A clock struck out the hour of twelve, and the bird in the hedgerow was still singing as we marched out to… — 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
