Combed Out | Page 2

time we were allowed a brief respite. We would
then sit down on the parched grass and feel the stiffness of our limbs
and the burning in our flushed faces.
We learned to "form fours" and to "form two deep." We formed fours
again and again, but someone was sure to make a mistake every time.
Our Sergeant shouted abuse at us, but no one cared. We passed on to
other movements. We "changed direction to the right" or to the left, we
"formed squad," we advanced, we retired, we wheeled and turned and
gyrated. The stultifying occupation dragged on as though it would
never cease. Our sore feet, our aching limbs, the burning sun, and our
clothes clammy with perspiration maddened us. Suddenly the man next
to me began to sniff and a tear rolled down his cheeks. Our Sergeant
observed him and shouted "Halt!" and said:
"Don't take it ter 'eart, yer'll soon get used to it. I know it's bloody
awful at first. Fall out an' sit down a bit."
The man--a tall, elderly fellow, with dark hair and bushy eyebrows--left
the ranks and flung himself down in the grass, sobbing violently.
"Pore bloke, 'tain't orften they're took as bad as that."

Five minutes ago we hated our Sergeant, but this sudden revelation of
humanity on his part changed our attitude so completely that we felt
ready to die for him. Moreover the interruption had distracted us, and
the next half-hour passed very quickly. But gradually our physical
discomfort reasserted itself. When at last the morning's drill was over
we were so dispirited that we hardly felt any relief. We received the
order "Dismiss," and flocked towards the mess-room where we formed
a long queue.
We filed slowly in and passed by a trestle on which three foot-baths
were standing. We held out our plates while a soldier in a grimy
uniform ladled cabbage, meat and a greasy liquid on to them. We sat
down on benches in front of tables that were littered with potato-peel,
bits of fat, and other refuse. We were packed so closely together that
we could hardly move our elbows. The rowdy conversation, the foul
language, and the smacking of lips and the loud noise of guzzling
added to the horror of the meal.
I was so repelled that I felt sick and could not eat. I sat back on the
bench and waited. I observed that the man sitting opposite was
watching me intently. Suddenly he asked: "Don't yer want it, mate?" I
said "No," whereupon he exclaimed eagerly, "Giss it." A bestial,
gloating look came into his face as he seized my plate and splashed the
contents on to his own, so that the gravy overflowed and ran along the
table in a thin stream. He took the piece of meat between his thumb and
his fork and, tearing off big shreds with his teeth, gobbled them
greedily down.
We washed our plates outside the mess-room in a metal bath that held
two or three inches of warm water. Others had used it before us, and it
was thick with grease and little fragments of cabbage and fat were
floating about in it. From a nail in the wall a torn shred of a disused
woollen pant was hanging. It was black and glistening, for it had
already been used times without number. Some of the men wiped their
plates on it, but others preferred to rub them with earth and then clean
them with a bunch of fresh grass from a patch of lawn near by.
Then, to our dismay, the bugle sounded. We were back on the parade

ground, but no Sergeant took charge of us. Instead there appeared a
man without a cap and wearing a jersey. He was of colossal size. He
had coarse, brutal features. He was our physical drill instructor.
He scowled darkly at us for a short while. Then he looked at one man
after the other. His eyes rested on me. I wondered what was the matter.
I was kept in suspense for a brief space and then he roared like a bull,
"Take those bloody glasses orf," as though the wearing of glasses were
a crime against humanity. I took them off and put them into my pocket.
The instructor gave me a savage look and then bawled out a number of
commands in rapid succession--so rapid that we were unable to follow
any of them. We stood still and felt uncomfortable, not knowing what
to do. There was an embarrassing pause, and then he thundered:
"Bloody lot o' fools--gorne to sleep 'ave yer? Don't try any o' yer tricks
on me. I ain't 'avin' any. _I'll_ smarten yer up a bit--by Gawd--I'll break
yer bleed'n' 'earts afore I've done wi' yer--by Gawd