PHILIP. If it comes to that, I am twenty-five.
JAMES. Indeed? I had an impression that that event took place in
about two years' time. When did you become twenty-five, may I ask?
PHILIP (quietly). It was on the Somme. We were attacking the next
day and my company was in support. We were in a so-called trench on
the edge of a wood--a damned rotten place to be, and we got hell.
The company commander sent back to ask if we could move. The C.O.
said, "Certainly not; hang on." We hung on; doing nothing, you
know--just hanging on and waiting for the next day. Of course, the
Boche knew all about that. He had it on us nicely. ... (Sadly) Dear
old Billy! he was one of the best--our company commander, you know.
They got him, poor devil! That left _me_ in command of the company.
I sent a runner back to ask if I could move. Well, I'd had a bit of
a scout on my own and found a sort of trench five hundred yards to
the right. Not what you'd call a trench, of course, but compared to
that wood--well, it was absolutely Hyde Park. I described the
position and asked if I could go there. My man never came back. I
waited an hour and sent another man. He went west too. Well, I
wasn't going to send a third. It was murder. So I had to decide.
We'd lost about half the company by this time, you see. Well, there
were three things I could do--hang on, move to this other trench,
against orders, or go back myself and explain the situation.
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