"I feel regular down this morning, Sir," said Private Thomas Weeks, as I
seated myself beside his bed; "regular down, I do."
It was such a very unusual greeting from this source that I said anxiously,
"Not the leg gone wrong?"
"No, the old leg's fine. It's the stopping of the imports." He indicated
the morning paper which he had just laid aside. "It's just about bust up my
old business."
I took the paper and glanced down the list of prohibited articles. Clocks
and parts thereof, perfumery, and quails (live) caught my eye. I didn't
think it could be any of these.
"What was your business?" I asked.
"Fruit merchant, Sir. Barrow trade, you understand. 'Awker, some calls it.
But it don't much matter now what it's called, 'cos it's bust up."
"Not quite bust up, is it?" I said. "Only a bit cut down for a time."
"That may be," he said, "but I got a strong affection for the trade, Sir, a
very strong affection, and I can't 'elp feeling it. Why, rightly speaking,
it was the fruit trade what got me my D.C.M."
"Did it though? How was that?"
"Well, it was like this. I bin callin' fruit a good many years. I could
call fruit with anyone. When I calls ''Oo sez a blood orange?' at
Kennington Lane, you could 'ear it pretty well as far as New Cross. Same
with ''Ave a banana?' If you're to do the trade you must make the people
'ear. It ain't no good bein' like them chaps what stands in the gutter and
whispers, 'Umberella ring a penny,' to their boots."
"But what about the D.C.M.?"
"I'm comin' to it, Sir. You see, I got it in connection with a little bit
o' work Trones Wood way. Through various circs, fault o' nobody really, me
and Sam Corney found ourselves alone alongside a dug-out full o' Bosches.
If we'd 'ad a few bombs we'd 'a' bin all right, but we 'adn't. I sez to
Sam, 'We must scare 'em,' I sez, and I shouts, '_'Oo says a blood orange?_'
at the top o' my voice into the dug-out, which was dark, of course, and I
stands in the doorway with my bayonet ready. I can't say what they mistook
it for. Crack o' doom, Sam sez. But eight come out o' that dug-out with
their 'ands up. I sent Sam off 'ome with 'em, though they'd 'a' gone with
no escort at all, I reckon, bein' sort o' stunned. And I went on down the
trench.
"At the turn there was another dug-out. '_'Ave a banana?_' I yells, and out
come ten of 'em, cryin' for mercy. I took 'em back to what we calls
Petticoat Lane and 'ands 'em over and come up again. But I didn't get no
more barrow-work that day, and my D.C.M. was for them prisoners right
enough. So now you see what I feels like about the fruit business. It's
like an old pal bein' done in."
"I shouldn't worry too much about it," I said. "You've each had a bit of a
knock-out; but you'll soon be on your legs again, and so will your barrow,
and going strong, both of you."
* * * * *