Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/460

"But I understood from my wife that you were leaving us to marry the sweep."

"Yes. But if it's all the same to you, Sir, I've changed my mind. 'E's been and joined the Bantams; an' wen I sor 'im wiv 'is face washed———!"

My dear Mr. Punch,—We have completed the dreaded Kitchener Test, and found it not so very terrible after all. In fact, strictly between ourselves, we quite enjoyed it, though naturally in our letters home we endeavour by subtle suggestion to convey the impression that we have had the very deuce of a time.

Our first ordeal was to rise at 4 A.M. and do a fifteen-mile route march, followed by a spirited attack upon the barracks. Roman Catholics were exempt from this test. It was a Saint's day, and they rose three hours later than we, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and attended church. You might not believe me if I told you the number of converts to their religion from our battalion since then.

In this attack we used no ammunition, and the bursts of firing which covered our sectional rushes were represented by a vigorous working of bolts and easing of springs. Having proved that we could perform this operation without undue danger to ourselves and the public, we were provided with blank cartridge for the strenuous rearguard action which we fought on the following day. Again there were no casualties beyond the collapse, under the terse eloquence of our Colonel, of one unfortunate, who chanced to let off his rifle at the wrong moment. Though still very weak, he is expected to recover.

Shortly afterwards we waged a desperate battle against a strong force of cunningly entrenched cardboard heads and shoulders and canvas screens, and this time—so impressed were the authorities by our previous successes—we were permitted to use ball ammunition. Incredible as it may seem, we again came through unscathed, but the enemy was shockingly mangled.

You must not suppose that these exercises comprised all the Kitchener Test. We marched out by night across country to take up a position against a theoretically hostile village in such absolute silence that one officer was afterwards heard to declare that the rustling of a cricket's eyelashes as it blinked was distinctly audible to him. Then there was an affair of outposts and other searching examinations of our military knowledge and prowess with which I will not weary you.

It is a good thing the Test is over, because the weather is getting indecently hot. But it is the growing plague of flies and mosquitoes which threatens to render life unendurable. With regard to the last-named, I have recently been told of an infallible method of escaping their attentions at night. All you have to do, states my informant, is to leave a gap in the mosquito curtain round your bed ten minutes before retiring to rest. All the mosquitoes in the room will eagerly swarm through it. Then you merely close the aperture and sleep in peace on the floor while the baffled insects fight against one another in their prison.

I feel sure it is an admirable plan, but unhappily we have no mosquito curtains.

Though the perspiration we now shed would seem to be the limit, we have yet, it appears, to learn what heat really is. The knowledge will not long be withheld from two hundred of us, who are under orders to leave in about a fortnight for what we are assured is the torridest and unhealthiest hot-weather station in all India. Our Commanding Officer did his best, when giving out the announcement on parade, to hearten us by stating that flowers are very cheap there, and that he himself is quite competent to read the Burial Service over us (Cheers). He added that the only duties which the survivors will be called upon to perform will be to do guards and sleep. If promotion should result from proficiency at the latter, you may expect to see me coming home at least a sergeant.

For myself, I shall pin my faith to Zeem Soap, sold in the bazaars here. A leaflet describing this miraculous preparation was thrust into my hands a few days ago at the Nauchandi Fair. Zeem Soap, I gather, is "not only indispensaple for famalies who process its beneficial effects, but removes all pimples, blouches and sorce instantaniously and requires no recommandation to cure and route out all germicide diseases." Furthermore, "health and beauty go hand in hand by its use." Health I have in abundance up to the present, but beauty will be a new and strange gift. I wonder... but I must wait in patience.

I intended to tell you about the far-famed and wonderful Nauchandi Fair, where I spent several fascinating hours, but towards the end of my visit a large notice showed me that my labour would be superfluous. The Fair was, I learned, under the patronage of—among other distinguished people—the Maharajah of Punch. Salaam, Maharajah!

You may be interested to know that some of our fellows have discovered who writes these letters to you. A few days ago I innocently overheard a conversation relating to the identity of the "silly ass who puts that stuff in Punch."

"I believe it's somebody in this battalion," said one.

"I know very well who it is," replied another. "I don't know his name, but he's a cow-faced idiot, clean-shaven—wet sort of fool altogether."

So they had found me out. The secret was no longer a secret... but what was this?

"Always hanging about the library," added the speaker. "Wears glasses."

I breathed again. I have the eye of a hawk.

Yours ever, One of the Punch Brigade.

"According to an official report, 2,000 German soldiers in Alsace-Lorraine have been decorated with the Iron Cross.

"Germany's iron ore production in March amounted to 993,438 tons, against 803,623 tons in February. It is steadily increasing."

German Wireless.