Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/144
THE VOLUNTEERS.
Time: 7.30 P.M. Scene: A large disused barn, where forty members of the local Volunteer Training Corps are assembled for drill. They are mostly men well over thirty-eight years of age, but there is a sprinkling of lads of under nineteen, while a few are men of "military age" who for some good and sufficient reason have been unable to join the army. They are all full of enthusiasm, but at present they possess neither uniform nor arms. Please note that in the following dialogue the Sergeant alone speaks aloud; the other person thinks, but gives no utterance to his words.
And recollect that when you've fallen in
You stand at ease, a ten-inch space between
Your feet—like this; your hands behind your back—
Like this; your head and body both erect;
Your weight well poised on both feet, not on one.
Dress by the right, and let each rear rank man
Quick cover off his special front rank man.
That's it; that's good. Now when I say, "Squad, 'shun,"
Let every left heel swiftly join the right
Without a shuffling or a scraping sound
And let the angle of your two feet be
Just forty-five, the while you smartly drop
Hands to your sides, the fingers lightly bent,
Thumbs to the front, but every careful thumb
Kept well behind your trouser-seams. Squad, 'shun!
I rather think I did that pretty well.
Thomas, my footman, who is on my left,
And Batts, the draper, drilling on my right,
And e'en the very Sergeant must have seen
The lithe precision of my rapid spring.
You need not slap your hands against your thighs.
It is not right to slap your thighs at all.
I used unnecessary violence
And slapped my thighs unduly. It is bad
That Thomas should have cause to grin at me
And lose his proper feeling of respect,
Being a flighty fellow at the best;
And Batts the draper must not—
I am indubitably getting on.
I wonder if the Germans do these things,
And what they sound like in the German tongue.
The Germans are a———
From right to left, and do not jerk your heads.
[They number off.
The lion's share in forming fours. What luck
For Batts, who's five, and Thomas, who is seven.
They also serve, but only stand and wait,
While I behind the portly form of Batts
Insert myself and then slip out again
Clear to the front, observing at the word
The ordered sequence of my moving feet.
Come let me brace myself and dare———
Behind the acreage of Batts's back.
Indeed it is a very noble back
And would protect me if we charged in fours
Against the Germans, but I rather think
We charge two deep, and therefore———
I am oblivious of the little things
That mark the due observance of a drill;
And Thomas sees my faults and grins again.
Let him grin on; my time will come once more
At dinner, when he hands the Brussels sprouts.
[The drill proceeds.
Now we're in fours and marching like the wind.
This is more like it; this is what we need
To make us quit ourselves like regulars.
Left, right, left, right! The Sergeant gives it out
As if he meant it. Stepping out like this
We should breed terror in the German hordes
And drive them off. The Sergeant has a gleam
In either eye; I think he's proud of us.
Or does he meditate some stratagem
To spoil our marching?
I'm lost past hope, and Thomas, too, is lost;
And in a press of lost and tangled men
The great broad back of Batts heaves miles away.
[The Sergeant explains and the drill proceeds.
The standing difference 'twixt our left and right,
The bayonet exercise, the musketry,
And all the things a soldier does with ease.
I must remember it's a long, long way
To Tipperary, but my heart's———
R. C. L.
MARCH AIRS.
At long last the War Office is waking up to the value of bands for military purposes, and a good deal of interest will be aroused by the discussion now proceeding as to the best airs for use on the march.
The following suggestions have been hastily collected by wireless and other means:—
From the Trenches: "Why not try 'Come into the garden mud'?”
From a very new Subaltern: "I had thought of 'John Brown's Body,' but personally I am more concerned just now with Sam Browne's Belt."
From a Zeppelin-driver: "There's an old Scotch song that I have tried successfully on one of our naval lieutenants. It runs like this:—
An' I'll be in Yarmouth afore yo."
From the Captain of the Sydney: "What's the matter with The 'Jolly Müller'?"
From President Wilson: "Have you thought of 'The little rift within the lute,' as played by our Contra-band?"
From Admiral von Tirpitz: A familiar air with me is 'Crocked in the cradle of the deep.'"
From Sir Edward Grey: "If it could be done diplomatically, I should like to see recommended, 'Dacia, Dacia, give me your answer, do.'"
From the Crew of the Lion: "For England, Home, and Beatty."
From an East Coast Mayor: "Begone, dull scare!"
From the King of Rumania: "Now we shan't be long."