THE ULTIMATE OUTRAGE.
I had a favourite shirt for many moons,
Soft, silken, soothing and of tenderest tone,
Gossamer-light withal. The Subs., my peers,
Envied the garment, ransacking the land
To find a shirt its equal—all in vain.
For, when we tired of shooting at the Hun
And other Batteries clamoured for their share