100% found this document useful (2 votes)
259 views

Complete Download Data Structures and Algorithms in Swift: Implement Stacks, Queues, Dictionaries, and Lists in Your Apps 1st Edition Elshad Karimov PDF All Chapters

Algorithms

Uploaded by

bogazkochs
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
100% found this document useful (2 votes)
259 views

Complete Download Data Structures and Algorithms in Swift: Implement Stacks, Queues, Dictionaries, and Lists in Your Apps 1st Edition Elshad Karimov PDF All Chapters

Algorithms

Uploaded by

bogazkochs
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
You are on page 1/ 40

Get ebook downloads in full at ebookmeta.

com

Data Structures and Algorithms in Swift: Implement


Stacks, Queues, Dictionaries, and Lists in Your
Apps 1st Edition Elshad Karimov

https://ebookmeta.com/product/data-structures-and-
algorithms-in-swift-implement-stacks-queues-dictionaries-
and-lists-in-your-apps-1st-edition-elshad-karimov/

OR CLICK BUTTON

DOWNLOAD NOW

Explore and download more ebook at https://ebookmeta.com


Recommended digital products (PDF, EPUB, MOBI) that
you can download immediately if you are interested.

Cambridge IGCSE and O Level History Workbook 2C - Depth


Study: the United States, 1919-41 2nd Edition Benjamin
Harrison
https://ebookmeta.com/product/cambridge-igcse-and-o-level-history-
workbook-2c-depth-study-the-united-states-1919-41-2nd-edition-
benjamin-harrison/
ebookmeta.com

Clojure Data Structures and Algorithms Cookbook 25 recipes


to deeply understand and implement advanced algorithms in
Clojure 1st Edition Rafik Naccache
https://ebookmeta.com/product/clojure-data-structures-and-algorithms-
cookbook-25-recipes-to-deeply-understand-and-implement-advanced-
algorithms-in-clojure-1st-edition-rafik-naccache/
ebookmeta.com

Data Structures & Algorithms in Python John Canning

https://ebookmeta.com/product/data-structures-algorithms-in-python-
john-canning/

ebookmeta.com

Galileo and the Conflict between Religion and Science 1st


Edition Gregory W Dawes

https://ebookmeta.com/product/galileo-and-the-conflict-between-
religion-and-science-1st-edition-gregory-w-dawes/

ebookmeta.com
Fighting For Calliope (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha)
(Tarpley VFD Book 3) 1st Edition Haven Rose & Operation
Alpha
https://ebookmeta.com/product/fighting-for-calliope-police-and-fire-
operation-alpha-tarpley-vfd-book-3-1st-edition-haven-rose-operation-
alpha/
ebookmeta.com

Revving Up the Holidays 1st Edition A S Fenichel

https://ebookmeta.com/product/revving-up-the-holidays-1st-edition-a-s-
fenichel-2/

ebookmeta.com

Green Marketing in Emerging Economies: A Communications


Perspective 1st Edition Emmanuel Mogaji

https://ebookmeta.com/product/green-marketing-in-emerging-economies-a-
communications-perspective-1st-edition-emmanuel-mogaji/

ebookmeta.com

Genetic Analysis of Complex Disease 3rd Edition William K.


Scott

https://ebookmeta.com/product/genetic-analysis-of-complex-disease-3rd-
edition-william-k-scott/

ebookmeta.com

Networks lines and fields 2nd Edition John D Ryder

https://ebookmeta.com/product/networks-lines-and-fields-2nd-edition-
john-d-ryder/

ebookmeta.com
Fault Location on Transmission and Distribution Lines:
Principles and Applications (IEEE Press) 1st Edition
Swagata Das
https://ebookmeta.com/product/fault-location-on-transmission-and-
distribution-lines-principles-and-applications-ieee-press-1st-edition-
swagata-das/
ebookmeta.com
Data Structures
and Algorithms
in Swif t
Implement Stacks, Queues,
Dictionaries, and Lists in Your Apps

Elshad Karimov

www.allitebooks.com
Data Structures and
Algorithms in Swift
Implement Stacks, Queues,
Dictionaries, and Lists
in Your Apps

Elshad Karimov

www.allitebooks.com
Data Structures and Algorithms in Swift: Implement Stacks, Queues,
Dictionaries, and Lists in Your Apps
Elshad Karimov
New York, New York, USA

ISBN-13 (pbk): 978-1-4842-5768-5 ISBN-13 (electronic): 978-1-4842-5769-2


https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-5769-2

Copyright © 2020 by Elshad Karimov


This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole
or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of
illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical
way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer
software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.
Trademarked names, logos, and images may appear in this book. Rather than use a
trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, logo, or image we use the
names, logos, and images only in an editorial fashion and to the benefit of the trademark
owner, with no intention of infringement of the trademark.
The use in this publication of trade names, trademarks, service marks, and similar terms,
even if they are not identified as such, is not to be taken as an expression of opinion as to
whether or not they are subject to proprietary rights.
While the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the
date of publication, neither the authors nor the editors nor the publisher can accept any
legal responsibility for any errors or omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no
warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein.
Managing Director, Apress Media LLC: Welmoed Spahr
Acquisitions Editor: Aaron Black
Development Editor: James Markham
Coordinating Editor: Jessica Vakili
Distributed to the book trade worldwide by Springer Science+Business Media New York,
233 Spring Street, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10013. Phone 1-800-SPRINGER, fax (201)
348-4505, e-mail orders-ny@springer-sbm.com, or visit www.springeronline.com. Apress
Media, LLC is a California LLC and the sole member (owner) is Springer Science + Business
Media Finance Inc (SSBM Finance Inc). SSBM Finance Inc is a Delaware corporation.
For information on translations, please e-mail rights@apress.com, or visit http://www.
apress.com/rights-permissions.
Apress titles may be purchased in bulk for academic, corporate, or promotional use. eBook
versions and licenses are also available for most titles. For more information, reference our
Print and eBook Bulk Sales web page at http://www.apress.com/bulk-sales.
Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the author in this book is
available to readers on GitHub via the book’s product page, located at www.apress.com/
978-1-4842-5768-5. For more detailed information, please visit http://www.apress.com/
source-code.
Printed on acid-free paper

www.allitebooks.com
Table of Contents
About the Author���������������������������������������������������������������������������������xi

About the Technical Reviewer�����������������������������������������������������������xiii

Chapter 1: Arrays����������������������������������������������������������������������������������1
Introduction������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������1
Main Features of Arrays�����������������������������������������������������������������������������2
Retrieving Elements from an Array������������������������������������������������������������4
Adding Elements to an Array����������������������������������������������������������������������5
Removing Elements from an Array�������������������������������������������������������������6
Built-in Functions and Properties���������������������������������������������������������������6
isEmpty�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������6
First and Last����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������7
Reversed and Reverse��������������������������������������������������������������������������7
Count�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������7
Conclusion��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������8

Chapter 2: Dictionaries�������������������������������������������������������������������������9
Introduction������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������9
Accessing Values in a Dictionary��������������������������������������������������������������11
Adding/Modifying to a Dictionary�������������������������������������������������������������13
Removing a Value from a Dictionary��������������������������������������������������������14

iii

www.allitebooks.com
Table of Contents

Built-in Functions and Properties�������������������������������������������������������������14


isEmpty�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������14
First�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������14
Count���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������15
Keys�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������15
Conclusion������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������15

Chapter 3: Sets�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������17
Accessing, Adding, and Removing an Element of a Set���������������������������17
Accessing an Element������������������������������������������������������������������������������17
Adding an Element�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������19
Removing Elements����������������������������������������������������������������������������������19
Set Operations������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������20
Comparison Operations�����������������������������������������������������������������������20
Membership and Equality Operations������������������������������������������������������24
Set Equality�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������24
Set Membership����������������������������������������������������������������������������������24
Conclusion������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������26
Chapter 4: Stacks�������������������������������������������������������������������������������27
Using Swift with Stacks���������������������������������������������������������������������������28
Stack Structures���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������31
Stack Extensions��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������32
Conclusion������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������32
Chapter 5: Queue��������������������������������������������������������������������������������33
Implementation����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������35
Conclusion������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������40

iv

www.allitebooks.com
Table of Contents

Chapter 6: Linked Lists�����������������������������������������������������������������������41


Implementation����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������42
Node����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������43
Singly Linked List�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������43
Adding New Values to a Linked List���������������������������������������������������������44
Append������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������45
Insert���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������46
Removing New Values from a Linked List������������������������������������������������47
removeLast������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������48
remove(at:)������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������49
Doubly Linked List������������������������������������������������������������������������������������50
Append������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������52
Remove Node Method�������������������������������������������������������������������������53
Remove(at:)�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������53
Summary��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������54

Chapter 7: Hash Table�������������������������������������������������������������������������55


Creating Hash Table����������������������������������������������������������������������������������56
Retrieving Data from a Hash Table������������������������������������������������������57
Updating a Value in a Hash Table�������������������������������������������������������������58
Removing a Value from a Hash Table�������������������������������������������������������59
Summary��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������60

Chapter 8: Trees����������������������������������������������������������������������������������61
Creation����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������62
Insertion����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������63
Searching Data������������������������������������������������������������������������������������64
Conclusion������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������66

v
Table of Contents

Chapter 9: Trie Data Structure������������������������������������������������������������67


Why a Trie?�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������67
How It Works��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������68
Implementation����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������69
Insert���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������70
Query���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������71
Remove�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������72
Conclusion������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������75

Chapter 10: Binary Tree����������������������������������������������������������������������77


Binary Tree Primer������������������������������������������������������������������������������������77
Properties of Binary Tree���������������������������������������������������������������������78
Types of Binary Trees��������������������������������������������������������������������������78
Implementation����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������81
Tree Traversal (Also Known As Tree Search)���������������������������������������������81
In-Order Traversal��������������������������������������������������������������������������������82
Pre-Order Traversal�����������������������������������������������������������������������������83
Post-Order Traversal����������������������������������������������������������������������������85
Conclusion������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������86

Chapter 11: Binary Search Tree����������������������������������������������������������87


Implementation����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������88
Insert��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������89
Search������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������92
Example�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������94

vi
Table of Contents

Delete�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������94
Deleting a Leaf������������������������������������������������������������������������������������94
Deleting a Node with One Child�����������������������������������������������������������95
Deleting a Node with Two Children�����������������������������������������������������96
Conclusion����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������100

Chapter 12: Red–Black Tree�������������������������������������������������������������101


Implementation��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������102
Rotation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������105
Insertion��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������109
Deletion���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������115
Conclusion����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������120

Chapter 13: Big O������������������������������������������������������������������������������121


Time Complexity�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������121
Space Complexity�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������124
Drop the Constants and Nondominant Terms�����������������������������������������125
How to Calculate Complexities?�������������������������������������������������������������126
Add vs. Multiply��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������128
Amortized Time��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������129
Log N Runtimes���������������������������������������������������������������������������������130
Recursive Runtimes��������������������������������������������������������������������������131
Conclusion����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������132

Chapter 14: Sorting Algorithms��������������������������������������������������������133


Bubble Sort���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������133
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������136

vii
Table of Contents

Selection Sort�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������137
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������139
Insertion Sort������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������140
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������142
Merge Sort���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������143
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������146
Quick Sort�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������148
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������151
Pivot Selection����������������������������������������������������������������������������������152
Conclusion����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������153

Chapter 15: Search Algorithms��������������������������������������������������������155


Linear Search�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������155
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������157
Binary Search�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������158
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������160
Conclusion����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������161

Chapter 16: Graph Algorithms����������������������������������������������������������163


Directed Graphs��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������164
Undirected Graphs����������������������������������������������������������������������������������164
Weighted Graphs������������������������������������������������������������������������������������165
Breadth-First Search (BFS)��������������������������������������������������������������������166
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������171
Depth-First Search (DFS)������������������������������������������������������������������������174
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������179

viii
Table of Contents

Dijkstra’s Algorithm��������������������������������������������������������������������������������182
Implementation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������190
Algorithm�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������191
Conclusion����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������194
Chapter 17: Choosing the Best Algorithm����������������������������������������195
Sorting Algorithms����������������������������������������������������������������������������������196
Bubble Sort���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������196
Selection Sort������������������������������������������������������������������������������������196
Insertion Sort�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������197
Merge Sort����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������197
Quick Sort������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������197
Search Algorithms����������������������������������������������������������������������������������198
Linear Search vs. Binary Search�������������������������������������������������������198
Graph Search Algorithms (GSA)��������������������������������������������������������������200
Dijkstra’s Algorithm��������������������������������������������������������������������������������201

Index�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������203

ix
About the Author
Elshad Karimov is an experienced programmer with more than 8 years
experience of different programming languages and a solid background in
iOS development as well as Oracle, SQL, C#, Java, Python and HTML/CSS.
He’s familiar with the performance limits and characteristics of Swift and
the nature and function of embedded databases and system datastores.

xi
About the Technical Reviewer
Felipe Laso is a Senior Systems Engineer working at Lextech Global
Services. He’s also an aspiring game designer/programmer. You can follow
him on Twitter @iFeliLM or on his blog.

xiii
CHAPTER 1

Arrays
In this chapter, you will learn about arrays, their built-in properties, and
how to retrieve, add, and remove elements from them.

I ntroduction
An array is simply a container that can hold multiple data (values) of
any data type in an ordered list; this means that you get the elements
in the same order as you defined the items in the array. Instead of
declaring individual variables, such as number0, number1, and so on
… until number99, you declare one array variable such as numbers and
use numbers[0], numbers[1], and numbers[99] to represent individual
variables.
The simplest type of array is the linear array, which is also known as
a one-dimensional array. In Swift, arrays are a zero-based index. A one-­
dimensional array can be written simply as shown in the following and
elements can be accessed using a[i], where i is an index between 0 and n:

é a0 ù
êa ú
a=ê ú
1

ê ú
ê ú
ë an û

© Elshad Karimov 2020 1


E. Karimov, Data Structures and Algorithms in Swift,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-5769-2_1
Chapter 1 Arrays

Another form of array is the multidimensional array which is a typical


matrix:

éa00 a01 a02 ù


a=ê
ë a10 a11 a12 úû

Main Features of Arrays


Each element can be accessed through its index, as shown in Figure 1-1.

c[0] c[1] c[2]


Blue Green Red

Figure 1-1. Element index

Arrays reserve a specific capacity of memory for holding their contents,


and when the capacity is full, the array allocates a larger region of memory
for additional elements and copies its elements into the new storage.
This is why adding elements to an array can be time consuming. The new
storage size grows exponentially as compared to the old size, so as the
array grows, reallocation occurs less and less often. The capacity property
determines the total amount of elements the array can contain before
exceeding and having to allocate new memory.
As shown in Figure 1-2, we’re appending “Black” to the array that’s just
about to exceed its capacity. The item doesn’t get added right away, but
what happens is new memory is created elsewhere, all items are copied
over, and finally the item is added to the array. This is called reallocation:
allocating new storage at another region in memory. The array’s size
increases exponentially. In Swift, this is called the geometric growth
pattern.

2
Chapter 1 Arrays

Black
c[0] c[1] c[2]
Blue Green Red

Capacity : 3

Reallocation

c[0] c[1] c[2] c[3]


Blue Green Red Black

Capacity : 6
Figure 1-2. Reallocation

As the elements are added to an array, the array will automatically


resize when it runs out of capacity. It is more efficient to allocate additional
reserve capacity at creation time if you know ahead of time an array will
contain a large number of elements.

var intArray = Array<Int>()

//Shows the array capacity


intArray.capacity
intArray.reserveCapacity(500)
intArray.capacity

3
Other documents randomly have
different content
national endeavour. England was calling her men into battle, her
women to the bedsides of the wounded and dying, and between
these two chivalrous, surging forces she, Stephen, might well be
crushed out of existence—of less use to her country, she was, than
Brockett. She stared at her bony masculine hands, they had never
been skilful when it came to illness; strong they might be, but rather
inept; not hands wherewith to succour the wounded. No, assuredly
her job, if job she could find, would not lie at the bedsides of the
wounded. And yet, good God, one must do something!
Going to the door she called in the servants: ‘I’m leaving for
England in a few days,’ she told them, ‘and while I’m away you’ll take
care of this house. I have absolute confidence in you.’
Pierre said: ‘All things shall be done as you would wish,
Mademoiselle.’ And she knew that it would be so.
That evening she told Puddle of her decision, and Puddle’s face
brightened: ‘I’m so glad, my dear, when war comes one ought to
stand by one’s country.’
‘I’m afraid they won’t want my sort . . .’ Stephen muttered.
Puddle put a firm little hand over hers: ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of
that, this war may give your sort of woman her chance. I think you
may find that they’ll need you, Stephen.’

There were no farewells to be said in Paris except those to Buisson


and Mademoiselle Duphot.
Mademoiselle Duphot shed a few tears: ‘I find you only to lose
you, Stévenne. Ah, but how many friends will be parted, perhaps for
ever, by this terrible war—and yet what else could we do? We are
blameless!’
In Berlin people were also saying: ‘What else could we do? We
are blameless!’
Julie’s hand lingered on Stephen’s arm: ‘You feel so strong,’ she
said, sighing a little, ‘it is good to be strong and courageous these
days, and to have one’s eyes—alas, I am quite useless.’
‘No one is useless who can pray, my sister,’ reproved
Mademoiselle almost sternly.
And indeed there were many who thought as she did, the
churches were crowded all over France. A great wave of piety swept
through Paris, filling the dark confessional boxes, so that the priests
had now some ado to cope with such shoals of penitent people—the
more so as every priest fit to fight had been summoned to join the
army. Up at Montmartre the church of the Sacré Cœur echoed and
re-echoed with the prayers of the faithful, while those prayers that
were whispered with tears in secret, hung like invisible clouds round
its altars.
‘Save us, most Sacred Heart of Jesus. Have pity upon us, have
pity upon France. Save us, oh, Heart of Jesus!’
So all day long must the priests sit and hear the time-honoured
sins of body and spirit; a monotonous hearing because of its
sameness, since nothing is really new under the sun, least of all our
manner of sinning. Men who had not been to Mass for years, now
began to remember their first Communion; thus it was that many a
hardy blasphemer, grown suddenly tongue-tied and rather sheepish,
clumped up to the altar in his new army boots, having made an
embarrassed confession.
Young clericals changed into uniform and marched side by side
with the roughest Poilus, to share in their hardships, their hopes,
their terrors, their deeds of supremest valour. Old men bowed their
heads and gave of the strength which no longer animated their
bodies, gave of that strength through the bodies of their sons who
would charge into battle shouting and singing. Women of all ages
knelt down and prayed, since prayer has long been the refuge of
women. ‘No one is useless who can pray, my sister.’ The women of
France had spoken through the lips of the humble Mademoiselle
Duphot.
Stephen and Puddle said good-bye to the sisters, then went on to
Buisson’s Academy of Fencing, where they found him engaged upon
greasing his foils.
He looked up, ‘Ah, it’s you. I must go on greasing. God knows
when I shall use these again, to-morrow I join my regiment.’ But he
wiped his hands on a stained overall and sat down, after clearing a
chair for Puddle. ‘An ungentlemanly war it will be,’ he grumbled. ‘Will
I lead my men with a sword? Ah, but no! I will lead my men with a
dirty revolver in my hand. Parbleu! Such is modern warfare! A
machine could do the whole cursèd thing better—we shall all be
nothing but machines in this war. However, I pray that we may kill
many Germans.’
Stephen lit a cigarette while the master glared, he was evidently
in a very vile temper: ‘Go on, go on, smoke your heart to the devil,
then come here and ask me to teach you fencing! You smoke in
lighting one from the other, you remind me of your horrible
Birmingham chimneys—but of course a woman exaggerates
always,’ he concluded, with an evident wish to annoy her.
Then he made a few really enlightening remarks about Germans
in general, their appearance, their morals, above all their personal
habits—which remarks were more seemly in French than they would
be in English. For, like Valérie Seymour, this man was filled with a
loathing for the ugliness of his epoch, an ugliness to which he felt the
Germans were just now doing their best to contribute. Buisson’s
heart was not buried in Mitylene, but rather in the glories of a bygone
Paris, where a gentleman lived by the skill of his rapier and the
graceful courage that lay behind it.
‘In the old days we killed very beautifully,’ sighed Buisson, ‘now
we merely slaughter or else do not kill at all, no matter how gross the
insult.’
However, when they got up to go, he relented: ‘War is surely a
very necessary evil, it thins down the imbecile populations who have
murdered their most efficacious microbes. People will not die, very
well, here comes war to mow them down in their tens of thousands.
At least for those of us who survive, there will be more breathing
space, thanks to the Germans—perhaps they too are a necessary
evil.’
Arrived at the door Stephen turned to look back. Buisson was
once more greasing his foils, and his fingers moved slowly yet with
great precision—he might almost have been a beauty doctor
engaged upon massaging ladies’ faces.
Preparations for departure did not take very long, and in less than
a week’s time Stephen and Puddle had shaken hands with their
Breton servants, and were driving at top speed en route for Havre,
from whence they would cross to England.

Puddle’s prophecy proved to have been correct, work was very


soon forthcoming for Stephen. She joined The London Ambulance
Column, which was well under way by that autumn; and presently
Puddle herself got a job in one of the Government departments. She
and Stephen had taken a small service flat in Victoria, and here they
would meet when released from their hours of duty. But Stephen was
obsessed by her one idea, which was, willy-nilly, to get out to the
front, and many and varied were the plans and discussions that were
listened to by the sympathetic Puddle. An ambulance had managed
to slip over to Belgium for a while and had done some very fine
service. Stephen had hit on a similar idea, but in her case the
influence required had been lacking. In vain did she offer to form a
Unit at her own expense; the reply was polite but always the same, a
monotonous reply: England did not send women to the front line
trenches. She disliked the idea of joining the throng who tormented
the patient passport officials with demands to be sent out to France
at once, on no matter how insufficient a pretext. What was the use of
her going to France unless she could find there the work that she
wanted? She preferred to stick to her job in England.
And now quite often while she waited at the stations for the
wounded, she would see unmistakable figures—unmistakable to her
they would be at first sight, she would single them out of the crowd
as by instinct. For as though gaining courage from the terror that is
war, many a one who was even as Stephen, had crept out of her
hole and come into the daylight, come into the daylight and faced her
country: ‘Well, here I am, will you take me or leave me?’ And
England had taken her, asking no questions—she was strong and
efficient, she could fill a man’s place, she could organize too, given
scope for her talent. England had said: ‘Thank you very much.
You’re just what we happen to want . . . at the moment.’
So, side by side with more fortunate women, worked Miss Smith
who had been breeding dogs in the country; or Miss Oliphant who
had been breeding nothing since birth but a litter of hefty complexes;
or Miss Tring who had lived with a very dear friend in the humbler
purlieus of Chelsea. One great weakness they all had, it must be
admitted, and this was for uniforms—yet why not? The good
workman is worthy of his Sam Browne belt. And then too, their
nerves were not at all weak, their pulses beat placidly through the
worst air raids, for bombs do not trouble the nerves of the invert, but
rather that terrible silent bombardment from the batteries of God’s
good people.
Yet now even really nice women with hairpins often found their
less orthodox sisters quite useful. It would be: ‘Miss Smith, do just
start up my motor—the engine’s so cold I can’t get the thing going;’
or: ‘Miss Oliphant, do glance through these accounts, I’ve got such a
rotten bad head for figures;’ or: ‘Miss Tring, may I borrow your British
Warm? The office is simply arctic this morning!’
Not that those purely feminine women were less worthy of praise,
perhaps they were more so, giving as they did of their best without
stint—for they had no stigma to live down in the war, no need to
defend their right to respect. They rallied to the call of their country
superbly, and may it not be forgotten by England. But the others—
since they too gave of their best, may they also not be forgotten.
They might look a bit odd, indeed some of them did, and yet in the
streets they were seldom stared at, though they strode a little,
perhaps from shyness, or perhaps from a slightly self-conscious
desire to show off, which is often the same thing as shyness. They
were part of the universal convulsion and were being accepted as
such, on their merits. And although their Sam Browne belts remained
swordless, their hats and their caps without regimental badges, a
battalion was formed in those terrible years that would never again
be completely disbanded. War and death had given them a right to
life, and life tasted sweet, very sweet to their palates. Later on would
come bitterness, disillusion, but never again would such women
submit to being driven back to their holes and corners. They had
found themselves—thus the whirligig of war brings in its abrupt
revenges.

Time passed; the first year of hostilities became the second while
Stephen still hoped, though no nearer to her ambition. Try as she
might she could not get to the front; no work at the actual front
seemed to be forthcoming for women.
Brockett wrote wonderfully cheerful letters. In every letter was a
neat little list telling Stephen what he wished her to send him; but the
sweets he loved were getting quite scarce, they were no longer
always so easy to come by. And now he was asking for Houbigant
soap to be included in his tuck-box.
‘Don’t let it get near the coffee fondants or it may make them
taste like it smells,’ he cautioned, ‘and do try to send me two bottles
of hair-wash, “Eau Athénienne,” I used to buy it at Truefitt’s.’ He was
on a perfectly damnable front, they had sent him to Mesopotamia.
Violet Peacock, who was now a V.A.D. with a very imposing Red
Cross on her apron, occasionally managed to catch Stephen at
home, and then would come reams of tiresome gossip. Sometimes
she would bring her over-fed children along, she was stuffing them
up like capons. By fair means or foul Violet always managed to
obtain illicit cream for her nursery—she was one of those mothers
who reacted to the war by wishing to kill off the useless aged.
‘What’s the good of them? Eating up the food of the nation!’ she
would say, ‘I’m going all out on the young, they’ll be needed to breed
from.’ She was very extreme, her perspective had been upset by the
air raids.
Raids frightened her as did the thought of starvation, and when
frightened she was apt to grow rather sadistic, so that now she
would want to rush off and inspect every ruin left by the German
marauders. She had also been the first to applaud the dreadful
descent of a burning Zeppelin.
She bored Stephen intensely with her ceaseless prattle about
Alec, who was one of London’s defenders, about Roger, who had got
the Military Cross and was just on the eve of becoming a major,
about the wounded whose faces she sponged every morning, and
who seemed so pathetically grateful.
From Morton came occasional letters for Puddle; they were more
in the nature of reports now these letters. Anna had such and such a
number of cases; the gardeners had been replaced by young
women; Mr. Percival was proving very devoted, he and Anna were
holding the estate well together; Williams had been seriously ill with
pneumonia. Then a long list of humble names from the farms, from
among Anna’s staff or from cottage homesteads, together with those
from such houses as Morton—for the rich and the poor were in death
united. Stephen would read that long list of names, so many of which
she had known since her childhood, and would realize that the stark
arm of war had struck deep at the quiet heart of the Midlands.
BOOK FOUR

CHAPTER 35

A stump of candle in the neck of a bottle flickered once or twice


and threatened to go out. Getting up, Stephen found a fresh
candle and lit it, then she returned to her packing-case upon which
had been placed the remnants of a chair minus its legs and arms.
The room had once been the much prized salon of a large and
prosperous villa in Compiègne, but now the glass was gone from its
windows; there remained only battered and splintered shutters which
creaked eerily in the bitter wind of a March night in 1918. The walls
of the salon had fared little better than its windows, their brocade
was detached and hanging, while a recent rainstorm had lashed
through the roof making ugly splotches on the delicate fabric—a dark
stain on the ceiling was perpetually dripping. The remnants of what
had once been a home, little broken tables, an old photograph in a
tarnished frame, a child’s wooden horse, added to the infinite
desolation of this villa that now housed the Breakspeare Unit—a Unit
composed of Englishwomen, that had been serving in France just
over six months, attached to the French Army Ambulance Corps.
The place seemed full of grotesquely large shadows cast by
figures that sat or sprawled on the floor. Miss Peel in her Jaeger
sleeping-bag snored loudly, then choked because of her cold. Miss
Delmé-Howard was gravely engaged upon making the best of a
difficult toilet—she was brushing out her magnificent hair which
gleamed in the light of the candle. Miss Bless was sewing a button
on her tunic; Miss Thurloe was peering at a half-finished letter; but
most of the women who were herded together in this, the safest
place in the villa and none too safe at that be it said, were apparently
sleeping quite soundly. An uncanny stillness had descended on the
town; after many hours of intensive bombardment, the Germans
were having a breathing space before training their batteries once
more upon Compiègne.
Stephen stared down at the girl who lay curled up at her feet in
an army blanket. The girl slept the sleep of complete exhaustion,
breathing heavily with her head on her arm; her pale and rather
triangular face was that of some one who was still very young, not
much more than nineteen or twenty. The pallor of her skin was
accentuated by the short black lashes which curled back abruptly, by
the black arched eyebrows and dark brown hair—sleek hair which
grew to a peak on the forehead, and had recently been bobbed for
the sake of convenience. For the rest her nose was slightly tip-tilted,
and her mouth resolute considering her youth; the lips were well-
modelled and fine in texture, having deeply indented corners. For
more than a minute Stephen considered the immature figure of Mary
Llewellyn. This latest recruit to the Breakspeare Unit had joined it
only five weeks ago, replacing a member who was suffering from
shell-shock. Mrs. Breakspeare had shaken her head over Mary, but
in these harassed days of the German offensive she could not afford
to remain short-handed, so in spite of many misgivings she had kept
her.
Still shaking her head she had said to Stephen: ‘Needs must
when the Bodies get busy, Miss Gordon! Have an eye to her, will
you? She may stick it all right, but between you and me I very much
doubt it. You might try her out as your second driver.’ And so far
Mary Llewellyn had stuck it.
Stephen looked away again, closing her eyes, and after a while
forgot about Mary. The events that had preceded her own coming to
France, began to pass through her brain in procession. Her chief in
The London Ambulance Column, through whom she had first met
Mrs. Claude Breakspeare—a good sort, the chief, she had been a
staunch friend. The great news that she, Stephen, had been
accepted and would go to the front as an ambulance driver. Then
Puddle’s grave face: ‘I must write to your mother, this means that
you will be in real danger.’ Her mother’s brief letter: ‘Before you leave
I should very much like you to come and see me,’ the rest of the
letter mere polite empty phrases. The impulse to resist, the longing
to go, culminating in that hurried visit to Morton. Morton so changed
and yet so changeless. Changed because of those blue-clad figures,
the lame, the halt and the partially blinded who had sought its peace
and its kindly protection. Changeless because that protection and
peace belonged to the very spirit of Morton. Mrs. Williams a widow;
her niece melancholic ever since the groom Jim had been wounded
and missing—they had married while he had been home on leave,
and quite soon the poor soul was expecting a baby. Williams now
dead of his third and last stroke, after having survived pneumonia.
The swan called Peter no longer gliding across the lake on his white
reflection, and in his stead an unmannerly offspring who struck out
with his wings and tried to bite Stephen. The family vault where her
father lay buried—the vault was in urgent need of repair—‘No men
left, Miss Stephen, we’re that short of stonemasons; her ladyship’s
bin complainin’ already, but it don’t be no use complainin’ these
times.’ Raftery’s grave—a slab of rough granite: ‘In memory of a
gentle and courageous friend, whose name was Raftery, after the
poet.’ Moss on the granite half effacing the words; the thick hedge
growing wild for the want of clipping. And her mother—a woman with
snow-white hair and a face that was worn almost down to the spirit; a
woman of quiet but uncertain movements, with a new trick of twisting
the rings on her fingers. ‘It was good of you to come.’ ‘You sent for
me, Mother.’ Long silences filled with the realization that all they
dared hope for was peace between them—too late to go back—they
could not retrace their steps even though there was now peace
between them. Then those last poignant moments in the study
together—memory, the old room was haunted by it—a man dying
with love in his eyes that was deathless—a woman holding him in
her arms, speaking words such as lovers will speak to each other.
Memory—they’re the one perfect thing about me. ‘Stephen, promise
to write when you’re out in France, I shall want to hear from you.’ ‘I
promise, Mother.’ The return to London; Puddle’s anxious voice:
‘Well, how was she?’ ‘Very frail, you must go to Morton.’ Puddle’s
sudden and almost fierce rebellion: ‘I would rather not go, I’ve made
my choice, Stephen.’ ‘But I ask this for my sake, I’m worried about
her—even if I weren’t going away, I couldn’t go back now and live at
Morton—our living together would make us remember.’ ‘I remember
too, Stephen, and what I remember is hard to forgive. It’s hard to
forgive an injury done to some one one loves. . . .’ Puddle’s face,
very white, very stern—strange to hear such words as these on the
kind lips of Puddle. ‘I know, I know, but she’s terribly alone, and I
can’t forget that my father loved her.’ A long silence, and then: ‘I’ve
never yet failed you—and you’re right—I must go to Morton.’
Stephen’s thoughts stopped abruptly. Some one had come in and
was stumping down the room in squeaky trench boots. It was
Blakeney holding the time-sheet in her hand—funny old
monosyllabic Blakeney, with her curly white hair cropped as close as
an Uhlan’s, and her face that suggested a sensitive monkey.
‘Service, Gordon; wake the kid! Howard—Thurloe—ready?’
They got up and hustled into their trench coats, found their gas
masks and finally put on their helmets.
Then Stephen shook Mary Llewellyn very gently: ‘It’s time.’
Mary opened her clear, grey eyes: ‘Who? What?’ she
stammered.
‘It’s time. Get up, Mary.’
The girl staggered to her feet, still stupid with fatigue. Through
the cracks in the shutters the dawn showed faintly.

The grey of a bitter, starved-looking morning. The town like a


mortally wounded creature, torn by shells, gashed open by bombs.
Dead streets—streets of death—death in streets and their houses;
yet people still able to sleep and still sleeping.
‘Stephen.’
‘Yes, Mary?’
‘How far is the Poste?’
‘I think about thirty kilometres; why?’
‘Oh, nothing—I only wondered.’
The long stretch of an open country road. On either side of the
road wire netting hung with pieces of crudely painted rag—a
camouflage this to represent leaves. A road bordered by rag leaves
on tall wire hedges. Every few yards or so a deep shell-hole.
‘Are they following, Mary? Is Howard all right?’
The girl glanced back: ‘Yes, it’s all right, she’s coming.’
They drove on in silence for a couple of miles. The morning was
terribly cold; Mary shivered. ‘What’s that?’ It was rather a foolish
question for she knew what it was, knew only too well!
‘They’re at it again,’ Stephen muttered.
A shell burst in a paddock, uprooting some trees. ‘All right,
Mary?’
‘Yes—look out! We’re coming to a crater!’ They skimmed it by
less than an inch and dashed on, Mary suddenly moving nearer to
Stephen.
‘Don’t joggle my arm, for the Lord’s sake, child!’
‘Did I? I’m sorry.’
‘Yes—don’t do it again,’ and once more they drove forward in
silence.
Farther down the road they were blocked by a farm cart:
‘Militaires! Militaires! Militaires!’ Stephen shouted.
Rather languidly the farmer got down and went to the heads of
his thin, stumbling horses. ‘Il faut vivre,’ he explained, as he pointed
to the cart, which appeared to be full of potatoes.
In a field on the right worked three very old women; they were
hoeing with a diligent and fatalistic patience. At any moment a stray
shell might burst and then, presto! little left of the very old women.
But what will you? There is war—there has been war so long—one
must eat, even under the noses of the Germans; the bon Dieu knows
this, He alone can protect—so meanwhile one just goes on diligently
hoeing. A blackbird was singing to himself in a tree, the tree was
horribly maimed and blasted; all the same he had known it the
previous spring and so now, in spite of its wounds, he had found it.
Came a sudden lull when they heard him distinctly.
And Mary saw him: ‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s a blackbird!’ Just for
a moment she forgot about war.
Yet Stephen could now very seldom forget, and this was because
of the girl at her side. A queer, tight feeling would come round her
heart, she would know the fear that can go hand in hand with
personal courage, the fear for another.
But now she looked down for a moment and smiled: ‘Bless that
blackbird for letting you see him, Mary.’ She knew that Mary loved
little, wild birds, that indeed she loved all the humbler creatures.
They turned into a lane and were comparatively safe, but the roar
of the guns had grown much more insistent. They must be nearing
the Poste de Secours, so they spoke very little because of those
guns, and after a while because of the wounded.

The Poste de Secours was a ruined auberge at the cross-roads,


about fifty yards behind the trenches. From what had once been its
spacious cellar, they were hurriedly carrying up the wounded,
maimed and mangled creatures who, a few hours ago, had been
young and vigorous men. None too gently the stretchers were
lowered to the ground beside the two waiting ambulances—none too
gently because there were so many of them, and because there
must come a time in all wars when custom stales even compassion.
The wounded were patient and fatalistic, like the very old women
back in the field. The only difference between them being that the
men had themselves become as a field laid bare to a ruthless and
bloody hoeing. Some of them had not even a blanket to protect them
from the biting cold of the wind. A Poilu with a mighty wound in the
belly, must lie with the blood congealing on the bandage. Next to him
lay a man with his face half blown away, who, God alone knew why,
remained conscious. The abdominal case was the first to be
handled, Stephen herself helped to lift his stretcher. He was probably
dying, but he did not complain except inasmuch as he wanted his
mother. The voice that emerged from his coarse, bearded throat was
the voice of a child demanding its mother. The man with the terrible
face tried to speak, but when he did so the sound was not human.
His bandage had slipped a little to one side, so that Stephen must
step between him and Mary, and hastily readjust the bandage.
‘Get back to the ambulance! I shall want you to drive.’
In silence Mary obeyed her.
And now began the first of those endless journeys from the Poste
de Secours to the Field Hospital. For twenty-four hours they would
ply back and forth with their light Ford ambulances. Driving quickly
because the lives of the wounded might depend on their speed, yet
with every nerve taut to avoid, as far as might be, the jarring of the
hazardous roads full of ruts and shell-holes.
The man with the shattered face started again, they could hear
him above the throb of the motor. For a moment they stopped while
Stephen listened, but his lips were not there . . . an intolerable
sound.
‘Faster, drive faster, Mary!’
Pale, but with firmly set, resolute mouth, Mary Llewellyn drove
faster.
When at last they reached the Field Hospital, the bearded Poilu
with the wound in his belly was lying very placidly on his stretcher;
his hairy chin pointing slightly upward. He had ceased to speak as a
little child—perhaps, after all, he had found his mother.
The day went on and the sun shone out brightly, dazzling the
tired eyes of the drivers. Dusk fell, and the roads grew treacherous
and vague. Night came—they dared not risk having lights, so that
they must just stare and stare into the darkness. In the distance the
sky turned ominously red, some stray shells might well have set fire
to a village, that tall column of flame was probably the church; and
the Boches were punishing Compiègne again, to judge from the
heavy sounds of bombardment. Yet by now there was nothing real in
the world but that thick and almost impenetrable darkness, and the
ache of the eyes that must stare and stare, and the dreadful, patient
pain of the wounded—there had never been anything else in the
world but black night shot through with the pain of the wounded.

On the following morning the two ambulances crept back to their


base at the villa in Compiègne. It had been a tough job, long hours of
strain, and to make matters worse the reliefs had been late, one of
them having had a breakdown. Moving stiffly, and with red rimmed
and watering eyes, the four women swallowed large cups of coffee;
then just as they were they lay down on the floor, wrapped in their
trench coats and army blankets. In less than a quarter of an hour
they slept, though the villa shook and rocked with the bombardment.

CHAPTER 36

T here is something that mankind can never destroy in spite of an


unreasoning will to destruction, and this is its own idealism, that
integral part of its very being. The ageing and the cynical may make
wars, but the young and the idealistic must fight them, and thus there
are bound to come quick reactions, blind impulses not always
comprehended. Men will curse as they kill, yet accomplish deeds of
self-sacrifice, giving their lives for others; poets will write with their
pens dipped in blood, yet will write not of death but of life eternal;
strong and courteous friendships will be born, to endure in the face
of enmity and destruction. And so persistent is this urge to the ideal,
above all in the presence of great disaster, that mankind, the wilful
destroyer of beauty, must immediately strive to create new beauties,
lest it perish from a sense of its own desolation; and this urge
touched the Celtic soul of Mary.
For the Celtic soul is the stronghold of dreams, of longings come
down the dim paths of the ages; and within it there dwells a vague
discontent, so that it must for ever go questing. And now as though
drawn by some hidden attraction, as though stirred by some
irresistible impulse, quite beyond the realms of her own
understanding, Mary turned in all faith and all innocence to Stephen.
Who can pretend to interpret fate, either his own fate or that of
another? Why should this girl have crossed Stephen’s path, or
indeed Stephen hers, if it came to that matter? Was not the world
large enough for them both? Perhaps not—or perhaps the event of
their meeting had already been written upon tablets of stone by
some wise if relentless recording finger.
An orphan from the days of her earliest childhood, Mary had lived
with a married cousin in the wilds of Wales; an unwanted member of
a none too prosperous household. She had little education beyond
that obtained from a small private school in a neighbouring village.
She knew nothing of life or of men and women; and even less did
she know of herself, of her ardent, courageous, impulsive nature.
Thanks to the fact that her cousin was a doctor, forced to motor over
a widely spread practice, she had learnt to drive and look after his
car by filling the post of an unpaid chauffeur—she was, in her small
way, a good mechanic. But the war had made her much less
contented with her narrow life, and although at its outbreak Mary had
been not quite eighteen, she had felt a great longing to be
independent, in which she had met with no opposition. However, a
Welsh village is no field for endeavour, and thus nothing had
happened until by a fluke she had suddenly heard of the
Breakspeare Unit via the local parson, an old friend of its founder—
he himself had written to recommend Mary. And so, straight from the
quiet seclusion of Wales, this girl had managed the complicated
journey that had finally got her over to France, then across a war-
ravaged, dislocated country. Mary was neither so frail nor so timid as
Mrs. Breakspeare had thought her.
Stephen had felt rather bored just at first at the prospect of
teaching the new member her duties, but after a while it came to
pass that she missed the girl when she was not with her. And after a
while she would find herself observing the way Mary’s hair grew, low
on the forehead, the wide setting of her slightly oblique grey eyes,
the abrupt sweep back of their heavy lashes; and these things would
move Stephen, so that she must touch the girl’s hair for a moment
with her fingers. Fate was throwing them continually together, in
moments of rest as in moments of danger; they could not have
escaped this even had they wished to, and indeed they did not wish
to escape it. They were pawns in the ruthless and complicated game
of existence, moved hither and thither on the board by an unseen
hand, yet moved side by side, so that they grew to expect each
other.
‘Mary, are you there?’
A superfluous question—the reply would be always the same.
‘I’m here, Stephen.’
Sometimes Mary would talk of her plans for the future while
Stephen listened, smiling as she did so.
‘I’ll go into an office, I want to be free.’
‘You’re so little, you’d get mislaid in an office.’
‘I’m five foot five!’
‘Are you really, Mary? You feel little, somehow.’
‘That’s because you’re so tall. I do wish I could grow a bit!’
‘No, don’t wish that, you’re all right as you are—it’s you, Mary.’
Mary would want to be told about Morton, she was never tired of
hearing about Morton. She would make Stephen get out the
photographs of her father, of her mother whom Mary thought lovely,
of Puddle, and above all of Raftery. Then Stephen must tell her of
the life in London, and afterwards of the new house in Paris; must
talk of her own career and ambitions, though Mary had not read
either of her novels—there had never been a library subscription.
But at moments Stephen’s face would grow clouded because of
the things that she could not tell her; because of the little untruths
and evasions that must fill up the gaps in her strange life-history.
Looking down into Mary’s clear, grey eyes, she would suddenly flush
through her tan, and feel guilty; and that feeling would reach the girl
and disturb her, so that she must hold Stephen’s hand for a moment.
One day she said suddenly: ‘Are you unhappy?’
‘Why on earth should I be unhappy?’ smiled Stephen.
All the same there were nights now when Stephen lay awake
even after her arduous hours of service, hearing the guns that were
coming nearer, yet not thinking of them, but always of Mary. A great
gentleness would gradually engulf her like a soft sea mist, veiling
reef and headland. She would seem to be drifting quietly, serenely
towards some blessèd and peaceful harbour. Stretching out a hand
she would stroke the girl’s shoulder where she lay, but carefully in
case she should wake her. Then the mist would lift: ‘Good God!
What am I doing?’ She would sit up abruptly, disturbing the sleeper.
‘Is that you, Stephen?’
‘Yes, my dear, go to sleep.’
Then a cross, aggrieved voice: ‘Do shut up, you two. It’s rotten of
you, I was just getting off! Why must you always persist in talking!’
Stephen would lie down again and would think: ‘I’m a fool, I go
out of my way to find trouble. Of course I’ve grown fond of the child,
she’s so plucky, almost anyone would grow fond of Mary. Why
shouldn’t I have affection and friendship? Why shouldn’t I have a real
human interest? I can help her to find her feet after the war if we
both come through—I might buy her a business.’ That gentle mist,
hiding both reef and headland; it would gather again blurring all
perception, robbing the past of its crude, ugly outlines. ‘After all, what
harm can it do the child to be fond of me?’ It was so good a thing to
have won the affection of this young creature.

The Germans got perilously near to Compiègne, and the


Breakspeare Unit was ordered to retire. Its base was now at a ruined
château on the outskirts of an insignificant village, yet not so very
insignificant either—it was stuffed to the neck with ammunition.
Nearly all the hours that were spent off duty must be passed in the
gloomy, damp-smelling dug-outs which consisted of cellars, partly
destroyed but protected by sandbags on heavy timbers. Like foxes
creeping out of their holes, the members of the Unit would creep into
the daylight, their uniforms covered with mould and rubble, their eyes
blinking, their hands cold and numb from the dampness—so cold
and so numb that the starting up of motors would often present a
real problem.
At this time there occurred one or two small mishaps; Bless broke
her wrist while cranking her engine; Blakeney and three others at a
Poste de Secours, were met by a truly terrific bombardment and took
cover in what had once been a brick-field, crawling into the disused
furnace. There they squatted for something over eight hours, while
the German gunners played hit as hit can with the tall and
conspicuous chimney. When at last they emerged, half stifled by
brick-dust, Blakeney had got something into her eye, which she
rubbed; the result was acute inflammation.
Howard had begun to be irritating, with her passion for tending
her beautiful hair. She would sit in the corner of her dug-out as
calmly as though she were sitting at a Bond Street hairdresser’s; and
having completed the ritual brushing, she would gaze at herself in a
pocket mirror. With a bandage over her unfortunate eye, Blakeney
looked more like a monkey than ever, a sick monkey, and her strictly
curtailed conversation was not calculated to enliven the Unit. She
seemed almost entirely bereft of speech these days, as though
reverting to species. Her one comment on life was: ‘Oh, I dunno . . .’
always said with a jaunty, rising inflexion. It meant everything or
nothing as you chose to take it, and had long been her panacea for
the ills of what she considered a stupid Creation. ‘Oh, I dunno. . . .’
And indeed she did not; poor, old, sensitive, monosyllabic Blakeney.
The Poilu who served out the Unit’s rations—cold meat, sardines,
bread and sour red Pinard—was discovered by Stephen in the very
act of attempting to unload an aerial bomb. He explained with a
smile that the Germans were sly in their methods of loading: ‘I
cannot discover just how it is done.’ Then he showed his left hand—
it was minus one of the fingers: ‘That,’ he told her, still smiling, ‘was
caused by a shell, a quite little shell, which I was also unloading.’
And when she remonstrated none too gently, he sulked: ‘But I wish
to give this one to Maman!’
Every one had begun to feel the nerve strain, except perhaps
Blakeney, who had done with all feeling. Shorthanded by two, the
remaining members of the Unit must now work like veritable niggers
—on one occasion Stephen and Mary worked for seventy hours with
scarcely a respite. Strained nerves are invariably followed by
strained tempers, and sudden, hot quarrels would break out over
nothing. Bless and Howard loathed each other for two days, then
palled up again, because of a grievance that had recently been
evolved against Stephen. For every one knew that Stephen and

You might also like