Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/520

"I hear you've had some of your horses commandeered."

"Yes, I have, zur, an' all on account o' this 'ere Kayser. But I tell 'ee wot: I've kep' on wi' my work as if nothin' 'ad 'appened—jest ter spite 'im!"

"This 'ere War," began Bill Corrigan, and the opening was so familiar that the line of men leaning against the factory-wall scarcely looked up from their pipes and papers, "may be right enough for them as was born with the martial instink, but for them as wasn't it's jest silly!"

They agreed with him, though languidly. The sentiment was in entire accordance with their mood: the sole objection to it was that they had heard it expressed by Bill many times before.

"Slackers?" he had echoed amiably, in reply to a persistent recruiting-sergeant in the early days, "oo's denyin' of it, mate? No, we ain't reg'lars, nor territorials, nor nash'nal volunteers, nor yet speshuls, an' we don't manufacture as much as a bootlace for the bloomin' troops, an' we're about the only crowd in England as ain't ashamed to say so!"

And the rest, following Bill's heroic lead, were quite remarkably proud of the fact that they also weren't ashamed to say so. The thing had become a cult, a sort of fetish. They regarded each new recruiting-poster with amused interest; passed the barracks at the corner with light and careless steps, and made a decent bit overtime.

"'Eard yest'day," said Alf Chettle, "that they've got a noo recruiting-sergeant, name o' Cheem, at the barracks. Reckons 'e's goin' to wake us up. Got an ideer that the other fellers that tried to make rookies o' me an' Bill didn't understand our temp'ryments."

There was a chorus of chuckles.

A little man in khaki who had been listening to the dialogue came nearer hesitatingly.

"Any o' you chaps live in Ponter Street?"

"I do," said Bill, suspiciously. "Why?

"Met a feller at the Front that used to live in this neighbourhood, an' 'e sent a message. Larky sort o' boy, e was, not more than sixteen, though 'e wouldn't own it. 'E was wounded in the ankle while we was retreatin', an' the Huns got 'im before we could carry im off. Late that night 'e crawled into camp, an' the things 'e told us before 'e died———"

"What name?" asked Alf, sharply.

"Mullins—Tim Mullins."

"Recollect 'im skylarkin' with my lads," said an older man. "Game little beggar, all freckles an' grin."

"'E was. 'Remember me to the old crowd in Ponter Street, if ever you're down that way,' 'e says; 'I bet the Fact'ry's workin' short-'anded just tnow. I ain't done 'alf what I meant to,' 'e says, catchin' 'is breath, but there's plenty more, thank Gawd, to carry on. Guess there won't be many slackers in England when they reads the papers—only poor beggars as ain't got strength enough to fire a rifle or dig a trench.'"

There was a short silence while the man in khaki filled his pipe.

"I can see all the fightin' I wants at a picture palace," said Bill gruffly.

"Maybe," said the man in khaki. "But I'm goin' out again soon's I get the chance... Can't forget the look on young Mullins' face when 'e died. No, 'e wasn't no bloomin' martyr. But 'e'd done 'is bit, an' that was all that mattered."

"Last I saw o' the beggar," said the older man. "'e was playin' marbles with my Tom, 'When I grows up.' 'e says, 'I'm goin' to buy a farm, an' grow apples."

"An' now—'e won't never grow up," said Alf.

"No," said the man in khaki, "nor won't die, neither. There's life, mate, an' there's death, an' there's another thing they calls immortality, an' that's what Mullins found."

The hoarse roar of the factory hooter filled the air, and the men began to drift towards the entrance. Within the yard Bill came to a sudden halt.

"Anyone care to look in at the barracks to-night?" he demanded huskily.

"Don't mind if I do," said Alf. A dozen others straggled across and said they felt like coming to join them.

The man in khaki watched them. If Bill had made a discovery, so had he—a discovery uncommon among those whose talk is of the elemental things of life. His subject had been greater than he had suspected.

Turning away, he came face-to-face with an officer. He saluted briskly.

"Well," said the officer, "any luck?"

"Pretty fair, Sir," said Cheem.

"The tramway marched from Edmonton to the factory singing and cheering, under an escort of a strong body of police."—Evening News.

The tramway seems to have set a fine example to the discontented employés.

"The conduct of our troops throughout the day was splendid, and they literally clung to the edge of the cliffs on both sides of the fatal beach, for the tows on the left, which had made for the shelter of ape Tekeh, also got ashore and hung on in the same tenacious manner."—Daily Express.

We are glad to have the name of this friendly animal preserved for us. Not content with sheltering our troops, it appears to have communicated to them its well-known prehensile abilities, thus enabling them to hang on by their tows.

"Red Cross Society.—Mrs. ——— has material for sand pyjamas for the wounded who come to Derby Infirmary and are then drafted on to local hospitals. She would be glad to hear from those willing to undertake to make any garments, the material being provided."

Ashbourne Telegraph.

These are presumably supplemental to the sand-bags which are in so great demand for the protection of our troops at the Front.