of a good-natured, elderly bachelor, who said with melancholy
resignation:

"It's jolly hard, all the same, to be knocked out like this. You're so
helpless--no dug-outs, no shelters anywhere...."

"It's doubly hard when you're married," said another. "I haven't got the
wind up about myself at all, but I can't help thinking about my wife....
They're going away now, thank the Lord. You never know when they won't
be coming back though--that's just the worst of it."

The noise of the propellers was indeed dying away.

Several voices muttered "Thank God," but one man's teeth were still
chattering as though he was so absorbed by his own fear that he had not
noticed the disappearance of its cause. Soon there was complete silence
and one by one we fell asleep.

Another clear day and another clear night. We lay awake listening
anxiously to the bursting of bombs and the muttering of anti-aircraft
fire. But we went to sleep in the end and felt drowsy all the following
day--a clear day. Casualties came in from a camp that had been bombed
overnight, and we saw shattered limbs, smashed heads, and lacerated
flesh. Several of our men were looking pale through lack of sleep and
had dark rings round their eyes.

Another clear night. The agonizing vigil began again, but I was so weary
that I went to sleep a few minutes after lights out. Sullen thunders
mingled with my dreams and did not wake me up.