DEAR CHARLES,--I hope you haven't been worrying yourself to death
because you haven't heard from your Territorial for a fortnight. The
Germans haven't got us yet, and what is more we haven't yet shot each
other. There is a private who comes down into the butts under my charge
who ought to be especially grateful to Providence on this account, for I
cannot induce him to make use of the red "Cease Fire!" flag before he
ascends from the safety-pit; even when he does, he drags it out behind
him so that the first thing those on the firing-point see is himself,
and the second thing is the flag. I think he must have been an
ammunition-monger in private life and mixed with bullets in their less
dangerous moods.
We complain of the work and we complain of the food, but really we are
very happy. The great thing about our life is that there is nothing to
bother about; someone is looking after us all the time, that is from 5
A.M. to 10 P.M. They fetch you out of bed, they exercise your muscles,
they put food into you, tell you where to go, when to come back, how to
fold up your kit, and when to go to sleep. The only thing they don't do
is to come round the last thing and tuck you up in your little valise.
You can strap yourself in, all but the head, and as to that there is a
flap which anybody with a little gum could fasten down as an envelope.
If, Charles, you hear a rumour that my battalion has been sent across
Germany to join the Russians on the other side _by parcel post_, don't
be too ready to dismiss it as an absurdity.
Everybody has got somebody to look after him here. There was an instance
on the range yesterday. The men were firing their standard tests and
there were rumours of an inspection. The N.C.O.'s in charge, being a bit
anxious themselves, were seeing to it that the privates did their duty.
Be sure we kept a relentless eye on the N.C.O.'s, and the Major in
charge of the whole Musketry Detachment did not deal gently with us.
Then the Adjutant loomed up, and the Major had to explain himself as
best he could; next came the Brigadier, and the Adjutant was on his
defence. Just as the Brigadier was getting into his stride, "The
General, Sir," whispered the Brigade-Major, and it was then for the
Brigadier to account for things being as they were and to promise that
very shortly they should be otherwise. You'd have thought that a man so
mature and beribboned as our Divisional Commander would be immune from
attack; but not so, for up rolled a motor which had come all the way
from London and the War Office and even the dear old General was found
to be capable of error. You may imagine that the five rounds which were
being shot all this while by a mere private were somewhat spasmodic,
especially as he was used by all parties as an illustration of their
particular meanings. Standing by myself all the time while this unhappy
man was severally instructed by N.C.O., Lieutenant, Major, Adjutant,
Brigadier, General and Permanent Staff, I was a little amused to note
that even so he failed to pass his test! And they all told him on no
account to be nervous about it.
You know the song, "Where the wind blows, we'll go"? It is a great
favourite on the march; and full marching kit, together with eighty
rounds of ball ammunition carried by each man, cannot stop it. It is not
a beautiful thing in itself, and it is not made more attractive by being
sung when the band is playing something else. But it takes little to
turn a bad thing into a good one. This morning Lieut. Wentworth, not
usually mounted, took out a party for a route march, borrowing the
Adjutant's horse for the purpose. As the party marched away at ease,
some of their friends asked them where they were going. They answered to
music: "Where the horse goes, we'll go." Wentworth tells me that this
opinion was not ill-founded.
Food is my strong subject at the moment, for I have happened to be
orderly officer once or twice lately; in other words I have been a sort
of detective housekeeper. The first thing I have to do is to see that
everybody gets up at reveille--a charity, Charles, which has to begin at
home. But it is at the cookhouse that I am supposed to have my most
deadly effect. You can see me paying visits _en surprise_, all the cooks
springing to attention and the very potatoes in the dixies trying to
look as if they weren't doing anything wrong! The pleasing sensation of
importance having passed off, it is then time for me to do something
intelligent. It is easy enough to tap a camp-kettle with a nonchalant
cane and commence the removal of the lid, but it is much more difficult
to cope with the pieces of boiled beef with which I am then confronted.
As a subject of conversation boiled beef is not, in my opinion, a
success: there are only two things to ask about it--"Is it beef?" "Is it
boiled?" There is no way of finding out its merits except by eating it,
and I simply cannot bring myself to steal my men's food! The temptation
is to prod it with the cane, but when you've done that once and the
Adjutant has happened to be looking you don't do it again. So I turn to
the "pontoon," a composite dish containing everything in the world which
is edible and savoury, and I ask the Cook-Sergeant why we cannot get
that sort of thing in peace time, pay what we will. Oh, yes, my boy, we
in the officers' mess have long abandoned our chefs and caterers, and
have taken to drawing out rations and, secretly, thanking Heaven for the
same.
You want to know what is to become of us. I will tell you on absolutely
reliable information. We are going to Cherbourg to stand by as a reserve
force; to Paris to act as a protection against surprise attacks; to
Ostend to relieve the Casino; to Antwerp to resist Zeppelins; to the
French frontier to guard lines of communication; to Leicester to
supervise German prisoners; to Africa to conduct a show of our own; to
India, Malta, Gibraltar and Egypt for garrison duty; to the North of
Scotland to protect coast towns (which abound in that part); and to the
right of the Allies' first, the centre of the Allies' second, and the
left of the Allies' third fighting line. That, Charles, is our official
programme: when we have completed it we shall be getting near Christmas.
Then, of course, we proceed for rest and recreation to Berlin; our one
fear being that when we get there we shall be turned on to military
police duty, and the protection of German women and children against
their own men-folk.
Meanwhile to-morrow's programme is less dashing. It consists of Church
Parade. The Musketry Detachment is at some little distance from the main
body, so the Padre has arranged for a private parade of our own. An
officer is to read the lessons and has been instructed for the purpose.
"The Party," as we call him for convenience, "will move two paces
forward and, upon the word 'one,' will take the Book smartly in the left
hand. Upon the word 'two' he will raise his right thumb to his lower lip
and moisten the same, thus enabling it to turn over the page
efficiently. When this movement is complete, he will cut away the right
hand sharply and proceed to carry out his duties." Don't suppose we are
irreligious--far from it; but always we are disciplinarians. I believe
there is somewhere in the _Infantry Training_ a correct way laid down
for blowing your nose to numbers.
Yours ever, HENRY.
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"TRADING WITH THE ENEMY BILL."
We prefer to say (less familiarly), "Settling accounts with the
KAISER."
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