Journey's End

by R C Sherriff

  STANHOPE: The guns are making a bit of a row.

  RALEIGH: Our guns?

  STANHOPE: No. Mostly theirs.

  [Again there is silence in the dugout. A very faint rose light is beginning to glow in the dawn sky. RALEIGH speaks again – uneasily. ]

  RALEIGH: I say – Dennis –

  STANHOPE: Yes, old boy?

  RALEIGH: It – it hasn't gone through, has it? It only just hit me? – and knocked me down?

  STANHOPE: It's just gone through a bit, Jimmy.

  RALEIGH: I won't have to – go on lying here?

  STANHOPE: I'm going to have you taken away.

  RALEIGH: Away? Where?

  STANHOPE: Down to the dressing-station – then hospital – then home. [He smiles.] You've got a Blighty one, Jimmy.

  RALEIGH: But I – I can't go home just for – for a knock in the back.

  [He stirs restlessly.] I'm certain I'll be better if if I get up. [He tries to raise himself, and gives a sudden cry.] Oh – God! It does hurt!

  STANHOPE: It's bound to hurt, Jimmy.

  RALEIGH: What's – on my legs? Something holding them down –

  STANHOPE: It's all right, old chap; it's just the shock – numbed them.

  [Again there is a pause. When RALEIGH speaks, there is a different note in his voice. ]

  RALEIGH: It's awfully decent of you to bother, Dennis. I feel rotten lying here – everybody else – up there.

  STANHOPE: It's not your fault, Jimmy.

  RALEIGH: So – damn – silly – getting hit. [Pause. ] Is there – just a drop of water?

  STANHOPE [rising quickly ]: Sure. I've got some here. [He pours some water into the mug and brings it to RALEIGH. Cheerfully.] Got some tea-leaves in it. D'you mind?

  RALEIGH: No. That's all right – thanks –

  [STANHOPE holds the mug to RALEIGH'S lips, and the boy drinks.]

  I say, Dennis, don't you wait – if – if you want to be getting on.

  STANHOPE: It's quite all right, Jimmy.

  RALEIGH: Can you stay for a bit?

  STANHOPE: Of course I can.

  RALEIGH [faintly]: Thanks awfully.

  [There is quiet in the dugout for a long time. STANHOPE sits with one hand on RALEIGH'S arm, and RALEIGH lies very still. Presently he speaks again – hardly above a whisper.]

  Dennis –

  STANHOPE: Yes, old boy?

  RALEIGH: Could we have a light? It's – it's so frightfully dark and cold.

  STANHOPE [rising]: Sure! I'll bring a candle and get another blanket.

  [STANHOPE goes to the left-hand dugout, and RALEIGH is alone, very still and quiet, on OSBORN'S bed. The faint rosy glow of the dawn is deepening to an angry red. The grey night sky is dissolving, and the stars begin to go. A tiny sound comes from where RALEIGH is lying – something between a sob and a moan. STANHOPE comes back with a blanket. He takes a candle from the table and carries it to RALEIGH'S bed. He puts it on the box beside RALEIGH and speaks cheerfully. ]

  Is that better, Jimmy? [RALEIGH makes no sign. ] Jimmy –

  [Still RALEIGH is quiet. STANHOPE gently takes his hand. There is a long silence. STANHOPE lowers RALEIGH'S hand to the bed, rises, and takes the candle back to the table. He sits on the bench behind the table with his back to the wall, and stares listlessly across at the boy on OSBORNE'S bed. The solitary candle-flame throws up the lines on his pale, drawn face, and the dark shadows under his tired eyes. The thudding of the shells rises and falls like an angry sea. A PRIVATE SOLDIER comes scrambling down the steps, his round, red face wet with perspiration, his chest heaving for breath.]

  SOLDIER: Message from Mr Trotter, sir – will you come at once.

  [STANHOPE gazes round at the SOLDIER – and makes no other sign.]

  Mr Trotter, sir – says will you come at once!

  [STANHOPE rises stiffly and takes his helmet from the table.]

  STANHOPE: All right, Broughton, I'm coming.

  [The SOLDIER turns and goes away. STANHOPE pauses for a moment by OSBORNE' S bed and lightly runs his fingers over RALEIGH'S tousled hair. He goes stiffly up the steps, his tall figure black against the dawn sky. The shelling has risen to a great fury. The solitary candle burns with a steady flame, and RALEIGH lies in the shadows. The whine of a shell rises to a shriek and bursts on the dugout roof. The shock stabs out the candle-flame; the timber props of the door cave slowly in, sandbags fall and block the passage to the open air. There is darkness in the dugout. Here and there the red dawn glows through the jagged holes of the broken doorway. Very faintly there comes the dull rattle of machine-guns and the fevered spatter of rifle fire.]

  THE PLAY ENDS