Part 9 (2/2)
The plent.i.tude of food, ample sleep, clean clothing, and the wholesome cleanliness of pure water in which the body could be purified of a war's protracted stagnations, acted visibly upon the spirits. They had had access to papers portraying to the full how much had depended upon their stand in those critical days, and now it was over they marvelled at how they had done it.
From their connection with the 29th Division, in the previous September, there had been borne upon them from friendly contact with brother Battalions, the subtle esprit de corps permeating a Division who had won fame at Gallipoli, who inspired when transferred to France a fear of their arms in the Hun mind, and won from the recalcitrant foe eulogy in the form of ”The Iron Division.”
A strong mutual respect was apparent between them and the remaining regiments of the 86th Brigade. Each felt that reliance could at any time be placed upon the other: had they not already put their mettle to the test and come through with honours?
The old humour re-a.s.serted itself among the wild, careless fellows who had come through. Tich, one of the Duo, Birfer, and Ginger were no longer there to plot out their daily round of ”schemes.” Clarke, Martel, Stumpy, and Old Casey were left to carry on--and they were quite capable of doing so.
Stumpy formed a friends.h.i.+p with another of his diminutive height and large waistband in the Middles.e.x, and the two were frequently hobn.o.bbing together in each others' billets.
”We lost a lot of good fellows,” Stumpy sighed heavily over his pipe, ”wot we couldn't spare. There was three wot never drank rum and who all got 'it.” A roar of laughter interrupted him. ”Yes, all got 'it. And there was pore old Jack who got a dose in the arm an' 'ad to walk a 'ell of a way to the dressin' station. 'E was bleedin' bad an' asked me ter take orf 'is pack, which I did, an' his water-bottle as well, becos it was full of rum and--an' rum is 'eavy.”
”Rum, full of rum,” his little pal looked up at him with dry lip, ”you--you ain't got any left?”
”No, becos I put it aside, an' some scrounger pinched it. All I 'opes is that it bloomin' well choked 'im.” Someone bawled from the doorway that ”supper was up.”
Billets are a form of barracking troops in a number of barns and stables spread over as small an area as possible. The one salient advantage of these shelters is fresh air; it comes in with icy gusts through these apertures made for the purpose and whistles through cracks in the door--if there is a door--and gaps where once gla.s.s had kept it out. For those to whom the sky on a star-lit night provides an hour's ecstacy a hole or two in the roof is a blessing, but to the common mortal is a d.a.m.nation by which the winter wind tints the nose o' nights a soft shade of deep purple or gives pa.s.sage to a gentle flow of rain that forms lakes and pools on your overcoat and blanket and which at the slightest movement runs like a small river down your chest until you wake with a s.h.i.+vering gasp.
Rats and mice make their way interestedly in and out of sleeping forms, investigate with deliberate intent the contents of your pack, or perchance make a tentative nibble at an odd toe or so. If anything digestible is found in an overcoat pocket the exasperating rodents do not enter by the obvious pocket-flap, but CHEW their way in from the outside.
The weary old monotony of daily routine common to the Army set in, parades and inspections forced their unpleasant encroachments upon each day. Men whom a few weeks before had been forced to face the heaviest fighting they had ever experienced, now made the abrupt discovery that they were again liable to fall foul of the miles of red-tapeism that is everywhere rampant in Regulations respecting innumerable minor offences.
This perpetual inspection by an officer sickens. His minute survey of every inch of the uncouth, Army-rigged mortals, peppered with injunctions in relation to an absence of polish on boots or equipment, was never favorably received. There was a grain of humour in the actions of subalterns who were wont to jab up and down the bolt of a rifle with the air of an expert and solemnly inform the owner (who had fired several hundred rounds through it at tight moments) that he must ”... be careful to oil the bolt--most important.”
Much new clothing had to be issued to replace the battle-scared remnants of the Cambrai stunt. Thrown to the men in the happy haphazard Army method--there were created a new series of Parisian modes for draping the figure. Army-rig! There was no lack of s.p.a.ce or originality in the cut of Le Huray's enormous wide trousers (the leg would comfortably have encircled his waist), turned up when worn without puttees two and one-half inches at the bottom; the top if hitched well up had manifest advantages as a m.u.f.fler. Issued on the same logical lines, Mahy received a tiny pair of nether garments for his loner legs and a little tunic that hung limply like an undersized Eton-jacket six inches short of where it should have reached. Some lads were lost in s.h.i.+rts with sleeves generally a.s.sociated with Chinese or other Eastern gentlemen, others moodily surveyed themselves in small shrunken garments that with only superhuman effort could be forced to meet the waistband without emiting a warning rip. Duport found it so.
”Look 'ere,” he growled, ”trousers won't reach me waist upwards; s.h.i.+rt won't either, downwards. Leavin' a bloomin' two inches orl round of bare flesh.”
”Camouflage it.”
”'Ow d'you mean?”
”Paint the s.p.a.ce brown an' pretend it's a belt.”
The Quarter-Master Sergeant and his a.s.sistant found an avalanche of new material and old on their hands. (The Q.M.S.'s are those individuals who keep ALL the new clothing in store and by only the wiliest of Tommies can such material be w.a.n.gled.) The Q.M.S. of the Ten Hundred was not exactly popular among the ranks. N.B.--Neither Q.M.S.'s nor C.Q.M.S.'s are acquainted as a rule with the gentle solitude of the first line trenches. Their duty it is to receive and issue the ”plum and apple,”
the ”road-paving” biscuit and the weekly change of under-garments.
In the Field no man has actual possession of s.h.i.+rt, sock, or under-garments. These are all given in at each visitation to the baths and others issued in return. Your s.h.i.+rt thrown over to you by the C.Q.M.S. might be somewhat decrepit and holey or might have some resemblance to a new one. You might have two odd socks or (if you were among the bevy of schemers) two or three pairs would be in your possession--illegally.
Parades were detestable. They had imagined that England was the training camp for these operations. In France they had expectation of fighting and resting, NOT marching up and down with occasional halts, while the Platoon Officer furtively asks his sergeant what order he must give next.
The pivot round which all parades manoeuvre is always with the Regimental Sergeant-Major (the main function of all R.S.M.'s is to walk round with a big stick). He, an old Regular, despite the iron discipline so candidly hated, was withall a staunch supporter of fair play for the ranker, a tartar on parade, and feared more by the junior N.C.O.'s than the very inhabitor of lower regions.
An N.C.O. (Non-Commissioned Officer) is an individual whose main talent lies in the ability to bawl out orders at men one yard distant in a voice having a hundred yards range. The possessors of some subtle superiority not descernible by ordinary individuals, they are for this reason forbidden to converse or walk with the men when ”off parade.”
<script>