Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/181

Chorus from the trench. "What 'ave you got there, Tom?"

Tom (bringing in huge Uhlan). "Souvenir."

My dear Mr. Punch,—Our Battalion has gone. It has called back to the ranks all but a few of its soldier clerks. Even as I write it is racing through the darkness across the Indian plains to its new station. I can almost hear the grinding thunder of the wheels; the thud of men sleeping on the seats as they roll off and crash upon men sleeping on the floors; the pungent oaths mingling with the shriek of the engine whistle ... and I am left behind in the Divisional Staff Office and attached to another Territorial unit just arrived from England. Woe is me!

I paid a last visit to the barracks to see my comrades before they left. They were well and cheerful, but all suffering from a singular delusion. When I expressed regret that I was not accompanying them owing to the fact that my services could not be spared from the Office, they all assured me with perfect gravity that this was not the real explanation of my being left behind. While I have been plying the pen, they, it appears, have reached such a state of military proficiency that to re-introduce me into the ranks at this stage would have had a most disintegrating effect upon the moral of the entire Battalion.

It was hard on me, they were prepared to admit, but efficiency must come first. When, very shortly, they march down Unter den Linden I must surely recognise how very disastrous it would be for me to be there with my rifle at an unprofessional slope. It would be so noticeable in the pictures afterwards.

They were all full of kindly commiseration about my future. They, of course, will presently be leaving for the Front. England will ring from end to end with the story of their prowess. In six weeks they will have beaten the Germans to a standstill. Then—best of all—they will return home, covered with glory and medals, to be received with frantic demonstrations of joy, affection and adulation. Several years later, I gather, I may (if exceptionally lucky) return to England unhonoured and unsung, with indelible inkstains on my fingers and three vaccination marks on my left forearm as my only mementoes of the Great War. On the other hand, having got fairly into the grip of the Indian Government, it is quite likely that I shall end my days here.

Perceiving my chagrin at this prospect, one of them generously promised to present me with a few Iron Crosses which he anticipates collecting on the battlefield. But this gift, he was at pains to point out, was contingent upon the very improbable circumstance of my surviving plague, dysentery, enteric, smallpox, heat apoplexy, snakebite and other perils of a prolonged sojourn in India.

In the immediate future I can unfortunately see for myself that my prospects are of the gloomiest. When I mildly suggested to my Colour Sergeant that he should send me my pay by post each week from the new station, he stared at me fixedly and reminded me with unnecessary and offensive emphasis that I was now attached to another regiment, and that he had finally and thankfully washed his hands of all responsibility concerning me. When I sought out my new Colour, he informed me even more emphatically that I was merely attached to his company for disciplinary purposes and that it was blooming well useless for me to look to him for pay. So there I am.

It is the same with rations. None were sent for me this morning. It is tolerably certain that none will be sent to-morrow.

Ah, well, it will be a sad and disappointing end to a promising career,