Promotion in our regiment was difficult. After giving the matter every
consideration I came to the conclusion that the only way to win my
second star was to save the Colonel's life. I used to follow him about
affectionately in the hope that be would fall into the sea. He was a
big strong man and a powerful swimmer, but once in the water it would
not be difficult to cling round his neck and give an impression that I
was rescuing him. However, he refused to fall in. I fancy that he wore
somebody's Military Soles which prevent slipping.
Years rolled on. I used to look at my stars sometimes, one on each
sleeve; they seemed very lonely. At times they came close together;
but at other times, as, for instance, when I was semaphoring, they
were very far apart. To prevent these occasional separations Celia
took them off my sleeves and put them on my shoulders. One on each
shoulder. So:
*
And so:
*
There they stayed.
And more years rolled on.
One day Celia came to me in great excitement.
"Have you seen this in the paper about promotion?" she said eagerly.
"No; what is it?" I asked. "Are they making more generals?"
"I don't know about generals; it's Second Lieutenants being
Lieutenants."
"You're joking on a very grave subject," I said seriously. "You can't
expect to win the War if you go on like that."
"Well, you read it," she said, handing me the paper. "It's a committee
of Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL'S."
I took the paper with a trembling hand, and read. She was right! If
the paper was to be believed, all Second Lieutenants were to become
Lieutenants after eighteen years' service. At last my chance had come.
"My dear, this is wonderful," I said. "In another fifteen years we
shall be nearly there. You might buy two more stars this afternoon and
practise sewing them on, in order to be ready. You mustn't be taken by
surprise when the actual moment comes."
"But you're a Lieutenant _now_," she said, "if that's true. It says
that 'after eighteen months--'"
I snatched up the paper again. Good Heavens! it was eighteen
_months_--not years.
"Then I _am_ a Lieutenant," I said.
We had a bottle of champagne for dinner that night, and Celia got the
paper and read it aloud to my tunic. And just for practice she took
the two stars off my other tunic and sewed them on this one--thus:
** **
And we had a very happy evening.
"I suppose it will be a few days before it's officially announced," I
said.
"Bother, I suppose it will," said Celia, and very reluctantly she took
one star off each shoulder, leaving the matter--so:
* *
And the months rolled on.
And I am still a Second Lieutenant ...
I do not complain; indeed I am even rather proud of it. If I am not
gaining on my original one star, at least I am keeping pace with it. I
might so easily have been a corporal by now.
But I should like to have seen a little more notice taken of me in the
_Gazette_. I scan it every day, hoping for some such announcement as
this:
"_Second Lieutenant M---- to remain a Second Lieutenant._"
Or this:
"_Second Lieutenant M---- to be seconded and to retain his present
rank of Second Lieutenant._"
Or even this:
"_Second Lieutenant M---- relinquishes the rank of Acting Second
Lieutenant on ceasing to command a Battalion, and reverts to the rank
of Second Lieutenant._"
Failing this, I have thought sometimes of making an announcement in
the Personal Column of _The Times_:
"Second Lieutenant M---- regrets that his duties as a Second
Lieutenant prevent him from replying personally to the many kind
inquiries he has received, and begs to take this opportunity of
announcing that he still retains a star on each shoulder. Both doing
well."
But perhaps that is unnecessary now. I think that by this time I have
made it clear just how many stars I possess.
One on the right shoulder. So:
*
And one on the left shoulder. So:
*
That is all.