRENCHY

O shuah! Jus cramps—pain in de stummick (walks slowly over to his corner left, turns). How’s tam—Montay?

MONTY

It’s about twenty-five to twelve.

FRENCHY

(Sits down slowly) Lots rain—Montay—pretty bad night for leave dugout—eh—mebbe I got bes’ job yet—eh. (Business of FRENCHY stretches out a bit). I spec’ mos’ everybody fella meets tink hees job de mos’ hardes’.

MONTY

(Deliberately crosses over to FRENCHY) Frenchy— (holds out his hand—grabs FRENCHY’s—shakes his head) Frenchy—you’re a goddam fool!

FRENCHY

How you mean Montay—cramps come mos’ any tam—when fella lak so much h’onion—

MONTY

You’re lying Frenchy—you’re wounded—when did you get it?

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GLORY HOLE

FRENCHY

Oh—I dunno—pretty small—dat nothin’—come some tam dis mornin’ mebbe tree four o’clock— pretty dark at tam—

MONTY

(Stoops down closely) You got it in the stomach—this morning! What the hell are you trying to pull off?

FRENCHY

Lissen ma friend—you don’t onnerstand—

MONTY

I understand too much for this time—you said the second ticket was your own name when you drew it and I’ll bet it was that kid’s—and then you drew your own name third—and you said the kid’s was third and your’s second—that’s why you showed us the two slips with yours and Ross’s names on.

FRENCHY

All what you say sound veray fine Montay but I tink you mak beeg mistake

MONTY

What the hell is that kid to you anyway?

FRENCHY

Dat keed nice boy Montay—too young for die—he got lots friend Montay—hees mothaw in Canadaw—and hees fadder too—and hees sister an’ her husband—lots friend—me I got none—I see lots—Mo-ree-all—Keebec—Winneepeg—Toront— London—no more to see—zee keed—he got mos’ everythin’ to see—

MONTY

(Rises) And you think you can get away with this—why—they’ll see you’re—pretty sick—and they won’t leave you behind—dammit man—they couldn’t—you can’t save the kid that way. 295

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FRENCHY

Shuah—but they not know—onlay you Montay— and say nottin’—I tak it as beeg favour —eh Montay— Pause while MONTY stands with head down thinking.

FRENCHY

Montay—mebbe you look in my haversack—I got leetle bottle brandy—eh? FRENCHY has a little difficulty in speaking naturally.

MONTY

(Comes over and looks in bag—finds bottle) This it—

FRENCHY

Ah yes—shuah—brandy—all tam useful—tak some on trap line—in bush—on survey—all tam mebbe want some tam I save heem for now (takes a drink after MONTY refuses). You not say nottin’—

MONTY

Oh—what the hell can I say Frenchy?

FRENCHY

Dis alright—don’ worry me—why should worray you—

MONTY

First there was Harry Haines—and now there’s you Frenchy. MONTY sits right.

FRENCHY

(Pause) Pretty nice keed dat boy Ross—Montay— (pause) Montay—you help me fool sarjong—(pause) I fool ’em all day—now verray leetle tam left—eets no good spoil t’ings now—

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GLORY HOLE

MONTY has his head in his hands. Enter SERGEANT centre. SERGEANT

(Looks over at MONTEITH and then over at FRENCHY; to FRENCHY) Huh—so ye got back eh—

FRENCHY

Oh shuah—feel pretty good now Serjong!

SERGEANT

Well—ye don’t look it—(comes closer) what ye sweating aboot?

FRENCHY

Pretty hot in here—don’t you tink—eh?

SERGEANT

No—ah’m damned if ah do—(sniffs). You smell as if ye’ve bin boostin’ yerself up wi’ Dutch courage—

FRENCHY

Leetle drop onlay—keep out de cold Serjong.

SERGEANT

I thought ye said ye was hot.

FRENCHY

Shuah—mak me keep all hot inside—you don’ mind—eh?

SERGEANT

Oh—it’s alreet wi’ me—so lang as ye can stawnd aroon outside and let Heinie know we’re still here— them’s orders—tae march up and doon and keep firing the odd shot across at ’em.

FRENCHY

Shuah—I was tol’ so—dey tink ze hole armay in front line when I start in good and plenty—

SERGEANT

I wonder—better stand up and let me see just hoo guid ye are— 297

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FRENCHY starts to get up. MONTY

He’s alright Sergeant—he’s still pretty bad with the pain—but—well—I’ll see he’s up and outside before I go—let him alone—

SERGEANT

Say—what you got to do with it? Looks to me as if ye both hae been haeing a few drinks—stand up Private Charbonneau—

FRENCHY

That’s alright Montay—I can stand pretty—good— FRENCHY stands with the great effort. MONTY comes forward to him ready to pick him up.

SERGEANT

(Looks from one to the other) This looks dam fishy to me—

MONTY

This man’s ill—seriously ill—he’s not drunk—

SERGEANT

Aw—come awa—who gave you all the booze? FRENCHY sags and MONTY helps him lay down.

SERGEANT

Say—he’s no good—look—he’s dead to the world— drunk as a bloody duke—that fellow’s going to get court-martialled— Enter CORPORAL RUGG, followed a second or so later by BINNIE and ROSS.

CORPORAL

What’s wrong Sergeant?

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GLORY HOLE

SERGEANT

Here’s your man—the one who’s to stay behind— dead drunk—look at him—Private Charbonneau— French-Canadian—dinna ah tell ye?

CORPORAL

He was alright when I left—except for a bad dose of cramps—he was in pretty bad pain Sergeant.

SERGEANT

Leadswinging.

MONTY

You’re a damn liar—Frenchy’s no leadswinger.

SERGEANT

You’ll be up for office yourself tomorrow mi lad—take his name Corporal—and Private Charbonneau’s under arrest—while I get back— where’s Lieutenant Woods?

CORPORAL

At your dugout.

SERGEANT

It’s up to him now—warn your next man to take this fellow’s place—I don’t lay aroon—we should be getting oot noo— Exit SERGEANT centre.

ROSS

(Crosses to FRENCHY) Oh Frenchy—what’s the matter now—(turns to others). He’s ill—he’s all cold—and yet he’s wet with sweat.

CORPORAL

I thought he was pretty ill two or three times today—something more than just cramps—

BOBBIE

(Gathering up shell fuses etc.) I thought you looked pretty sick— 299

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MONTY

(Bitterly) Yes—you thought lots—all of you—we all did—and we didn’t know—and now it’s too late (gives FRENCHY a drink).

ROSS

There—he’s opened his eyes— MONTY beckons CORPORAL and BOBBIE to be quiet.

FRENCHY

(Puts up his hand) Hello—keed—

ROSS

Hello (gulps) Frenchy— MONTY on FRENCHY’s right and ROSS on left.

FRENCHY

(Turns to MONTY) Everting’s all right—eh— Montay?

MONTY

Everything tres bon Frenchy—

FRENCHY

Sarjong—he all right—

MONTY

(Pause) Sergeant’s gone Frenchy—

FRENCHY

I tink I fool ’om—eh?

MONTY

Sure you have—

FRENCHY

Dat job pretty near finish—eh?

MONTY

(Gestures others to keep quiet) They don’t know Frenchy—

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FRENCHY

(Feels about his chest and partly raises up) Thas fine—(MONTY gets him his crucifix and gives him it). What’s dat you say about cabane Montay— (pause)—I write heem down—but dis tam I forget—you tell to me Montay—for las’ tam—

MONTY

(With difficulty) I’m sitting tonight in my leetle cabane—

FRENCHY

(Slight gesture) More happier dan de king— (FRENCHY thinks)

MONTY

An’ every—every—

FRENCHY

I hear de tap of the winter rain—for de storm-gate’s open wide—But ah don’ care nottin’ for wind or storm—for—now—she’ safe—inside—(FRENCHY takes MONTY’s hand—turns and looks at ROSS) Pretty nice keed dat boy Ross—Montay—pretty nice keed— FRENCHY’s head falls forward and he dies. Red rocket seen in sky—11:45. CORPORAL crosses and looks out into the night. Enter SERGEANT and LIEUTENANT WOODS. CORPORAL stops them with gesture. They stand within entrance while ROSS and MONTY speak.

ROSS

What’s it mean Monty—is he dead?

MONTY

He’s been dying all day—with a bullet in his guts. Gasp from CORPORAL and LIEUTENANT WOODS.

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ROSS

Frenchy!

MONTY

He didn’t tell anyone—because he knew you’d have to be the one to stay—

SERGEANT

(With effort) Well—what are ye all waiting for?

WOODS

Sh—Sergeant—I suppose if this man had reported sick—his life might have been saved—

MONTY

Possibly sir—

SERGEANT

Better be awa’ sir—we should be all the oot noo— let’s awa’.

WOODS

Yes—we’ll be going—

ROSS

(Stands up) I’m the next to stay, sir.

WOOODS

(Paces up and down) You youngster—what the hell can we do Sergeant?

SERGEANT

You can’t do nothin’ sir.

WOODS

(Turns to ROSS) Goodbye sonny—(shakes hands) all the luck in the world— Exit LIEUTENANT WOODS.

SERGEANT

You’ve got Ross’s number—get Private Charbonneau’s identification disk—and bring out his pack and rifle (looks at watch) ten minutes to midnight—crosses to door). Goodbye Ross—we’ll 302

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be back in again in a few hours—before daylight if nothing happens—there’s other two guys up the trench apiece—(listens—solitary shot—then another.) That’s them, get in touch—(comes back and shakes hands). Exit SERGEANT centre. BOBBIE

Hell of a lot of good that’s done you kid—(picks up rifle). I’ll take his gun—you bring the rest Monty— (stays back to pick up some other odds and ends). CORPORAL writing in book.

ROSS

(Comes to MONTY who has been packing up) Do you think I’d have let Frenchy do it if I’d known Monty?

MONTY

(Turns away from Ross) First Haines—and then Frenchy—I guess me next—oh—to hell with it all—

CORPORAL

All ready Private Binnie—

BOBBIE

Aye—(crosses to ROSS)

CORPORAL

Private Monteith—

MONTY

I’m coming—

BOBBIE

(To ROSS, shakes hands) So long kid—you never know yer luck—(goes back and picks up piece of candle right. Snuffs it and puts it in pocket. Looks out of door and exits during others’ talk).

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CORPORAL

Goodbye Geordie—(shakes hands) I have your home address—

ROSS

Thanks Corporal—you’ll tell them I hadn’t time—to write—

MONTY

How about going along with the corporal, kid—and I’ll take a chance—I’m pretty lucky—have been so far—

ROSS

No (gulp) not now!

MONTY

Frenchy would want you to go—

ROSS

Thanks Monty—I’ll stay and see it through—with Frenchy—

MONTY

Goodbye kid—(shakes hands).

ROSS

Goodbye Monty—I’m sorry— MONTY crosses for last look at FRENCHY.

CORPORAL

Bring Frenchy’s pack Monty—it’s stopped raining now. Exit CORPORAL and MONTY centre. ROSS seems rather dazed—crosses to right—looks back at FRENCHY—looks to his wrist watch—crosses to FRENCHY and looks down—he goes to doorway and looks out—an odd shot heard—he looks up and the green light of the star shells—Very lights or shells—shine on his face—he wipes his eyes with his

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arms—another shot is heard—nearer—he looks at his rifle—takes off the cloth cover—comes back to FRENCHY—takes his hand—leaves dugout and a single shot is heard as if from ROSS.

QUICK CURTAIN

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I N T RO D U C T I O N TO

Dawn in Heaven

When Simon Jauvoish wrote and produced Dawn in Heaven in Winnipeg in 1934, he was a respected Winnipeg physician and war veteran. In the scheme of scrimmed dramatic memoirs, Dawn in Heaven is an example of a text that is largely invented but exists to re-enact two particular traumatic incidents that the author experienced. It is a passion play, which in religious drama is a subgenre of the morality play that stages the martyrdom (passion) of a god or, in the Christian tradition, a saint. Jauvoish was a rarity among the men who volunteered for the Canadian Expeditionary Force. Most of them were British by birth or descent at a time when Canada was still a dominion of the British Empire. Many volunteered out of patriotism, whether for Canada or Britain (often both); some, like William Stabler Atkinson, signed up because they needed work. But Jauvoish was neither British nor a patriot. He was a student at the University of Manitoba and a Jew who, as a child, had emigrated with his older brother (a rabbi) and his sister from what is now Lithuania. He joined the army because he was an idealist who believed that the war against Germany was indeed a war against war and that he had a duty to take part in the final war of human history. This is a theme repeatedly uttered in Dawn in Heaven. Jauvoish was an idealist whose ideals were 307

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severely tested by his experiences in army, but he retained a sense of obligation to the higher good; five years after he produced the play he was back in uniform as an officer in the Canadian Army Medical Corps, stationed in a Manitoba hospital. Jauvoish signed up in March 1916 in the newly formed 196th (Western Universities) Battalion. The 196th had been approved in February 1916 after students petitioned the Minister of Militia in Ottawa for a fighting unit of university men. This petition was typical of the recruitment practices of the cef, which encouraged the formation of affinity-based battalions, only to disband them on arrival in England and disperse the troops as needed to the line battalions of the Canadian Corps. Of the approximately one thousand names in the nominal roll of the battalion prior to embarkation, Jauvoish was the only one who was not born in an Anglophone country.1 As an idealist, a Jew, and a foreigner, he was an exception. He was also a poet and while in training wrote a poem entitled “A Canadian Volunteer’s Last Prayer.” It was published in the Saskatoon Star Phoenix (see Appendix Three). After two weeks in England in a reserve battalion, Jauvoish was part of a reinforcement draft to the 46th (Saskatchewan) Battalion, which by the end of the war had earned the sobriquet “the Suicide Battalion” because of its exceptionally high casualty rate of 91.5 percent, with 1,433 killed and 3,484 wounded over the course of the war.2 In the winter of 1917, the Canadian Corps was in the final stages of its long preparations for the major offensive that would turn the tide of the war and establish the corps as the shock troops, the “sharp end,” of the British forces. Within weeks of his arrival at 1

2

Canadian Expeditionary Force 196th Battalion and Reinforcing Draft: Nominal Role of Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers and Men, Ottawa: Ministry of Militia, 1917, Early Canadiana Online, eco.canadiana.ca/view/ oocihm.9_08925/1?r=0&s=1. Provincial Archives of Saskatchewan, “The Suicide Battalion and Canada’s Role in the First World War,” saskarchives.com/Suicide_Battalion.

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the battalion base area at Chateau de la Haie at the bottom of Vimy Ridge, Jauvoish was sentenced to three days of Field Punishment No. 1 for “refusing to give his name and number to an N.C.O.” This incident is the core of Dawn in Heaven. Field Punishment No.1, which the soldiers called “crucifixion,” was the most common disciplinary action for minor offences. The prisoner was assigned heavy labour duties and was tied, with arms stretched out, to the wheel of an ammunition cart or field kitchen for two hours a day regardless of weather conditions. This punishment was both degrading and brutal, particularly at the front in adverse weather and lice-infested clothing. Two months later, Jauvoish took part in the assault on Vimy Ridge, a battle commemorated today in Canada as the most celebrated victory of the Canadian Corps. He took a bullet in his left shoulder in the final assault to flush the last German positions on the height known as “the Pimple” on April 12, in an action that cost his battalion 110 casualties. He spent six months in various hospitals in England and was invalided home in 1918. Dawn in Heaven is written as a naturalist drama with strong expressionist elements: split scenes on stage, dream visions and hallucinations, heavy symbolism, and polyphonic dialogue. It is set behind the lines in “March, 1917…Northern France.”3 At that point, the Canadian Corps was in the final stage of the intensive planning and training for the assault on Vimy Ridge. The play begins in the billet of “1st Platoon, A Company, N-th Battalion,” in a dark, leaky stable of an old chateau.4 As in The P.B.I. and Glory Hole, the author takes almost obsessive care to recreate his visual field. In the billet, the wall is thickly engraved, in bold, energetic, hand, with the numbers, names of privates, battalions, and regiments of French, 3 4

See Dawn in Heaven, page 318 of this book. Dawn in Heaven, 318.

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British, and Canadian expeditionary forces that had passed through that zone since the beginning of the war. Dates and years go back to September, 1914. There are some engravings of overlapping hearts pierced by arrows and initialled. There is no sign of any cynical or pornographic wisecracks.5

In this room, with its puddles and debris, the men engage in desultory bantering, clean mud off their puttees and trousers, and in one of the recurring tropes of these plays, pick off lice from the seams of their clothes. Again we see the specificity of a retained memory brought to life through re-enactment. The action of checking for lice is authenticated by minute details: the “concentrated look” that “gives the impression of a man trying to solve a highly puzzling problem;” the “thick dark rim” at the top of a candle in a discarded bully-beef tin.6 There is no dramatic action in this opening scene; it serves to establish place, routine, and a cheerless atmosphere of enforced camaraderie. The men kill time; a corporal arrives with deloused blankets; they squabble and tease one another. There is a tired, ritual quality to their banter. The mood is cold and dreary. A slow leak from the ceiling establishes a steady rhythm to the scene, with a counter-note from the rumble of distant artillery; together they give the scene a sense of expressionist enhanced reality that conceals the literality of documentary reality behind a scrim of allegory. The battalion is officially on a three-week “brigade rest,” but the men are kept busy with drills, training, and work duties. The main character of the play, with the allegorical name of Andrew Butt, is only peripherally in the scene, perceived as “a pair of shod sprawling feet” under a blanket.7 When one of the other soldiers 5 6 7

Dawn in Heaven, 318. Dawn in Heaven, 319. Dawn in Heaven, 320.

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tells the corporal that Butt is sick, he replies that the platoon is scheduled for predawn work duty in the morning, and that sick call is cancelled. As the men jostle and clown around, Private Butt “moves clumsily round about his bunk on his knees and elbows until he faces the audience. Looks about dazed and bewildered. Clasps both hands against his abdomen.”8 At the end of the scene he leaves the billet to undertake the journey to martyrdom that is the defining feature of the passion play. The action that follows is dramatically simple. Butt’s feverish night journey takes him past a mobile field kitchen, where he encounters a foreshadowing of his own Golgotha: “As he walks by the left front wheel, the figure of a private soldier can be seen. His arms are tied across the spokes of the wheel, his feet to one of the lower spokes. His shoulders barely reaching the level of the rim of the wheel, his head is drooping so that his chin rests upon his chest.”9 In a surreptitious conversation with a guard (who is forbidden to talk on duty), he learns that the prisoner was suffering from a kidney condition and had been sentenced to eighteen days of punishment for “breaking sanitary rules while in the front line.”10 Butt is overcome by his illness and falls on his knees. This triggers the first of a series of hallucinogenic scenes of home: he is a young man in a one-room farmhouse, arguing with his grandmother about the war that has already cost her one son and taken the leg of another. To her dismay he has decided to enlist because there is a question of “whether the world shall remain free or become an army camp. It’s a question of saving man from the hands of Satan. It’s the whole human civilization that’s at stake.”11

8 9 10 11

Dawn in Heaven, 321. Dawn in Heaven, 329. Dawn in Heaven, 330. Dawn in Heaven, 333.

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From this point the play moves through states of consciousness as Jauvoish superimposes dream images over the documentary reality. Butt follows a downward path to his personal inferno; when he lines up for food before setting out on the work party, without his cap and puttees, a soldier that he does not recognize as a military police corporal accuses him of attempting to sneak food to which he is not entitled and demands his name and number. Butt takes offense; standing on dignity and expecting civility, he refuses to comply, at which point he is arrested for insubordination. As his case moves forward in the machine of military justice to his court martial, he continues to insist on his moral position. He wants to “open their eyes to what extent punishment and blind, heartless discipline demoralize an army whose every member is ready to give up life and limb so that there be no more wars.”12 But the army doesn’t care, and he is found guilty and sentenced to his own turn at the wheel. There he succumbs to his illness and dies in an expressionist dream sequence that is rich in allegory and symbol. Dawn in Heaven is a morality play, but its life-writing core appears to have struck the audience when Jauvoish staged it in 1934. The premier of Manitoba was in the audience, as was Huntly Ketchen, who had commanded the 6th Canadian Infantry Brigade, and veterans—one of whom was the reviewer for the Winnipeg Tribune. He had little to comment on the metaphysics of the author’s idealism and focused instead on the evocative accuracy of front-line life, which appeared to have brought to the surface his own trauma. Noting the all-veteran cast, he wrote that “each man’s knowledge of the war from first-hand experience gave the play an authentic touch. There was nothing overdrawn and the army technique was absolutely correct.…The gripping scene of a shell-shocked soldier being brought back from the line by his tired

12

Dawn in Heaven, 357.

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companions brought out the sweat on the brow of an ex-soldier who has assisted in a like undertaking.”13 Jauvoish had set out to write a philosophical drama but in the end produced a play that was received as a re-enactment drama. By displacing the autobiographical experience in the play into invented characters, it is plausible that he wanted to deflect attention from his own war experience to focus on the larger question of war and moral justice. If so, the decision to write an allegorical passion play may have been a deliberate choice to deflect the appearance of memoir while preserving the life writing imperative to testify. That imperative suggests that the central episode of the field punishment may have functioned less as the site of metaphysical argument and more as experiential evidence of authenticity; in effect, in Dawn of Heaven somatic memory tops philosophy.

13

“War Play at Auditorium Great Success,” Winnipeg Tribune, 14 May 1934, Newspapers.com.

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Dawn in Heaven A P L AY I N FO U R A C T S

by Simon Jauvoish

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A soldier’s sketch of Field Punishment No. 1. Tied to the Wheel, Thomas Fisher. CWM 20030054-001, Beaverbrook Collection of War Art, Canadian War Museum

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Persons in the Play

Private Andrew Butt. Military Police Corporal Patton. Major Road—Member of the Court Martial. Captain Waitman—Member of the Court Martial. Lieutenant Morrison—Member of the Court Martial. Captain Lockyer—Medical Officer. Regimental Sergeant Major. Corporal and Lance Corporal of the Guardroom. Guards. Private Wilcox. Privates: Astridge; Arnold; McIntosh; Bolton; Bill Pipe; Mouth-Organ Player; O’Shea; Stewart; Starling; Jordan. Other Privates. Sommers—Medical Orderly. Asham—Battalion Headquarters Orderly. The Cook—Cookhouse Fatigue Man. Butt’s Grandmother. Johnnie—A Boy of Six. Madge—The Boy’s Mother. Alexander—The Boy’s Father. Boy Resembling Butt. His Sweetheart. Voices: A crow. A mask-like face. Time—March, 1917. Place—Northern France. Military Base. Act I, Scenes III and IV; Act II, Scene IV—Western Canada. 317

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Act I Scene I

Night. March, 1917. Northern France. (The billets of the 1st Platoon, A Company, N-th Battalion. The stage shows a square, elongated room, a former weather-beaten stable of stone of the usual type in connection with old French chateaux. Three tiers of bunks appearing like honeycomb line the left and back walls, built of rough boards ten to a row, measuring about four by three feet and about six feet deep. To the right—a barrier wall of dark time-worn stones. In the centre of this wall opens a narrow door. To the left at mid-level of the door jambs are seen heavy iron rings formerly used for tying up horses. Below these an oblong dirty-white space, a reminder of a detached trough, contrasts with the rest of the wall. The wall is thickly engraved, in bold, energetic hand, with the numbers, names of privates, battalions, and regiments of French, British, and Canadian expeditionary forces that had passed through that zone since beginning of the war. Dates and years go back to September 1914. There are some engravings of overlapping hearts pierced by arrows and initialled. There is no sign of cynical or pornographic wisecracks.14 On the floor, close to the wall, are some rusty parts of Mills bombs15 and a torn, shrivelled up top boot. These are covered by

14

15

The fact that Jauvoish makes this point implies that fellow veterans would expect to see such remarks but he has excluded them for the sake of stage propriety. Mills bombs: hand grenades.

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dust, in the thick dimness of outline of things, appear like an antediluvian monster. The billets are in semi-darkness, the light coming from about six candles stuck in empty beef tin cans or in bottles, placed at irregular intervals and depths from the edges of the bunks along the two walls. The floor is muddy and there is a shallow puddle in the centre. Into this puddle a raindrop falls with tuneful splash from the vaulted darkness of the roof at intervals of about five seconds as the curtain rises. It is heard more distinctly, more sharply accentuated than the muffled sounds of the distant heavy guns, and the latter seems to form the echo of the former. At present only about a quarter of the bunks are occupied by their owners. They are busying themselves in diverse ways: some are cleaning mud off their puttees, greatcoats, trousers, and boots, others are polishing buckles and buttons, and some are writing letters or reading. ATTRIDGE

(On top left bunk, second from foreground, a middleaged heavily set man, in khaki trousers, puttees, and regulation army boots, stripped to his waist. He is ponderously absorbed over a dirty shirt turned inside out, holding one of the sleeve seams between thumb and forefingers of both hands. The concentrated look in his eye gives the impression of a man trying to solve a highly puzzling problem. By his left flickers a candle light in a discarded tin of bully beef—the top of the candle has a thick dark rim. Suddenly he picks something off his shirt between the fingernails of his left forefinger and thumb and drops it into the candle flame. His face brightens with mental release, he slaps his left thigh lustily, throws his head back and begins shaking with violent laughter. All look up startled.) 319

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MCINTOSH

(Centre, second tier, back. A boy about twenty-two, sitting down, chin supported in cupped hands, muddy boots, and puttees.) What the hell’s wrong with you? Gone off your flea-mind? Can’t you see poor Butt (pointing his left thumb to the bunk on his left from which can be seen a pair of shod sprawling feet) is sleeping?

ARNOLD

(A soldier of about thirty-five, lying on his chest on the bunk above MCINTOSH and BUTT, writing a letter in flickering candle light, raises his head. In monotonous voice:) I’m afraid there is a flea-nest in them brains of Dad’s.

ATTRIDGE

(Shaking with laughter) Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha! This is certainly my chance of a lifetime boys; 388 cooties! This best’s old Long’s 387 to pieces. O-ha-ha-ha-ha! I’m champeen tonight. Hurray! (Everybody laughs, infected by his laughter.)

BOLTON

(A young private lying on his chest diagonally to Arnold as if to share free candlelight, and reading a magazine. Suddenly he half rises and flings his magazine at ATTRIDGE, striking the shirt out of his lap onto the floor. The magazine following it from ATTRIDGE’S lap. Chuckles) “Why Tommy’s Smile Never Comes Off: by Elizabeth Barr.” (There is a rush and a scramble for the magazine. One of the boys grabs the shirt and starts shooing off the rest.)

ATTRIDGE

(From his bunk, enjoying the scramble.) Now, boys, remember—it’s up to you to protect Miss Barr from getting too close to my shirt! (Laughs.) 320

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ARNOLD

(Climbing off his bunk and moving towards the door) You mean protect your shirt from getting too close to Miss Barr. (Goes out. Someone grabs hold of the shirt, shoves magazine into one of the sleeves, holds it high overhead, shouts:) Miss Barr and the lousy smiling shirt—allez-oop! (Throws it to ATTRIDGE).

ATTRIDGE

(Catches it deftly, hugs it. Then, in mock tenderness.) Ah, my dear Miss Barr, my deloused Miss Barr, why shouldn’t we smile? Why shouldn’t we sing? (Mockdramatically holds up his shirt before the boys. Sings in a pleasant baritone.) “Sing! Sing! Why shouldn’t we sing?” (The rest of the boys catch the tune lustily. Those cleaning and polishing fall to their work with renewed energy while singing. From the far left upper corner bunk a boy catches up the tune on a mouth organ, with jest and feeling.)

BUTT

(Moves clumsily round about his bunk on his knees and elbows until he faces the audience. Looks about dazed and bewildered. Clasps both hands against his abdomen.)

BOLTON

(While singing, reads the letter left by ARNOLD. Suddenly he stops singing, raises the letter in his right hand, and motions with the other one, calling for attention.) Company-shun! And hush! (Most of the boys stop singing and look up with surprise. BOLTON speaks boisterously:) Here is a letter Private Arnold is writing to his lady friend for which he ought to be court-martialled! (Watches for the effect of his words. The boys’ faces grow eager.) When I read you this letter, you’ll blush with shame and disgust and drum 321

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the culprit out of our famous Suicide Platoon in disgrace.16 (Smiles; there is a lascivious expression on the boys’ faces.) Now listen, gentlemen of the court (reads out of the letter): “Mind your own business,” you say—“that is absolutely wrong.” (Emphasizes it with a devastating motion of his left hand then reads on as if it were a sermon) “The whole of humanity is one continuous chain, and each one of us is a link in this chain—” (he is suddenly interrupted by someone yelling “Eh! What about the smutty spots!” Catcalls and shouts of “Amen”. Only BUTT and MCINTOSH are not taking part in the general humbug. BUTT is seen swaying toward MCINTOSH and whispering something to him. MCINTOSH gets his water bottle and gives BUTT a drink. BOLTON reads on in thundering tones) “and the strength of your chain depends on the strength of each link (with pomp) but because we did not realize this before 1914 but allowed politicians and war-maniacs to handle our business, the world’s manhood is now being killed and maimed. (Shouting with laughter. In tone of climax:) The business of the whole world is the business of every one of us!” (The door opens and ARNOLD comes in. There is shouting and yelling: Hurray! Amen! Three cheers for the Great Preacher!) ARNOLD

16

(Looks bewildered, then notices BOLTON putting down the letter. Speaks in slow, mockingly threatening tone:) Say, what the hell do you mean by reading other peoples’ letters? Where are your manners, man?

Jauvoish’s battalion, the 46th, was known as the “Suicide Battalion” because it incurred a 91.5 casualty rate over a two-year period. Of the 5,374 men who served in the battalion, 4,917 were killed or (like Jauvoish) wounded.

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SHOUTS

Yes—where are your manners—why don’t you mind your own business, Bolton?

BOLTON

(Mock-heroically) I read this here letter, Brother Arnold, because from now on your business will be my business and (with a sweep of his right hand) the business of this damn rusty chain. And we all want to know is this the kind of letter to write a young lady from across the sea where life is peaceful and war is a heroic picnic and knitting circle? Tell us! Tell us—where-are-your-manners! (Throws his head forward, staring into ARNOLD’s face.)

ARNOLD

(Smiles. Speaks good-humouredly.) You are right about the business, but you are wrong about the lady—she is my old history teacher, Miss Jordan, if you want to know.

ATTRIDGE

And I’ll bet she’s his cousin too. (Laughter).

ARNOLD

(Ignoring it) And I’m not ashamed of what I’ve told her either! (The boy with the mouth organ plays socco voce as if accompanying ARNOLD, “Lead, Kindly Light,” while in some of the boys’ faces there is a look of serious eagerness)—This war will be over one day. (Someone shouts: Maybe!) Perhaps, we’ll all be pushing daisies by then, but if those that will return to tell the tale won’t watch out, there’ll be last hell to pay in another war. (Excitedly brushes his hair back with his right hand and climbs up beside BOLTON. The mouth organ playing ceases.)

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BUTT

(Tiredly) Selah!17

ARNOLD

That is just the trouble—we are taking it as a joke now. But the joke will be on us. We’ll forget all this, and you’ll forget your puking and bellyaches everything will go on as if nothing had ever happened.

MCINTOSH

(With a tone of indifference) What the hell do we care what will happen then?—We’ll most of us be pushing up daisies anyway!

ARNOLD

The trouble is we may come through. (General laughter.)

ATTRIDGE

(With a devastating authority of age and wisdom)—You are all wet, Brother Arnold!—A clean bed, a cozy home, my wife, my kiddies, and a good long sleep—that’s all a fellow wants. Let someone else worry about future wars— we’ve had enough of it.

MCINTOSH

(Sarcastic) You can’t get away from your old bad habits, can you DAD?

ATTRIDGE

(Ignoring MCINTOSH) Now watch and witness, all you. I’m now putting on a perfectly deloused shirt. (Pulls on his shirt. The door opens. A corporal and a private enter with two bundles of blankets.)

17

Selah: a biblical phrase found in the Psalms, here used as emphatic agreement.

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SHOUTS

Hurray!—Blankets! Blankets!—Deloused blankets for relousing—Dirty old blankets—Lousy old blankets! (There is a rush and a scramble as the blankets are thrown down on the floor a little to the right of the puddle.)

CORPORAL

(Trying to stand off those pulling at the blankets from all sides) Eh! Hold on there! There is only twenty blankets there for the whole platoon! (The scramble becomes more unruly).

MCINTOSH

(Is seen talking to BUTT, but not heard. He then jumps off the bunk, grabs two blankets and tries to rush back, the CORPORAL catches hold of the other ends and pulls him back.)

CORPORAL

Eh, what’s the big idea? Hogging it all?

MCINTOSH

(Offended) I’m not hogging it.

CORPORAL

No? Only grabbing, eh?

MCINTOSH

I’m not grabbing it either. I’m taking it, see? One for Butt and one for myself.

CORPORAL

Butt can get his own if he hasn’t got one.

MCINTOSH

Butt is sick.

CORPORAL

(Releases his hold on the blankets) Let him report sick then. Are you mothering him, what? (Stares at BUTT, who has been watching the altercation. MCINTOSH walks off with the two blankets towards the bunk. There is a temporary hushed silence.) 325

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BUTT

(Staring at the CORPORAL with a dazed look. Speaks indifferently) Alright, report me sick. (Resumes cleaning his puttees rather listlessly.)

CORPORAL

(Strained sympathy and regret) Can’t do it Butt. No sick parades. Working party early in the morning. (Laughter. Blankets distributed. CORPORAL leaves. Hubbub gradually subsides.)

MCINTOSH

“Brigade rest for three weeks.” Why the hell don’t they keep us in the front line permanently and be done with it!

BOLTON

Oh, just to keep you grouching, likely.

ATTRIDGE

Yea to keep us in good fighting spirits.

ARNOLD

No, to keep you fit and in touch with your profession. This is a kind of post-graduate training.

ATTRIDGE

I don’t know what that means, but—it’s a cinch you are crazy. Here I’ve been getting myself ready for months for a good long sleep—“Brigade rest for three weeks”—my eye! (The door opens. A boy of indefinite youthfulness, lean, with a shock of unruly hair, comes in. He carries a mess tin of steaming soup. Speak excitedly.)

BILL PIPE

Well, boys, they’ve started it alright! A runner has just arrived at headquarters.

MOUTH ORGAN PLAYER

(Very young voice) Say Bill, did you get your soup where you got your rumours? (Laughter.)

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PIPE

Honest—this is straight from headquarters—the cook in the officers’ mess told me —(eats his soup). He told me quite a lot that isn’t for youse guys to know.

ATTRIDGE

Oh, pipe down Bill, he just wants you to choke with excitement. That’s all.

MCINTOSH

It took him a long time to cook his trousers, Bill. Must be fat-wash you are eating. Have you a piece of belt there too?

PIPE

Oh, now, cut it out all of youse. Youse guys are green with greed, that’s the trouble. I didn’t get much anyway (puts the mess tin aside), but honest boys: that’s straight goods. The Big Push is on and remember my words: next year this time.18

MCINTOSH

Hold on Bill, I’ll jot down your words of wisdom in shorthand.

PIPE

(Ignoring him) Next year this time you’ll say I was right. (Laughter)—I mean the Great Push is starting tonight and the war’ll be over by March if not sooner. (Tremendous laughter. Shouts: Yeah, in five days or so.)

MCINTOSH

Leave him alone, boys. He knows what that cook was talking about: he means March, 1940.

18

The “Big Push”: the play takes place a few weeks before the Canadian assault on Vimy Ridge.

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ATTRIDGE

And that’s a little too hopeful.

A VOICE

(From a lower bunk, sleepily, irritated) Shut up you bunch of war experts! You are all full of old prunes. What you say doesn’t cut any ice anyway. Why not let a fellow sleep for a while!

VOICES

Hush-sh-sh—(Shouting) Daddy is sle—eeping! Daddy is sle—eeping! Daddy is sle—eeping!!!)

BOY

(With mouth organ, plays “Sleep, baby, sleep.” Everybody joins in lustily but with hushed voices and feelingly.)

MORSE

(Owner of voice. Heavily set man. Crawls out, sits on edge, looks around, smiling sheepishly) All right, boys, have it your own way. (Joins the singing, pretending to rock a baby in his arms.)

BUTT

(Talks to BILL PIPE first, then to MCINTOSH. Throws his cleaned puttees over his shoulder, takes his mess tin and walks out while rest continue singing.)

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Scene II

Darkness relieved by the light of one candle. The outlines of a field kitchen can be seen in the background.19 A GUARD with bayonet fixed walking at regular pace in front of it. As he walks by the left front wheel, the figure of a PRIVATE SOLDIER can be seen. His arms are tied across the spokes of the wheel, his feet to one of the lower spokes. His shoulders barely reaching the level of the rim of the wheel, his head is drooping so that his chin rests upon his chest. Only the top of his cap and one side of his face can be seen. Suddenly a splash is heard. GUARD turns smartly to right, thrusts his bayonet forward, challenges: “Halt, who goes there.” A voice: “Damn this slush! Why the devil does it have to be right at the front of the door—that’s me!” BUTT appears in full view in doorway. GUARD

(Shoulders rifle) What do you want Andy?

BUTT

(Ignoring his question. Staring at the figure on the wheel) Who’s this Norman?

GUARD

(Pacing on again) Wilcox—you better beat it. You know I can’t talk while on guard.

BUTT

(Whispering hissingly) But he is dead!

19

Field kitchen: a mobile kitchen unit built on a wagon platform.

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GUARD

(Worringly) Beat it, I say! He’s been dozing for the last few minutes.

BUTT

Wilcox! For God’s sake, what did he do? Your platoon seems to be getting it in the neck all the time.

GUARD

(Hastily, same tone as BUTT) Breaking sanitary rules while in the front line.20

BUTT

How many days did he get?

GUARD

(Impatiently) Eighteen—Now, for heaven’s sake, beat it! He’s dead tired and asked me to let him doze a while. Beat it I say and not a word to anyone about this!

BUTT

(Worried) Wilcox would never do such a thing.

GUARD

Claims kidney trouble. Now, for heaven’s sake, beat it, the orderly officer may be around any moment. Then we’ll all be up against it.

BUTT

Why the dickens didn’t he ask for a medical board?

GUARD

(Hisses) Beat it, I say! BUTT disgustedly moves off. Guard resumes his march.

MCINTOSH

20

(Passes the dimly lit foreground. Follows and stops beside BUTT.) We’re both on the list for the working

Urinating in the trench.

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party, Andy. Do you want to go to the ymca tent?21 There is a concert on for the party. (BUTT suddenly leans against the wall. Retches. MCINTOSH supports BUTT’S head.) I don’t know how they can make you go into the lines. BUTT

21

Oh, never mind. I’ll be alright presently.

ymca organizers, holding honourary army rank, maintained social centres throughout the Canadian Corps area of operations, in which they offered canteen services, libraries, sporting facilities, and entertainment, including cinemas and theatrical “concert parties.”

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Scene III

A one-roomed farmhouse. About one third away from left wall, lower part of a rough unfinished stairway at an almost right angle. To right of stairway stands a plain farm wood stove with pots and pans on board shelves built on either side of it. In centre of back wall, a narrow window. A dull grey afternoon, late autumn. A drizzling rain is beating against the windowpanes. In the corner right, a milk separator. And above and about it, on wall, all the implements and dishes used with it. In centre of room, about three feet from the stove, stands a long handmade table with two long benches on either side of it. A chair at either end of table. A BOY of about twenty, very much like ANDREW BUTT, but of brighter eye and surer voice, is sitting on the edge of the bench, left. A WOMAN, sixty years old, is busying herself about the stove. Talking the while. GRANNY

I don’t know Andy, what’s got into you. Besides, you’ll never make a soldier. I know you through and through. (Reminiscing) I mind the time when you shot your first (mockingly) and last gopher. You were then a kid of nine. Well do I remember the time your mother and father had with you. They rushed me out in the middle of the night from this very house. And the three of us couldn’t hold you down. You were stampeding about your bed, raving mad. For three nights in succession you had those nightmares. Then you started making pets of the gophers and pray to the Lord at bedtime to be forgiven for the sin you committed. And now 332

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you are after killing humans. You, getting ready to preach the Word of God! ANDREW

(Impatiently) But, Granny, you don’t understand it’s a sin to kill a gopher, because it’s a poor helpless creature, but those that are now overrunning poor Belgium, those that preach Might is Right, are more destructive to the world than the gopher is to the field.

GRANNY

(Hurt) Andrew Butt! How can you say such a thing? To compare a dumb creature to one made in God’s image! You should be spreading the Word of God, not talk such sin. You ought to be a help to your father in bringing up the other two boys right. That’s what you should be doing.

ANDREW

But you don’t understand, Granny. This is a question whether the world shall remain free or become an army camp. It’s a question of saving man from the hands of Satan. It’s the whole human civilization that’s at stake.

GRANNY

I detest your big words! I don’t know them and I don’t want to know them! And if you want to know—they are false words—they are not the Lord’s word! Besides, (suddenly lowers her arms. Her body assumes an attitude of painful relaxation. Her voice grows pleading) aren’t two of your uncles, my own sons, over there now! The nights that I have spent watching over them in their childhood, sicknesses, the cure I have given them, was that all just for this! To turn innocent girls into widows 333

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and their children into orphans! Now you say you must go—(quietly) don’t say God wants it, Andy— it’s blasphemy. God said, “Thou shalt not kill” (painfully)—it doesn’t mean only gophers, it means also humans, Andy. ANDREW

I’m sorry, Granny, but I’ve made up my mind—I must be going now.

GRANNY

(Resignedly) Wait a while longer. Madge will soon be back from the field. (Quietly, as if to herself)—A woman to have to do a man’s work! And the man away killing other men! (Turns aside.)

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Scene IV

There is total darkness on the stage for a few minutes. When the dream continues, in same room, with the same setting and time of day and season. Only the ceiling of the room is replaced by a canvas dome resembling an army ymca tent. The bench from the other side of the table is beside the back wall. A MAN of about thirty-eight, clean-shaven, with hollow cheeks, is sitting on the bench against the window. A BOY of about six, dressed in army tunic way too large for him and army cap of same size, marches to and fro in front of the man. He carries a toy rifle shaped from rough board slung across his shoulder. Now and again he steps in front of the man and pointing this at him, in ringing childish voice, challenges: “I’ll shoot you.” The MAN does not seem to hear him and he repeats: “I’ll shoot you, daddy! I’ll shoot you!” MAN

(In voice of indifferent monotony) Alright—Johnny, shoot me.

JOHNNIE

Oh, I was just saying—fooling, daddy. (Goes up and hugs him) Daddy, did they give you the muddle when they took away your leg because you were crying?

MAN

(Suppressed irritation) Now, Johnnie—I told you a thousand times, it isn’t muddle but medal, and they gave it to me because they thought I did something great.

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JOHNNIE

When you lost your leg?

MAN

(Cornered) Yes, son.

JOHNNIE

Would you’ve got two muddles, I mean medals, if you’d lost both legs.

MAN

I don’t think so. On the extreme right, in the corner, is the hazy outline of the wheel of the Field Kitchen, WILCOX tied to it as in Scene II. THE GUARD keeps on marching by him and muttering from time to time, “Beat it now; beat it I say, or we’ll be in for it if the orderly officer comes around.” There is also the tune of “Sleep, baby, sleep” played on a mouth organ heard from a distance, mingling with military commands. But the field kitchen, the playing, and the commands do not seem to form part of the consciousness of the other people. Neither now nor later. The door opens to the right of the field kitchen. A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN in plain farm dress comes in, carrying some wood in her left arm, she deftly supports it with her left knee while shutting door with right hand, then encircles bundle of wood, carries it against her breast, half-stooped, to stove, and lets the wood fall on the floor with the clatter. Takes a deep breath that sounds like a sigh, while straightening up. Her hair, face, and shoulders are wet with rain.

MAN

Madge, dear, why didn’t you tell me you wanted some wood? I could’ve brought it in myself. (GUARD shouts: “Beat it! Beat it, I say!”)

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MADGE

You better rest, dear. If you’ll start working agin the same thing might happen and you’ll have to have your stump touched up again.

JOHNNIE

Mamma, if I’d shoot Daddy, will he have stumps on both legs? (VOICE terrorized: “Bitte, bitte, Her Kamerad, eine Mutter, einen Weibchen, und Kinder— kinder—Kamarad. Bitte! Bitte!”)22

MADGE

But you wouldn’t shoot your own daddy would you?

JOHNNIE

Would it make him die? (Suddenly) When I grow up mama, when I grow big and strong, I’ll shoot the bad man who made daddy stumpy, yes—and the man who killed Jimmie’s father, I’ll also shoot. (His father and mother laugh).

MAN

(Soothingly) The one who did it, Sonny, didn’t want to do it to me.

JOHHNIE

Did you know him or didn’t he love you? (The tune of “Sleep, baby, sleep” grows fainter.)

MAN

No, I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me.

JOHNNIE

Why did he do it then? Now Mamma and Ernie have to work because the bad man made you stumpy.

22

“Please, please, comrade, a mother, a wife and children—children—comrade. Please! Please!”

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A COMMANDING VOICE

At quick-shot point—stab!—Eh there moonface! Do it as if you mean it! Don’t tickle him—jab him right slantwise through the belly button I said! Don’t think of a dummy—he is alive and snappy, you sap! Get him before he winks an eyelash, or he’ll batter your blooming skull with his butt. Now, do it once more for good luck!

JOHNNIE

(Continues) If he didn’t know you, why did he do it then? Did a policeman tell him to?

MAN

He had to, Sonny. “Colonel Bogey’s March” is heard but not by the people in the scene.

JOHNNIE

So—I’ll have to, too. I’ll grow big and strong and I’ll shoot him. (Shouts) I’ll kill him, Jimmy’ll grow up and I’ll take him too. (Resumes his march. Marches behind stove.)

GIRLS’ VOICES

Oh-Marjory-did-you-see-Frank-say doesn’t-he-look-stunning-in-uniform?



REVEREND VOICE

And if it is Thy will that we never meet in this Vale of Sorrow, may I the least worthy one of Thy shepherds humbly pray to appear before Thee as pure and noble of soul as shall this my friend Andrew who this day is handing over his youthful life entire into Thy merciful hands.

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GRANNY’S VOICE

I hope you come back safe and sound, Andy. Take care—the world is wicked and full of obstacles—and may God hold you in safekeeping. There is a sudden crash. The canvas ceiling collapses, burying them and the field kitchen beneath it.

VOICE

Eh, there! You are in this working party. Wake up! I say, wake up Butt!

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Act II Scene I 1:30 a.m. Same as Act I, Scene II. There are four candles burning and the interior is seen in greater detail. A long space, the centre of which is divided up by four square, upright, cement-covered columns. Between the second and third columns and the background is the field kitchen. Three boys are ready to dish out rations from three wooden boxes. They are located between the two columns and one on the left of the left column. They face a long line of boys roughly lined up on the side of the column. They are not all fully dressed; some without tunics, others without puttees, others hatless. They all appear wilted and sleepy, like youngsters roused from deep sleep to escape fire. Right, against pitch darkness, snow could be seen falling heavily, steadily. They keep on stamping their feet to keep warm. Some hunch up and shiver. Some are coughing. VOICE from the line

(Irritable) Can’t you get a move on, Cook? You didn’t have to cook your pant-soup this morning!

VOICE from behind field kitchen

(Irritatingly, mockingly) Don’t worry. You either have a number or you don’t.

Same VOICE

(Dryly) Yes, so will cooks get their number sooner or later. Just wait ’til the Big Push starts.

ANOTHER VOICE

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VOICE of cook

What’s your hurry, Jack, you’ve a long march ahead of you, you’ll warm up plenty, alright.

ANOTHER VOICE

What’s the delay? Killing the dog for the dog biscuits?

VOICE

You’re all wet: they’re just throwing the bull to make bully beef. (Weak choking laughter. Some time passes in grouching and kidding. Boys behind the field kitchen are busy.)

COOK

Alright boys! Line up: now, remember, this is only for those on the working party! Alright, bully beef, start! (First in line walks up and draws his tin.)

BOY at extreme right column

Bully beef—next!

BOY at second column

Cheese—next!

BOY at left column

Hard tack! (The line starts moving ahead, stopping at the three places.)

BUTT

(At field kitchen. He’s without a cap and puttees. Shivering.) No, thanks, no bully beef for me.

COOK

(Impatiently) Never mind thanking me. Move on. Next.

CHEESE

Cheese!

BUTT

No—

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CHEESE

Move on and get your hard tacks!

VOICE

(From dark corner. Triumphantly) So, it’s you getting up with every working party to pull off an extra breakfast! Well supplied with bully beef and cheese, eh?

BUTT

(Stepping in front of hard tack man) No fear, boy, I didn’t enlist for my three squares.

VOICE

(Authoritatively) What’s your name? (BOY immediately behind BUTT kicks him in the shin.)

BUTT

(Turning about) What’s the comedy, Mac?

VOICE

(Impatiently) I say, you hardtack fancier, what’s your name?

BUTT

What’s it to you? And who the dickens are you, anyway?

VOICE

You better follow me to the guardroom!

BUTT

Step up and show me your authority.

VOICE

Don’t worry boy. I have plenty of that.

BISCUIT MAN

(Dry voice ringing disgust) Next! From the darkness steps out a military police corporal, red badge around right sleeve. Leads off BUTT to left and behind the columns to the guardroom.

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Scene II

Following day. The guardroom. An oblong room, about eighteen by eight. Two walls are occupied by bunks as in Act I, Scene I, but fewer in number. It is about six in the morning. Greyish light is filtering through the dust-covered window, in front of which is a small wooden table. Light fills the centre of the room and the space between the top bunks and the ceiling with a muddy darkness. Some of the men are dressing. LANCE CORPORAL

BUTT

LANCE CORPORAL

(Tugging at the feet of an upper-bunk sleeper) Time to get up, Butt! (Waking suddenly. A frightened, bewildered look in his sleepy eyes) What—what’s wrong? (Dryly) Nothing much. Only there’s a war on, you know.

BUTT

(Still with dazed dull expression on his face) I see. Oh, yes. (Begins looking for his clothes and gathering them up as if still retaining the heavy atmosphere of his nightmare.) Yes.

REST OF PRISONERS

(Laughing) Oh, yes!

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O’SHEA

ONE of the PRISONERS

(A heavily built, broad-shouldered fellow. Pulling on his second boot) I’ll tell the world there’s a war on— and she’s a mighty tough one too! (Winding on a puttee) What do you know about it, Father O’Shea?

O’SHEA

My little private account book with the government and Major Road’s mania for marking it up with red ink. (Laughing) I shall find myself a debtor to the government when I come back home.23

ANOTHER BOY

(Shaving out of his mess tin) Say if, boy, say if !

O’SHEA

Never mind the if with O’Shea. Major Roads expressed grave intentions of taking me out of the army and handing me over to the British Museum as the All-Around Punishment Man.

BOY

(Shaving) If—

O’SHEA

If I get glasshouse next.24

BOY

(Shaving) And if—

O’SHEA

And if I am shot at sunrise for insubordination. I may get them both to run concurrently if I make up my mind to do it.

23 24

O’Shea refers to his paybook and the fines imposed by the major commanding the company. Glasshouse: a military prison.

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LANCE CORPORAL

(To a boy in the far corner on the upper left bunk kneeling down with face to the wall) Eh, there, what are you celebrating?

BOY

(Hesitatingly) I…I am looking for my mess tin.

LANCE CORPORAL

(Bitingly) Yes, and it’s the rain dripping into it, eh? Quit it or I’ll lay a charge against you for breaking the sanitary rules.

BOY

I’m…I’ve found it.

LANCE CORPORAL

You—“found it.”

O’SHEA

Yes—found relief.

LANCE CORPORAL

You’re certainly the bloody limit, O’Shea.

O’SHEA

Nonsense—Dundrum is the limit.25

LANCE CORPORAL

Alright, boys, answer to your names. Private number 039458, Wilfred Jamieson.

VOICE

Here!

LANCE CORPORAL

Private number 046871, John McPhail.

25

Dundrum: an outer suburb of Dublin.

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VOICE

Present!

LANCE CORPORAL

Private number 0483, Aaron O’Shea!

O’SHEA

Here, your honour!

LANCE CORPORAL

Quit making a fool of yourself, O’Shea.

O’SHEA

I do honour you for all the dirt you take from above and below (laughter).

LANCE CORPORAL

You should be in a circus.

O’SHEA

How the hell did you guess it, Corp: that’s where I am; I’m the big clown. (Clicks his teeth, smacks his lips, flaps eyelids.)

LANCE CORPORAL

God, I wish you’d keep out of here: I’m getting sick of the sight of you, O’Shea.

O’SHEA

I’m just as sick of the sight of myself as you are sick of myself yourself. (Exhales forcibly) God, that was a long one (all laugh).

LANCE CORPORAL

(Peeved) Private number 041009, Andrew Butt.26

26

Butt’s service number 041009 is a near anagram of Jauvoish’s own number, 910140.

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(Muffled voice) Ah…ah (turns aside, bending forward).

BUTT LANCE CORPORAL

What’s wrong? Sick? That gag doesn’t work here, you know. No sick parades in the clink! Alright boys!

O’SHEA

(In monotone) You just keep on gagging, Butt. Us scavengers are too noble for castor oil and number nine parades (roughly, tenderly) but we still have the privilege of making and using our own water.27 Come on Butt, we’ll wash the images of our former selves. It might freshen us up a bit.

CORPORAL

(Comes in) What’s happened? (Looks at the ghastly pale face of Butt. Sizes up situation. To Lance Corporal:) Alright, Jack, march your men out and leave Butt here for guardroom fatigue duty.

O’SHEA

That’s right: start him on his scavenger job on an empty stomach.

CORPORAL

Get the hell out of here, you damned nuisance.

O’SHEA

I wish you could help me get this nuisance out of this mess. LANCE CORPORAL marches them out. CORPORAL and BUTT are the only ones left.

CORPORAL

27

You better rest up a bit before your little show. It’s a sure cinch you can’t parade sick unless you’re half

Number nine parade: a parade (muster) to receive laxative pills

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dead. (Picks up a book and settles down by the window to read. A few minutes pass by in silence. CORPORAL OF GUARD reads on. Suddenly he starts laughing. Speaks to BUTT) Say, did you read Mopasant?28 BUTT

(Weakly) No.

CORPORAL

Juicy stuff this boy writes, alright! (Continues reading. BUTT watches him dully. A little later CORPORAL begins chuckling, then:) Say this boy is spicy, alright. (Reads on. After a few more minutes—)

BUTT

(In a tone carrying a sensation of stunned remoteness and dreaminess. More as if you were talking to his inner self) I wonder what became of Wilcox?

CORPORAL

(Reading, and in a tone trying to avoid a direct reply) I don’t know, mate.

BUTT

(Same tone as before) Dead?

CORPORAL

(Shuts the book) Yeh. Collapsed. Couldn’t finish his term. (Silence)



(Solicitously, but roughly) Like a drink of cold water? (Throws book aside, takes up a jug of water and hands it to BUTT)

BUTT

(Drinks) Thanks, Corporal.

28

Jauvoish deliberately misspells Maupassant to indicate an uneducated pronunciation.

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CORPORAL

What was you doing in civil life, Butt?

BUTT

Theology student.

CORPORAL

Quite a change of sermon for you, eh?

BUTT

Yes, quite a change. (Slowly, moodily) Perhaps not. Perhaps we preach best after we passed through a wilderness.

CORPORAL

You’ll take to preaching when you go back?

BUTT

(Meditatingly) If I shall feel the call.

CORPORAL

Losing faith, what?

BUTT

Perhaps not worthy of it—of the comfort of it. Perhaps none of us are.

CORPORAL

(Repeating automatically, his facial expression completely altered) None of us are. (In confessional tone, slowly) You know, I feel I shall be spared the pain of seeing peace (his face assumes a haunted expression). Every time I’ll take a piece of glowing iron, I’ll think of that shinbone in the listening post.

BUTT

What shinbone?

CORPORAL

(Continues as if in a dream) Rats had chewed the muscles clean off the bone. Sucked out its marrow. The sun was shining. The damned bone looked like a glowing iron tube ready for hammering. (Stops 349

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for a while. Looking out through the windows, resting his right hand on Maupassant) I shall live one more month. No more. BUTT

(Stares at him wild-eyed. The droning of an airplane flying overhead is heard.) Oh, you’ll come through alright and forget it all.

CORPORAL

(As if waking suddenly, turns about and speaks in abrupt tone) You better start cleaning up, Butt.

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Scene III

Forty-eight hours later. 12 noon. Guardroom. Room is tidy. Bunks made, floor swept clean. The door opens and the prisoners march in. O’SHEA

(Keeping up a mock march) Left—right—left; we-had-a-good-home-that-we-left. March on, my holy scavengers! (Stops. Throws his army pack off his shoulders, wipes sweat off his brow) Corp, will you put through a humble petition for me; to have all the discarded army boots added to my pack; it’s way too damn light for Pat’s back.

STEWART

(A boy of eighteen, slender, wiry. Throwing off his pack, posing, and in mock light-opera tone) Oh Columbine, haste thee! A bundle of hay for Father O’Shea and a jug of rum for Stewart!

O’SHEA

(Mock-heroically) No! Away with the hay! The shrivelled-up boots bring forth!

STARLING

(A bespectacled short fellow. Snatching off frayed edges of his greatcoat. Talks quietly but bitingly, smiling.) You’ll have to work for it in the name of Humanity, Democracy, and Liberty or said petition won’t be granted.

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O’SHEA

(In mock rage) What’s the dame’s name, Ernie? Any idea where her hangout is? No fear, boy! O’Shea put in over two years in the lines in the name of the flabby dame’s painted face. I’m through being a nitwit. Mr. O’Shea has only one firm in faith now—in first person singular, in Mr. O’Shea. The door opens and SOLDIER appears.

SOLDIER

Mail! (Hands the CORPORAL a bundle of letters and a parcel, goes out.)

CORPORAL

(Takes mail, sorts it, reads out loud names of addressees. These take their mail as it is handed out.) Butt— letter; Starling—parcel; Morrow—letter;—myself. Jordan—letter;—myself. That’s the lot.

SEVERAL BOYS

No more, eh?

CORPORAL

No more.

STARLING

(Tearing open parcel impatiently and scattering its contents on the bunk) Now, this is what I call sensible: vermicidal powder, milk tablet, cascara tablets, a jar of sulphur and molasses—spring cleaning enough for the whole battalion.29 Socks. Dear old mother, thinking of her only lousy boy!

29

Cascara: a laxative. Sulphur and molasses: known as “spring tonic,” it was considered a universal health tonic.

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O’SHEA

Your mother doesn’t know that we get mulligan daily as sure as we get hell one way or another.30 (Turning to CORPORAL) Are you sure there is nothing for me?

CORPORAL

Your lady is too busy with the boys on leave.

O’SHEA

You’re wrong, the boys haven’t a ghost of a chance with her—Miss Democracy is too busy with the damned politicians to think of us, poor numbskulls.

JORDAN

(Who has been reading his letter, suddenly bursts out laughing.)

O’SHEA

I’ll bet it’s a hot one she’s telling you.

JORDAN

(Sarcastic smile on his face) For once you’re right, Father O’Shea. Just listen to this: “I’m sure yours must be the real life for a regular boy like you. All kinds of sport, excitement, heroism, and no time for letter writing to feel homesick and lonesome, so it is up to we girls, left in the old home town, to wonder what to do with ourselves, outside of knitting socks for the Girls’ Aid. Everything here is so dead and quiet.” (Stops reading, folds up letter, replaces in envelope.) God if I could only be back in that dead and quiet place!

O’SHEA

Don’t worry you’ll be back there and you’ll wish the war had never ended, or that you’ve been left behind

30

Mulligan: the tinned Irish stew that was staple of the trench diet.

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pushing up daisies. As long as they leave you kill and be killed and keep you out of the clink, what do you miss? The newspaper hullabaloo, the war-to-endwar junk, and “our-boys-over-there-bless-them” stuff. You’ll get back up and they’ll kick you in the pants for saying that you’d never seen the Lord pat you on the back for all the holy killing you’ve been doing. Tell them that your smile was nothing but a grin and they’ll call you a dirty spy. Ask them for a job and they’ll tell you to quit spawning on OldGlory stuff. STARLING

(Sarcastically) Take a jump in the lake and cool off, Father. You’re sore because your jane has forgotten you.

O’SHEA

Jane—my eye. I’m a respectable man: I don’t want any janes to have nightmares over me. When I left I ordered them to forget that there ever was an O’Shea. There’ll be plenty of blue-grass war widows without O’Shea, believe me!

CORPORAL

Alright, boys, stop your grouching and fall in for dinner.

STARLING

What do we feed on today for our twenty cents, Corp?

CORPORAL

Mulligan and tea for a change.

O’SHEA

Miss Liberty’s cud for her fighting boys. God how she gets my guts every day of the Lord.

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CORPORAL

And how you get mine, Pat.

O’SHEA

Sorry but it’s a white lie—you haven’t got any. (They file out led by LANCE CORPORAL. BUTT and CORPORAL remain.)

CORPORAL

(Warmly) Listen, Butt, I want to give you some pointers for this afternoon. Personally, I think you were a blooming idiot when the colonel had advised you to parade before the M.O. about your indigestion.31 But that is your business. You call it principles, I call it rotten common sense. The army is the army, that’s all there is to it. If you get a chance to get out, grab it. But don’t make it too tough for yourself, at least. Major Road is acting O.C., he’ll likely preside at the court martial.32 He’s of a somewhat hasty disposition. So better be careful with your words—don’t take any chances with sticking up for your rights, too much. This is the army, as I said before, and discipline is the only thing that keeps it on the go. And the O.C. must act accordingly, to keep that discipline up. Remember this, and you won’t find him too bad an egg. (During the time the CORPORAL is speaking, BUTT is sitting on the bunk in a daze, remaining quiet when the CORPORAL finishes talking to him.) What’s wrong, Butt, another vomiting spell?

BUTT

(Dazed) What’s that? I’m sorry, I didn’t listen.

31 32

M.O.: medical officer. O.C.: officer commanding.

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CORPORAL

I said, what’s up?

BUTT

Oh, nothing much. (Hesitatingly) Some news from home. An uncle of mine had lost a leg in the Regina Trench affair and was sent back to Canada.33 There were two of them on the farm before, he and Arthur. Arthur has “gone West,” and the farm is now going to ruin. Finds it hard to move about now—too much red tape about getting his artificial leg. (After short silence:) He says he wishes he had been killed. Life will never be like what it used to be, he claims. Never be what it was expected to be. And he has a wife and kid.

CORPORAL

(Meditatingly) One more month for me. It’s quite true: things will never be what they used to be even for the little ones now growing up. A rusty plow has to be kept in the coals for a long time to get the dross off. Then it takes a lot of hammering to get some kind of an edge on it.

BUTT

(Suddenly as if inspired) Listen, Corporal, why— perhaps—look, suppose I speak to the court martial just as if I were speaking to you, or as I spoke when they took my statement at the preliminary hearing. I mean, that that military police N.C.O. had no moral right of accusing me of robbing my fellows of their food. He really implied that the men enlisted for some mercenary reasons, which is an insult to

33

Regina Trench was a major German trench on the Somme battlefield, which the Canadian Corps took after a long and costly series of assaults in October and November 1916.

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an army that is supposed to risk life and limb so that justice and right might prevail. It is he, with his immoral hints and insinuations, who’s a menace to army discipline. Suppose I take the court martial to consist of the average conscientious volunteers— what have I to lose? Just the reverse, I might open their eyes, draw their attention to what extent punishment and blind, heartless discipline demoralize an army whose every member is ready to give up life and limb so that there be no more wars. (Stunned tone) To accuse a man to be so low, so sneaky! CORPORAL

I am very sorry for your views. But I was trying to tell you just a minute ago that you should not do it. It was enough that you got their goat at the preliminary. Major Roads who’ll be presiding on your court martial likely understands it quite well himself. As much as any one of us at least. But we must fight the Huns with their own weapons. And we must have discipline, otherwise they’ll knock the very hell out of us, and no quarter given. The best thing is—don’t preach to him. Just tell him how it happened.

BUTT

(In hollow voice) I was thinking perhaps you are right perhaps it is best never to get back at all. Door opens with a bang. O’SHEA and a GUARD come in. O’SHEA carrying a mess tin of tea in one hand, the mess tin cover full of mulligan with a slice of bread balanced on its edge in the other. GUARD behind him.

O’SHEA

Here you are Butting sweetheart. And take a tip from an experienced glutton: when you eat, sit on 357

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your haunches, so that your abdominal requirements and demands may be limited and that you may have strength enough to glorify our Lord in whose name we’re doing this holy killing. Amen. CORPORAL

(To O’SHEA) Get to hell out of here: get your belly filled outside. (To GUARD) Take him out and let him stuff himself outside. They go out.

CORPORAL

(To BUTT) You’d better eat your dinner and clean up for the ‘parade’.

BUTT

Want the mulligan? I’ll have the bread and tea only.

CORPORAL

No thanks, leave it for O’Shea, he’ll handle it alright. That boy can never get enough.

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Act III Scene I

Battalion Headquarters. About two o’clock in the afternoon. The stage: the former salon of an old chateau, now dilapidated, neglected, and war-scarred. Right, foreground, a wide door. Six feet back of it a wide window through which shines the bright afternoon sun. Back wall is bare. A window in the centre is partly boarded up and a hole to the right is plugged up with a sandbag. Some feet away from this wall and parallel with that is a long table. Three chairs are placed about the table in disorderly position. The left wall is also bare. From it a doorway leads into another room. Between the doorway which is near the back wall and foreground is a bookcase, on top of which are some old newspapers, two old magazines, and a heavy, leatherbound volume looking very much like a Bible. As the curtain rises PRIVATE ASHAM is seen standing at the left end of the table, his back turned to the doorway. He is a slight man, about fortyfive years old, a little over five feet five. His face is small, as if it has purposely been compressed from side to side, but with a calm, ascetic expression. His uniform, immaculately clean, buttons and belt polished and shined, hangs rather loosely on him. He gives the impression of a lifelong student wearing his uniform with obstinate civilian abandon. ASHAM

(His right hand loosely grasping a rag resting on the table. He stares out through the window. Dreamily recites in musing mellow voice that sounds like the 359

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tremulous strings of an old guitar. Its depth sounds strange coming as it does from such a slight figure.) I saw Eternity the other night Like a great ring of pure and endless light— SOMMERS

(A squatly set private who was standing in the doorway all this time unobserved by ASHAM) Say, Prune-face, that’s a bloody lie you were right here, in this here place, so help me God, not on any working parties.

ASHAM

(Startled. Turns around, stares at him with a calm but devastating look. Starts dusting the table with forced energy, moving slowly towards the window. Speaks drily.) Thank God for Homer and Keats.

SOMMERS

(Peeved) Say, Sky-eye, weren’t you here, in this very chatto the other night?34 I ask you, man.

ASHAM

What of it?

SOMMERS

Well, how could you be seein’ lights and dodgin’ heavies at the same time?

ASHAM

(Patiently but with disgust) That’s from Henry Vaughan’s “The World.” A poem, you idiot, not a barrage.

SOMMERS

Now don’t get into a huff, Prune-face. All I can think about is barrages. (Confidentially) We just got in a big supply of gauze, bandages, and splints. And a huge

34

Chatto: chateau.

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lot of tetanus antitoxin. So help me God. And—and all the cots are being disinfected. (Ingratiatingly) I say, Asham, do you think we could stick it out together? You know what I mean, don’t you? ASHAM

I don’t think I do.

SOMMERS

Oh, yes, you do. (Excitedly) Say, you know darn well that we can’t remain orderlies all our life. If the Big Push comes off we’ll all be ordered up the line and over the top. Well let’s you and I stick together.

ASHAM

So that I’d stop the bullets for you? At this SOMMERS, who has been nearing the chair near the left end of the table, trips over it. His arms and legs assume the wild movements of the wings of a windmill for a while. He somehow balances himself. When he stands up again his face bears an expression of irritable embarrassment.

SOMMERS

(Irritable, excitedly) Why not? You said that you don’t care what happens to you? But I—I do care. I must go back.

ASHAM

Oh?

SOMMERS

Yes. There’s May waiting for me: we’re—I am to bring her a German helmet.

ASHAM

Don’t worry. You’ll come through alright. You’ll get married, back in your war-glory. Thos. Sommers, Jr. 361

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will be lance corporal in the next war, if he inherits your brilliant brains and abilities. SOMMERS

You’re crazy, Asham: there ain’t going to be any next wars.

ASHAM

(Looking at him steadily, calmly. Then speaks reassuringly) Oh, no, no. Of course not. Better don’t think of it, Tom. It’s the thinking and waiting that gets you. (Turning away) Besides it’s too much for your poor brain.

SOMMERS

(Peeved) Never mind, my “poor brain.” You think you’re the cream of the earth, don’t you? But you didn’t so much as enter into the hospital room for the two days that the shell shock case was here. No better than an ape booming away with his bellow lungs. A ape, no more, so help me, God. Going through life knowing nothing, feeling nothing, only yelling his blooming head off. You were mumbling your poetry then thicker than ever, I noticed, and I—I kept on saying to myself: here, Tom Sommers, you might be the same for the rest of your natural life, and May will never have anyone to look after her. Imagine spending the rest of your life in the nuthouse with that strength of his—yelling Boom! Boom! Your brain is not any smarter than mine, understand. You don’t think any more than I do, man. I have no time to be mumbling that crazy stuff from sunrise to sunrise as you do. You think you are here—but you are not. You are stuffing up your ears and shutting your eyes to everything. (Grimacing) “I 362

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am eternity!” (ASHAM turns at him, pale-faced, rigid. SOMMERS notices the change, stares at him, slinks back) Oh I say—I—I didn’t mean it. Honest I didn’t, Asham. ASHAM

(Coolly) It’s quite alright, Tom. You may be right about me, but you’re wrong about that shell-shock case: you see, to him it is quite natural—he doesn’t know that he was ever different, it is natural for him to be that way as for anyone else to be otherwise.

SOMMERS

(Moodily guilty) I don’t want to be as natural as him. (Huskily) I dream of them—nights, nights on a stretch. So help me, God, Asham. You remember that sniper? Nice chap wasn’t he? Givin’ that German a chance to fix up his braces before giving it to him in the head, a regular sport, I calls it, then he himself gets it through the neck, and now his head will be wobbling like a bloody bulrush in the wind for the rest of his life.

ASHAM

(Dryly) It’s only the waiting, Tommy, that gets us. Did you ever think, Tom, that life ends in death? Think of it and then nothing matters.

SOMMERS

(Looks at him with a mixed expression of awe and fear) I think—I’ll have to—to go and straighten things up (backs towards the left doorway) So help me, God (backs out).

ASHAM

(Dusts the chair, reciting to himself while doing it, not noticing that the right-hand door opened and CAPTAIN WAITMAN has come in) 363

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As feels the dreamer what doth most create His own particular fright.35 WAITMAN

(About thirty-two—or five, slight of build, but wiry, athletic, recites in pleasant tone) So these three felt;

ASHAM

(Raises his head. Surprised at seeing CAPTAIN WAITMAN. Clicks his heels. Stands at attention.)

WAITMAN

Carry on, Asham. (ASHAM puts on some finishing touches, then puts the rag away in the right-hand corner of the lower shelf.)

ASHAM

Let’s see if you remember the rest of it. (Mockingly)

WAITMAN

I meant go on with the poem. Expectant stand the spheres Breathless and laurelled peers. Nor move, ’til ends the lofty strain Nor move ’til—’til—’til—

ASHAM

(A flicker in his eyes) ’Til Milton’s tuneful thunders cease And leave once more the ravished heavens in peace— That’s from his “Ode to Apollo”—

WAITMAN

Go on with “Endymion.”

35

From Keats’s “Endymion.”

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ASHAM



—so these three felt; Or like one who, in after ages, knelt— To Lucifer or Baal, when he’d pine After a little sleep; when in mine Far underground, a sleeper meets his friends Who know him not. (Interrupting himself)—the whole human cycle is said to be found in Keats, sir. (Excitedly) Thank God for Homer and Keats, sir.

WAITMAN

What now, Asham?

ASHAM

Fear. A chap was just telling me fear fills his dreams. Only he didn’t know it. (Puts one of the chairs in its place.)

WAITMAN

Fear of what, Asham?

ASHAM

(Smiling and reciting) Each diligently bends Towards common thoughts and things for very fear; Striving their ghastly melody to cheer By thinking it a thing of yes or no That housewives talk of.

WAITMAN

Oh these rumours?—“they say”—yes—swayed by the breeze from smartly arrayed general headquarters, to weary, mud-bespattered platoons festooned by cookhouse odours. (Both laugh.)

ASHAM

A beautiful and true line, sir.

WAITMAN

By the late Capt. W., late professor of English literature—(laughs dryly) Never mind the rumours, 365

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Asham—Would you like to go to London, clerking in the War Office? ASHAM

(Coolly) No, sir— Now more than ever seems it rich to die,  To cease upon the midnight with no pain. 36

WAITMAN

Leaving “the palm to wither by itself”?

ASHAM

Yes sir. Thank God for Homer and Keats; I’ve lived a full life. May just as well write ‘finis’—peacefully.

WAITMAN

(In serious vein. Walking the floor moodily) I don’t know, Asham—whether one is right to make such a statement; that is be thankful for a full life on Homer and Keats and die in peace. What about those that have never heard nor worried about them? There are so many people that only want some little, fun life, a good meal, a cheerful smile, a home full of laughter, a bright day, a cozy evening among their family and a night of peace. The bulk of people want no more. What about them? After all, this war is waged supposedly for them, not for the sake of Greek scholars and professors.

ASHAM

(A wry smile on his face) You remember, sir?—After Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse, escaped with the most valuable treasures of Syracuse, because of heroic deeds of Plato’s disciple Dion Haraclides— the flatterer of and traitor of the Syracusian bulk of

36

Keats, “Ode to a Nightingale.”

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people—and Dionysius tried to appease them by promises of an equal diversion of lands—by granting them equality which was the first foundation of civil liberty, and by abolishing poverty, because poverty is the same as slavery—after all this, for the sake of treacherously keeping Dion, the true enemy of Dionysius, out of the bulk’s favour. And the bulk of the people followed Heraclides. Thank God for Homer and Keats, sir, I’ve lived a full life.37 WAITMAN

(Fanatically as if trying to scare off a nightmare) No, no. You are wrong, Asham. This is the noblest war in history. This—is the last war in human history.

ASHAM

(Begins dusting—polishing the table vigorously though it has been done so before by SOMMERS) Thank God for Homer and Keats, sir.

WAITMAN

(Walking up and down by the table) At times, though, Asham, I can’t help wondering. That is, whether the future will come out as expected to, as we like to picture. (After a short meditative pause) You see, at the preliminary investigation Butt expressed a really beautiful thought: he refused a medical examination, because, he said: “The question is not whether I am sick, the question is whether one man is justified to accuse another of depriving his fellow being from the comforts of an existence under given circumstances merely

37

In this somewhat garbled account, Jauvoish conflates two historical figures, Dion and Heraclides, both opponents of the Syracusan tyrant Dionysus II, c. 360 bce.

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because he wishes to use his authority as a weapon of revenge.”—Can you see the sweep of it? (Rubbing his forehead vigorously while ASHAM looks on puzzled) The point is—after the war who is going to wield the authority on Man? Those few who are now ready to give their lives away for some dream, or those who are merely applauding because they are looking on from a brave safe distance. Will the authority be misused? (With an expression of inward worry) You understand what I mean, don’t you? You see, it’s always puzzled me, an ignorant prof. of literature in khaki. ASHAM

(Still following WAITMAN with a puzzled expression) Yes, I do, sir.

WAITMAN

(Annoyed) Oh, damn the sir stuff! Here I’m talking to you as a man to a man, not as a uniform to a uniform. You see at times I doubt my own faith in that brighter future. (Lowering his voice as if fearing his own thoughts) At times I think that we are mere tools, that we, who have never known everyday life, have been trapped, hypnotized and fooled by— monstrous, flattering demagogues.

ASHAM

(Consolingly) Shouldn’t we rather give the future its chance?

WAITMAN

(As if to himself) Peace. Peace. (Walking up to the shelves.)

ASHAM

I dare say you’ll want Butt’s file.

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WAITMAN

(A worried expression on his face) Oh, yes. You might just as well have it ready.

ASHAM

(Takes a file from the bookcase and places it neatly at the far end of the table) It’s all in the game, sir. (After a few minutes silence) It’s too bad, sir, that Butt is so stubborn. He should not refuse to complain about his illness now.

WAITMAN

Legally that would not change the substance of the offense anyway. But with him it is more of a question of personal pride, or of basic right and wrong. A difficult thing in an army at war.

ASHAM

Aye, sir. “Heroes in heaven’s peculiar mould are cast.”38 The door, right, opens. MAJOR ROADS and LIEUTENANT MORRISON walk in. The former wellbuilt, purple-faced, eye-glassed, middle-aged man. Stocky and phlegmatic. CAPTAIN WAITMAN clicks his heels. They shake hands. ASHAM at attention a few feet right from table.

ROADS

Be seated, gentlemen. We’ll try and see this thing through as quickly as possible. (He seats himself at the table in front of the file. Waitman on his right, Morrison to his left.)



(To WAITMAN) Your headache gone, Waitman?

38

From John Dryden’s poem, “Threnodia Augustalis: a funeral-pindarique sacred to the happy memory of King Charles ii.”

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WAITMAN

Quite, sir.

ROADS

(To Asham) Asham, call in the sergeant major.

ASHAM

(Smartly—droningly) Yes, sir. (Leaves, right.)

ROADS

(To WAITMAN) I am very sorry, old boy, but he stubbornly refuses to parade before the medical officer. It’s his principles, he claims, that’s at stake and he is determined to go through with the trial. (Turning to Morrison) Understand, gentlemen, the ranks are all agog with his case, and it’s very important that we maintain discipline at any price.

MORRISON

A strange boy he is. I could tell that by the letters I had to censor. The door opens. ASHAM enters.

ASHAM

(Stands at inner side of doorway). The sergeant major, sir. (Remaining near doorway at attention.) REGIMENTAL SERGEANT MAJOR enters. Middleaged, military bearing of the old regular army man. Briskly marches up to the table, smartly clicks his heels, salutes.

ROADS

Bring in the prisoner.

SERGEANT MAJOR

(Clicks his heels) Very well, sir. (Salutes, about-turns. Marches out.) About three minutes pass, then the SERGEANT MAJOR marches in. The CORPORAL OF THE GUARD,

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PRIVATE OF THE GUARD, BUTT—hatless, beltless— GUARD, MILITARY POLICE CORPORAL, GUARD following him. SERGEANT MAJOR

(Reaching the left end of the table, turns about, commands) Halt! Mark time! Right turn! Mark time! Halt, two paces forward march. (Clicks his heels, salutes.)

ROADS

(Turning to BUTT) Your name and number?

BUTT

No. 041009, Andrew Butt, sir.

ROADS

Regimental No. 041009, Andrew Butt, you are charged with disobedience to a lawful command given personally by a superior officer while on active service. (Turning to MILITARY POLICE CORPORAL) What have you to say about it, Corporal Patton?

PATTON

(Smartly saluting). Sir, I was detailed to watch the working party of the 1st Platoon, A Company at the lineup for their rations at 2 a.m. The prisoner, I had noticed, refused to take his ration of bully beef. I asked him for a reason, sir, and he said it was none of my business, he said he did not enlist for the three squares a day as I did, sir. I then asked him for his name and number, sir, he told me he was not anxious to know me, sir, and did not care if I never know him, sir. I ordered him to the guardroom, sir, and put him under arrest, sir!

ROADS

(To PATTON) Is this all, Corporal Patton? 371

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PATTON

Yes, sir.

ROADS

(To BUTT) Prisoner, what have you to say?

BUTT

(Does not salute, having had his cap removed for that purpose.) Sir, I was told off for the morning’s working party. At a quarter to two I had lined up with the rest of the boys for rations. My stomach has been upset lately, so I refused the bully beef as I had been doing for the past week or so. I had moved on to take my ration of hard tacks—

ROADS

(False surprise) What’s that, prisoner?

BUTT

I mean—biscuits sir—when I heard someone accuse me of trying to steal an extra meal from my fellows.

ROADS

(Realizing he has to save the situation. Looks from the corner of his eye at Morrison, then glaring at BUTT, shouts) That’s not to the point! Did or did not Corporal Patton ask for your name and number?

BUTT

Yes sir, he did, but—

ROADS

But me no buts. Answer: did he or did he not ask you for your name?

BUTT

(Stunned) He did, sir.

ROADS

Why didn’t you give it to him?

BUTT

I didn’t know who he was and besides (speaking rapidly as if fearing to lose the chance to speak them so 372

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that they sound like one word) he was accusing me of stealing an extra meal from my own fellows. ROADS

(His eyes glaring at BUTT, shouts) Didn’t I tell you that is not the point! (BUTT, biting his lips, remains quiet. Lowers his head.) Will you speak up or not?

BUTT

(Suddenly squaring his shoulders, raising his head, looks sincerely into MAJOR ROAD’s eyes) I will, and I will also say that I am to the point. (MAJOR ROAD’s face turns a deep purple, his lips part slightly, his eyes express shocked surprise.) I was a straightforward man in civil life and have remained so in the army. I enlisted to fight militarism and not to steal extra meals from my fellow volunteers. The man who has insulted me, no matter what it his rank is, he should be tried, not I, sir.

ROADS

(Looks BUTT up and down. His lips closing as if he had finally swallowed a bite that was choking him. Speaks bitingly, incisively) But if anybody asks you for your name and number he certainly must have authority to do so. That is, he is your superior officer.

BUTT

But he had no right to insult me, sir!

ROADS

(With a puzzled expression on his face) What do you mean “insult” you? Who was more insulted? Whom do you think I should believe?

BUTT

(Firmly) I was more deeply insulted, sir! And you may believe whomever you will, sir. But I demand justice and fair play! That’s what we are supposed to be fighting for and give our lives for, sir. 373

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ROADS

(Banging the table) Shut your mouth, or I’ll put a charge against you for mutiny!

BUTT

(Face flushed, challenging) I demand justice, sir!

ROADS

(Lowering his head. In hollow tones) Quiet I say! Sergeant Major, march the prisoner out!

SERGEANT MAJOR

(Clicks his heels). Yes, sir! (Commanding) Prisoner, shun! Escort, shun!—Left turn! Prisoner!— Two paces backward march!—Left wheel quick march! Left-right-left-right-left-right.

BUTT

(From near the door) I demand justice!

SERGEANT MAJOR

Double-quick march! (BUTT and escorts leave at a run. The SERGEANT MAJOR shuts door behind him. There is an atmosphere of tense defiance in the courtroom. MAJOR ROADS staring at the shut door as if studying it. CAPTAIN WAITMAN looking out through window, his chin cupped in his right hand. LIEUTENANT Morrison staring at MAJOR ROADS’s profile. PRIVATE ASHMAN stands at attention near door, right.)

ROADS

(After a short silence) Lieutenant Morrison, what do you think of this case? (From left could be heard the command “Ma-ark time! Right dress! Halt!”)

MORRISON

I’d rather have you pronounce sentence, sir.

ROADS

(Slightly irritated) According to the K. R. and O., the court’s decision must be free from and 374

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not influenced by the senior officer’s opinion, Lieutenant Morrison.39 MORRISON

(In tone of indecision) The boy seems to be rather high strung and hypersensitive. I don’t think he’d stand strapping to the wheel. Do you think we’d better subject him to the medical exam, sir?

ROADS

The question right now Lieutenant Morrison is whether the boy is guilty of disobeying his superior officer or not.

MORRISON

I think he is, sir.

ROADS

(To WAITMAN) What do you think of it, Captain?

WAITMAN

I don’t think so, sir. There was no actual intended disobedience. And I don’t believe he is high strung or super sensitive. His main trouble is that he has an intelligence away above the average and he can’t get away from his high principles and his human self-respect. I have noticed it while censoring his letters. It is quite likely had he known that it was a superior officer he would have realized his position and acted differently. But the first thing he knows is that he is accused of being a sneak thief. He may have acted rather—well— hastily—not thinking that that the questioning was done by one in authority.

39

K.R. and O.: The King’s Regulations and Orders for the Army.

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ROADS

You’ve likely noticed that the prisoner stated that no matter what his rank was, no man had the right to insult him thus.

WAITMAN

We must consider the fact, sir, that he has been brooding over it since last night and based his defense on righteous civilian indignation. But that may not have been in his mind at that time the thing had actually occurred.

ROADS

Gentlemen, I’m not trying to influence you, I’m only trying to guide you along the lines of military law. You may be quite right in your assumptions, Captain, but we are here now to enforce discipline, and this boy needs it. And the army needs it. He may be right, in civil life, but he is guilty here. He may be sick—perhaps it’s true, but he did not report sick. (WAITMAN looking at MORRISON steadily.)

MORRISON

May I say a word, sir?

ROADS

Certainly.

MORRISON

He was trying to report sick last night, his corporal was telling me, but that was not to be accepted from the 1st Platoon, A Company, who were to go out on a working party.

ROADS

Well, it’s too late, then. Right now we have a duty of keeping up the discipline of the battalion. We may respect his claims as those of an individual, but we must consider him and judge him and sentence him only as a member of a battalion, of an army in 376

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the field. If we are lenient with him, gentlemen, the impression that we approve of such action will be too obvious for the whole unit. WAITMAN

I think we are taking the wrong slant on the case, sir. (Command outside—“Stand easy.”) This boy is not the average type of boy, he is dedicating his life for a greater future, as all of us are, I hope. He expects greater justice from us, his superiors—than he would expect from superiors of an army not fighting in the name of right against might, in the name of everything noble in humanity. His principle was born by our principle which I am sure is sincere, and it must not be brushed aside, sir: he deserves the true justice our army is fighting for.

ROADS

You are quite right Captain, we are in a relentless struggle for the safety of our home and for the freedom of mankind, but the only thing that will help us is discipline, of the same strictness as the enemy’s, otherwise we’ll play into the enemy’s hands and defeat our own ends. Sentimentality in the army just at present moment would prove fatal to our very righteous cause, gentlemen. While the boy may be right, we are duty-bound. I beg of you to consider this seriously. (Turning to MORRISON) What is your sentence Lieutenant Morrison?

MORRISON

Six days F.P. No. 1, deducted pay.40

40

F.P. No. 1: Field Punishment No. 1.

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ROADS

Tying to the wheel?

MORRISON

For how long are they kept tied to it?

ROADS

Two hours each day for three days out of every four.

MORRISON

If he proves physically unfit?

ROADS

The M.O. takes charge of him. (Turning to WAITMAN) Captain Waitman?

WAITMAN

I feel very uneasy about this, Major. But—I understand your point: A necessary noble evil. For the sake of the future I agree to the sentence. (Gazing out the window; slowly) For the freedom of mankind, Major Roads.

ROADS

Alright, gentlemen: the punishment is a very light one to my opinion. I am sure no harm will befall him, and discipline will be properly maintained.

WAITMAN

(Still gazing out the window) For the freedom of mankind.

ROADS

(Turning to PRIVATE ASHAM) Orderly, call in the sergeant major!

ASHAM

Yes, sir. (Opens and holds the door open. The SERGEANT MAJOR marches in. Marches up to the table, faces MAJOR ROADS, salutes, smartly.)

ROADS

Get prisoner’s paybook, please.

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SERGEANT MAJOR

I have it, sir. (Takes the paybook out of his tunic pocket. Hands it to MAJOR ROADS.)

ROADS

(Writes, blots it. Handing it back to the SERGEANT MAJOR) The prisoner, Private. No. 041009, under section 9 of the Army Act, was awarded Field Punishment No. 1 (b) for six days, deducted pay, to take effect at once.

SERGEANT MAJOR

(Takes paybook with his left hand which smartly slams against his left thigh. Salutes with right hand.) Yes, sir. (Turns right, clicking heels. Marches out. ASHAM closes door behind him. For a few minutes there is an atmosphere of tense, uneasy quietness.)

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Act IV Scene I

The same guardroom, O’SHEA and the CORPORAL OF THE GUARD. The sun is setting. Quiet. The CORPORAL standing close to window and reading so that only his profile is seen. O’SHEA

(Sitting down on one of the lower bunks, Speaks in a drone) I say, Corporal, it will be kind of lonesome for you now. Only myself left. You’ll have no one to swear at. Poor Butt, four days and he’s not used to it yet.

CORPORAL

(Puts down his book on the table) Oh, you are quite a handful yourself, O’Shea. Butt is a good kid. Pity he wouldn’t swallow his damn pride and report sick.

O’SHEA

(In slow, hushed, far-away tones) Corp, there are no witnesses here; but I remember I am sure that the Lord is going to strike dead that poor skunk Patton if he ever gets out of stalling off front line service.

CORPORAL

(Laughs good humouredly) No, Pat, the Lord won’t do anything of the kind: he’s not with our brigade any longer and you will never be together in the same show: he’s clerking with the Redcaps now.

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O’SHEA

Now let’s get it clear: who is not with the brigade any longer—the Lord?

CORPORAL

I understand quite well who the “Lord” would be, Father. But Patton has been transferred to staff headquarters. So the “Lord” is out of luck.

O’SHEA

That’s too bad. I wonder why the Lord lets such a thing happen.

CORPORAL

Pat, he’s not such a bad egg after all. I mean Patton. He couldn’t help nabbing you this time: you were as full as a tick and trying to make a harp out of his tent ropes.

O’SHEA

I must have been full alright, otherwise I should have known how much he’d appreciate good singing. All he does know is how to pull ropes to save his cowardly hide.

CORPORAL

Wouldn’t you grab his cushy job if you could?

O’SHEA

(Slowly) You mean it seriously?

CORPORAL

(Laughing) Of course, I can’t give it to you. But if you could be given say a three-month course on something or other in Paris or Rouen, wouldn’t you grab it?

O’SHEA

(Moodily) I wouldn’t. Honest, now, I wouldn’t. I’d be afraid to leave trench-rat life: at times it seems to me that only cheating and killing is real life and that the other life is just make-believe. 381

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CORPORAL

(Surprised) Say, you talk like a sickly pacifist.

O’SHEA

Oh, no: I haven’t the guts of one. Take Butt, he has! He’d fire a bullet through his book hand if he wouldn’t believe that his fighting will bring the millennium.

CORPORAL

(Doubtingly, slowly) Who knows? Has he been put to the test? Perhaps he’ll be the first one to get out if it?

O’SHEA

He told me himself that this disciplinary punishment, in a way is good for the boys: it will implant a hatred against the brutality of war. This is the last war—he is dead sure of it. After this we go in for a life of brotherly love and everlasting peace—the lamb and the lion, the sword into the plowshare, and all that kind of stuff. All we have to do is crush the Hun and his military machine.

CORPORAL

Poor kid. The door is suddenly forced ajar, and BUTT is carried in by the GUARD. He wears his greatcoat. His head is hanging limp from his neck, grey- faced, hollow-eyed. They lay him on the floor. His lips are covered with blood. O’SHEA rushes up to the bucket standing under the table, fetches a dipper of water, bathes BUTT’s face. BUTT slowly opens his eyes. Laughs. Raises his arm as if pointing it at something.

BUTT

Look at this wheat field, huge and wide and endless right to the horizon and beyond it. God…has blessed 382

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their hard labour. (Turns his head aside, a spurt of blood from his mouth.) CORPORAL

(To GUARD) Take him to the M.O.—No—get the stretcher-bearer.

BUTT

(Motions with his hand) No. Please don’t. I’l—I’ll be alright presently. (The CORPORAL motions with his hand to the GUARD. They go out.)

O’SHEA

(To BUTT) Come on, old boy, brace up. You’ve eaten too much mulligan. Just indigestion. That’s all. One number nine pill will fix you up, alright.41

BUTT

(Moving his head from side to side as if trying to shake off something, then remains quiet for a while. Limply brings right arm across body, hand resting on pit of stomach. Mutters uninterruptedly) No…that one…The Secret Garden….Yes. Remember. We used to read and cry over it…you were twelve years old then… (seconds of silence) Lots of ducks on the slough… Miles, miles and miles of wheat…of crosses…Golden wheat…Silver crosses…Sorry, sir…This is war and— (Suddenly opens his eyes wide, looks around, notices O’SHEA) Oh, that’s you, Pat!

O’SHEA

(Lively, brightly) Sure that’s me himself, old top, at home, as usual.

BUTT

(Wanly) Good old Pat!…Good old crime-sheet museum!

41

Number nine pill: a laxative.

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O’SHEA

Never mind, old boy: we’ll soon be through with it. Only two more days and out you go to freedom and joy.

BUTT

Two more days….

O’SHEA

(Deprecatingly) Ah, what is two army days?—Just think: you fall asleep and wake up and have your mulligan. No sooner do you finish your mulligan than today is over. (Puts his hand on BUTT’s forehead) You fall asleep again to get up to eat your mulligan and there—your two days are over.

BUTT

(Weakly) Two days…

O’SHEA

And then the world looks grand to you, let me tell you. That’s a little later O’Shea gets out of the coop and, boy!—Will we celebrate our freedom! You’ll go anywhere we like: to the estaminet, the ymca, Coupingy, to the Co. latrine—and no guards about us!42

BUTT

(Mock-heroically, eyes glistening) Ah, Freedom… what crimes have been committed in thy hallowed name! (Laughs weakly. Suddenly raises his head. Retches. Turns aside. There’s a spurt of blood. Stretcherbearers come, gently place him on stretcher.)

O’SHEA

Gently boys. You are carrying the noblest heroic child in the army. Gently, boys, gently.

42

Coupingy: a town in Pas-de-Calais, close to Lens, used as a rest area.

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Scene II

Night. A partitioned-off part of the room in the chateau, formerly a library. Right: a door opening into another room; nearer, a small table at which SOMMERS is reading by candlelight, the London Daily Mail. Back: a wide French window heavily draped. In front of it a cot, freshly made up with clean bed sheets, pillows, and blankets. BUTT is seen tucked in and sleeping restlessly, breathing heavily. About five feet from the head of the bed a rough board wall partitions off the rest of the room. In the middle of partition a doorway hung over by an army blanket. Nearer to foreground, another small table, at which is seated CAPTAIN LOCKYER, the medical officer, an athletically built middle-aged man. He is deeply absorbed in reading a letter. After a few minutes he finishes reading it, folds it energetically, places it in an envelope, seals it. Rises, moving his chair back. BUTT wakes suddenly with a start, notices the letter in CAPTAIN LOCKYER’S hand. SOMMERS jumps to his feet. BUTT

(Sleepily, but in a tone of sudden inspiration) Sir, is it alright for me to write a letter?

LOCKYER

(Warmly) No, not now, Butt. You better wait for morning. How do you feel now? You should be sleeping?

BUTT

I was thinking, sir, if things don’t go so well for me would you write to my—to my sweetheart for me?

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LOCKYER

(Walks up to BUTT’s bed. Speaks good humouredly) Now, now, you take things far too seriously. You’ll be alright. Besides, (smiles forcedly) I’d write your sweetheart anyway, especially if she’s good-looking.

BUTT

(Dreamily) Ah, she’s a princess, sir. And wise, sir. And you couldn’t take her from me. No one could. (Mildly delirious) Write her that I was very happy in the army. Write her that if I had not believed that this war will make a better world I should have done away with myself a long time ago.

LOCKYER

(Solicitously) You better rest my boy. Certainly the world will be a better world after this. We are the last army in the history of the world. No more wars after this one. And no more armies.

BUTT

(Happily) That’s what I firmly believe, sir. No more wars after this. No more wars. Thank you, sir.

LOCKYER

(Walks to the door, turns about, speaks to SOMMERS) You take care of Butt. I’ll be out for half an hour or so. If you need me call me at the mess.

SOMMERS

Yes, sir!

LOCKYER

(Standing in doorway) The quarter-grain tablets are in the lower drawer.43 Now, remember what I told you.

43

Quarter-grain tablet: a sedative.

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SOMMERS

(Smartly) Yes, sir! (Walks up to table at which the doctor has been sitting, opens up the order book, entering the order. While he is writing, BUTT watches him. ASHAM enters through right door.)

BUTT

(Turning to SOMMERS) Another patient?

SOMMERS

No, just Prune-face. Don’t mind him, and go to sleep like a good boy.

BUTT

(Smiling wanly) Prune-face—what a strange name for one to carry through life.

SOMMERS

That’s his army name, the only name fittin’ for a face like that peepin’ above a uniform. I think you better try and fall asleep.

ASHAM

If you’d quit jabbering he’d fall asleep.

BUTT

(To ASHAM) Are you from the west?

ASHAM

No, I am from the north-north-west.44

SOMMERS

He means he’s nuts, boy.

BUTT

What did Doctor Lockyer mean about the quartergrain tablets?

SOMMERS

(Evasively) Just to have them checked up.

44 From Hamlet: “I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw” (Act ii, Scene ii).

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BUTT

Am I to get another inspection?

SOMMERS

(Taken aback) Well—you see, you must rest, old boy. If you can’t, it might be best to give you one. Rest is the best thing for you now. If you’d only be quiet you might fall asleep.

BUTT

I don’t want to sleep. I want to talk. (After a short silence during which ASHAM sits down at the table, right.)— Did you ever live on the prairies? (Not waiting for a reply, staring ahead with an inward look)—They work and work, and work ’til they turn prune-faced. And the sky is always deep. Between the farmhouse and the rainbow is a slough. Mr. Lawson’s face looks like a pro, as brown as the scorched soil during the drought. Between the road and the rainbow is a slough.

SOMMERS

(Looking at ASHAM. Grimacing) “Thank God for Homer and Keats.”

BUTT

(Not hearing SOMMER’s remark) You run along the road towards the rainbow. Gophers have brown stripes. The wheat fields run up to the slough. The rainbow is beyond it. The sky is always high. Molly holds my hand tightly. The slough is on this side of the rainbow. You have to stop. Stand still. And the rainbow is beyond the slough.

SOMMERS

(Concernedly) You better try to sleep, old boy.

BUTT

(Mutters on) The rainbow is beyond the slough. And it fades. Slowly. You can’t cross the slough. Molly 388

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cries. But I’m a boy—a man—I mustn’t cry—the rainbow fades beyond the slough. ASHAM

(Quietly) Never you mind. You’ll get the rainbow someday, old boy.

BUTT

(His mutters growing fainter. His eyes closing slowly) The rainbow…beyond…the slough…the sky is… high…the wheat fields…the sun…

SOMMERS

(Disappears through left door. BUTT keeps on mumbling, opening and shutting his eyes. A few seconds later SOMMERS appears, walks up to BUTT)— You must rest, old boy. (Bends over his right side for a few seconds while BUTT keeps on mumbling. Turning to ASHAM) “Thank God for Homer and Keats”—he’s been going on this way off and on for the last twenty-four hours. (The mumbling subsides. SOMMERS speaks in a harsh whisper staring at ASHAM with a steady, puzzled look.) Let’s you and I stick together when the Big Push comes off, eh? (ASHAM nods assent. SOMMERS picks up the newspaper, stands it up at an angle shading the lamplight, tip-toes up to ASHAM, speaks to him low whispers. They both walk out right door.)

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Scene III

A long room in a farmhouse in western Canada. The walls are covered with glossy-grey wallpaper. The ceiling, also grey, merges with the sky in some strange fashion in right foreground. The centre is occupied by a long two-board-width table covered by a snowywhite tablecloth. Left, back, an old cream separator. The floor is spotlessly clean, but old and well worn. Otherwise the room is bare of furniture. A wide, square window in the centre of the back wall allows a quiet grey light to filter into the room. Space-depth of the right wall foreground is occupied by steep gravelly river bend, horseshoe shaped. This extends for about eight feet to left, a narrow path leading from right proscenium to the bank. Riverbank is flanked by shrubbery and a solitary birch sapling on extreme left. Above this and coalescing with ceiling proper is the sky. Beyond this little nook of landscape, in the right wall, can be seen a door. This opens into the room. On a two-inch plank jutting above the door lintel, a glossy-black CROW is perched motionlessly, eyes staring directly across the room at a door opening from the left wall into the yard. The room is otherwise bare of any other furniture or sign of habitation. A boy resembling BUTT, only with a more firmly set face, and of lustreless eye, in civilian clothes, sitting at the left and over the river bend. He is leaning against the birch sapling. To his left, and a little to the foreground, is sitting a YOUNG GIRL of about eighteen years of age, supple, open-air complexioned. They both seem to gaze into the rippling water of the river. His hands are resting on his knees. Her right hand resting on his left hand.

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A VOICE

(As if coming from the right-handed depth of the room utters in monotone) I have moulded you and created you in a moment of spiritual indifference. Everything in life you shall meet with dull equanimity.

CROW

(With same monotone) Ya-a-a.

VOICE

Joy to you is only the womb of Sorrow. And Sorrow the pulse-beat of creation.

CROW

Ya-a-a.

VOICE

From morn to eve with persistent monotony, you shall ply your trade—carcass-searching, and its memories.

CROW

Ya-a-a.

HE

(Raises his hand suddenly and looks to right).

SHE

(Not having heard the VOICE, keeps on gazing into the water with great calm and peace) So strange. So strange that we are together again. As if nothing had happened. As if you were never away from me. As if only you and me are—like dawn in Heaven. (He turns his head back slowly to left. She speaks on tenderly, reminiscing.) You remember? You were in your first year of theology. You had been talking to Father about the marvellous beauty of the chapter on creation, and I asked you: What was God doing before the earth was created? And you laughed and said, “He just enjoyed dawn in Heaven.” Remember, dear? (Muffled sounds of heavy guns. Only the boy seems to hear it.) 391

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HE

(Slowly turns his head to right, gazes steadily, listening intently. Speaking huskily, slowly.) Yes. So strange.

SHE

Isn’t it though. You’re happy, darling, aren’t you? (Cuddles close up to him) Oh it’s so good to be with you again! (With a vivid sweep of her left hand) Look at the fields, the flowers and the birds, look at the sun, and the sky, look! (Sudden ecstasy of reminiscing mood) Do you remember the April showers, Andy? Do you remember the way we’d dance, prance, and sing and race toward the foot of the rainbow to be stopped by the slough? It was always between us and the rainbow! (Gently, fondling his hand) The sky is still the same, Andy, isn’t it. Look: how crystal clear, how deep it is! Like—a baby’s smile, like— like—dawn in Heaven! (Lifting his left hand from his lap and fondling it tenderly, while looking intently at the profile of his face) And only you and me, and I and you, darling. And all this for us—all for us! And peace (ecstatically)—for all the time! For all of the world! Peace. But you haven’t told me a thing about yourself, dear, all this time?

HE

(With a passion) I’ve enlisted to fight militarism, sir, not to steal hardtacks from my starving fellow soldiers!

SHE

(Lowering her head sadly, then in the angry staccato voice of MAJOR ROADS speaks) But you’re in the army now! Discipline must be maintained at any sacrifice! (Her own deeply tender voice is heard.) Somehow you don’t seem to be your former self, darling. You are always so moody. 392

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CROW

Ya-a-a. (He turns his head to right and looks up.)

SHE

(Looks up too. Tenderly) Isn’t it wonderful! And you coming through it without as much as a scratch!

HE

(In the same tone as BUTT was talking to the CORPORAL OF THE GUARD, Act ii, Scene iii.) I was thinking, perhaps you are right: perhaps it is best never to get back at all. (Leans forward. Stares ahead toward the horizon. With a sweeping motion of his right arm. Passionately) Look, Molly! Miles, miles, and miles of wheat fields. Swaying and rippling on to the very edge of the sky. All created by man out of a wilderness. Then we have rejected it all! Then to steal the iron and tin, and nickel and steel, from the womb of the earth to macerate and wound her fertile body, to torture and kill youth and bury it in her bleeding wounds…Miles and miles of white crosses. (He stares at her.)

SHE

(His voice seems to have been inaudible to her. She turns her face upward, points towards the sky. He hears.) From morn to eve, with persistent monotony, you must apply your trade—carcass-searching. (Turns abruptly to him. Her face lit up with excitement. Jumps up) You stay here, Andy, for just one minute. I have the most beautiful surprise in your life for you. (Kisses him and hops away right by shrubbery, along the path.)

HE

(Rises suddenly. Stares at window. A haggard, distorted face stares through it. (The MASK-LIKE

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FACE hoarsely lisps: “Fee-nee.”45 Disappears. Doors to right open). MAN

(Looking like Johnnie’s father, more haggard, prematurely aged. Face grimly set. Looking straight ahead, clop clops across the length of room on his wooden leg, between table and window, pushing a wheezing, squeaking baby carriage made out of a rough packing box. It is painted golden. Wheels the carriage out through door left. A few minutes of strained emptiness and quiet pass. The right door opens slowly.)

WOMAN

(Dressed in tatters, back bent by a heavy loaded gunny sack, shuffles across stage in silence. Only her lean, sad profile is seen as she moves to left door and leaves. Right door opens again.)

A GIRL OF (Hard of face, cheeks cheaply painted a glowing red. INDEFINITE Briskly struts across the stage, swinging her lean AGE hips, while gum chewing. Her heels click jarringly,

disturbing the stillness. Struts out.) HE

(Keeps on staring at the left door, when slowly, the right door opens.)

TWO MEN

(Carry in an oblong bundle which has the outlines of a human body. It is sewn up in a grey army blanket. They carry it to the table in a shuffling walk, their jaws set as if the load is too heavy for them. They place the load on the table with some difficulty.)

45

Fee-nee: finis, the end.

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BOTH

(In indifferent monotones) Fee-nee. (They turn about and shuffle out in silence, keeping a weary military step.)

CROW

(In monotone) Ya-a-a.

MASK-LIKE FACE

(Haggard again appears at the window, staring. Lisps) Fee-nee. (Disappears. Door right, opens. The stage gradually darkens.)

HE

(Reaches toward the left door. Stage darkens. Rapid soft footfalls are heard coming along the footpath.)

A GIRL’S VOICE

Andy! Darling! Where are you? Where are you— you—you? (A few minutes silence.)

BUTT’S VOICE

(Stifled with the heaviness and oppression of a nightmare). Wa—a—ter…wa…or-derly—(A gurgling voice is heard. Then a long, drawn out sigh) a h-ah-ah. CURTAIN

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Appendices

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APPENDIX ONE

The P.B.I. Program, Hart House Theatre, March 10, 1920

The following pages contain the programme for the premiere of The P.B.I. Hart House Fonds, University of Toronto Archives.

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APPENDIX TWO

War Service Summary: The P.B.I. Authors and Cast Members

Abbreviations bef British Expeditionary Force Bttn Battalion Btty Battery Coy Company Div Division fcce Field Company Canadian Engineers cadc Canadian Army Dental Corps camc Canadian Army Medical Corps cef Canadian Expeditionary Force cfa Canadian Field Artillery cmgc Canadian Machine Gun Corps cotc Canadian Officers Training Corps lac Library and Archives Canada ppcli Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry rmc Royal Military College of Canada ut University of Toronto The entire complement of The P.B.I. were military veterans, with the exception of the women in the cast, the young actor who played the boy, several of the supporting backstage crew, and possibly, 403

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one actor (Lappin) for whom no record can be found. They were all members of the University of Toronto community. The program for The P.B.I. contains several misspellings and errors, but details can be cross-referenced in lac’s digital collection of cef records and the University of Toronto Roll of Service, which gives summary details of service and academic programs, and the University of Toronto yearbook, Torontonensis. Cast Amyot, Gregory Fere (Staff Captain). No. 930. b. Toronto, 1897. Erroneously listed as A.F. Amyot in the program. He enlisted in March 1915 and served in the camc as sergeant with the No. 4 Canadian General Hospital in Salonika, Greece. ut program: Medicine. Barton, Harold George (Robinson, French Officer). No. 26511. b. Montreal, 1894. The envelope containing his dossier reads “Harold Gervase,” and the documents in it use both forms. The Roll of Service lists Harold Gervase and Harold George separately, but both entries describe the same person. He enlisted in September 1914 and landed in England with the First Contingent. He was a sergeant in the 14th Bttn and saw action in all major battles. He was gassed at Ypres in September 1917. A month later he was sentenced to three months detention for being awol for two weeks. In August 1918 he was promoted to lance corporal but the promotion was reversed the same day for falling out of line of march without permission. In November 1918 he was granted permission to marry. ut program: University College. Bennett, Willard Erlandson (Duke). No.13955. b. Ottawa, 1898. He joined the cfa directly from rmc in August 1918. He served as a lieutenant in cfa depots in England. ut program: Applied Science. 404

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APPENDIX TWO

Bird, (John Thomas) Samuel Roland (Oley). No. 529519. b. Victoriaville, qc, 1898. He enlisted in Kenora in September 1915 and served as a private in the No. 10 Canadian Field Ambulance. He served at Ypres, the Somme, Vimy Ridge, Hill 70, Passchendaele, Arras, Cambrai. He was awarded the French Mèdaille Militaire at the Somme. ut program: Dentistry. Blott, Robert Dudley (Major Mackenzie). No. 419129. b. Dunnville, on, 1896. He enlisted in June 1915 and joined the 42nd Bttn in France three months later. He served at the front as a private until wounded by shrapnel in the arm and a gunshot wound in the thigh at Ypres. He was discharged in December 1916. ut program: Medicine. Boyd, Joseph Angus (Nobby Clark). No. 543403. b. Fraser’s Mill, NS, 1894. He enlisted in Antigonish in September 1916 and served as a private in the camc, posted to No. 9 Stationary Hospital, No. 12 General Hospital, and No. 10 Field Ambulance. He saw action from Passchendaele to Mons. ut program: Dentistry. Bryant, George Fraser (George). He is misidentified as C.F. Bryant in the program. He trained in the cotc and on arrival was sent as a replacement officer to the Suffolk Regiment, British 6th Div, and therefore has no cef record. He fought at the Somme, Loos, Hill 70, and Cambrai, where he was wounded. ut program: Applied Science. Carson, Charles Terry (Harris). No. 30506. b. Oakville, on, 1896. He served as a sergeant in the 40th Btty cfa in all major engagements, and was wounded at St. Eloi, January 1917. He was diagnosed with “neurasthenia” in 1917 and was hospitalized. ut program: Applied Science.

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Dillon, Harry Robertson (Co-author). b. Kenilworth, on, 1894. His dossier is anomalous in that none of the documents in it records a service number. He was a captain in the cfa, commanding an ammunition column, serving as a forward observation office, and later commanded the 2nd Division Trench Mortar batteries. In September 1916, his dossier notes he was awarded the Military Cross for “conspicuous gallantry”: He rescued a wounded Officer from close to the enemy’s wire. He also controlled the fire of his Battery from an exposed point within forty five yards of the enemy’s trenches, standing up and exposed to machine gun fire. For action 31 July 16.

In February 1919, as part of the occupying forces in Germany, he was arrested and court-martialled for: 1. Committing an offence against the person of an inhabitant in that he at Cologne in the Simplicissimus café on 15.1.19 assaulted Herr Trowein, an inhabitant of Cologne. 2. Conduct to the prejudice of good order + military discipline in that he at Cologne on 15.1.19 in the Simplicissimus cafe was guilty of disorderly conduct. Neglect of Cdn Corps A.105 483 d/ 27.12.18 in that he at Cologne on 15.1.19 “when not on duty was carrying a pistol” Found NOT GUILTY of 1st and 2nd charges & GUILTY of 3rd charge. Sentenced to be REPRIMANDED.

ut program: Applied Science. Douglas, Thomas St. Clair (Mike). No. 284773. b. Atwood, on, 1896. Enlisted from the cotc and arrived in England in November 406

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1916. He served in depots in England until transferring to the Royal Flying Corps. He was a second lieutenant ferry pilot to the end of the war. ut program: Medicine. Downie, Ralph Waldo (Colonel, Co-author). No. 5326. b. Melita, MB, 1891. He served in the 2nd Field Coy, Canadian Engineers, 3rd Division, and the 9th Field Coy. Commissioned lieutenant in January 1917 and posted to a training depot in Quebec. He was “Seriously Reprimanded” for “When on active service absent from tattoo Roll Call.” ut program: Practical Science. English, Samuel Sandford (Jock). No. 982. b. Hamilton, on, 1896. He enlisted in April 1915. He served as a private in the camc, with the No. 4 Canadian General Hospital in Salonika. He was discharged in 1917 upon acceptance for officer training in the Royal Artillery. ut program: Medicine. Fair, William Joseph Arthur (Percy). b. Midland, on, 1892. No service number listed. He joined in April 1916 and served as a lieutenant in the machine gun companies of the 3rd and 4th Divisions. He saw action at Hill 70, Passchendaele, Amiens, Arras, and Cambrai, and was injured in a gas attack in August 1917. ut program: He is identified in the program as a student at St Michael’s College, but is not listed in the Roll of Service. Gauld, John Gordon (Lt. Green). No. 487278. b. Mimico, on, 1893. He is misidentified in the program as J.C. Gauld. He went overseas with the 5th Univ Coy ppcli in April 1916 and assigned to the 58th Bttn. He served in the ranks and was promoted from company sergeant major to lieutenant in November 1916. He was a captain at Vimy Ridge and Passchendaele and was wounded three times. In 1918 he was adjutant captain in the Canadian Siberian Expeditionary Force, where he served with Raymond Massey and 407

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participated in the minstrel shows Massey produced in Vladivostok. He acted in a dramatic sketch called “In Flanders Fields,” which Massey describes as “well-written but with, in retrospect, a touch of Journey’s End.” ut program: Knox College. Gropp, Gordon Stewart (Adjutant). No. 249656. b. Milverton, on, 1898. He enlisted in May 1916 and served as a corporal in the 54th Bttn. He was wounded at Amiens in 1918. ut program: Dentistry. Honey, Edgar Morly (Capt. Clark). No. 220465. b. Mitchell, on, 1895. He arrived in England in May 1916 and joined the 50th Bttn as a private. He was wounded at the Somme and again at Vimy Ridge. ut program: Dentistry. Huggins, Frank William (Sgt. Hall). He entered the Royal Garrison Artillery in the British Army directly from the Royal Military College of Canada. He therefore has no Canadian service file. He was a second lieutenant in the 267th Siege Btty at Passchendaele, Cambrai, Amiens, and Arras. ut program: Applied Science. Johnson, Henry Hibbert (Silent Signaller). No. 349473, b. Charleston, on, 1898. He enlisted in November 1916. He served as a gunner in 13th Btty cfa, and was attached to the 4th Div Signal Coy, and then served in the 27th Btty. He was wounded at Passchendaele. ut program: Applied Science. Lappin, ———. (Stretcher-Bearer Brand). No first name is given the program. The Roll of Service has no entry by that name. There were seven Lappins in the cef, two of whom enlisted in Toronto. None seems an easy fit. There was a John Aylmer Lappin (b. 1900) who does not appear to have served. He was a student in dentistry 408

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APPENDIX TWO

at ut, graduating in 1926. He started in dentistry in 1922, and if he was a science student prior to that, he would have been in the right time and place, and would have known several of the cast members. In the program, Brand is described as a “mouth organ fiend,” and it is possible that they brought a non-veteran aboard because of that ability. However, this is at odds with the preliminary descriptions of characters in the “Dramatis Personae,” where it is Hicks who is described as the mouth organ fiend, and it is Hicks who called on in the script to play the instrument. One solution to this contradiction might have been the exigency of theatrical production: we can imagine a scenario in which a last-minute swap might have been necessary, if the actor playing Hicks could not in fact play the mouth organ and someone had to be found to substitute as the “fiend.” Mandeville, James O’Reilly (Signaller Roberts). No. 1093142. b. Wellington, on, 1898. He is not listed in the ut Roll of Service. He enlisted in December 1916 as a private in the 2nd Bttn, and spent the war in the same unit, fighting in every major battle until demobilized in 1919. ut program: Dentistry. McGeary, William Lachlan (Co-author). No. 475477. b. St. Thomas, on, 1893. He arrived in Britain with the 4th Overseas Universities Coy and was posted to France with the ppcli as a private, serving at Ypres and Mount Sorrel. After officer training in 1916, he was take on strength with the 38th Bttn. His dossier records that he was awarded the Military Cross in September 1917: For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty while commanding his platoon in an attack. Although wounded early in the day, he remained on duty throughout, keeping his platoon under control and setting a splendid example. He was responsible for the capture of a machine-gun and crew as well as for the repulse of a

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strong hostile counter-attack, in which he displayed the utmost gallantry and great presence of mind.”

He was promoted to captain in October 1917. He was invalided home in September 1918 for a gunshot wound in his left arm. ut program: University College. McIntyre, A.L. (Hicks). No record of this name can be found in the lac database. Given that several of the initials in the program are incorrect, the most likely prospect is Archibald Fleming McIntyre. No. 2009049. b. Owen Sound, on, 1897. He enlisted in May 1918 and served as a sapper in 2nd Bttn Canadian Engineers in France. ut program: Education. Morrison, James Douglas (Tomkins, Compton). No. 803. b. Guelph, on, 1896. He enlisted in August 1917, and served in the cadc. He saw no overseas service. ut program: Dentistry. Powell, Heber Clinton (Richie). No. 528139. b. Goderich, on, 1898. He enlisted in March 1916. He was a private in the camc and served in France with No. 2 Canadian General Hospital. ut program: Dentistry. Pickford, Basil Charles William (The Dud). No. 814113. b. Brighton, on, 1899. He enlisted in December 1915 at the age of sixteen and served as a private in the 5th Bttn Canadian Railway Troops. After one month in France he fell ill with a serious case of pleurisy and was in hospitals in France and England until returned to Canada in October 1917. We can sense a note of sadness in the medical board report that in April 1918 recommended “that this boy be discharged.” ut program: Trinity College.

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Reid, Leslie Hartley (Brig. General). He served in the Royal Field Artillery as a lieutenant and was wounded at the Somme in July 1916. He saw subsequent service in India, Mesopotamia, and Palestine. As a member of the bef he had no Canadian dossier. ut program: Forestry. Scudamore, Harold Burt (Bill Walton, Co-author). No. 602424. b. Harriston, on, 1891. He enlisted in April 1915 and was assigned to the pay and records office in London as an acting corporal. In February 1917 he reverted to private at his own request, and in April of that year joined the 4th Bttn, 1st Div. He was wounded in March 1918 in the Hill 70 sector at Lens, and lost an arm. ut program: Divinity, Trinity College. He later became an Anglican priest. Serson, Charles Macdonald (Peronne, Hun). No. 340945. b. Gananoque, on, 1899. He enlisted in July 1916 as a gunner in the 70th Field Btty, cfa, and served the entire war in England, posted to several artillery and service corps depots. After seven months of hospitalization for a broken leg incurred while playing football, he was posted to the camc No. 12 Canadian General Hospital in Bramshott in 1918. His entry in the Roll of Service says only “Details not available.” ut program: Trinity College. Wansbrough, Elgin McKinnon (Binks, mp). No. 663682. b. Grand Valley, on, 1898. He enlisted in April 1916 at the age of seventeen and saw service as a sergeant in the 2nd Bttn cmgc at Hill 70 and Passchendaele. He was awarded the Military Medal after the Battle of Amiens. In 2016 there was a minor controversy when the town of Shelburne, on, named a street in his honour, but misspelled his name as “Wansburgh.” In the Second World War he was a colonel in the Canadian Dental Corps. He retired in 1958 as a brigadier general. ut program: Dentistry.

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Wansbrough, Robert Cecil (Spud). No. 663695, b. Amaranth, on, 1898. His initials are erroneously listed as “C.W.” and his surname is misspelled “Wansborough” in the program. He enlisted five days after his cousin, E.M. Wansbrough (above), and like him served in the cmgc, as a private in the 11th Machine Gun Coy. He was gassed in the Lens sector in December 1917. ut program: Dentistry. Young, Russell Albert (Hawkins). No. 228107. b. Hamilton, 1898. He enlisted in February 1916 and served as a driver in the 55th Batty cfa in the 13th Brigade. ut program: Dentistry. He is not listed in the Roll of Service. Front of House and Backstage Baker, Lloyd Lennox (Props). He is listed in the Roll of Service as a Royal Air Force officer cadet in 1918. ut program: Medicine Deacon, P.A. He is listed in the Roll of Service as having served in the Royal Naval Air Service but has no cef dossier. ut program: Practical Science. Coventry, Alan Feeth (Stage Manager). No recorded number. b. London, uk, 1888. Enlisted April 1915. He served as a lieutenant in the 35th Bttn, and then as an Assistant Divisional Intelligence Officer in the 2nd Div. In 1918 he was taken on strength with the 1st Canadian Tank Bttn. In 1919 he attended Oxford University, under the Khaki University scheme, where he obtained a B.A. Laurie, Russell McLeod (Box Office). No. 2365593. b. Woodstock, on, 1989. He enlisted in October 1917 and served in Toronto until September 1918, when he was discharged “having been accepted 412

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APPENDIX TWO

as a candidate for a commission in the Imperial Army.” The Roll of Service says only that he was a lieutenant in the Royal Canadian Artillery. ut program: Practical Science. Mavor, Wilfrid (Regisseur).1 b. Glasgow, Scotland, 1893. He went overseas in the First Contingent and served as a lieutenant and captain with the 15th Bttn, during which time he won the Military Cross. In 1918 he was granted four months leave in Canada, and on his return was assigned as a company commander to the 1st Canadian Tank Bttn. The war ended before the battalion could be deployed. In the Second World War he served as a Brigadier General in Ottawa. He came from a prominent ut family, his father being the eminent political economist Professor James Mavor. His sister, Dora Mavor, was an actor and director who had a formative impact on the formation of the theatre profession in Canada. ut program: Practical Science.

1

Regisseur is the French term for the director who actually stages the play and oversees all artistic effort in the production. Its usage here is typical of the rarified theatrical taste that Hart House was known for.

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APPENDIX THREE

A Canadian Volunteer’s Last Prayer

I. PROVIDENCE Oh, Thou, Ruler of Universe, Whose Might Is unconquerable, Whose Wisdom soars Beyond the highest heights of Human Right And Wrong, Whose limitless Power ever roars Through Light and Darkness and on cots’ ruins stores Temples grand, —Thou, Will, All-embracing Love, List to the prayer that my soul outpours, And in the Radiance of Thy Throne above Hear my humble words and crown them with Thy love. II. GOD AND MAN Like in a dream with painful visions full Thou hurldst dense darkness into blazing light Twistedst Love and Pain, and the sacred rule Of human Life to Horror gavest. Night Embraced Earth—only immense hatred burned bright— Was it to mould with force, a noble Man? To create a Mind of matter, deeper Might? And, in its own course and blood, tribe and clan To swamp? A new world-hour began. 414

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APPENDIX THREE

III. CANADA And from a Land beyond wide, mighty seas, Where the wild stormy river rushes free, Where prayers offer to Thee, stately trees And waters in the sunny quiet lea Draw images of skies clear, where the bee In the corn plentiful chants low his song, Where grave dark cliffs and mounts at each sea Stand on guard—Thou leadest me in the long Noble way—to crush a Tyrant’s gloomy Wrong. IV. HOME Still I left my home, where each face, each heart, Each sound was clear, where childish lips, pure, sweet, Soft lisped and called by name; where the gentle heart That now in sacred hope lives once to meet Again in peace and love—will slowly beat, Cold, low, through long, lone days and nights. Only sighs Will answer to the flower’s smile, and the Street, Full of joy, clowns’ grave-yard in her eyes Will be, and dark will look the clearest skies. V. THE REWARD O Thou, Ruler of Universe, whose wisdom Knows no need to its radiant abyss, List to me in the whirl of cries, in gloom Of silently bleeding flesh, and Thy bliss Let rest in my dying sacred breast—When solemn peace On earth soaked with sacred blood and tears will shine. Bright, everlasting, out of Despair abyss, 415

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Crowning with happiness the world of Thine— Let this then be the reward of mine. May my crushed frame, lulled by eternal sleep Breathlessly lie in strange wide field; my blood May sleep and dream of Love, peaceful home, deep In some flower garden strange,—but not a flood Of words shall ever my soul console—Grief Is never paid by words—let sacred blood And brains of Mankind new in great belief Behold the sacrifice of my dear Maple Leaf

—Simon Jauvoish 196th Western Universities O.B. Manitoba Company, Camp Hughes Saskatoon Star Phoenix, 21 October 1916

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Works Cited

Note: All service dossiers can be found in Library and Archives Canada’s Personnel Records of the First World War digital archive, www.bac-lac.gc.ca/eng/discover/military-heritage/first-world-war/ personnel-records/Pages/search.aspx. Its search engine obviates the need to list each dossier separately here. i. Plays and Novels Atkinson, William Stabler. Glory Hole: A Play of the Great War of 1914–18. 1930. Canadian Drama Collection. C.D. Coll 19.13. Mount Saint Vincent University. Microfilm. Craig, J. Marshall, ed. You’re Lucky If You’re Killed [by Norman McCleod Craig]. Lincoln: iUniverse, 2003. Graves, Robert. Good-Bye to All That. London: Anchor, 1929. Harrison, Charles Yale. Generals Die in Bed: A Story of the Trenches. Vancouver: Annick Press, 2002. Hezzlewood, Oliver. The Invisible Urge. In Poems and a Play, 132–168. Toronto: Ontario Press, 1926. Hulme, George. The Life and Death of Adolf Hitler. Toronto: Macmillan, 1975. Jauvoish, Simon. Dawn in Heaven. 1934. Canadian Drama Collection. C.D. Coll 24.13. Mount Saint Vincent University. Microfilm. Ludwig, Emil. Bismarck: The Trilogy of a Fighter. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Son, 1927. O’Casey, Sean. The Silver Tassie. In Collected Plays, vol. 2, London: Macmillan, 1949. Remarque, Erich Maria. All Quiet on the Western Front. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 1929. Scudamore, Harold B., Ralph W. Downie, William L. McGeary, and Harry R. Dillon. “The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay.” Canadian Forum, Sept. 1921, 368–74.

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———. “The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay.” Canadian Forum, Oct. 1921, 400–5. ———. “The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay.” Canadian Forum, Nov. 1921, 430–36. ———. “The P.B.I. or Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay.” Canadian Forum, vol. 11, no. 15, Dec. 1921, 464–69. ———. The P.B.I., or, Mademoiselle of Bully Grenay. 1920. Canadian Drama Collection. C.D. Coll 11.01. Mount Saint Vincent University. Microfilm. Sherriff, R.C. Journey’s End. London: Gollancz, 1929. Terry, J.E. Harold. General Post: A Comedy in Three Acts. New York: E.P. Dutton and Company, 1918. archive.org/details/generalpost00terr/page/n6.

ii. Books and Articles Baetz, Joel. Battle Lines: Canadian Poetry in English and the First World War. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier up, 2018. Canadian Expeditionary Force 196th Battalion and Reinforcing Draft: Nominal Role of Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers and Men. Ottawa: Ministry of Militia, 1917. Early Canadiana Online. eco.canadiana.ca/view/oocihm.9_08925/1?r=0&s=1. Canadian War Museum. “Vimy Ridge.” https://www.warmuseum.ca/firstworldwar/ history/battles-and-fighting/land-battles/vimy-ridge/ Christie, N.M., ed. Letters of Agar Adamson, 1914–1919. Nepean: cef Books, 1997. Cook, Tim. At the Sharp End: Canadians Fighting the Great War, 1914–1916. Toronto: Penguin Canada, 2007. ———. Shock Troops: Canadians Fighting the Great War 1917–1918. Toronto: Penguin Canada, 2008. Couser, G. Thomas. Memoir: An Introduction. Oxford: Oxford up, 2012. Gordon, Neta. Catching the Torch: Contemporary Canadian Literary Responses to World War 1. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier up, 2014. Gosling, Linda. A Better ’Ole: The Brilliant Bruce Bairnsfather and the First World War. Stroud: The History Press, 2014. Groves, Maj. Richard. The History and Heritage of the Royal Canadian Dental Corps: A Century of Service. Royal Canadian Dental Corps, 2014. http:// rcdca.cfdental.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/History-and-Heritage-of -the-rcdc.pdf. Epub. Harding, James, and John Rouse, eds. Not the Other Avant-Garde: The Transnational Foundations of Avant-Garde Performance. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 2006. Hinz, Evelyn. “Mimesis: The Dramatic Language of Auto/Biography.” In Essays on Life Writing: From Genre to Critical Practice, edited by Marlene Kadar, 195–212. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1992.

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