THIRTY-NINE
You're all bloody fools, every single one of you.
It was if the men of the village had been subjected a to a common will, enthralled to the dictates of a master puppeteer who inexorably pulled the strings of the men towards the Recruiting Office. It was a constant flow, every day at least four or five men found their thoughts and then their footsteps drawing them towards Bishops Shilton and the Drill Hall.
It was not patriotism or bravery that drove them on, nor was it love of their King or hatred of the Germans. Nor was it a need to escape from an unsatisfactory marriage or because a miner had drawn a poor cavil that quarter, although all these factors played a greater or lesser part in the decision of the men to answer the call to arms.
It was rather the sense of being le
