Wife. "I quite agree that discharged soldiers should have a medal, or some distinguishing badge. It really has been most unpleasant for me sometimes when I have spoken to likely-looking men, only to find they have already served."
THE SAFETY-VALVE.
The trouble started a week ago, when the eagle eye of a Very Great Man chanced on a piece of paper lying in the neighbourhood of our camp. On being hastily summoned, I could not offhand give any reasonable explanation of its presence. To any lesser personage I should undoubtedly have proved it to belong to one of the A.S.C. people who live next door; but as it was I could only agree that it was a piece of paper, and as such was serving no useful purpose.
Two days later the blow fell. The V.G.M. would inspect the camp, and us in full marching order, the following day.
In the meantime we had learnt that several neighbouring camps had been tried thus, found wanting, and soundly strafed. From them we gleaned some useful hints:—
(1) That any unnecessary oddments, human or other, left lying about in the camp would be certain to elicit caustic comment;
(2) That tired or dissipated-looking animals, soiled harness or lustreless buttons would probably bring about atmospheric changes on parade; and
(3) That pieces of paper would mean indefinite home leave for somebody.
It was still moonlight when our cloud of skirmishers was abroad. The camp is entirely on soft sand, so that burying is a beautifully simple operation. In every tent parties could be seen rapidly putting home-made chairs, beds, boxes, tins and cooking utensils below ground. Personally I was fastening my less sleek mules to a somewhat soiled waggon, collecting odd men who wouldn't be nice for the great to see, and despatching the lot behind a neighbouring wood. They looked very like a troupe of roving gipsies. A sentry was posted in case the V.G.M. should come round the wood, when the troupe would, with infinite stealth, track round in his wake.