... Here, in this most distressful country, we are about to experience again the blessings of coercion, administered by Duke, K.C., and Carson, high priest of the cult. In Sligo, the other day, two ladies treating each other in a public-house, the barman intervened at the tenth drink, saying:
“Stop it now; ye can’t have any more; troth, I won’t sarve ye again. Don’t ye know it’s Martial Law that’s on the people?”
Whereupon one of them enquired of the other:
“For the love of God, Mrs. Murphy, what’s he talking about at all? Who’s Martial Law?”
To which her friend replied sotto voce:
“Whist, don’t be showing your ignorance, ma’am! Don’t ye know he’s a brother of Bonar Law’s?”...
As official papers accompanied every letter, a trace of departmental style is occasionally visible in private notes:
War Trade Intelligence Department, 23 August, 1916.
“Harry Edwin” ate a grouse last night and drank many glasses of port. You can imagine the sort of grumpy commensal that he is to-day.