From a bookseller's advertisement:
"NEW FICTION.
Reason and Belief--By Sir Oliver Lodge.
Man and the Universe--By Sir Oliver Lodge.
The Great Crusade--By Right Hon. D.
Lloyd George."--_Canadian Paper_.
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"It was essential for Great Britain that France should
emerge from this war strong and able to defend herself. The
recognition of this fact explains the change of British policy
at Pars during the Wonference of Peace."--_The Times_.
We like the new title for the victors' conclave, but do not care so
much for the unusual spelling of the French capital, though it may
have been adopted in deference to American prejudices.
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"DIAMOND-CUT-DIAMOND."
This is to warn all honest men to beware of No. 007 Field
Company, R.E., known to its victims as "Chaucer's Gang," the most
conscienceless crew of body-snatchers and common thieves in all the
B.E.F.
I am myself no fastidious precisian, being in a Labour Company, but
there are limits--or should be. My own particular grouch against them
started at Ripilly-sur-Somme. They, being skilled Royal Engineers,
were clearing undergrowth and putting up huts in Ripilly woods for a
division due to arrive, and my scorned rabble were unloading the huts
in sections from barges at Ripilly canal wharf and loading them on to
lorries for transport to the woods. Chaucer and his Royal Engineers
were living on the spot--Ardennes waving o'er them her green leaves
and so forth--and we were in rest billets (loud roars of raucous
laughter) in Ripilly village, the least sanitary spot in the whole war
zone.
Chaucer wouldn't let us stay with him in the huts--said the Chief
Engineer was very keen on men living next their work. But between
Ripilly and the canal wharf was an ideal spot. The chalk downs sloped
steeply to the river, and halfway down was a bit of a level plateau
just the size for a couple of huts. South aspect; good fishing and
bathing; a home from home. The woods hid it from view above and the
roadside poplars from below. It was a truly desirable building site.
We had a hurdle-maker in our company, so I gave him a brace of
light-duty men as apprentices and they built a little hut of wattle
and daub. It had a nice rural appearance and was warm, but it leaked
in wet weather, and the more I thought of Chaucer lying dry under his
felt roofs the worse I felt about it. So I had a chat with my sergeant
at the wharf, and the long and short of it was that two walls and one
roof got delivered by mistake at the desirable building-site.
We worked late that night, and next day had thirty men in residence,
with one end of the long hut partitioned off for Simmonds, my
subaltern, and myself.
So far so good. I began to think about making another mistake and
getting a second hut, but that evening Chaucer came sliding down over
the steep turf, visibly annoyed.
"Where did you get this hut?"
"Found it."
"On Ripilly wharf?"
"Certainly not. I found it down there by the road and had it brought
up here for safety. If a lorry had run over it in the dark--"
"Ah, cut it out," he said. "The hut is mine. I found two odd sections
in the last barge-load. Any poacher who knew his job would burn the
feathers when he cooked the bird. You needn't start to explain about
your fool N.C.O., who made a mistake. I keep that sort of N.C.O.
myself. _If_ I get an official inquiry about this hut I shall send
back official information."
"Right-o! Then come in and have a drink, and don't be official before
you need."
That's where I was wrong. I tried to enlist the blighter's sympathy.
Showed him round camp, the view, the bathing--everything. When
Simmonds came up from the river with a string of roach Chaucer
admitted it was a truly _bon_ billet.
Next day he called again with one of his subalterns, a creature called
Gubson, who went down to the river to watch Simmonds fish. When he had
gone Chaucer told me he had a spare hut.
"Not one of these divisional huts, but a thing we knocked up
ourselves. We've nearly finished our job here, and if it's any use to
you you can have it. But mind you, I know nothing about this other hut
you've got here. If you're caught with that one your blood be on your
own head."
"You're a Christian," I told him, and, Gubson and Simmonds returning,
the conference had a drink and adjourned.
Next day I found quite a squad of light-duty men, and sent 'em to
dismantle and bring down Chaucer's hut. I admit they rather exceeded
instructions, for they brought a lot of things that Chaucer had
omitted to mention. However, they said he was there when they took
them, so I supposed it was all right. Besides the hut they had two
bell-tents, a big tarpaulin, some corrugated iron and expanded metal,
some home-made chairs and tables, a water-tank and a field kitchen,
with its wheels broken off--a noble lot of loot it was. They worked
like beavers bringing it down and getting it in place, and when
Chaucer drifted down again at the end of the week all my men were
housed there as snug as you please. Finally Gubson presented the camp
with a punt he had salved in Sailly village--and there we were, all
the pleasures of the Riviera and none of the disreputable company.
We were so pleased with all they had done for us that we suggested
they should stay the night and celebrate the occasion. Chaucer said
he would be delighted, if we would send to his batman and tell him
to bring down his razor and toothbrush. At midnight, when the batman
arrived, Chaucer said it was time for bed. And could we give his man
a shake-down, please? It was pretty dark, he said, and the fool might
lose his way home.
That should have warned me. Chaucer wasn't the man to keep a batman
who was a fool.
It must have been about 3 A.M. when I was waked by my man helping
Chaucer dress.
"What's the matter?"
"Your fellow says my man's ill."
"What is it?"
"I dunno, Sir," my man said. "'E 's groanin' an' rollin' about an'
keepin' all us others awake."
When I got to the men's hut I found Chaucer kneeling beside the sick
man, who was holding his head and groaning. All the other men were
sitting up and looking on. After a minute or two Chaucer got up and
beckoned me outside.
"Look here," he said, "I don't want to scare you, but suppose that
chap's got anything infectious. Is there a doctor handy?
"Nowhere nearer than Sailly."
"Well, Gubson tells me they were expecting the M.O. at our camp today.
He may have stayed the night. Can you send somebody up to see?"
I sent off an orderly at once, and in half-an-hour a young doctor
arrived, and ordered all the other men out of the hut. Then he pulled
a gaudy handkerchief out of his pocket, sprinkled it with some stuff
out of a small phial, tied it over his mouth and only then began to
fiddle about the sick man, feeling his pulse and sounding him.
Then he got up, readjusted his handkerchief-respirator and mumbled
that it was cerebro-spinal-something. Spotted fever.
We all got out of that hut in double-quick time, believe me. The
doctor was full of orders--half a hundred things to do at once. The
man must be strictly isolated. All the contacts--every blessed man who
had been in the hut with him--must be placed under supervision. The
hut must be put out of bounds. And when he found half the men had gone
under the tarpaulin shelter he put that out of bounds too.
We were a full hour trying to separate the contacts; but when the
doctor found the cook getting breakfast ready and heard he had been in
the sick man's hut he threw his hand in.
"I won't answer for a single one of you," he said; "the place is
no better than a pest-house. Throw that breakfast away. It's sheer
poison. Clear out, all of you."
It was Chaucer started the panic. I saw him sneaking away up the
slope, so I thought it better to make a move too. I didn't ask the
doctor where we were to go; he'd have had us all sleeping out on the
open grass for a week if I had. So the whole lot of us, half asleep,
trekked back to Ripilly village and turned into our old billets again.
* * * * *
It was my Sergeant-Major who told me next day that Chaucer and his
gang had taken possession of the Riviera--my Riviera. I went there at
once, to find out what it all meant, but they had a sentry at the foot
of the slope, who said the camp was infected and no one was allowed
there; so I climbed the slopes and looked down from above. Chaucer was
smoking outside my pet hut talking to a couple of his subalterns, and
a string of men was lined up beside the field kitchen for tea. Close
by, the batman, recovered from his illness, was putting a fishing-rod
together, and one of the subalterns blew his nose on a gaudy
handkerchief which I recognised at once.
I went straight back and told the Town Major of Ripilly that one of
the new divisional huts was being occupied by the Sappers. It wasn't
cricket, but it was all I could do.
"That's all right," he said. "Chaucer's acting as divisional R.E. He's
entitled to one hut. He told me he had been arranging for you to erect
it for him."
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[Illustration: LIFE'S DIFFICULTIES.
_Mother_. "WHY, WHAT'S THE MATTER, DARLING?"
_Small daughter (tearfully)_. "OH, MUMS, I DO SO WANT TO GIVE THIS
WORM TO MY HEN."
_Mother_. "THEN WHY DON'T YOU?"
_Small daughter (with renewed wails)_. " C-COS I'M SO AFRAID THE WORM
WON'T LIKE IT."]
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