Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/336

My dear Mr. Punch.,―At last I am back again in the regiment, and the office, now a thousand miles away, is a dwindling memory. The thing was done in typical Army fashion. One day last week the four of us who had been left behind at Divisional Headquarters put our heads together and decided that as there was every prospect of our remaining where we were for a long time we might reasonably expend a portion of our scanty pay in the purchase of a few minor aids to civilised life, such as plates and cups. Before we could set out for the bazaar, however, there came a precise official intimation that, as it had been found impossible to relieve us, we must be prepared to continue to serve in the office indefinitely.

That altered matters. A few months ago we might have been deceived, but we know the Army now. We abandoned our shopping expedition, gathered together our scattered belongings and prepared to depart. Sure enough there came next day imperative orders for us to rejoin the battalion at once.

As you have often pointed out, human nature is a perverse thing. For over three months we had been longing and agitating to be returned to our regiment, as soon as the instructions came we regretted leaving the office. We began to lament our cosy little tent, our comparative liberty, the civilian friends we had recently made, and we looked forward darkly to an era of irritating bugle calls, stew and kit inspections. We remembered, too, how far behind our comrades in military efficiency we were bound to find ourselves―and there is no mercy in the Army.

But our last hours were cheered by a letter from Mahadoo, formerly our "boy." I transcribe it for you literally:―

Respected Sir,―I beg to ask that your my Masters Please honour will you kindly Sir I work with your before Alik come about five days go that please Sir did not Paid me that money yet I did not ask that to you Because Alik did not me my pay I hire for I am sorry thank verry much to you please excuse me the all turbully

I am your Poor Obedent Servant

I need not burden you with details of Mahadoo's claim, but you will rejoice to know that we were enabled to leave him satisfied and beaming. And we assured him it was no "turbully."

This, by the way, was our first intimation that we had all this time been employing a butler. The knowledge was rather staggering at first, but now we are beginning to realise its possibilities in future years. "Ah, yes," one will be able to say, "when I was staying in India, you know, my butler came to me one morning..." But we shall, of course, studiously refrain from mentioning that the butler used to clean the boots, make the beds, wash the clothes and perform other inferior domestic duties.

Forty of us, who had been collected from various points, made the journey up together. Being merely British soldiers, we were given the worst available accommodation (that of course is our opinion; soldiers are built like that), with the result that five of us found ourselves in a grimy and malodorous compartment, measuring exactly seven feet by four, and austerely furnished with two extremely hard wooden benches a foot wide and three hat-pegs.

But it was quite good fun. By day there were innumerable fresh and exciting things to see, while by night the problem of sleeping kept us in paroxysms of laughter for hours. It is not easy, you know, to arrange twenty-nine feet of humanity on fourteen feet of bench. We contrived to relieve the congestion to some extent by improvising a hammock from a blanket and some pieces of string. It was a fine test of soldierly intrepidity to sleep in that hammock. I occupied it for one night, and I can tell you I envied those lucky fellows safe in their trenches at the Front.

We spent three days and nights in the train, and at the end left our little wooden hut with regret.

So here I am, back in the dear old Army again, welcomed with the same old Army greeting: "Hullo! You back? Got a cigarette?" Nothing is changed. On the day we arrived we were marched down to the Quartermaster's Stores to draw our bedding. The Corporal in charge of the party halted us, told us to wait a minute and went inside. Half-an-hour later he emerged with another Corporal, and both of them, after telling us to wait a minute, disappeared round the corner. An hour passed. Then the Quartermaster-Sergeant appeared and demanded to know what we were waiting for. We explained wearily. "Wait a minute," he said, and went back inside. An hour later he returned, looked us up and down and asked what the devil we wanted. Again we explained, and again he enjoined us to wait a minute, and disappeared. We cooled our heels for another hour and then sprang to attention as the Quartermaster himself came on the scene. "What do you men want?" he demanded testily. "Come to draw our bedding, Sir," we cried in chorus. "Oh, it's no good your coming today," he exclaimed. "Come back to-morrow."

Dear old Army!

But perhaps there are indications of a kindlier feeling among the N.C.O.'s. I have as yet no kit-box, and a kit-box is essential to a man's peace of mind in barracks. In a moment of forgetfulness I mentioned the fact to a Sergeant and asked if I might have one. As soon as I had done it I realised my mistake; but to my surprise, instead of paralysing me with a stony glare, he looked quite sympathetic. "I know it's awkward without one," he said, and passed on. Even then he seemed to feel he had not done all he might, for, turning round, he added with an air of kindly consolation, "Still, you've got your padlock and key, haven't you?"

Yours ever,
One of the Punch Brigade.

German composed seeking inspiration for melody to a "Song of Hate."