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Page 14
"Smarten up a bit, for Christ's sake--there's the Captin walkin'
about--don't make no bloomers when yer dismissin' else yer'll get extra
shovel-drill an' get me into trouble in the bargin. Mind yer salute
prop'ly.... Party--Tshn! Inter File, Right Turn! Quick March!"
We wheeled into the camp holding our picks and shovels at the trail.
Our Commanding Officer stood still and watched us. As we passed him the
Sergeant yelled out with unaccustomed sharpness: "Eyes--Right!" We all
turned our heads smartly to the right and he saluted with strained,
affected precision. The Captain touched the peak of his cap in a
perfunctory manner. He hardly seemed to be looking at us at all, but
suddenly he spotted a man who was not holding his shovel perfectly
horizontally and thundered:
"Hold your shovel properly, that man there!"
The man was disconcerted for a moment but soon re-adjusted his shovel to
the satisfaction of his superior. The ground was so muddy and uneven
that it was sometimes impossible to keep the exact military formation.
Without having noticed it, I was a little more than the regulation
distance from the man in front of me.
"Close in there, you with the glasses," bawled the Captain in a
resentful voice, as though my transgression were intended as a personal
insult. But his anger was diverted by another man and he shouted with
gathering fury:
"That tall man over there--hold your pick properly. Not like that, damn
it ... hold it at the point of balance--no, no, no, not like that ...
here, Sergeant, take that man's name and number and give it to the
Corporal of the Police. He'll do half an hour's extra shovel-drill this
evening."
We halted. The Sergeant made a note of the offender's name and then said
to us in an awestruck whisper: "Now mind yer dismiss prop'ly for
Christ's sake!"
We faced to the front and on the command "Dismiss!" we all turned to the
right, raised our picks and shovels and transferred them from our right
hands to our left, touched the peaks of our caps with our right hands,
turning the palms outwards, paused a moment and then broke away.
"Fall in, fall in--very bad, very bad, absolutely disgraceful!" bawled
our infuriated C.O. "If you don't do it correctly this time, you'll get
an hour's extra drill every day for a week! Now dismiss them again,
Sergeant!"
The prospect of extra drill filled us with dismay. Sore shouldered,
stiff, and aching in every limb, oppressed and wearied in mind and body,
we only had one intense desire--to get away, to hide somewhere, to enjoy
at least a brief spell of warmth and comfort.
The Sergeant gave the command, and we dismissed a second time. We went
through the absurd performance with anxious punctiliousness, but three
men, either through fear, weariness or carelessness, made some slight
mistakes and their names were taken for extra drill.
As soon as the men were off the parade ground there was a wild stampede
in the direction of the cook-house.
The scramble became a mad hustle. The men raced along the duckboards or
splashed through the mud in a frantic attempt to get served first,
pulling their mess-tins and plates out of their haversacks as they ran.
It was growing dark and a few snowflakes were floating about in the air.
The sky was a murky leaden colour.
As I stood waiting in the dinner queue I had an imaginary fight with our
Commanding Officer. I knocked him down and gloated over him as he lay
sprawling in the mud with my hand savagely clutching his throat. Our
pent up feelings often found relief in vindictive dreams.
The queue stretched along the duckboards and in between the tents like a
dingy snake in the gathering gloom. It was rapidly growing in length as
more and more men came hurrying up.
But the front of the cook-house was still closed. The men grew impatient
and banged their plates and tins. There were shouts of "Get a move on."
Fretful, smouldering impatience increased until it flared up in anger.
"Get a bloody move on--we want somethin' ter eat after a 'ard day's
work!... _We've_ got a fine bloody lot o' cooks, keepin' us waitin' in
the bloody cold--get a move on, for Christ's sake!"
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