Alone | Page 2

one never knows, does one?
"Tried the War Office?" he added airily.
I had.
Who hadn't?
The War Office was a nightmare in those early days. It resembled
Liverpool Street station on the evening of a rainless Bank Holiday. The
only clear memory I carried away--and even this may have been due to
some hallucination--was that of a voice shouting at me through the
rabble: "Can you fly?" Such was my confusion that I believe I
answered in the negative, thereby losing, probably, a lucrative billet as
Chaplain to the Forces or veterinary surgeon in the Church Lads'
Brigade. Things might have been different had my distinguished cousin
still been on the spot; I, too, might have been accommodated with a big
desk and small work after the manner of the genial Mr. R----. He died
in harness, unfortunately, soon after the outbreak of war.
I said to my young friend:
"Everybody tells one to try the War Office--I don't know why. Of
course I tried it. I wish I had a shilling for every hour I wasted in that
lunatic asylum."
"Ah!" he replied. "I feel sure a good many men would like to be paid at
that rate. Anyhow, trust me. We'll fix you up, sooner or later. (He kept
his word.) Why not have a whack at the F.O., meanwhile?"
"Because I have already had a whack at it."
I then possessed, indeed, in reply to an application on my part, a
holograph of twelve pages in the elegant calligraphy of H.M.

Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, the same gentleman who
was viciously attacked by the Pankhurst section for his supposed
pro-Germanism. It conveyed no grain of hope. Other Government
Departments, he opined, might well be depleted at this moment; the
Foreign Office was in exactly the reverse position. It overflowed with
diplomatic and consular officials returned, perforce, from belligerent
countries, and now in search of occupation. Was it not natural, was it
not right, to give the preference to them? One was really at a loss to
know what to do with all those people. He had tried, hitherto in vain, to
find some kind of job for his own brother.
A straightforward, convincing statement. Acting on the hint, I visited
the Education Office, notoriously overstaffed since Tudor days; it
might now be emptier; clerical work might be obtained there in
substitution of some youngster who had been induced to join the
colours. I poked my nose into countless recesses, and finally unearthed
my man.
They were full up, said Mr. F----.
Full up?
Full up.
Then, after some further conversation as to my capacities, he thought
he might find me employment as teacher of science in the country, to
replace somebody or other.
The notion was distasteful to me. I am not averse to learning from the
young; I only once tried to teach them--at a ragged school, long since
pulled down, near Ladbroke Grove, where I soon discovered that my
little pupils knew a great deal more than I did, more, indeed, than was
good for body or soul. Still, this was a tangible, definite offer of
unremunerative but at the same time semi-pseudo-patriotic work, not to
be sneezed at. An idea occurred to me.
"Supposing I stick it out and give satisfaction, shall I be able to
interchange later into this department? I am more fitted for office duties.
In fact, I have had a certain experience of them."
"No chance of that," he replied. "It is the German system. Their
schoolmasters are sometimes taken to do administrative work at
head-quarters, and vice versâ. Our English rule is: Once a teacher,
always a teacher."
Here was a deadlock. For in such matters as teaching, a man may put a

strain on himself for a certain length of time; he may even be a success,
up to a point. But if he lacks the temperamental gift of holding classes,
the results in the long run will not be fair to the children, to say nothing
of himself. With reluctance I rose to depart, Mr. F---- adding, by way of
letting me down gently:
"Tried the War Office?"
I had.
If the War Office was too lively, this place was too slumberous by half.
A cobwebby, Rip-van-Winkle-ish atmosphere brooded about those
passages and chambers. One could not help thinking that a little
"German system" might work wonders here. And this is merely one of
several similar sites I explored, and endeavoured to exploit, for
patriotic purposes; I am here only jotting down a few of the more
important of those that occur to me.
And, oh! for the brush of a Hogarth to depict the gallery of faces with
which I came in contact as I went along. They were all different, yet all
alike; different