And the little sidings of the tiny
village station was as pleasant a place as you could wish for. On one
side, beyond the line, stretched the woods: on the other, the near side,
across a green smooth field red houses were dotted among flowering apple
trees. The weather being sunny, work being easy, Albert, a real good pal,
what life could be better! After Flanders, it was heaven itself.
Albert, the corporal, was a clean-shaven, shrewd-looking fellow of about
forty. He seemed to think his one aim in life was to be full of fun and
nonsense. In repose, his face looked a little withered, old. He was a
very good pal to Joe, steady, decent and grave under all his 'mischief';
for his mischief was only his laborious way of skirting his own _ennui_.
Joe was much younger than Albert--only twenty-three. He was a tallish,
quiet youth, pleasant looking. He was of a slightly better class than his
corporal, more personable. Careful about his appearance, he shaved every
day. 'I haven't got much of a face,' said Albert. 'If I was to shave
every day like you, Joe, I should have none.'
There was plenty of life in the little goods-yard: three porter youths,
a continual come and go of farm wagons bringing hay, wagons with timber
from the woods, coal carts loading at the trucks. The black coal seemed
to make the place sleepier, hotter. Round the big white gate the
station-master's children played and his white chickens walked, whilst
the stationmaster himself, a young man getting too fat, helped his wife
to peg out the washing on the clothes line in the meadow.
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