My dear _Mr. Punch_,--Although, being no longer a soldier in anything
but name (and pay), I pursue in India the inglorious vocation of a
clerk, I am nevertheless still in a position to perceive the splendid
qualities of the British Officer. Always a humble admirer of his skill
and bravery in the field, I have now in addition a keen appreciation of
his imperturbable _sangfroid_ when confronted with conditions of great
difficulty in the office.
I am working in the Banana (to circumvent the Censor I am giving it an
obviously fictitious name) Divisional Area Headquarters Staff Office,
which is situated in the town of ----. Suppose we call it Mango. There
are four brigades in the Banana Divisional Area, one of which is the
Mango Brigade. Now it so happens that the General Officer Commanding
the Banana Divisional Area is at present also the General Officer
Commanding the Mango Brigade; consequently this is the sort of thing
which is always happening. The G.O.C. of the Mango Brigade writes to
himself as G.O.C. of the Banana Divisional Area: "May I request the
favour of a reply to my Memorandum No. 25731/24/Mobn., dated the 3rd
January, 1915, relating to paragraph 5 of Army Department letter No.
S.M.--43822/19 (A.B.C.), dated the 12th December, 1914, which amplifies
the Annexure to Clause 271, Section 18 (c), of A.R.I., Vol. XXIII.?"
Next morning he goes into the Divisional Office and finds himself
confronted by this letter. A mere civilian might be tempted to take a
mean advantage of his unusual situation. Not so the British Officer.
The dignified traditions of the Indian Army must not lightly be set
aside. The G.O.C. of the Brigade and the G.O.C. of the Divisional Area
must be as strangers for the purposes of official correspondence.
So he writes back to himself:--"Your reference to Army Department
letter No. S.M.--43822/19 (A.B.C.), dated the 12th December, 1914,
is not understood. May I presume that you allude to Army Department
letter No. P.T. 58401/364 (P.O.P.), dated the 5th November, 1914, which
deals with the Annexure to Clause 271, Section 18 (c), of A.R.I., Vol.
XXIII.?"
Later on he goes to the Brigade Office and writes--"... I would
respectfully point out that Army Department letter No. S.M.--43822/19
(A.B.C.), dated the 12th December, 1914, cancels Army Department letter
No. P.T. 58401/364 (P.O.P.), dated the 5th November, 1914."
At his next visit to the Divisional Office he writes back again:--"...
Army Department letter No. S.M.--43822/19 (A.B.C.), dated the 12th
December, 1914, does not appear to have been received in this office.
Will you be so good as to favour me with a copy?"
So it goes on, and our dual G.O.C., like the gallant soldier he is,
never flinches from his duty, never swerves by a hair's-breadth from
his difficult course. This surely is the spirit which has made the
Empire.
But I expect you are weary of this subject. Still, you must please not
forget that we are officially on active service, and active service
means perhaps more than you people at home imagine. Last Sunday, after
tiffin, I came upon one of my colleagues lounging in an easy-chair, one
of those with practical extensions upon which you can stretch your legs
luxuriously. With a cigarette between his lips and an iced drink beside
him, he sat reading a magazine--a striking illustration of the fine
resourcefulness of the Territorials in adapting themselves to novel
conditions.
"What I object to about active service," he said, as I came up, "is the
awful hardship we have to put up with. When we were mobilised I didn't
anticipate that our path would be exactly strewn with roses, but I
confess I never expected this. I shall write to _The Times_. The public
ought to know about it;" and he settled himself more deeply into his
chair, blew out a cloud of smoke, and with a resolute expression sipped
his iced lemonade.
_Mr. Punch_, you will be pained to hear that I have lost my hard-earned
reputation for sobriety through no fault of my own. A few days ago I
went up to the barracks to draw my regimental pay, and found that a
number of articles of clothing, issued by the Army authorities, had
accumulated for me during my absence--a pair of khaki shorts, a grey
flannel shirt with steel buttons the size of sixpences, a pair of
worsted socks and three sheets (yes, sheets for the bed; so luxuriously
do we fare in India). Perhaps you can guess what happened.
"Oh, by the way, have you drawn your clothing?" asked the Lieutenant,
when he had paid me.
"Yes, Sir," I replied.
"What have you got?"
"Sheets, shirt, shorts and shocks--shots, sheeks and shirks----"
"That will do," he interrupted sternly. "You had better come to me
again when you are in a condition to express yourself clearly."
Thus easily is a reputation acquired by years of self-control destroyed
by the pitfalls of our native tongue.
On the other hand, some people have enviable reputations thrust upon
them. This is the case with my friend, Private Walls. The other night,
half of what remains of the Battalion were called out to repel an
expected attack on the barracks by the other half. Walls chanced to be
placed in a rather isolated position, and, armed with six rounds of
blank, he took cover behind a large boulder, after receiving whispered
orders from his officer not to fire if he suspected the approach of the
enemy, but to low like an ox, when assistance would immediately be sent
to him.
Though a little diffident of his powers of lowing, Walls determined to
do his best, and fell sound asleep.
Now, if you or I had been in his position, an officer would certainly
have discovered us in no time, and dire punishment would have
followed. But Walls slumbered on undisturbed, until a terrific roar in
his ear caused him to wake with a start. What had happened? He seized
his rifle and peered into the darkness. Then, to his amazement, he saw
the boulder before him rise to its feet and shamble off into the night.
It was an ox, and it had lowed!
You might think his luck finished there. But no. The officer and his
men came stealthily up, and Walls unblushingly declared that he had
heard the foe approaching. It may sound incredible, but it is a fact
that a few minutes later the enemy did actually appear, and were, of
course, driven back after the customary decimation.
And Walls unhesitatingly accepted the congratulations of his superior
on his vigilance, and did not even blench when assured that his was the
finest imitation ever heard of the lowing of an ox.
Yours ever,
ONE OF THE _PUNCH_ BRIGADE.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Officer._ "DIDN'T I TELL YER 'E WAS NO GOOD? LOOK
AT 'IM--PLAYIN' FOOTBALL WHEN US FELLERS IS DRILLIN'!"]
* * * * *
"The German resistance is formidable but the allies' artillery has
forced the enemy to retire from some trenches abandinging prisoners,
dead, and wounded."--_Buenos Aires Standard._
This gives the lie to the many stories of German callousness that we
hear.
* * * * *