"Your monthly return of men wishing to change their religion is
twenty-four hours overdue. Please expedite."
There was a time when one laughed at that anecdote as a playful
invention. But we know now that it is true, and we feel a sort of
pride in the truly British imperturbability of our official machinery.
Thirdly, the Buzzer is a humourist, of the sardonic variety. The
constant clash of wits over the wires, and the necessity of framing
words quickly, sharpens his faculties and acidulates his tongue.
Incidentally, he is an awkward person to quarrel with. One black
night, Bobby Little, making his second round of the trenches about an
hour before "stand-to," felt constrained to send a telephone message
to Battalion Headquarters. Taking a good breath,--you always do this
before entering a trench dug-out,--he plunged into the noisome cavern
where his Company Signallers kept everlasting vigil. The place was in
total darkness, except for the illumination supplied by a strip of
rifle-rag burning in a tin of rifle-oil. The air, what there was of
it, was thick with large, fat, floating particles of free carbon.
The telephone was buzzing plaintively to itself, in unsuccessful
competition with a well-modulated quartette for four nasal organs,
contributed by Bobby's entire signalling staff, who, locked in the
inextricable embrace peculiar to Thomas Atkins in search of warmth,
were snoring harmoniously upon the earthen floor.
The signaller "on duty"--one M'Gurk--was extracted from the heap and
put under arrest for sleeping at his post. The enormity of his crime
was heightened by the fact that two undelivered messages were found
upon his person.
Divers pains and penalties followed. Bobby supplemented the sentence
with a homily on the importance of vigilance and despatch. M'Gurk,
deeply aggrieved at forfeiting seven days' pay, said nothing, but
bided his time. Two nights later the Battalion came out of trenches
for a week's rest, and Bobby, weary and thankful, retired to bed in
his hut at 9 P.M., in comfortable anticipation of a full night's
repose.
His anticipations were doomed to disappointment. He was roused from
slumber--not without difficulty--by Signaller M'Gurk, who appeared
standing by his bedside with a guttering candle-end in one hand and a
pink despatch-form in the other. The message said:--
"Prevailing wind for next twenty-four hours probably S.W., with some
rain."
Mindful of his own recent admonitions, Bobby thanked M'Gurk politely,
and went to sleep again.
M'Gurk called again at half-past two in the morning, with another
message, which announced:--
"Baths will be available for your Company from 2 to 3 P.M. to-morrow."
Bobby stuffed the missive under his air-pillow, and rolled over
without a word. M'Gurk withdrew, leaving the door of the hut open.