There are few phases of the War--subsidiary phases, side-issues,
marginalia--more interesting, I think, than the return of the natives:
the triumphant progress, through their old haunts and among their old
friends, of the youths, recently civilians, but now tried and tested
warriors; lately so urban and hesitating and immature, but now so
seasoned and confident and of the world. And particularly I have
in mind the return of the soldier to his house of business, and
his triumphant progress through the various departments, gathering
admiration and homage and even wonder. I am not sure that wonder does
not come first, so striking can the metamorphosis be.
When he left he was often only a boy. Very likely rather a young
terror in his way: shy before elders, but a desperate wag with his
contemporaries. He had a habit of whistling during office hours; he
took too long for dinner, and was much given to descending the stairs
four at a time and shaking the premises, blurring the copying-book
and under-stamping the letters. When sent to the bank, a few yards
distant, he was absent for an hour. Cigarettes and late hours may have
given him a touch of pastiness.
To-day, what a change! Tall, well-set-up and bronzed, he is a model of
health and strength. His eyes meet all our eyes frankly; he has done
nothing to be ashamed of: there is no unposted letter in his pocket,
no consciousness of a muddled telephone message in his head. To be on
the dreaded carpet of the manager's room was once an ordeal; to-day he
can drop cigarette-ash on it and turn never a hair.
"Oh yes," he says, "he has been under fire. Knows it backwards. Knows
the difference in sound between all the shells. So far he's been very
lucky, but, Heavens! the pals he's lost! Terrible things happen, but
one gets numbed--apathetic, you know.
"What does it feel like to go over the top? The first time it's a
rotten feeling, but you get used to that too. War teaches you what you
can get used to, by George it does! He wouldn't have believed it, but
there--"
And so on. All coming quite naturally and simply; no swank, no false
modesty.
"This is his first leave since he went to France, and he thought he
must come to see the firm first of all. Sad about poor old Parkins,
wasn't it? Killed directly. And Smithers' leg--that was bad too. Rum
to see such a lot of girls all over the place, doing the boys' jobs.
Well, well, it's a strange world, and who would have thought all this
was going to happen?..."
Such is his conversation on the carpet. In the great clerks' room,
where there are now so many girls, he is a shade more of a dog. The
brave, you know, can't be wholly unconscious of the fair, and as I
pass through I catch the same words, but spoken with a slightly more
heroic ring.
"Lord, yes, you get used even to going over the top. A rotten feeling
the first time, but you get used to it. That's one of the rum things
about war, it teaches you what you can get used to. You get apathetic,
you know. That's the word--apathetic: used to anything. Standing for
hours in water up to your knees. Sleeping among rats." (Here some
pretty feminine squeals.) "It is a fact," he swears to them. "Rats
running over you half the night, and now and then a shell bursting
close by."
Standing at his own old desk as he talks, he looks even taller and
stronger than before--by way of contrast, I suppose, and as I pass
out I wonder if he will ever be able to bring himself to resume it.
Having occasion, a little while later, to go downstairs among the
warehousemen, where female labour has not yet penetrated. I hear him
again, and notice that his language has become more free. Safely
underground he extends himself a little.
"Over the top?" he is saying. "Yes, three blinking times. What does it
feel like the first time? Well--" and he tells them how it feels, in a
way that I can't reproduce here, but vivid as lightning compared with
his upstairs manner. And still he remains the clean forthright youth
who sees his duty a dead sure thing, and does it, even though he may
be perplexed now and then.
"So long!" they say, old men-friends and new girl-acquaintances
crowding round him as at last he tears himself away (and watching him
from the distance I am inclined to think that, if he gets through, he
will come back to us after all). "So long!" they say. "Take care of
yourself."
"You bet!" he replies. "But the question is, Shall I be allowed to?
What price the Hun?" And with a "So long, all!" he is gone.
All over London, in the big towns all over Great Britain, are these
triumphant progresses going on.
* * * * *
"Wanted, a good Private Wash; good drying
place."--_High Peak News_.
We respect the advertiser's dislike of publicity.
* * * * *
"JONG."
_(Lines suggested by an Australian aboriginal
place-name commonly known by its last syllable.)_
Fine names are found upon the map--
Kanturk and Chirk and Cong,
Grogtown and Giggleswick and Shap,
Chowbent and Chittagong;
But other places, less renowned,
In richer euphony abound
Than the familiar throng;
For instance, there is Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.
In childhood's days I took delight
In LEAR'S immortal Dong,
Whose nose was luminously bright,
Who sang a silvery song.
He did not terrify the birds
With strange and unpropitious words
Of double-edged _ontong_;
I'm sure he hailed from Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.
_Prince Giglio's_ bag, the fairy's gift,
Helped him to right the wrong,
Encouraged diligence and thrift,
And "opened with a pong;"
But though its magic powers were great
It could not quite ejaculate
A word so proud and strong
And beautiful as Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.
I crave no marble pleasure-dome,
No forks with golden prong;
Like HORACE, in a frugal home
I'd gladly rub along,
Contented with the humblest cot
Or shack or hut, if it had got
A name like Billabong,
Or, better still, like Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.
Sweet is the music of the spheres,
Majestic is Mong Blong,
And bland the beverage that cheers,
Called Sirupy Souchong;
But sweeter, more inspiring far
Than tea or peak or tuneful star
I deem it to belong
To such a place as Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.
* * * * *