COLONEL MILITCH ON DIANA
Page 244
There were a lot of new English uniforms, but the French authorities would not issue them unless there were enough underclothes to go with them, and these they were short of. However, I got a promise of underclothes from the Serbian Relief Fund, and then my troubles began. First I had to get a paper signed by the English saying they would give them if the French approved; then another, signed by the French, that they did approve and would give the uniforms; then one signed by the Serbian Minister of War; then back to the French again to be countersigned; then back to the Minister of War; then to the Serbian warehouse, who refused to give them because I hadn’t got somebody else’s signature, and so on and so on. To cut a long story short, it took three whole days walking round Corfu in the pouring rain before I could get all those papers sufficiently signed, including three visits to the Minister of War, and even then the transport remained to be found, as the motor-lorries were fully occupied carrying bread.
I had airily promised the French that I thought the English authorities could give me the transport; so I went up to them, and they said they would see what they could do.
“How much stuff have you?” inquired the officer in charge.
“Three thousand two hundred and fifty uniforms,” I replied, “and the same number of vests and pants.”
“Well, that doesn’t tell me anything,” he said; “I want to know the bulk and weight: you’re no good as a corporal if you can’t tell me that. Let me know exactly by eleven o’clock to-morrow morning, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Here was a poser, for, though I said at once that I would let him know, I had not the faintest idea of how to work it out; but fortunately bethought myself of my sheet anchor, the big English corporal on the quay, who always seemed to be able to solve any difficulty; and, sure enough, he did it for me, and I telephoned the required information. In the end I got the stuff loaded on to a barge and took it myself to a point about 2 miles from my camp, whence it was carried up by a company, and we had the proud distinction of being the first regiment to be fitted out in new, clean English khaki uniforms.
When not on the quay there was plenty to do in the warehouses, sorting out the bales, or taking them across the harbour in our little tug, which was quite a journey, but I eventually got a chill and had to lay off for a bit, as the result of one wetting too many.
I used to go back to camp every Saturday afternoon and Sunday, and I always managed to take up a couple of cases of something, generally given me by the Serbian Relief Fund; either things for the ambulance or condensed milk or golden syrup for the men. Condensed milk was very much appreciated, as it meant that they each got a big bowl of café au lait for breakfast for three mornings, whereas, as a rule, they don’t have anything until lunch.