Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/532

My dear Mr. Punch,—Immense and portentous events are taking place in Europe as I write, but among us the great subject of discussion is moustaches, upon which, it would appear, the strength and military glory of the British Empire ultimately depend.

When the War broke out many of us who are accustomed to go clean-shaven in civilian life foolishly imagined that King's Regulation Number One-thousand-and-something would not in our case be strictly enforced. In a period of desperate emergency, we told ourselves, the authorities would concentrate their efforts upon making us fit for active service in the field in the shortest possible time, and, recognising that we were merely temporary soldiers, would ignore our smooth upper lips.

During all these months we have clung to this pleasant delusion, but at last we have been undeceived. Someone in authority, I take it, has been reviewing the situation after nine months of war, and has found cause for dissatisfaction. Everything was not as it should be. Some undiscovered influence was hindering the full success of our arms. What could it be? As he was pondering, there was brought to him the staggering information that a number of Territorials in India were shaving their upper lips. No wonder the Germans had not yet been driven out of Belgium.

So the fiat went forth, and now every man of us, under the threat of hideous penalties, is allowing the abhorred fungus to sprout as freely as nature permits, and the final defeat of the Huns is doubtless in sight.

We of course accept this facial disfigurement for the period of the War with the same resignation that we have displayed with regard to our other discomforts. If the maintenance of the Empire depends upon hairy upper lips, then the Territorials will never shrink from their duty. Thus a suggestion that we should show public resentment by taking advantage of another provision of the same Regulation and growing side-whiskers was at once rejected from motives of pure patriotism.

When I expressed the opinion, some little time ago, that the tales about the Indian climate with which we had been regaled were much exaggerated, I omitted to take the simple and obvious precaution of touching wood. The result is great heat, or, to employ the more expressive language of the country, pukka garmi. We are sweltering inside the walls of our Fort like twopenny loaves in a baker's oven.

But every cloud has a silver lining, and the hot weather has already worked one beneficent miracle—we are allowed to do certain of our guards, if we wish, in shirtsleeves. To show the profound nature of this revolution, let me describe the authentic experience of a friend of mine on Salisbury Plain in the far-away days before we left England.

He was on guard one night, pacing up and down in full marching order, when it began to rain heavily. My friend had never been in such a situation before, and it seemed to his unsophisticated intelligence that it was foolish to get wet through while a neatly-rolled overcoat was strapped to his shoulders. On the other hand he knew enough to refrain from taking such a grave step as to unroll the overcoat on his own initiative, and he therefore called out the Corporal of the Guard to consult him on the matter. Unfortunately the Corporal misunderstood the situation and turned out the Guard, a proceeding which made my friend for a time the most unpopular man in the South of England.

When this difficulty had been adjusted, an animated discussion on the problem took place between the Corporal and the Sergeant of the Guard. The former was of opinion that nothing could be done. If the Guard paraded with rolled overcoats he felt positive that overcoats must be carried rolled for the next twenty-four hours, whatever happened.

The Sergeant, on the contrary, was not quite sure. He had an idea that there were circumstances in which it was permissible to unroll an overcoat and actually wear it. But he was not prepared to take the responsibility upon himself, and he accordingly sent the Corporal to request the Officer of the day to step down to the guard tent.

The Officer of the day was frankly nonplussed, but, being young, was prepared to take the risk. He therefore sent out a very unwilling substitute for my friend, while the latter (now wet through) came into the tent to put on his coat.

Both the Sergeant and the Corporal were extremely horrified at my friend's idea that he should merely slip on the coat outside his equipment until the rain stopped. Such a costume was not provided for in Army Regulations, and could not be tolerated for a moment, even in the middle of the night. So he had to remove his belt, bandolier, water-bottle, haversack, etc. (we were not provided with the new webbing equipment), and put them all on again (properly adjusted) outside the overcoat.

Then arose another difficulty. The Sergeant asserted that, if the Officer was of opinion that the weather conditions were such as to necessitate the wearing of overcoats, all the men on guard must wear theirs, so as to be dressed alike. He was not the man to shirk an unpleasant duty, and he woke up the harassed Guard again and made them go through the same performance, to a steady accompaniment of muttered profanity. Then the dripping substitute was called in, and my friend went out to his post, to find the storm over and the night full of stars.

Thus you can understand why we smile happily to ourselves as we leave the guardroom to go on sentry in our greybacks (if we wish), even though the heat as we step outside seems to leap up from the ground and hit us with a bang in the face.

Another circumstance which marked the arrival of the heat-wave proves that we are still strangers in a strange land. Man after man a short time ago. used to return from his evening stroll with the conviction that he was in for a severe bilious attack. Each had received that unmistakable warning—the dancing of bright spots before the eyes.

Our education proceeds. We know now, when the familiar symptom appears, that it is not biliousness but fireflies.

Life is of necessity a very dull affair for us here, but the authorities, solicitous as ever for our physical and mental welfare, have recently devised a pastime to keep us occupied during the long hours of the day when it is too hot to leave the barracks. They have served out mosquito nets and have given us peremptory instructions to keep them in proper repair. Now these nets are so constructed that if one breathes heavily they fly into holes. Consequently we spend all our spare time busily plying needle and cotton.

I should never have believed that material of such excessive flimsiness could possibly be manufactured. The other evening, I was lying on my bed, watching a mosquito outside the net busily seeking an entrance. At length, weary of flying, he decided for a change to continue his investigations on foot. In landing (if you will believe me) he broke clean through the net and fell on my face with a crash.

Yours ever,

One of the Punch Brigade.

"The toe of the Berlin press obviously causes concern at Washington."

Manchester Guardian.

Can it be that it suggests the approach of the Prussian jack-boot?