THE MAN WHO LAUGHED.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 16194, 27 July 1918, Page 8

THE MAN WHO LAUGHED.

THE COCKNEY OF SWAMP ALLEY. (By Second-Lieutenant J. B. Morton.) Somebody laughed in Swamp Alloy. In the ordinary way such a thing does not happen in that place. For one thing, there is no time for such frivolity because of the snipers, no breath to spare because of tho mud, and no reason, certainly no earthly reason, for laughter. The man who was laboriously ploughing his way through the mud looked up in surprise at the sound of the laugh. He felt that it was rather like telling a joke to a drowning person. Quite a small man was coming towards him; one of those typical and quite wonderful Cockneys, who seem to shed every vestago of their civilian selves when they discard their mufti, and to emerge suddenly as fully-equipped soldiers. The officer couldn’t stop to ask the Cockney why he had laughed, because ho had all his work cut out to avoid sinking and sticking fast in the mud; also a sniper was apparently taking shots at him at regular and frequent intervals. Ho had to keep his head and body more or loss erect for the sake of balance, also; he was cursing quietly but very meaningly most of the time, because that is felt to be helpful as one flounders along Swamp Alley. And yet—that preposterous, irrelevant laughter. ; The incident made the more impression on him because he was rather new to the lighting line, and he thought that there must be some occasions when the British get really and truly fed up, whatever the papers might say. He used to think of that laughter when he got into difficult places. Subconsciously the idea of it was always with him. The second time he,heard it was after a devil of a fight on one of those sunken roads round about ‘ Beaumont Hamel. A sunken road is never a cheery place; after a fight it’s apt to be merely possible. He had almost forgotten the incident of Swamp Alley when he came to pick his way through the wreckage and tho dead of that sunken road. As a matter of fact, he thought there was nothing alive near him, and was growling to himself over the grisly desolation. Rounding the corner he came upon a shattered dressing station, and before he saw the M.O. or the wounded he heard .somebody laugh, and he knew the laugh at once. It was as if somebody had gripped his hand as a friend grips, saying: “Buck up! I’m in it with you for better or for worse.” Running his eye over the stretchers, he saw the Cockney of Swamp Alley on one of them. He promptly gave the roan a “fag,” and lit it for him, winning a grip of gratitude. It was a grin that ended abruptly in a spasm of pain. “Pretty nearly done for, I’m afraid. I’d give a good deal to he able to pull him through,” whispered the M.O. The officer nodded and passed out, scrambling on his way with a heavy heart. Often afterwards he thought of the Cockney, and wondered if they had managed to pull him through. That laugh echoed in his brain at bad times and in bright ones,.haunting him like a friendly ghost. • It seemed wonderful that so simple a chap as the Cockney should have possessed so impressive a personality. Five months later the officer was on a hospital ship, bound for Blighty, and feeling rather a hero. He had stopped a good-sized jagged piece of shrapnel, and one of his arms was a rare sight. He felt rather proud as he lay there in his white cot, but behind tho pride was an irksome fear of amputation. Swamp Alley and the Cockney were entirely things of the past. His eyes were set on the future; the friends he would see and tho good times lie would have before coming out again

They kept him some time in hospital, for the arm healed slowly. The fear of amputation faded. When ho was allowed out for short walks he had a girl cousin to come and parade him as her wounded soldier, and sometimes her naive flattery betrayed him into just the least bit in tho world of swagger over his mangled arm. Once, he went to tea at a restaurant, and the girlcousin brought a friend. A hand played soft dance music while they talked, and the girl had wonderful eyes; such things will happen. Ho was moved to describe the fight in which he had been wounded, and, remembering how a longing for his pals came over him at times, he permitted himself to revile the fate that had knocked him out, and kept him so long away from his comrades. “Yes,” he said, “it makes a chap pretty sick. Here am I, with my arm in this silly sling, with pads and bandages to stock a dispensary—just a crock, that’s all I am. When I think of all those chaps marching and singing and “Never mind,” said the girl with the wonderful eyes; “you men always take it smiling, don't yon?” He felt a shade abashed. “Oh, well.” he said, pleasantly embarrassed; “naturally a fellow always tries, hut, you see, to he laid aside, and ” Somebody laughed. He knew that laugh at once. In the merest fraction of a second it brought back Swamp Alley and a score of horrible places. His sentence bent and' broke off. of its own insignificance, and be looked round the room. A small figure in mufti was just getting through the doorway on crutches. There was a girl with him, and they . were both laughing. The Cockney had two wooden legs. “Shall we be moving?” ®aid the officer. Ho felt suddenly smaller and of less importance in the scheme of things. Also, he seemed to have had his full share, for the moment, of tea and cake and soft music and wonderful eyes and things.