Patrick MacGill

To the soldier, luck is merely another word for skill. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#luck #merely #skill #soldier #word

A clock struck out the hour of twelve, and the bird in the hedgerow was still singing as we marched out to the roadway, and followed our merry pipers home to town. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#clock #followed #home #hour #marched

Divisional exercise is a great game of make-believe. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#game #great #make-believe

Even the distribution of rations leaves much to be desired; the fatigue party, well-intentioned and sympathetic though it be, often finds itself short of provisions. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#distribution #even #fatigue #finds #itself

Every battalion has its marching songs. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#every #marching #songs

Few men could explain why they enlisted, and if they attempted they might only prove that they had done as a politician said the electorate does, the right thing from the wrong motive. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#could #does #done #electorate #enlisted

I am one of the million or more male residents of the United Kingdom, who a year ago had no special yearning towards military life, but who joined the army after war was declared. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#ago #am #army #declared #had

The soldiers' last meal is generally served out about five o'clock in the afternoon, sometimes earlier; and a stretch of fourteen hours intervenes between then and breakfast. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#afternoon #between #breakfast #clock #earlier

There comes a moment on a journey when something sweet, something irresistible and charming as wine raised to thirsty lips, wells up in the traveller's being. ↗

— Patrick MacGill

#charming #comes #irresistible #journey #lips