DEAR CHARLES,--Another letter from the back of the front for you. You
will be glad to hear that your Terrier is settling down in his temporary
kennel and sharpening his teeth in due course. The time will come when
you may look your gift dog in the mouth and be not disappointed, we
hope, by the view.
We received orders a day or two ago to take up our beds and walk; that
is, a couple of officers and a hundred odd of the men were told off to
execute a flank movement on a neighbouring township where there is a
range, and do our damnedest with the poor old targets. So we put our
oddments in our pillow-case, rolled up our bedrooms into a convenient
bundle and trekked. We were assured that we should be back at our base
within the week, but we have learnt to take no chances. We have but one
form of movement, the _tout ensemble_.
It is quite refreshing to step, over a hundred strong, into a village
with no pre-arranged scheme of board and lodging. Like every other
wanderer in a strange part, we turn first to the policeman. We march
towards him at attention; we call a halt at the base of his feet, and
then, with the courtesy of the gentleman and the brevity of the soldier,
we inform him that we have arrived. The next development is up to him.
It is not to him, however, that we owe our temporary rest. It is to that
irrepressible and indefatigable unit, the Boy Scout. Charles, I believe
we'd all be lying out in the rain at this moment but for that
assistance. The equipment of the Boy Scout on billeting duty consists of
a piece of white chalk and a menacing demeanour. Thus armed, he knocks
at every likely door, wishes the householder a good morning and
registers on the door-frame the number of men that may be left till
called for within, even while the policeman is still endeavouring to
explain the international situation and the military exigencies to the
slow-thinking rustic. Many formidable obstacles lie in our path, we
know, but we are comforted by the thought that the Boy Scout isn't one
of them. If, in the next generation, Britain continues to exist as a
nation and not as a depôt for the training of waiters in the Berlin
restaurants, then indeed we shall have something to rely on in these
adaptable young fellows.
The host upon whom we officers were thrust was quite polite as long as
our Boy Scout stood by, but, left to himself, turned out crusty. He was
rather too old to turn into the perfect hotel proprietor all in a
minute, and, as he put it, "he couldn't see his way" to do this and that
for us. He was prepared to do all he had to do, but no more.
Unfortunately we were not as well up in the regulations as our youthful
and now departed protector. So we went out and did a bit of billeting on
our own. It is an odd experience, this knocking at somebody's door and,
upon being asked what one has come for, answering, "To stay." For
ourselves we thought that the Rector would be a good man to experiment
on. These parsons are used to being victimised and are known not to be
too harsh upon the delinquent. So off we went to the Rectory,
significantly handling our hilts and twirling our military stubbles. But
the essence of war is surprise, and it was the Rector's wife who
confronted our attack.
I said, upon enquiry, that I couldn't say what we wanted but placed
myself unreservedly in my colleague's hands. I then took a pace to the
rear and prepared to retire in good order. Robertson's whole efforts
were concentrated on refraining from taking off his cap, as behoves a
gentleman, but not an officer, and the Rector's wife remained amiable
but on the defensive. Charles, our position was a hopeless one and our
careers had concluded then and there but for the arrival of the ally.
Boy Scouts are as tactful as they are forgiving; he accepted our
explanation and apology to himself and he explained for us and
apologised to the Rector's wife. It was little he had to say, for never
was a less reluctant and more efficient billettee. This kind lady has
not only made our sojourn one long series of simple luxuries, she has
been through the whole of our kit and washed and repaired the lot. Think
what you may about the Church when you are a civilian in affluence, but
when you are a soldier in distress turn to it first for succour.
Lastly, a minor incident of a regretable nature. Halting on the march
yesterday for our transport to catch up (our transport is known as
Lieutenant Pearson's Circus) I discovered one of our dusty thirsty
warriors having made his illegal entrance into a public-house by an
emergency door. There he stood with a glisten in his eyes and his hand
just about to grasp the pewter pot! Out he went under sentence of death
by slow torture, and there was I left, with a thirst such as I have
never before believed to be possible, alone with a pewter pot, with the
foam just brimming over the top ... alone, unseen, undiscoverable ...
Your fallen Friend,
HENRY.
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Illustration: THE LANGUAGE OF THE HOUR.
_Irate Lady (firing Parthian shot after marital misunderstanding)._
"Yer--yer bloomin' Oolan!"
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