A clock struck out the hour of twelve, and the bird in the hedgerow was still singing as we marched out to the roadway, and followed our merry pipers home to town. — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
A clock struck out the hour of twelve, and the bird in the hedgerow was still singing as we marched out to the roadway,… — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
Even the distribution of rations leaves much to be desired; the fatigue party, well-intentioned and sympathetic though it be, often finds itself short of… — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
Few men could explain why they enlisted, and if they attempted they might only prove that they had done as a politician said the… — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
There comes a moment on a journey when something sweet, something irresistible and charming as wine raised to thirsty lips, wells up in the… — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
I am one of the million or more male residents of the United Kingdom, who a year ago had no special yearning towards military… — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
The soldiers' last meal is generally served out about five o'clock in the afternoon, sometimes earlier; and a stretch of fourteen hours intervenes between… — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
Marching thus at night, a battalion is doubly impressive. The silent monster is full of restrained power; resolute in its onward sweep, impervious to… — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
Save for minor ailments and accident, my battalion is practically immune from sickness; colds come and go as a matter of course, sprains and… — Patrick MacGill Copy Share Image
