MY DEAR CHARLES,--One of these days I will tell you the more intimate
history of the Corps to which I have the honour to belong, and this
will give you some cause for mirth. Its members are of all sorts, ages
and origins, and they have had between them some odd experiences since
that first day when, parading hastily in Kensington Gardens, they
wished they hadn't been quite so glib, in their anxiety to get to war,
about professing full knowledge of the ways and wiles of the motor
bicycle. One at least of them paid the price of inexactitude then and
there; he still shudders to think how, put to the test, he
unintentionally left the Park for a no less fashionable but much more
crowded thoroughfare, to arrive eventually, in the prone position, in
a byway of Piccadilly, where small fragments of the machine may still
be collected by industrious seekers of curios.
Another, whom the low cunning of the Criminal Bar enabled to avoid the
immediate test, paid the full price, with compound interest, later on.
Casual observers of the retreat, had there been any, would have become
familiar with the sight of him bringing up the rear--a very poor last.
To see him arrive, perspiring, over the brow of a hill, with his
faithful motor at his side, was to know that the Huns were at the
bottom of it. On one occasion they even beat him in the day's march,
but were too kind or too blind to seize their advantage. As usual he
was taking his obsession along with him, though, if he had but known,
he might have got it to do the work by the simple formality of turning
the petrol tap from OFF to ON. His was ever a curious life, from the
first moment of his joining the Army in tails, a bowler hat, and a
large sword wrapped in a homely newspaper. But the inward fun of it
all is not for the present, Charles; our clear old friends, the
Exigencies, forbidding.
I am reminded of it all by having just crossed with one of the
later-joined members. He came fresh from the line to a Head-quarters,
and he was walking about in a lane, working off some of his awe of his
new surroundings, when he was overtaken by a car containing a General,
who stopped and asked him what he was. So imposing was the account he
gave of himself that it was said to him, "No doubt, then, you'll know
the way to ----," a village at the back of beyond, where a division
was lying at rest. In the Army, at any rate at a Head-quarters, we all
know everything. So he said, "No doubt, Sir," hoping, if the worst
came to the worst, to give some vague directions and not to be present
when they were found wanting. But it was his bad luck to have struck
one of the more affable Generals. Could he spare the time to come
along and direct the driver?
So on to the box he got (it was a closed car) and, with the General's
eye always upon his back, he did his best as guide, a task for which
his previous career of stockbroker had ill qualified him. The first
thing to happen was that the car, proceeding down a narrow lane, got
well into the middle of a battalion on the march, which, when the car
was firmly jammed amongst the transport, ceased to be on the march,
and took a generous ten minutes' halt.... The second thing to happen
was a level crossing; which, as they approached it, changed its mind
about being a road and became a railway. A nice long train duly
arrived, and (this needs no exaggeration) stayed there, with a few
restless movements, for twenty minutes by the clock.... The third
thing to happen was that he lost himself (and the General); the fourth
was the falling of dusk, and the fifth a ploughed field, with which my
friend, alighting, had to confess that he was not so intimately
acquainted as he could have wished.
[Illustration: THE TRENCH TOUCH.
_Warrior in bunker (to caddie, who is seeing if the course is clear)._
"KEEP DOWN, YOU FOOL!"]
Had there been a scene, he could, he says, have endured the worst
bravely, standing to attention and taking it as it came. Not so,
however; his was the wrong sort of General for the purpose. As does
the partner at the dance, over whose priceless gown you have upset the
indelible ice, he said it didn't matter. He said he'd give the
division a miss, and return whence they had come. This they began to
do, when they had got the car out of the ploughed field, and this they
went on doing until the sixth thing happened, which was a burst tyre.
Again, had there been a scene, my man could have explained that this
wasn't his fault; but no one _said_ it was his fault. Equally it was
never openly alleged that he was to blame for the driver's not being
prepared with a spare wheel ready for use. But his embarrassment was
such that my man was grateful to heaven for reminding him at this
juncture of the existence of R.F.C. Head-quarters, about a kilometre
away. He said he'd run and borrow a wheel off them, and before the
General could say him nay he'd started.... He ran all the way, and
burst, panting, into the officers' mess, where he had the misfortune
to strike another itinerant General.
It never rains but it pours, and the area seemed to be infested with
Generals of quite the wrong sort. He couldn't have hit upon a more
kind and genial and inappropriate one than this. No, he wouldn't allow
a word of apology or explanation from this exhausted lieutenant until
the latter had rested and refreshed himself with a cup of tea. No, not
out of that pot; it had been standing too long. Tea which had stood
should not be drunk, for reasons detailed at length. No doubt the
Colonel, whose guest he was, would order some more to be made. It
would take two minutes--it did take twenty. No, no; there was nothing
to say and nothing need be said. It was this General's particular wish
that he should be at peace and make himself at home. Let him make his
explanations and apologies later.
Whatever you would have done, my overwhelmed friend temporized. He was
just edging the conversation round to the other General, waiting
alone in the dark wet road, when the General in the nice warm room
rose to go, commanding my friend not to disturb himself on that
account. Being a man of some years he was a slow goer; being a
General, he was not to be interrupted in his going....
I don't know exactly how it all ended, nor, you may not be surprised
to learn, does my friend, though he is always expecting to hear.
There was also on our boat a subaltern, coming to France for the first
time. He wanted me to tell him all about it. How well I know these
subalterns who want to know all about it. I was one myself once. Does
he ask you what it's like in the mud? Does he listen if you give him
details of bloodshed? Does he inquire about the food, the washing
facilities, parapet or parados; what a time-fuse does when its time
has expired, or even as to the use and abuse of the entrenching tool?
No, he's for war only, and there's only one question in war: Do you or
do you not need a Sam Browne belt in the trenches?
It is an old question; there is no solution. I told him that some say
one thing and some say another, and, as both are authorities with whom
you are not in a position to argue, the only way to get out of the
difficulty is to keep out of the trenches.
Yours ever, HENRY.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR AMAZON CORPS "STANDING EASY."]
* * * * *