Journey's End

by R C Sherriff

  OSBORNE: You can't help feeling sorry for him. I think he's tried hard.

  STANHOPE: How long's he been out here? Three months, I suppose. Now he's decided he's done his bit. He's decided to go home and spend the rest of the war in comfortable nerve hospitals. Well, he's mistaken. I let Warren get away like that, but no more.

  OSBORNE: I don't see how you can prevent a fellow going sick.

  STANHOPE: I'll have a quiet word with the doctor before he does. He thinks he's going to wriggle off before the attack. We'll just see about that. No man of mine's going sick before the attack. They're going to take an equal chance – together.

  OSBORNE: Raleigh looks a nice chap.

  STANHOPE [looking hard at OSBORNE before replying]: Yes.

  OSBORNE: Good-looking youngster. At school with you, wasn't he?

  STANHOPE: Has he been talking already?

  OSBORNE: He just mentioned it. It was a natural thing to tell me when he knew you were in command.

  [STANHOPE is lounging at the table with hisback to the wall. OSBORNE, sitting on the right-hand bed, begins to puff clouds of smoke into the air as he lights his pipe.]

  He's awfully pleased to get into your company.

  [STANHOPE makes no reply. He picks up a pencil and scribbles on the back of a magazine.]

  He seems to think a lot of you.

  STANHOPE [looking up quickly at OSBORNE and laughing]: Yes, I'm his hero.

  OSBORNE: It's quite natural.

  STANHOPE: You think so?

  OSBORNE: Small boys at school generally have their heroes.

  STANHOPE: Yes. Small boys at school do.

  OSBORNE: Often it goes on as long as –

  STANHOPE: – as long as the hero's a hero.

  OSBORNE: It often goes on all through life.

  STANHOPE: I wonder. How many battalions are there in France?

  OSBORNE: Why?

  STANHOPE: We'll say fifty divisions. That's a hundred and fifty brigades – four hundred and fifty battalions. That's one thousand eight hundred companies. [He looks up at OSBORNE from his calculations on the magazine cover.] There are one thousand eight hundred companies in France, Uncle. Raleigh might have been sent to any one of those, and, my God! he comes to mine.

  OSBORNE: You ought to be glad. He's a good-looking youngster. I like him.

  STANHOPE: I knew you'd like him. Personality, isn't it? [He takes a worn leather case from his breast pocket and hands a small photograph to OSBORNE. ] I've never shown you that, have I?

  OSBORNE [looking at the photograph]: No. [Pause.] Raleigh's sister, isn't it?

  STANHOPE: How did you know?

  OSBORNE: There's a strong likeness.

  STANHOPE: I suppose there is.

  OSBORNE [intent on the picture]: She's an awfully nice-looking girl.

  STANHOPE: A photo doesn't show much, really. Just a face.

  OSBORNE: She looks awfully nice.

  [There is silence. STANHOPE lights a cigarette. OSBORNE hands the photo back.]

  You're a lucky chap.

  STANHOPE [putting the photo back into his case]: I don't know why I keep it, really.

  OSBORNE: Why? Isn't she – I thought –

  STANHOPE: What did you think?

  OSBORNE: Well, I thought that perhaps she was waiting for you.

  STANHOPE: Yes. She is waiting for me – and she doesn't know. She thinks I'm a wonderful chap – commanding a company. [He turns to OSBORNE and points up the steps into the line.] She doesn't know that if I went up those steps into the front line – without being doped with whisky – I'd go mad with fright.

  [There is a pause. OSBORNE stirs himself to speak.]

  OSBORNE: Look here, old man. I've meant to say it, for a long time, but it sounds damned impudence. You've done longer out here than any man in the battalion. It's time you went away for a rest. It's due to you.

  STANHOPE: You suggest that I go sick, like that little worm in there – neuralgia in the eye? [He laughs and takes a drink.]

  OSBORNE: No. Not that. The colonel would have sent you down long ago, only –

  STANHOPE: Only – what?

  OSBORNE: Only he can't spare you.

  STANHOPE [laughing]: Oh, rot!

  OSBORNE: He told me.

  STANHOPE: He thinks I'm in such a state I want a rest, is that it?

  OSBORNE: No. He thinks it's due to you.

  STANHOPE: It's all right, Uncle. I'll stick it out now. It may not be much longer now. I've had my share of luck – more than my share. There's not a man left who was here when I came. But it's rather damnable for that boy – of all boys in the world – to have come to me. I might at least have been spared that.

  OSBORNE: You're looking at things in rather a black sort of way.

  STANHOPE: I've just told you. That boy's a hero-worshipper. I'm three years older than he is. You know what that means at school. I was skipper of rugger and all that sort of thing. It doesn't sound much to a man out here – but it does at school with a kid of fourteen. Damn it, Uncle, you're a schoolmaster; you know.

  OSBORNE: I've just told you what I think of hero-worship.

  STANHOPE: Raleigh's father knew mine, and I was told to keep an eye on the kid. I rather liked the idea of looking after him. I made him keen on the right things – and all that. His people asked me to stay with them one summer. I met his sister then –

  OSBORNE: Yes?

  STANHOPE: At first I thought of her as another kid like Raleigh. It was just before I came out here for the first time that I realized what a topping girl she was. Funny how you realize it suddenly. I just prayed to come through the war – and – and do things – and keep absolutely fit for her.

  OSBORNE: You've done pretty well. An MC and a company.

  STANHOPE [taking another whisky]: It was all right at first. When I went home on leave after six months it was jolly fine to feel I'd done a little to make her pleased. [He takes a gulp of his drink.] It was after I came back here – in that awful affair on Vimy Ridge. I knew I'd go mad if I didn't break the strain. I couldn't bear being fully conscious all the time – you've felt that, Uncle, haven't you?

  OSBORNE: Yes, often.

  STANHOPE: There were only two ways of breaking the strain. One was pretending I was ill – and going home; the other was this. [He holds up his glass. ] Which would you pick, Uncle?

  OSBORNE: I haven't been through as much as you. I don't know yet.

  STANHOPE: I thought it all out. It's a slimy thing to go home if you're not really ill, isn't it?

  OSBORNE: I think it is.

  STANHOPE: Well, then. [He holds his glass up to OSBORNE.] Cheero, and long live the men who go home with neuralgia. [He puts his glass down. ] I didn't go home on my last leave. I couldn't bear to meet her, in case she realized –

  OSBORNE: When the war's over – and the strain's gone – you'll soon be as fit as ever, at your age.

  STANHOPE: I've hoped that all the time. I'd go away for months and live in the open air – and get fit – and then go back to her.

  OSBORNE: And so you can.

  STANHOPE: If Raleigh had gone to one of those other one thousand eight hundred companies.

  OSBORNE: I don't see why you should think –

  STANHOPE: Oh, for Lord's sake don't be a damn fool. You know! You know he'll write and tell her I reek of whisky all day.

  OSBORNE: Why should he? He's not a –

  STANHOPE: Exactly. He's not a damned little swine who'd deceive his sister.

  OSBORNE: He's very young; he's got hundreds of strange things to learn; he'll realize that men are – different – out here.

  STANHOPE: It's no good, Uncle. Didn't you see him sitting there at supper? – staring at me? – and wondering? He's up in those trenches now – still wondering – and beginning to understand. And all these months he's wanted to be with me out here. Poor little devil!

  OSBORNE: I believe Raleigh'll go on liking you – and looking up to you – through everything. There's something very
deep, and rather fine, about hero-worship.

  STANHOPE: Hero-worship be damned! [He pauses, then goes on, in a strange, high-pitched voice ] You know, Uncle, I'm an awful fool. I'm captain of this company. What's that bloody little prig of a boy matter? D'you see? He's a little prig. Wants to write home and tell Madge all about me. Well, he won't; d'you see, Uncle? He won't write. Censorship! I censor his letters – cross out all he says about me.

  OSBORNE: You can't read his letters.

  STANHOPE [dreamily]: Cross out all he says about me. Then we all go west in the big attack – and she goes on thinking I'm a fine fellow for ever – and ever – and ever. [He pours out a drink, murmuring ‘Ever – and ever – and ever.’]

  OSBORNE [rising from his bed]: It's not as bad as all that. Turn in and have a sleep.

  STANHOPE: Sleep! Catch me wasting my time with sleep.

  OSBORNE [picking up STANHOPE'S pack and pulling out the blanket ]: Come along, old chap. You come and lie down here. [He puts the pack as a pillow on STANHOPE'S bed, spreads out the blanket.]

  STANHOPE [with his chin in his hands]: Little prig – that's what he is. Did I ask him to force his way into my company? No! I didn't. Very well, he'll pay for his damn cheek.

  [OSBORNE lays his hand gently on STANHOPE'S shoulder to persuade him to lie down. ]

  Go away! [He shakes OSBORNE'S hand off.] What the hell are you trying to do?

  OSBORNE: Come and lie down and go to sleep.

  STANHOPE: Go sleep y'self. I censor his letters, d'you see, Uncle? You watch and see he doesn't smuggle any letters away.

  OSBORNE: Righto. Now come and lie down. You've had a hard day of it.

  STANHOPE [looking up suddenly]: Where's Hardy? D'you say he's gone?

  OSBORNE: Yes. He's gone.

  STANHOPE: Gone, has he? Y'know, I had a word to say to Master Hardy. He would go, the swine! Dirty trenches – everything dirty – I wanner tell him to keep his trenches clean.

  OSBORNE [standing beside STANHOPE and putting his hand gently on his shoulder again]: We'll clean them up tomorrow.

  [STANHOPE looks up at OSBORNE and laughs gaily. ]

  STANHOPE: Dear old Uncle! Clean trenches up – with little dustpan and brush. [He laughs. ] Make you little apron – with lace on it.

  OSBORNE: That'll be fine. Now then, come along, old chap. I'll see you get called at two o'clock. [He firmly takes STANHOPE by the arm and draws him over to the bed. ] You must be tired.

  STANHOPE [in a dull voice]: God, I'm bloody tired; ache – all over – feel sick.

  [OSBORNE helps him on to the bed, takes the blanket and puts it over him.]

  OSBORNE: You'll feel all right in a minute. How's that? Comfortable?

  STANHOPE: Yes. Comfortable. [He looks up into OSBORNE'S face and laughs again.] Dear old Uncle. Tuck me up.

  [OSBORNE fumbles the blankets the blankets round STANHOPE.]

  OSBORNE: There we are.

  STANHOPE: Kiss me, Uncle.

  OSBORNE: Kiss you be blowed! You go to sleep.

  STANHOPE [closing his eyes]: Yes – I go sleep. [He turns slowly on to his side with his face to the earth wall. OSBORNE stands watching for a while, then blows out the candle by STANHOPE'S bed. STANHOPE gives a deep sigh, and begins to breathe heavily. OSBORNE goes to the servant's dugout and calls softly:]

  OSBORNE: Mason!

  MASON [appearing with unbuttoned tunic at the tunnel entrance ]: Yessir?

  OSBORNE: Will you call me at ten minutes to eleven – and Mr Hibbert at ten minutes to two? I'm going to turn in for a little while.

  MASON: Very good, sir. [Pause.] The pepper's come, sir.

  OSBORNE: Oh, good.

  MASON: I'm very sorry about the pepper, sir.

  OSBORNE: That's all right, Mason.

  MASON: Good night, sir.

  OSBORNE: Good night.

  [MASON leaves the dugout. OSBORNE turns, and looks up the narrow steps into the night, where the Very lights rise and fade against the starlit sky. He glances once more at STANHOPE, then crosses to his own bed, takes out from his tunic pocket a large, old-fashioned watch, and quietly winds it up. Through the stillness comes the low rumble of distant guns. ]

  THE CURTAIN FALLS

  ACT II

  SCENE 1

  Early next morning.

  A pale shaft of sunlight shines down the steps, but candles still burn in the dark corner where OSBORNE and RALEIGH are at breakfast. MASON has put a large plate of bacon before each, and turns to go as TROTTER comes down the steps, whistling gaily and rubbing his hands.

  TROTTER: What a lovely smell of bacon!

  MASON: Yes, sir. I reckon there's enough smell of bacon in 'ere to last for dinner.

  TROTTER: Well, there's nothing like a good fat bacon rasher when you're as empty as I am.

  MASON: I'm glad you like it fat, sir.

  TROTTER: Well, I like a bit o' lean, too.

  MASON: There was a bit of lean in the middle of yours, sir, but it's kind of shrunk up in the cooking.

  TROTTER: Bad cooking, that's all. Any porridge?

  MASON: Oh, yes, sir. There's porridge.

  TROTTER: Lumpy, I s'pose?

  MASON: Yes, sir. Quite nice and lumpy.

  TROTTER: Well, take the lumps out o'mine.

  MASON: And just bring you the gravy, sir? Very good, sir.

  [MASON goes out. TROTTER looks after him suspiciously.]

  TROTTER: You know, that man's getting familiar.

  OSBORNE: He's not a bad cook.

  [TROTTER has picked up his coffee mug, and is smelling it. ]

  TROTTER: I say, d'you realize he's washed his dish-cloth?

  OSBORNE: I know. I told him about it.

  TROTTER: Did you really? You've got some pluck. 'Ow did you go about it?

  OSBORNE: I wrote and asked my wife for a packet of Lux. Then I gave it to Mason and suggested he tried it on something.

  TROTTER: Good man. No, he's not a bad cook. Might be a lot worse. When I was in the ranks we 'ad a prize cook – used to be a plumber before the war. Ought to 'ave seen the stew 'e made. Thin! Thin wasn't the word. Put a bucketful of 'is stew in a bath and pull the plug, and the whole lot would go down in a couple of gurgles.

  [MASON brings TROTTER'S porridge.]

  MASON: I've took the lumps out.

  TROTTER: Good. Keep 'em and use 'em for dumplings next time we've boiled beef.

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

  TROTTER: Yes. That plumber was a prize cook, 'e was. Lucky for us one day 'e set 'imself on fire making the tea. 'E went 'ome pretty well fried. Did Mason get that pepper?

  OSBORNE: Yes.

  TROTTER: Good. Must 'ave pepper.

  OSBORNE: I thought you were on duty now.

  TROTTER: I'm supposed to be. Stanhope sent me down to get my breakfast. He's looking after things till I finish.

  OSBORNE: He's got a long job then.

  TROTTER: Oh, no. I'm a quick eater. Hi! Mason! Bacon!

  MASON [outside]: Coming, sir!

  OSBORNE: It's a wonderful morning.

  TROTTER: Isn't it lovely? Makes you feel sort of young and 'opeful. I was up in that old trench under the brick wall just now, and damned if a bloomin' little bird didn't start singing! Didn't 'arf sound funny. Sign of spring, I s'pose.

  [MASON arrives with TROTTER'S bacon.]

  That looks all right.

  MASON: If you look down straight on it from above, sir, you can see the bit o' lean quite clear.

  TROTTER: Good Lord, yes! That's it, isn't it?

  MASON: No, sir; that's a bit o'rust off the pan.

  TROTTER: Ah! That's it, then!

  MASON: You've got it, sir. [He goes out.]

  TROTTER: Cut us a chunk of bread, Uncle.

  [OSBORNE cuts him off a chunk.]

  OSBORNE: How are things going up there?

  TROTTER: I don't like the look of things a bit.

  OSBORNE: You mean – the quiet?

  TROTTER: Yes. Standing up there in t
he dark last night there didn't seem a thing in the world alive – except the rats squeaking and my stomach grumbling about the cutlet.

  OSBORNE: It's quiet even now.

  TROTTER: Too damn quiet. You can bet your boots the Boche is up to something. The big attack soon, I reckon. I don't like it, Uncle. Pass the jam.