We are the last line of defence. When the Regular Army and the Reserve
Army and the new Million Army and the Indian Army and the Overseas Army
and the Territorial Army are all entering Berlin together, then the
defence of England (we hope) will rest entirely upon us. There are not
many of us, as armies go nowadays, but there ought to be one apiece for
all the towns round the coast, and what we lack in numbers we shall make
up for in pride.
We are the last line of defence. We all have wives or defective retinas
or birthdays previous to 1879, or something that binds us together
unofficially. Our motto from Monday to Friday is, "Soldier and Civilian
too," and in camp at week-ends, "Remember Przemysl." At present we have
no uniforms, to the disgust of our wives; but they are coming. Opinion
is divided as to whether we want them to come. Some say that, clad in
khaki, we shall get admiring glances from the women and envious glances
from the small boys which are not really our due; our proud spirit
rebels against the idea of marching through London in false colours.
James says that, seeing that a soldier is only a soldier, and that he
himself (James) is a special constable from 4 A.M. to 8, a dashed
hard-working solicitor from 9.30 to 5, and a soldier from 5.30 to 7, not
to mention the whole week-end, he jolly well expects all the admiration
he can get; and that, if any small boy cheers him under the impression
that he is only a Territorial, he is doing him a confounded injustice.
Perhaps a tail-coat and khaki breeches would best meet the case.
Then we come to the question of rifles. There are at this moment
thousands of men in the Army who have no rifles. Whole battalions of new
recruits are unarmed. Our battalion is not unarmed; it has a rifle. We
have all seen it; those of us who have been on guard through the cold
dark hours of Saturday-Sunday have even carried it--respectfully, as
becomes a man who thanks Heaven that it is not loaded. Our pride in it
is enormous. Were a sudden night attack by Zeppelins made upon our camp,
the battalion would rally as one man round the old rifle, and fling
boots at the invader until the last pair of ammunition gave out. Then,
spiking the Lee-Enfield, so that it should be useless if it fell into
the hands of the enemy, we should retire barefoot and in good order,
James busily jotting down notes of our last testamentary
dispositions....
But, of course, we know that the invaders will not come yet. Meanwhile
much can be learnt without arms (_cf._ "Infantry Training" _passim_--a
book we all carry in our pockets), and we have the promise of enough
rifles for a company in three weeks. When the last lot of German
prisoners begins to land we shall be ready for them.
We get plenty of encouragement; indeed we feel that the authorities have
a special eye upon us. To give an example. We paraded the other night
and were inspected by a General--tut-tut, a couple of Generals. One of
them addressed us afterwards and gave us to understand that, having seen
the flower of the Continental armies at work, he was, even so, hardly
prepared for the extraordinary--and so on; which made James throw out
his lower chest a couple of inches further than usual. Whereupon the
Admiralty airship hurried up and, flying slowly over us, inspected us
from the top. I say nothing of what James must have looked like from the
top; what I say is that not many battalions are inspected by two
Generals and an airship simultaneously. We are grateful to the
authorities.
Just at present our fault is over-keenness. On our first Sunday in camp
our company commander stood us to attention and asked for three
volunteers--for some unnamed forlorn hope. The whole company advanced
two paces. He took the first three in the first platoon and handed them
over to a sergeant. They were marched off on their perilous mission with
nine men from other companies. The dauntless twelve. We that were left
behind composed explanations to our wives, making it quite clear that we
had volunteered, but pointing out that, as only twelve could go, they
had probably chosen the ugliest ones first. Our three heroes rejoined us
during an "easy" an hour later. The forlorn hope, had been to dig a hole
and bury all the unused fragments of last night's supper--the gristly
bits.... And now, when three volunteers are called for, the whole
company remains rooted to attention. It is our keenness again; we are
here to drill; to form fours, to march, to wheel; we want to learn to be
soldiers, not dustmen.
But naturally we differ in our ideas upon the best way to
learn--particularly in regard to night-work. What James says is, "Why be
uncomfortable in camp? If I could do anything for my country between the
hours of 10.30 P.M. and 5.30 A.M., I would do it gladly. But if my
country, speaking through the gentleman who commands my platoon, tells
me to retire to my tent with the fourteen loudest-breathers in
Middlesex, I may at least _try_ to get a little bit of sleep." So he
brings with him two air-cushions, a pillow, three blankets and a pair of
bed-socks, and does his best. On the other hand, John says, "When one is
on active service one has to sleep anywhere. Unless I am preparing for
that moment, what am I here for at all?" So he disdains the use of
straw, selects the hardest brick he can find for his head, and wraps
himself up in a single coat. And I doubt if he sleeps worse than James.
Personally, I lie awake all night listening to the snores of the others
and envying them their repose ... and I find that they all say they have
been doing the same.
It was James, by the way, who created such a sensation the first time he
appeared on parade with all his impedimenta. There was a shout of
laughter from the company--and then a quiet voice behind me said
reflectively, "He decided _not_ to bring the parrot."