Part 6 (1/2)
Oh, my Aunt Maria! I wish if they give a fellow a job to do they'd leave him to do it. Found everybody pitching the stuff up into the wagons anyhow. How ever it got sorted out, goodness knows. Had rather a row with the A.S.C. chap; told him he was muddling everything up. Seemed to think a Volunteer can't possibly know anything, but considering half my men come from the railway, I'll back them against all comers for loading a truck. Started at last, about half an hour late. More trouble at the station; only two trucks there instead of the five indented for. My stock of ornamental profanity barely sufficient for the occasion.
Finally managed somehow. Loaded up pa.s.senger coaches, horse boxes, anything; but men awfully sulky. Thought they were going to curse the Major when he wanted to know why everything wasn't done. Got rotted by young Blenkinsop for mucking the show up. Major awfully good chap on these occasions; told me it's absolutely unavoidable when we have to manage to get a day's work done in about three hours. Told ripping good jest against himself when _he_ was on baggage duty years ago. Must try it again next year to see if I can do it differently. Only one or two things gone wrong after all, by some miracle.
Home again. Feel rather tired. Jolly good camp, though. Hope next year's will be as good.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Off Duty.]
[Ill.u.s.tration: Philosophies.
”Chargin',” said the Junior Subaltern, ”is all bally rot; and when we carried a beastly sword it was positively dangerous. You blew your whistle, bolted out in front of your men, howled 'Char-r-r-ge!' shoved your foot in a hole, or got the scabbard between your legs an' came a regular mucker, and then some idiot behind either jumped on you or tripped over you, an' most likely prodded you with his bally bayonet.”]
[Ill.u.s.tration: M.G.
_Extract from Diary._--”We got our Maxim into a capital position on the flank, but before we could fire a shot we were put out of action for some time.”]
[Ill.u.s.tration: More Army Reforms.
_Our only Sub.:_ ”Awful tommy rot big Battalions, don't you know; ever so much jollier with just the mess an' the band.”]
[Ill.u.s.tration: On Guard.
_Officer of the day_ (_who believes in making sure that every man knows his work_): ”Ah? What are you?” (_No answer._)
”Er! What are your orders?” (_No answer._)
”What the dooce are you doing here?”
_Recruit_ (_on sentry go for the first time_): ”Please, zur, I bz waitin' for they to tell I to come to tay!”]
[Ill.u.s.tration: A Misunderstanding.
_Colonel_ (_to recruit who has forgotten to salute him_): ”What Company do you belong to?”
_Recruit_ (_mindful of his civil occupation_): ”Th--Th--The Gas Company, please, Sir!”]
[Ill.u.s.tration]
No. 4.
Pte. TIMOTHY SIMMONS.
_Sat.u.r.day._--'Ad a bit of a row with the old man afore starting; 'e wants me to give mother 'arf my camp pay, same as if it were wages. Told 'im I would if I could, so I expect there'll be more rows when we gets back. Said good-bye to Mary, an' told her if I 'eard of any goings on with Bill Jenkins, as could go to camp if 'e wanted to right enough, I'd spoil 'is face for 'im. She said I ought to be walkin' 'er out instead o' wastin' my time playin' at soldiers, an' that Bill's a very sensible chap. I ses as 'e's a waster an' a perfect bloomin' idjet at drill, always a throwin' us out. Jawin' with 'er made me a bit late for parade, but our leftenant didn't seem to mind for a wonder. Usually 'is temper's awful if things don't go as he likes. He c.o.c.ked 'is bloomin' eye-gla.s.s at me, tho', in a way as made me think 'e was going to start cussin'.