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How could they be otherwise living forever on old battlefields? If they were given time for reflection they wouldn't want to go out; they'd choose to stay with the game till the war was ended. But we caught them unaware, and as they gazed after us down the first part of the long trail that leads back from the trenches to Blighty, there was hunger in their eyes. My third memory is of kindness.
Sometimes they do, and in the most unexpected cases. I had a man named Isadore Epstein in my section who was instrumental in getting Blighty for himself and one other. Issy was a tailor by trade. He was no fighting man and didn't pretend to be, and he didn't care who knew it. He was wild to get a "blighty one" or shell shock, or anything that would take him home.
I have known a man carried into an aid-post in a state of great delight because he had 'got a Blighty one. He lay smoking and talking, little realising that his wound was so grave that it would be many months before he could walk again if indeed he would ever walk with two legs.
"How are you feeling, Trevor?" "Nicely, thank you, Sister." "Glad to be in Blighty again?" Doggie smiled. "Good old Blighty!" "Leg hurting you?" "A bit, Sister," he replied with a little grimace. "It's bound to be stiff after the long journey, but we'll soon fix it up for you." "I'm sure you will," he said politely. The nurse moved on.
They were the first men I had seen in such a case, They looked bad enough, but Godfrey said they were happy enough. Some of them would get leave for Blighty, and be home, in a few days, to see their families and their girls. And they came swinging along in fine style, sick and tired as they were, for the thought of where they were going cheered them and helped to keep them going.
Captain Willoughby, who had interrogated Jeanne with regard to the restored packet, and, on Doggie's return, had informed him with a friendly smile that they were a damned sight too busy then to worry about defaulters of the likes of him, but that he was going to be court-martialled and shot as soon as peace was declared, when they would have time to think of serious matters Captain Willoughby had gone to Blighty with a leg so mauled that never would he command again a company in the field.
Back there in Blighty they don't talk about nothing but this bloody war. I'm fair fed up with it, that I am! I'm glad to be back here, where I don't have to 'ear about the war every bleedin' minute!" That story sounds far fetched to you, perhaps, but it isn't.
"Sister," another one called, "will you drive us when we leave for Blighty?" I said it was a matter of chance, but whoever did so would be just as careful. "No," said the voice decidedly, "there couldn't be two like you."
I sing a bit, and I piped up with the newest thing from the music halls, "Tyke Me Back to Blighty." Here it is: Tyke me back to dear old Blighty, Put me on the tryne for London town, Just tyke me over there And drop me anywhere, Manchester, Leeds, or Birmingham, I don't care. I want to go see me best gal; Cuddlin' up soon we'll be, Hytey iddle de eyety.
"Them's the guns up the line, me lad, and you'll get enough of 'em before you gets back to Blighty." My knees seemed to wilt, and I squeaked out a weak "Oh!" Then we started our march up to the line in ten kilo treks. After the first day's march we arrived at our rest billets.
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