Norwich bulletin., 1918-07-18
STORIES OF THE WAR
A Tale Frcm the Trenches.

A true slice of life" from the trenches is given by Carol k. Corey in a communication to the National Geo. graphic Society and issued by the So- ciety as a war geography bulletin.
 The scene which the writer de- scribes occurred in a Soldiers nome in Paris familiarly and affectionately dubbed 'Blighty." She says:
 The room is nearly empty now and almost quiet. I've about decided to leave when 8 gaunt. cadaverous person slouches in. Apologetically he asks if he is too late for tea. Because he looks so wretched I reply in the neg ative, just as he notices the signs, No tea served after 6:45,' He smiles gratefully at me, with a smile that changes all his face. We are silent for a few minutes, partly because I'm little tired. I guess, and partly be- cause I feel bit timid before this most unusual tyne of visitor. Sud denly, without a word of warning, he informs me:
 "'Youre right. I am a rough cus toner. I'm just out of clink' JaiD.
 T say, 'Ha. ha! Caught with a camera eh!'
 "'Worse than that says he
 50 I guess again: You took all the temper out of your tin hat when you cooked eggs in it
 But he finds no humor in that an cient joke. When I state positively, You're not the sort for an s. I. w. he murmurs sadly:
 '''No: it takes nerve to go in for a self inflicted wound
 His face is pinched and drawn, though almost triumphant, as he finally admits his offense: I hit an officer.
 Tn spite of myself I gasp a little, | for this is serious business; But say nothing, for he has started a very | flood of talk
 "I was the first volunteer from my town he tells me, because then l l thought the war was right. My three 1 brothers came, too One is blind and two are dead. The littlest one was the i prettfest boy 1 ever saw-absolutely the prettiest. Hound him right after 1 they "got" him, and he looked as l though he'd just come from party 1 His face hadn't been hit at all, and not hair was out of place. I helped 1 to bury him; then I sent a cable home. I'm forty years old, and all my life I've had men under me. My fath- CT owned a big horse ranch, where l learned how to treat men. And wher that young, impudent whipper snapper dared
 |" Yes, yes,' l break in. T know l but
 1 You know laughs he You know nothing. You get up in the morning | in g steam heated room, and you lool out of the window. If it happens tC be drizzling, you say to yourself, My
 my, today I'll get my little boot solet | wet" When you've had to leave { mate to die in the mud. standing up because you have only suffcien
 strength to pull your own legs out then you know something about wa and its glories. Oh, but it's cruel. tha
 mud of the Son1me! And that night when I'd worked in it, slept in it, ant swallowed a lot of it in my rations fo ten days, that insufferable cad, tha
 unmentionably odious tupenny ha penny captain
 Can't you forget it for a littl
 while now? Your tea will he ston
 cold. Besides one of these days we'r
 all going home, I say desperately "'Maybe SO he sighs. But some
 how, after more than three years, W
 sort of stop counting on it. You SC
 I sailed from Sydney on what shoul
 have been my wedding day. I'd bee,
 engaged 8 long, long time. but woul
 mt marry, for I'd bought @ bit 0 land and wanted to be out of debt frs l For exactly a year I lived alone in hut I was my own cook, and I te , you frankly I was low and dirty; bu
 each month I knew I was getting little closer to the end, because eae , month was able to buy another COY . or two. And there wasn't a happie
 cuss in the land