In the good old days, when a man wanted a scrap with his neighbour, he
put a double charge of powder into his blunderbuss, crammed in on
top of it two horse-shoes, his latch-key, an old watch-chain, and a
magnet, and then started on the trail. It was very effective, but of
course some busy-body "improved" on it. Nowadays our gunners ring up
the enemy's artillery.
"Hallo! Is that you, strafe you? What about an artillery duel, eh?"
"Oh, what fun!" says the enemy. "Do let's." And then they start.
"A hearty give-and-take, that's what I like," remarks a cheery gunner
officer.
A moment later he rushes to the telephone.
"Is that you, enemy?" he asks. "I say, dash it all, old man, do be
careful! That last one of yours was jolly near my favourite gun."
"By Jove, I'm awfully sorry, old thing," calls back the enemy. "What
about shortening the fuses a bit, eh?"
"Good idea! Waken up the foot-sloggers too. They need it sometimes."
Then for fifteen minutes large shells rebound from the bowed head and
shoulders of the unfortunate infantryman.
Which reminds me of George.
George had a strafe-proof waistcoat procured by him from a French
manufacturer. He showed it to us proudly, and also the advertisement,
which stated that the waistcoat would easily stop a rifle-bullet,
whilst a "45" would simply bounce off it. It was beautiful but
alarming to see his confidence as he stood up in a shower of shells,
praying for a chance of showing off the virtues of his acquisition.
* * * * *
We were very pleased to send to his hospital address to-day a postcard
bearing the maker's explanation that a .45 revolver bullet, and _not_
a 45 millimetre shell, was meant.
As regards the jam question, Jerry, the fault of the jam is that it
is never jam, but always marmalade. I feel too sore on the question to
write much, but I may just hint that we have heard that Brother Bulgar
sometimes gets real strawberry. It is just possible, therefore, that
you may hear of a raid soon.
Yours ever,
PETER.
* * * * *