The 1st Battalion of the 25th Londons was preparing to march into
Waziristan.
Old Bert, the cook, diligently loading up a kneeling camel with dixies,
pots and pans, and general cooking utensils, paused for a bit, wiped
the sweat from his brow, and stood back with arms akimbo gazing with
satisfaction upon his work.
Then he went up to the camel, gave him a gentle prod, and grunted
"Ooush, yer blighter, ooush" (i.e. rise). The camel turned gently over
on his back, unshipping the whole cargo that Bert had worked so hard
upon, and kicked his legs in the air.
[Illustration: "Don't yer understand yer own langwidge, yer kitten?"]
Poor old Bert looked at the wreckage and exclaimed, more in sorrow
than in anger: "Blimey, don't yer understand yer own langwidge, yer
kitten?"--_T. F. Chanter, 16 Atalanta Street, Fulham._