Journey's End Page 11

  STANHOPE: My God! You bloody little swine! You think I don't care – you think you're the only soul that cares!

  RALEIGH: And yet you can sit there and drink champagne – and smoke cigars –

  STANHOPE: The one man I could trust – my best friend – the one man I could talk to as man to man – who understood everything – and you think I don't care –

  RALEIGH: But how can you when –?

  STANHOPE: To forget, you little fool – to forget! D'you understand? To forget! You think there's no limit to what a man can bear? [He turns quickly from RALEIGH and goes to the dark corner by OSBORNE'S bed. He stands with his face towards the wall, his shoulders heaving as he fights for breath. ]

  RALEIGH: I'm awfully sorry, Dennis. I – I didn't understand.

  [STANHOPE makes no reply. ]

  You don't know how – I –

  STANHOPE: Go away, please – leave me alone.

  RALEIGH: Can't I –

  [STANHOPE turns wildly upon RALEIGH.]

  STANHOPE: Oh, get out! For God's sake, get out!

  [RALEIGH goes away into his dugout, and STANHOPE is alone. The Very lights rise and fall outside, softly breaking the darkness with their glow – sometimes steel-blue, sometimes grey. Through the night there comes the impatient grumble of gunfire that never dies away. ]

  THE CURTAIN FALLS

  SCENE 3

  Towards dawn. The candles are no longer burning. The intense darkness of the dugout is softened by the glow of the Very lights in the sky beyond the doorway. There is no sound except the distant mutter of the guns.

  A man comes from the servant's dugout; for a moment his head and shoulders stand out black against the glowing sky, then he passes on into the darkness by the table. There comes the rasp of a striking match – a tiny flame – and a candle gleams. MASON blinks in the light and turns to STANHOPE'S bed. STANHOPE lies huddled with his blanket drawn tightly round him.

  MASON [softly]: Sir –

  [STANHOPE does not move; MASON shakes him gently by the knee. ]

  MASON [a little louder] Sir –

  STANHOPE: Yes? [There is a pause.] That you, Mason?

  MASON: 'Arf-past five, sir.

  STANHOPE: Oh, right. [He raises himself on his elbow.] I was only half asleep. I keep on waking up. It's so frightfully cold in here.

  MASON: It's a cold dugout, this one, sir. I've made some 'ot tea.

  STANHOPE: Good. You might bring me some.

  MASON: Right you are, sir.

  STANHOPE: And take some to the officers in there – and wake them up.

  MASON: Very good, sir.

  [MASON goes to his dugout. STANHOPE rises stiffly from his bed, shudders from the cold, and slowly begins putting his equipment on. TROTTER wanders in from his dugout vigorously lathering his face. He is dressed, except for his collar. ]

  TROTTER: Wash and brush-up, tuppence!

  STANHOPE [looking up, surprised]: Hullo! I thought you were asleep.

  TROTTER: I 'ad a decent sleep when I come off dooty. What's the time?

  STANHOPE: Half-past five. It'll be getting light soon. You better buck up.

  TROTTER: All right. I shan't be long. Sounds quiet enough out there.

  STANHOPE: Yes.

  [MASON brings four mugs of tea. ]

  TROTTER: Ah! that's what I want. A decent cup of tea.

  MASON [putting a mug on the table for STANHOPE]: Nice and 'ot, sir. I've cut a packet of sambridges for each gentleman, sir.

  STANHOPE: Good.

  [MASON takes the other mugs of tea into the right-hand dugout. TROTTER follows, lathering with gusto.]

  STANHOPE: You might give Hibbert and Raleigh a call.

  TROTTER: I woke 'em up, skipper. They're getting their things on.

  [MASON returns.]

  STANHOPE: When you've cleared up your kitchen, you must dress and join your platoon in the line.

  MASON: Very good, sir.

  STANHOPE: If things are going well at eleven o'clock, come down here and do your best to get some lunch for us. We shall come down in turn as we can.

  MASON: Very good, sir.

  [STANHOPE sits at the table and begins to write a short report. The first sign of dawn is beginning to gleam in the dark sky. STANHOPE calls ‘Runner!’ as he writes. A SOLDIER comes from the servant's dugout.]

  STANHOPE [folding the note]: Take this to Battalion Headquarters. There's no reply.

  SOLDIER: Yessir.

  [The SOLDIER salutes and goes up the steps. A plaintive noise comes from the other dugout. TROTTER is singing ‘There's a long, long trail a-winding.’ STANHOPE listens for a moment, then rises, takes a few small coins from his pocket, and throws them into TROTTER'S dugout. The singing stops abruptly. After a moment TROTTER'S voice comes.]

  TROTTER: Thank you kindly, guv'nor!

  [The SERGEANT-MAJOR comes down the steps.]

  STANHOPE: Morning, sergeant-major.

  S-M: Morning, sir. Wiring parties are just in, sir. Made a decent job of it – right down to the support line.

  STANHOPE: Good. Everything quiet?

  S-M: It's all right opposite 'ere, sir, but the guns are goin' 'ard down south. 'Eavy bombardment. Not sure if it ain't spreading up this way, sir.

  STANHOPE: Very likely it is. The officers are coming up in a minute. They'll stand by with their platoons. I must stay here awhile in case of messages. I shall come up directly things begin to happen.

  S-M: Very good, sir.

  STANHOPE: Are the men having their tea?

  S-M: Yessir.

  STANHOPE: Let 'em have a decent drop of rum.

  S-M: About 'arf again, sir?

  STANHOPE: Yes.

  S-M: If the attack don't come, sir, 'ow long are we to stand-to?

  STANHOPE: We must expect the attack any time up till midday. After then I don't think it'll come till tomorrow.

  S-M: Very good, sir.

  STANHOPE: We must naturally make our plans to meet things as they happen.

  S-M: Quite, sir.

  STANHOPE: All right, sergeant-major. I'll see you up there soon.

  S-M: Yessir.

  [He salutes and goes away. MASON brings in four little packets of sandwiches, and puts one packet on the table for STANHOPE.]

  MASON: Your sambridges, sir. 'Arf bully beef and 'arf sardine. Sardine on top, sir.

  STANHOPE: How delicious. No pâté de foie gras?

  MASON: No what, sir?

  STANHOPE: No pâté de foie gras?

  MASON: No, sir. The milkman 'asn't been yet.

  [MASON takes the other parcels to the left-hand dugout. STANHOPE pours a little whisky into his tea and the remainder of the contents of the bottle into his flask. MASON returns.]

  STANHOPE: Get dressed as soon as you can.

  MASON: Yessir.

  [MASON goes out. TROTTER comes in, fully dressed for the line. ]

  TROTTER: All ready, skipper. Want me to go up?

  STANHOPE: Yes. I think so. Go right round the line and see everything's all right. I'll be up soon.

  [Suddenly there comes the faint whistle and thud of falling shells – a few seconds between each. STANHOPE and TROTTER listen intently, four shells fall, then silence.]

  TROTTER: 'Ullo, 'ullo.

  [STANHOPE strides to the doorway, goes up a few steps, and looks out into the night. He comes slowly back. ]

  STANHOPE: Over on Lancer's Alley – somewhere by the reserve line.

  [There comes the louder thud of three more shells. ]

  TROTTER: That's nearer.

  STANHOPE: Better go up, Trotter. Call the others.

  TROTTER [at the left-hand dugout]: ‘Ibbert! Raleigh! come on! [He lights a cigarette over the candle, lingers a moment, and slowly goes up the steps. ] Cheero, skipper. See you later.

  STANHOPE: Send your runner down to tell me how things are going.

  TROTTER: Righto.

  [TROTTER disappears into the dark. A vague white line of dawn is broadening above the dark trench wa
ll outside. STANHOPE sits at the table and sips his tea. He takes a cigarette and lights it with a quivering hand. RALEIGH comes from his dugout. STANHOPE lowers his head and writes in his notebook. ]

  RALEIGH: Do you want me to go up?

  STANHOPE [without looking up ]: Yes. Trotter's gone.

  RALEIGH: Right. [He goes to the steps and turns shyly. ] Cheero – Stanhope.

  STANHOPE [still writing with lowered head]: Cheero, Raleigh. I shall be coming up soon.

  [RALEIGH goes up the steps. STANHOPE stops writing, raises his head, and listens. The shells are falling steadily now. He glances towards the left-hand dugout and calls ] Hibbert! [There is no reply. He slowly rises and goes to the left-hand dugout doorway, he calls again – louder ] Hibbert!! [He looks into the doorway and says ] What are you doing?

  [HIBBERT appears. He is very pale; he moves as if half asleep. ] Come along, man!

  HIBBERT: You want me to go up now?

  STANHOPE: Of course I do. The others have gone.

  HIBBERT: Got a drop of water?

  STANHOPE: What d'you want water for?

  HIBBERT: I'm so frightfully thirsty. All that champagne and stuff – dried my mouth up.

  [STANHOPE pours a drop of water into a mug and gives it to HIBBERT.]

  STANHOPE: Here you are. Didn't you have any tea?

  HIBBERT: Yes. It was a bit sweet, though.

  [The shelling is steadily increasing, and now, above the lighter crush of the smaller shells, there comes the deep resounding boom of Minenwerfer. HIBBERT sips his water very slowly, rinsing his mouth deliberately with each sip. STANHOPE is by the doorway, looking up into the trench. He has just turned away as a sonorous drawn-out call comes floating through the dawn: ‘Stretcher bear-ers!’ STANHOPE half turns, then faces HIBBERT.]

  STANHOPE: Come on. Buck up.

  HIBBERT: There's no appalling hurry, is there?

  STANHOPE: No hurry! Why d'you think the others have gone up?

  HIBBERT [slowly]: What? Trotter and Raleigh?

  STANHOPE [sharply]: Wake up, man! What the devil's the matter with you?

  [HIBBERT slowly puts down his mug.]

  HIBBERT: Champagne dries the mouth up so. Makes the tongue feel like a bit of paper.

  [There is a slight pause. ]

  STANHOPE: The longer you stay here, the harder it'll be to go up.

  HIBBERT: Good Lord! You don't think I'm –

  STANHOPE: You're just wasting as much time as you can.

  HIBBERT: Well, damn it, it's no good going up till I feel fit. Let's just have another spot of water.

  [HIBBERT takes the jug and pours out a little more water. He is the picture of misery. STANHOPE stands impatiently beside him. MASON appears from his dugout, fully dressed for the line, his rifle slung over his shoulder. ]

  MASON: I'll go right along, sir. I've made up the fire to last a good three hours – if you don't mind me popping down about nine o'clock to 'ave a look at it.

  STANHOPE: All right, Mason. Mr Hibbert's coming up now. You can go along with him.

  MASON [to HIBBERT]: I'd like to come along of you if you don't mind, sir. I ain't bin up in this part of the front line. Don't want to get lorst.

  STANHOPE: Mr Hibbert'll show you the way up. [He turns to HIBBERT.] Keep your men against the back wall of the trench as long as the shells are dropping behind. Cheero!

  [HIBBERT looks at STANHOPE for a moment, then with a slight smile, he goes slowly up the steps and into the trench, MASON following behind. A dark figure stands out against the pale sky; comes hurrying down the steps – a PRIVATE SOLDIER, out of breath and excited.] Yes?

  SOLDIER: Message from Mr Trotter, sir. Shells falling mostly behind support line. Minnies along front line.

  STANHOPE: Who's just been hit?

  SOLDIER: Corporal Ross, I think it was, sir. Minnie dropped in the trench at the corner – just as I come away.

  [The SERGEANT-MAJOR comes down the steps, very much out of breath. ]

  STANHOPE [to the SOLDIER]: All right, thanks.

  [The SOLDIER salutes, and goes up the steps slower than he came. ]

  S-M: Beginning to get 'ot, sir.

  STANHOPE: Corporal Ross hit?

  S-M: Yessir.

  STANHOPE: Badly?

  S-M: Pretty badly, sir.

  STANHOPE: Most of the shelling's going over, isn't it?

  S-M: Most of the shells is be'ind, sir, but there's Minnies and rifle grenades along the front line. Pretty 'ot it's getting, sir. They're attacking down south – there's rifle fire.

  STANHOPE: All right, sergeant-major; thanks.

  S-M: What I come to ask, sir – what about the wounded – getting 'em down, sir? The shelling's pretty thick over Lancer's Alley.

  STANHOPE: What about Fosse Way?

  S-M: Pretty bad there, too, sir.

  STANHOPE: Don't try then. Take anyone badly hit down into the big dugout on the right. Let the stretcher-bearers do what they can there.

  S-M: Very good, sir.

  STANHOPE: Only Corporal Ross hit?

  S-M: That's all, sir –

  [Again there comes the drawn-out call – several times as it is passed from man to man: ‘Stretcherbear-ers!’ The SERGEANT-MAJOR'S eyes meet STANHOPE'S. He turns and goes up the steps. STANHOPE is alone. Flying fragments of shell whistle and hiss and moan overhead. The sharp crack of the rifle grenades, the thud of the shells, and the boom of the Minenwerfer mingle together in a muffled roar. STANHOPE takes his belt from the table and buckles it on, puts his revolver lanyard round his neck, and drops his flask and sandwiches into his pocket. The SERGEANT-MAJOR reappears and comes hurrying down the steps. ]

  STANHOPE [turning quickly]: What is it, sergeant-major?

  S-M: Mr Raleigh, sir –

  STANHOPE: What!

  S-M: Mr Raleigh's been 'it, sir. Bit of shell's got 'im in the back.

  STANHOPE: Badly?

  S-M: Fraid it's broke 'is spine, sir; can't move 'is legs.

  STANHOPE: Bring him down here.

  S-M: Down 'ere, sir?

  STANHOPE [shouting]: Yes! Down here – quickly!

  [The SERGEANT-MAJOR hurries up the steps. A shell screams and bursts very near. The SERGEANT-MAJOR shrinks back and throws his hand across his face, as though a human hand could ward off the hot flying pieces. He stumbles on again into the trench, and hurriedly away. STANHOPE is by OSBORNE'S bed, fumbling a blanket over it. He takes a trench coat off the wall and rolls it for a pillow. He goes to his own bed, takes up his blanket, and turns as the SERGEANT-MAJOR comes carefully down the steps carrying RALEIGH like a child in his huge arms.]

  STANHOPE [with blanket ready]: Lay him down there.

  S-M: 'E's fainted, sir. 'E was conscious when I picked 'im up.

  [The SERGEANT-MAJOR lays the boy gently on the bed; he draws away his hands, looks furtively at the palms, and wipes the blood on the sides of his trousers. STANHOPE covers RALEIGH with his blanket, looks intently at the boy, and turns to the SERGEANT-MAJOR.]

  STANHOPE: Have they dressed the wound?

  S-M: They've just put a pad on it, sir. Can't do no more.

  STANHOPE: Go at once and bring two men with a stretcher.

  S-M: We'll never get 'im down, sir, with them shells falling on Lancer's Alley.

  STANHOPE: Did you hear what I said? Go and get two men with a stretcher.

  S-M [after a moment's hesitation]: Very good, sir.

  [The SERGEANT-MAJOR goes slowly away. STANHOPE turns to RALEIGH once more, then goes to the table, pushes his handkerchief into the water-jug, and brings it, wringing wet, to RALEIGH'S bed. He bathes the boy's face. Presently RALEIGH gives a little moan, opens his eyes, and turns his head. ]

  RALEIGH: Hullo – Dennis –

  STANHOPE: Well, Jimmy – [he smiles ] – you got one quickly.

  [There is silence for a while. STANHOPE is sitting on a box beside RALEIGH. Presently RALEIGH speaks again – in a wondering voice. ]

  RALEIGH: Why – how did I get down he
re?

  STANHOPE: Sergeant-major brought you down.

  [RALEIGH speaks again, vaguely, trying to recollect. ]

  RALEIGH: Something – hit me in the back – knocked me clean over – sort of – winded me – I'm all right now. [He tries to rise.]

  STANHOPE: Steady, old boy. Just lie there quietly for a bit.

  RALEIGH: I'll be better if – I get up and walk about. It happened once before – I got kicked in just the same place at rugger; it – it soon wore off. It – it just numbs you for a bit. [There is a pause.] What's that rumbling noise?