Combed Out Part 2

"Why can't they let yer finish yer breakfast--'tain't 'alf-past yet, not be a long way!"

"They treat yer like pigs!"

"We're a b.l.o.o.d.y lot o' fools ter stand it--that's the worst o' this mob though, yer'll never get 'em ter stick together an' do anythink."

"I bet the C.O.'s enjoyin' 'isself...." A stream of filthy language followed--abuse of the Commanding Officer, abuse of the army, abuse of the war, and abuse of the Government. The man could find no other way of expressing himself with adequate force and crudity. At times he became incoherent.

He was not grumbling at the little hardships and discomforts of this particular morning. He was grumbling at an entire life of discomfort. He was rebelling against his degrading slavery and enforced misery, and it was the harrowing consciousness of his own impotence that added such bitterness to his anger.

Not one of us left the tent. There was a second blast of the whistle, louder and more prolonged than the first, followed by an angrier "On Parade!"

We stepped out into the cold air one by one and splashed and plodded through the slush in surly reluctant fashion. The day had just begun to dawn, and in the grey twilight I could perceive innumerable dingy figures moving slowly towards the parade ground amid the falling snow.

A long double line of men had already formed up. The Sergeant-Major blew his whistle a third time and shouted "On Parade--get a b.l.o.o.d.y move on!"

Ma.s.ses of men came straggling up and the line grew longer and longer.

Another double line was formed behind it, and then a third and fourth.

Nearly everybody was on parade, only a few here and there were coming over from the tents. The Sergeant-Major observed them and shouted to the Corporal of the Police: "Corporal, take those men's names--have 'em up for orderly room this evening." Then he turned to us. "If you can't turn out a bit smarter, I'll have you on parade ten minutes earlier--this is the last warning yer'll get."

The Police Corporal was standing over by the tent-lines, entering the names of the stragglers in his notebook. I could see a solitary figure issue furtively from a tent and slink round the bottom of the parade ground in order to join us from behind and escape observation. I wished him success and followed his movements with interest. But just as he was darting into the ranks, one of our Sergeants caught sight of him and said to the Sergeant-Major: "There's a man what's just fell in over there, sir."

The Sergeant-Major shouted "Come here!" in peremptory tones, but the man pretended he had not heard and remained in the ranks.

"Come here, d.a.m.n you!"

This second order frightened him, he slunk out of the line, crossed over to the Sergeant-Major and stood to attention before him.

"What's the matter with you, are you deaf? Why aren't you on parade in time? D'you want to sleep all day?"

"I thought--er--parade was at--was at half-past--and--and--I couldn't find my puttees...."

"Who the h.e.l.l d'you think yer talkin' to--_Sir_ to me, d'you hear!"

"Yes, sir ... I couldn't help it, sir ... I couldn't find...."

"Take this man's name and number, Corporal. We'll have him up for Orderly Room to-night.... Fall in and look sharp, d.a.m.n you, keeping us all waiting like this."

It was still snowing hard. Our caps and shoulders were covered with a white layer. The parade ground was a big stretch of well-trodden mud and slush. We sank into it up to our ankles. Our feet were torturing us, but only a few men in the rear ranks ventured to stamp the ground a little.

The wet had penetrated our boots several weeks before and they had never been dry since.

The Sergeant-Major blew his whistle and shouted: "Listen to the Orders."

He held a bundle of papers in his hand and read with the help of a torch:

"Every man must shave once in twenty-four hours. b.u.t.tons" (he p.r.o.nounced it "boottons," for he came from the North Country), "cap-badges and numerals must be cleaned thoroughly once a day. Box-respirators and steel helmets will always be carried. Except when it is raining, great-coats or waterproofs will not be worn when men are working. Men are forbidden to smoke while at work.

"It is observed that discipline is becoming very slack indeed throughout the Coomp'ny. It is especially noticed in marching, taking up dressin', etc. The men ... app ... the men apparently ... do not realize that when marching at all times each section of fours must keep their dressing and cover off correctly and keep the step and when at attention there must be no talking and the order to stand at ease is a drill-movement and the heads and bodies must be kept still. Unless there is an improvement in future the Coomp'ny will parade each evening at 5.30 and on Sunday afternoon for extra drill.

"Men must not clean their boots on the refuse tins, otherwise the tins, which are of thin material only get--er--demol--demolished. Mud from boots must not be put into tins.

"Pigs in camp are army property and will eventually be consumed by this Coomp'ny. It is therefore not only--er--reprehensible, but also against their own interest if men tease these pigs and pull them about by tails and ears or feed them with unsuitable food. Offenders will be severely dealt with."

We had been on parade for nearly half an hour. The torture of freezing toes was so acute that even men in the front ranks were trying to get warm by treading the mud or sharply raising and lowering their heels.

The Sergeant-Major suddenly observed them, blew his whistle and shouted angrily: "Stand still there ---- ---- d'you hear? Stand still there.

Can't yer understand English, d.a.m.n yer?" We were convinced that we would hear the blast of his whistle and his angry shout in our nightmares to the end of our days.

He was in reality quite a kind-hearted man, but he was bullied by his superiors just as we were bullied by ours. He was bullied into being a bully. And his superiors were bullied by their superiors. The army is ruled by fear--and it is this constant fear that brutalizes men not naturally brutal.

The Sergeant-Major began to call out the fatigue parties. We felt relieved and thought that at last we would begin to move and get warm.

"Fall out Sergeant Waley's party!"

A score of men splashed across the mud and lined up under Sergeant Waley.

"Fall out Sergeant Hemingway's party!"

Forty or fifty men lined up. It was Sergeant Hemingway whose sense of duty had prompted him to report the man whom he saw slinking into the ranks after we were all a.s.sembled on parade.

Then the proceedings were interrupted. One of our officers, wearing top boots and a fur-lined overcoat with a big fur collar, emerged from the half darkness and the whirl of snowflakes and walked up to the Sergeant-Major, who stood to attention and saluted. The officer returned the salute and the two talked together for several minutes.

A man in the front rank not far from me muttered in an agonized voice: "Gorblimy, get a b.l.o.o.d.y move on--I'm perishin' wi' cold." Another added: "They don't say nothin' when _'e_ comes late on parade--'e wouldn't mind if we was kept 'ere all day--oo, me feet, they're absolutely froze."

The Sergeant-Major swung round sharply and bawled out: "Stop that talking there--you're stood to attention!" Then he went on talking to the officer. At length the conversation came to an end. Salutes were exchanged once more and the officer walked over towards a house on the far side of the road that ran alongside the camp. As he opened the front door a warm glow shone out into the gloomy morning. Then the door closed, like the gates that close on paradise, and there was nothing left to relieve the dismal dreariness of our dingy world.

"Sergeant Fuller's party!"

Another set of men fell out. I did not really belong to them, but I joined them because I noticed that one of my friends was of their number, while all the men of my own party were strangers to me. I hoped that I would not be detected.

Sergeant Fuller counted his men. There was one less than the required number and I felt encouraged, for there could now be no objection to my presence. The Sergeant asked: "Where's Private Hartley?" and someone answered, "Gone sick, Sergeant." Suddenly he perceived me and asked:

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come instead of Private Hartley, Sergeant," I replied, hoping that the feeble lie would pa.s.s.

"Who gave you permission?"

"Er--I--Hartley said I could take his place."

"Who's Hartley? Is he G.o.d Almighty? Get back to your own party!"

I did not move.

"D'you hear--get back at once!"

"It's only for to-day, Sergeant--I want to work with my mate. Hartley'll take my place again to-morrow. Besides, you'll be two men short without me."

"Get back, will you, and do as you're told."

I did not move.