II.
But we got to know him. Every unit had a secret-service agent in his office, and when he decided to make a raid on some poor, ‘unsuspecting’ C.O., a little bird whispered that General Pom-Pom was en route.
Out came the whitewash, pipeclay, blanco, brasso, greasy paste, and ‘soldier’s friend.’ Pioneers whitewashed every post—not forgetting the Last Post—and slapped the stuff all round the walls and the doors of the billets.
Pom-Pom was a devil for whitewash.
The band was hauled out by the hair of the head to practise the general salute, while all the men were hustled to get everything shining and—in line. Even the dixies in the cook-houses had to be drawn up according to the style laid down by army architects. Before General Pom-Pom was half-way to the unit, the men were being moved about the square like perfect machines (he loved that), the band was playing ‘The British Grenadiers,’ and every officer, including the C.O. and the adjutant, were tropically busy on the square.
Pom-Pom galloped on parade. ‘Morning, colonel; morning. What’s the scheme to-day?’
‘Ceremonial drill, sir. The companies are just being exercised; then I’m going to work the battalion.’
‘Excellent! Excellent! Nothing like ceremonial stuff for these fellows. Makes ‘em smart! Makes ‘em smart! By Jove! your band plays well. Reminds me of old days. Good to hear ‘em! Good to hear ‘em! Let’s see your battalion show now, colonel.’
‘Very good, sir.’
The battalion was mustered, during which the C.O. would tactfully ask old General Pom-Pom if he would kindly take post at the saluting base.
‘Certainly! Certainly!’ and off he would trot to the flag-pole. There he sat on his old bus-horse, pouting like a pigeon, and studying his wonderful shadow on the ground. The men, of course, were quite interested. Pom-Pom was, on the whole, very popular with the troops, and they did love to swank to the tune of ‘The British Grenadiers.’
The band played.
Down came the battalion like a perfect machine. The general straightened himself again.
‘Battalion—eyes right!’ roared the colonel. The heads came round with a click, and the general saw one thousand cheery, sun-tanned faces.
‘Splendid, men! Splendid! You can beat the Guards any day.’
They stalked past as proud as dukes.
Next the C.O. formed them into line; and one thousand well-scrubbed Tommies, with buttons and bayonets glistening, advanced in review order.
‘Battalion—halt! General salute—present arms!’
‘Ta—tum—tum—talee, Tiddle—um—tum—talee,’ went the bugles.
‘Battalion—slope arms! Order—arms!’
‘Magnificent!’ roared Pom-Pom. This shout of praise could be heard miles away. Then he toddled round the billets. His eye caught the whitewash, saw the neat kits, and the cooks’ dixies—all in line.
‘That’s all! That’s all, colonel! I’m very pleased! I congratulate you on your excellent unit. Morning! Morning!’ And off he galloped on his bus-horse.
The colonel smiled and faded away.