CHAPTER V

THE DIFFERENCES

_France, April 25th._


The cottage door is open to the night. The soft air of a beautiful
evening following on a glorious day brushes past one into the room. As I
stand here the nightingale from a neighbouring garden is piping his
long, exquisite, repeated note till the air seems full of it. Far away
over the horizon is an incessant flicker like summer lightning, very
faint but quite continuous. Under the nightingale's note comes always a
dull grumble, throbbing and bumping occasionally, but seldom quite
ceasing. Someone is getting it heavily down there--it is not our
Australians; I think I know their direction.

It was just such a glorious day as this one has been, a year ago, when
this corps of untried soldiers suddenly rushed into the nightmare of a
desperate fight. At this moment of the night the rattle of rifle fire
was incessant all round the hills. Men were digging and firing and
digging in a dream which had continued since early dawn and had to
continue for two more days and nights before there was the first chance
of rest. They were old soldiers within twenty-four hours, as their
leader told them in an order which was circulated at the time. Only a
sprinkling of the men who were there are in the Anzac units to-day. But
they are the officers and the N.C.O.'s, and that means a great deal.

We have been here long enough now to discover the differences between