Free War Classics by Flora Johnston

Twist and ’arf a dozen candles, Miss.’
    I looked up in surprise. ‘It’s only two I’ve been told to give,’ I hesitated.
    ‘That’s right, Miss,’ came the steady answer, ‘but I comes from Sainte Valerie, bit o’ ten mile off. We gets six all right, Miss, as we ain’t got no canteen there.’
    Never once have I known a soldier take advantage of a greenhorn behind the counter. The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman but, although the Saints might tempt you to believe it, he is not the only one. The British Army – other ranks – are there every time.
    This was a Remount Camp on pay night. In the hut the men were packed like sardines in a tin, behind the counter there was no one but myself and I was hardly the experienced elderly person that was de règle for this canteen. But there wasn’t a man I didn’t talk to, as well as serve, from 5 to 9 that night, and some few, remembering my last visit, had a special welcome for me. ‘Come to stay, Miss, ’ave yer this time – come for keeps?’ I shook my head sadly. After all, an elderly lady is hardly very exciting if you want to sing, ‘If you were the only girl in the world’ as they were doing then.
    At last it was closing hour and they melted away and I turned exhausted from the counter. The Quartermaster was beside me. ‘You’ll come and ’ave a bit o’ supper now, Miss.’ In the little room behind, ‘tea and something with it’ was laid out for me.
    By ten o’clock I was very sleepy and in my head was still doing sums. Tea, Twist, three boxes of matches, two packets of Woodbines … ‘Where am I going to sleep?’ I enquired lazily.
    The Hut Leader was clearing up. ‘Oh, didn’t they tell you?’ He turned round. ‘There’s a hoose in yon wood aboot ten minutes’ walk from here. I’ll tak’ you roond whenever I’ve finished this.’
    ‘They won’t all be in bed will they?’ I faltered, wishing I was there. ‘I hope it’s not too late for them.’
    ‘Them, them,’ he repeated in surprise, ‘Lassie, there’ll be naebody there but you.’
    I jumped. ‘Alone in a house in the wood?’
    ‘Ye’ll be a’richt,’ he went on, putting away the last dish. ‘Ye’re no feared, are ye?’
    ‘No,’ I said boldly. It wasn’t done to be ‘feared’ in France. I sat in silence.
    ‘If ye have a hot-water bottle by ye,’ he went on, ‘I’ll fill it from the boiler and ye’d better tak some caunles. There’s nae licht in the hoose.’
    Nothing worse could happen now. I opened my suitcase and gave him the bottle. ‘There’s a wee jug owre there,’ he said, pointing to the top of the boiler. ‘If ye like to tak some hot water wi’ ye. There’s nae fire in the hoose.’
    I hadn’t been with the Army for nothing – I obeyed. ‘ There is a bed in the house?’ I said anxiously, as he opened the door.
    ‘An a fine yin that,’ he returned with great heartiness. Outside it was pitch darkness – worse than Southampton pier. He went first, with the can of hot water and my suitcase. I followed, with a lighted candle and my rubber bottle. We hoped the candle might burn, sheltered by his back, as he was not very sure of the way. It did not. Except for the wind, there wasn’t a human sound anywhere. Who would have thought there were thousands of men in huts quite close? By the time I had bumped into the second tree, I began to think less of William the Conqueror and his forest.
    My guide turned aside. ‘This isna the right way,’ he said cautiously. ‘I’ll haud by the left till we get to the path.’
    ‘Here we are,’ he announced cheerfully in a minute, as I went over the knee in mud and spilt most of the hot water in the process. ‘There’s a gey lot o’ mud here,’ he said, sensing the catastrophe. Fortunately it was not all quite so deep, but as long as you were in the midst of mud, it appeared that you were on the right way. At length there seemed to be fewer bumps and I felt, rather than saw, a house loom up. It was