At 14.01 I knocked out my pipe conscientiously and entered. From
14.01 to 14.50 I watched a Captain of the R.A.F. smoking cigarettes
and choosing a pair of socks, and studied notices to the effect that
this was the Officers' Payment Issue Department; that only Officers
were permitted to enter the Officers' Payment Issue Department; that
smoking was strictly prohibited; and that the office would close at
16.00.
At last I heard the B.A.F. man explain that, by James, he had an
appointment at three, and would return, old bean--er, Corporal--in
the morning to see about those dashed socks. The Corporal behind
the counter blew away a pile of cigarette ash and regarded me
distrustfully.
"Only one pair of gloves left, Sir," he said. "Gloves, woollen,
knitted, pairs one, one-and-tenpence."
"Thank you very much," I said. "They'll do nicely. I'll take them
now."
But of course I didn't. At 15.00 was in another building, watching
another Corporal make out an indent in quadruplicate for gloves,
woollen, knitted, officers, for the use of, pairs one. At 15.05 I was
in another building, getting the indent stamped and countersigned.
At 15.12 I was in another building, exchanging it for a buff form in
duplicate. At 15.20 I re-entered the Issue Department and went through
the motions of taking up the gloves.
"Excuse me, Sir," said the Corporal, skilfully sliding them away; "you
must first produce your Field Advance Book as a proof of identity."
"I'm afraid I haven't a proper Field Advance Book," I explained. "You
see, in Egypt, where I come from--that is, I was attached, you know,
to the--well, in short, I haven't a proper Field Advance Book, as I
said before. But I have here an A.B. 64 issued in lieu thereof--they
do that in Egypt, you know--and I have my identity discs, my
demobilisation papers, my cheque-book--oh, and heaps of other things
which would prove to you that I am really me. Besides, my name is sewn
inside the back of my tunic. _And_ my shirt," I added hopefully.
"If you haven't a Field Advance Book, Sir," said the Corporal coldly,
"your only course is to obtain a certificate of identity from the Camp
Commandant."
"But, look here, Corporal," I protested, "it would take me a
quarter-of-an-hour to get to the Commandant's office and another
quarter to get back. I'm sure I couldn't get a certificate of identity
under an hour and a-half. It is now twenty-five past three. You close
at four. To-morrow morning at five ac emma I entrain for Cherbourg....
You see how impossible it all is, Corporal."
"Sorry, Sir," said the Corporal. "I'm not allowed to issue the gloves
without your Field Advance Book or a certificate of identity."
"But what am I to do?" I asked weakly. "Think, Corporal, how cold it
will be across Italy and France without gloves. I've been in the East
for over four years, and I might get pneumonia and die, you know."
"I should try the Camp Commandant, Sir," he said. "It may not take so
long as you think."
* * * * *
At 15.41 I was outside the Camp Commandant's office with my A.B.64,
identity discs, demobilisation papers and cheque-book ready to hand,
and my tunic loosened at the neck.
At 15.42 I entered the office with some diffidence.
At 15.43 I was outside again, dazed and a little frightened, with a
certificate of identity in my hand. It was the fastest piece of work I
have ever known in the Army. And I might have been Mr. GEORGE ROBEY in
disguise for all they knew in the office--or cared.
* * * * *
"Sorry, Sir," said the Corporal in the Officers' Payment Issue
Department at 15.59, "the gloves were sold to another officer while
you were away."