Journey's End

by R C Sherriff

  MASON: D'you expect the captain soon, sir? The soup's 'ot.

  OSBORNE: He ought to be here very soon now. This is Mr Raleigh, Mason.

  MASON: Good evening, sir.

  RALEIGH: Good evening.

  MASON [to OSBORNE]: I've 'ad rather a unpleasant surprise, sir.

  OSBORNE: What's happened?

  MASON: You know that tin o' pineapple chunks I got, sir?

  OSBORNE: Yes?

  MASON: Well, sir, I'm sorry to say it's apricots.

  OSBORNE: Good heavens! It must have given you a turn.

  MASON: I distinctly said ‘Pineapple chunks’ at the canteen.

  OSBORNE: Wasn't there a label on the tin?

  MASON: No, sir. I pointed that out to the man. I said was 'e certain it was pineapple chunks?

  OSBORNE: I suppose he said he was.

  MASON: Yes, sir. 'E said a leopard can't change its spots, sir.

  OSBORNE: What have leopards got to do with pineapple?

  MASON: That's just what I thought, sir. Made me think there was something fishy about it. You see, sir, I know the captain can't stand the sight of apricots. 'E said next time we 'ad them 'e'd wring my neck.

  OSBORNE: Haven't you anything else?

  MASON: There's a pink blancmange I've made, sir. But it ain't anywhere near stiff yet.

  OSBORNE: Never mind. We must have the apricots and chance it.

  MASON: Only I thought I'd tell you, sir, so as the captain wouldn't blame me.

  OSBORNE: All right, Mason.

  [Voices are heard in the trench above. ]

  That sounds like the captain coming now.

  MASON [hastening away ]: I'll go and dish out the soup, sir.

  [The voices grow nearer; two figures appear in the trench above and grope down the steps – the leading figure tall and slim, the other short and fat. The tall figure is CAPTAIN STANHOPE. At the bottom of the steps he straightens himself, pulls off his pack, and drops it on the floor. Then he takes off his helmet and throws it on the right-hand bed. Despite his stars of rank he is no more than a boy; tall, slimly built, but broad-shouldered. His dark hair is carefully brushed; his uniform, though old and war-stained, is well cut and cared for. He is good-looking, rather from attractive features than the healthy good looks of RALEIGH. Although tanned by months in the open air, there is a pallor under his skin and dark shadows under his eyes. His short and fat companion – SECOND LIEUTENANT TROTTER – is middle-aged and homely looking. His face is red, fat, and round; apparently he has put on weight during his war service, for his tunic appears to be on the verge of bursting at the waist. He carries an extra pack belonging to the officer left on duty in the line. ]

  STANHOPE [as he takes off his pack, gas satchel and belt]: Has Hardy gone?

  OSBORNE: Yes. He cleared off a few minutes ago.

  STANHOPE: Lucky for him he did. I had a few words to say to Master Hardy. You never saw the blasted mess those fellows left the trenches in. Dugouts smell like cess-pits; rusty bombs; damp rifle grenades; it's perfectly foul. Where are the servants?

  OSBORNE: In there.

  STANHOPE [calling into MASON'S dugout ]: Hi! Mason!

  MASON [outside]: Coming, sir! Just bringing the soup, sir.

  STANHOPE [taking a cigarette from his case and lighting it]: Damn the soup! Bring some whisky!

  OSBORNE: Here's a new officer, Stanhope – just arrived.

  STANHOPE: Oh, sorry. [He turns and peers into the dim corner where RALEIGH stands smiling awkwardly. ] I didn't see you in this miserable light. [He stops short at the sight of RALEIGH. There is silence. ]

  RALEIGH: Hullo, Stanhope!

  [STANHOPE stares at RALEIGH as though dazed. RALEIGH takes a step forward, half raises his hand, then lets it drop to his side. ]

  STANHOPE [in a low voice]: How did you – get here?

  RALEIGH: I was told to report to your company, Stanhope.

  STANHOPE: Oh. I see. Rather a coincidence.

  RALEIGH [with a nervous laugh]: Yes.

  [There is a silence for a moment, broken by OSBORNE in a matter-of-fact voice. ]

  OSBORNE: I say, Stanhope, it's a terrible business. We thought we'd got a tin of pineapple chunks; it turns out to be apricots.

  TROTTER: Ha! Give me apricots every time! I 'ate pineapple chunks; too bloomin' sickly for me!

  RALEIGH: I'm awfully glad I got to your company, Stanhope.

  STANHOPE: When did you get here?

  RALEIGH: Well, I've only just come.

  OSBORNE: He came up with the transport while you were taking over.

  STANHOPE: I see.

  [MASON brings in a bottle of whisky, a mug, and two plates of soup – so precariously that OSBORNE has to help with the soup plates on to the table.]

  STANHOPE [with sudden forced gaiety]: Come along, Uncle! Come and sit here. [He waves towards the box on the right of the table. ] You better sit there, Raleigh.

  RALEIGH: Right!

  TROTTER [taking a pair of pince-nez from his tunic pocket, putting them on, and looking curiously at RALEIGH]: You Raleigh?

  RALEIGH: Yes.

  [Pause. ]

  TROTTER: I'm Trotter.

  RALEIGH: Oh, yes?

  [Pause. ]

  TROTTER: How are you?

  RALEIGH: Oh, all right, thanks.

  TROTTER: Been out 'ere before?

  RALEIGH: No.

  TROTTER: Feel a bit odd, I s'pose?

  RALEIGH: Yes. A bit.

  TROTTER [getting a box to sit on ]: Oh, well, you'll soon get used to it; you'll feel you've been 'ere a year in about an hour's time.

  [He puts the box on its side and sits on it. It is too low for the table, and he puts it on its end. It is then too high. He tries the other side, which is too low; he finally contrives to make himself comfortable by sitting on his pack, placed on the side of the box. MASON arrives with two more plates of soup. ]

  OSBORNE: What kind of soup is this, Mason?

  MASON: It's yellow soup, sir.

  OSBORNE: It's got a very deep yellow flavour.

  TROTTER [taking a melodious sip ]: It wants some pepper; bring some pepper, Mason.

  MASON [anxiously]: I'm very sorry, sir. When the mess box was packed the pepper was omitted, sir.

  TROTTER [throwing his spoon with a clatter into the plate]: Oh, I say, but damn it!

  OSBORNE: We must have pepper. It's a disinfectant.

  TROTTER: You must have pepper in soup!

  STANHOPE [quietly]: Why wasn't it packed, Mason?

  MASON: It – it was missed, sir.

  STANHOPE: Why?

  MASON [miserably]: Well, sir, I left it to –

  STANHOPE: Then I advise you never to leave it to anyone else again – unless you want to rejoin your platoon out there. [He points into the moonlit trench.]

  MASON: I'm – I'm very sorry, sir.

  STANHOPE: Send one of the signallers.

  MASON: Yes, sir. [He hastens to the tunnel entrance and calls:] Bert, you're wanted!

  [A SOLDIER appears, with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He stands stiffly to attention.]

  STANHOPE: Do you know A Company Headquarters?

  SOLDIER: Yes, sir.

  STANHOPE: Go there at once and ask Captain Willis, with my compliments, if he can lend me a little pepper.

  SOLDIER: Very good, sir.

  [He turns smartly and goes up the steps, MASON stopping him for a moment to say confidentially: ‘A screw of pepper, you ask for.’]

  OSBORNE: We must have pepper.

  TROTTER: I mean – after all – war's bad enough with pepper – [noisy sip] – but war without pepper – it's – it's bloody awful!

  OSBORNE: What's it like outside?

  TROTTER: Quiet as an empty 'ouse. There's a nasty noise going on up north.

  OSBORNE: Wipers, I expect. I believe there's trouble up there. I wish we knew more of what's going on.

  TROTTER: So do I. Still, my wife reads the papers every morning and writes and tells me.

>   OSBORNE: Hardy says they had a lively time here yesterday. Three big Minnies right in the trench.

  TROTTER: I know. And they left the bloomin' 'oles for us to fill in.

  [MASON arrives with cutlets on enamel plates. ]

  What's this.

  MASON: Meat, sir.

  TROTTER: I know that. What sort?

  MASON: Sort of cutlet, sir.

  TROTTER: Sort of cutlet, is it? You know, Mason, there's cutlets and cutlets.

  MASON: I know, sir; that one's a cutlet.

  TROTTER: Well, it won't let me cut it.

  MASON: No, sir?

  TROTTER: That's a joke.

  MASON: Oh. Right, sir. [He goes out.]

  OSBORNE [studying the map]: There's a sort of ruin marked on this map – just in front of here, in No Man's Land – called Beauvais Farm.

  TROTTER: That's what we saw sticking up, skipper. I wondered what it was.

  STANHOPE: Better go out and look at it tonight.

  TROTTER: I expect a nasty German'll 'op out of it and say, ‘Ock der Kaiser’. I 'ate ruins in No Man's Land.

  OSBORNE: There's only about sixty yards of No Man's Land, according to this map – narrower on the left, from the head of this sap; only about fifty.

  TROTTER [who has been looking curiously at STANHOPE, eating his meal with lowered head]: Cheer up, skipper. You do look glum!

  STANHOPE: I'm tired.

  OSBORNE: I should turn in and get some sleep after supper.

  STANHOPE: I've got hours of work before I sleep.

  OSBORNE: I'll do the duty roll and see the sergeant-major – and all that.

  STANHOPE: That's all right, Uncle. I'll see to it. [He turns to RALEIGH for the first time.] Trotter goes on duty directly he's had supper. You better go on with him – to learn.

  RALEIGH: Oh, right.

  TROTTER: Look 'ere, skipper, it's nearly eight now; couldn't we make it 'alf-past?

  STANHOPE: No. I told Hibbert he'd be relieved at eight. Will you take from eleven till two, Uncle?

  OSBORNE: Right.

  STANHOPE: Hibbert can do from two till four, and I'll go on from then till stand-to. That'll be at six.

  TROTTER: Well, boys! ‘Ere we are for six days again. Six bloomin’ eternal days. [He makes a calculation on the table. ] That's a hundred and forty-four hours; eight thousand six 'undred and forty minutes. That doesn't sound so bad; we've done twenty of 'em already. I've got an idea! I'm going to draw a hundred and forty-four little circles on a bit o' paper, and every hour I'm going to black one in; that'll make the time go all right.

  STANHOPE: It's five to eight now. You better go and relieve Hibbert. Then you can come back at eleven o'clock and black in three of your bloody little circles.

  TROTTER: I 'aven't 'ad my apricots yet!

  STANHOPE: We'll keep your apricots till you come back.

  TROTTER: I never knew anything like a war for upsetting meals. I'm always down for dooty in the middle of one.

  STANHOPE: That's because you never stop eating.

  TROTTER: Any'ow, let's 'ave some coffee. Hi! Mason! Coffee!

  MASON: Coming, sir!

  TROTTER [getting up]: Well, I'll get dressed. Come on, Raleigh.

  RALEIGH [rising quickly ]: Right!

  TROTTER: Just wear your belt with revolver case on it. Must have your revolver to shoot rats. And your gas mask – come here – I'll show you. [He helps RALEIGH.] You wear it sort of tucked up under your chin like a serviette.

  RALEIGH: Yes. I was shown the way at home.

  TROTTER: Now your hat. That's right. You don't want a walking-stick. It gets in your way if you have to run fast.

  RALEIGH: Why – er – do you have to run fast?

  TROTTER: Oh, Lord, yes, often! If you see a Minnie coming – that's a big trench-mortar shell, you know – short for Minnywerfer – you see 'em come right out of the Boche trenches, right up in the air, then down, down, down; and you have to judge it and run like stink sometimes.

  [MASON comes in with two cups of coffee.]

  MASON: Coffee, sir?

  TROTTER: Thanks. [He takes the cup and drinks standing up.]

  RALEIGH: Thanks.

  TROTTER: You might leave my apricots out, Mason. Put 'em on a separate plate and keep 'em in there. [He points to MASON'S dugout.]

  MASON: Very good, sir.

  TROTTER: If you bring 'em in 'ere you never know what might 'appen to 'em.

  MASON: No, sir.

  TROTTER: B Company on our right, aren't they, skipper?

  STANHOPE: Yes. There's fifty yards of undefended area between. You better patrol that a good deal.

  TROTTER: Aye, aye, sir.

  STANHOPE: Have a look at that Lewis gun position on the left. See what field of fire they've got.

  TROTTER: Aye, aye, sir. You don't want me to go out and look at that blinkin' ruin?

  STANHOPE: I'll see to that.

  TROTTER: Good. I don't fancy crawling about on my belly after that cutlet. [To RALEIGH] Well, come on, my lad, let's go and see about this 'ere war.

  [The two go up the steps, leaving STANHOPE and OSBORNE alone. MASON appears at his dugout door. ]

  MASON: Will you take apricots, sir?

  STANHOPE: No, thanks.

  MASON: Mr Osborne?

  OSBORNE: No, thanks.

  MASON: I'm sorry about them being apricots, sir. I explained to Mr Osborne –

  STANHOPE [curtly]: That's all right, Mason – thank you.

  MASON: Very good, sir. [He goes out.]

  OSBORNE [over by the right-hand bed]: Will you sleep here? This was Hardy's bed.

  STANHOPE: No. You sleep there. I'd rather sleep by the table here. I can get up and work without disturbing you.

  OSBORNE: This is a better one.

  STANHOPE: You take it. Must have a little comfort in your old age, Uncle.

  OSBORNE: I wish you'd turn in and sleep for a bit.

  STANHOPE: Sleep? — I can't sleep.

  [He takes a whisky and water. A man appears in the trench and comes down the steps – a small, slightly built man in the early twenties, with a little moustache and a pallid face.]

  STANHOPE [Looking hard at the newcomer]: Well, Hibbert?

  HIBBERT: Everything's fairly quiet. Bit of sniping somewhere to our left; some rifle grenades coming over just on our right.

  STANHOPE: I see. Mason's got your supper.

  HIBBERT [gently rubbing his forehead]: I don't think I can manage any supper tonight, Stanhope. It's this beastly neuralgia. It seems to be right inside this eye. The beastly pain gets worse every day.

  STANHOPE: Some hot soup and a good tough chop'll put that right.

  HIBBERT: I'm afraid the pain rather takes my appetite away. I'm damn sorry to keep on talking about it, Stanhope, only I thought you'd wonder why I don't eat anything much.

  STANHOPE: Try and forget about it.

  HIBBERT [with a little laugh ]: Well – I wish I could.

  STANHOPE: Get tight.

  HIBBERT: I think I'll turn straight in for a rest – and try and get some sleep.

  STANHOPE: All right. Turn in. You're in that dugout there. Here's your pack. [He picks up the pack that TROTTER brought down. ] You go on duty at two. I take over from you at four. I'll tell Mason to call you.

  HIBBERT [faintly]: Oh, right – thanks, Stanhope – cheero.

  STANHOPE: Cheero. [He watches HIBBERT go down the tunnel into the dark. ]

  HIBBERT [returning]: Can I have a candle?

  STANHOPE [taking one from the table ]: Here you are.

  HIBBERT: Thanks.

  [He goes out again. There is silence. STANHOPE turns to OSBORNE.]

  STANHOPE: Another little worm trying to wriggle home.

  OSBORNE [filling his pipe ]: I wonder if he really is bad. He looks rotten.

  STANHOPE: Pure bloody funk, that's all. He could eat if he wanted to; he's starving himself purposely. Artful little swine! Neuralgia's a splendid idea. No proof, as far as I can see.

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