Combed Out | Page 8

the mug and plate, while the
newcomer freed himself from the hook.
It was five-and-twenty past five when the last of us came in with his
breakfast. But before he could reach his place there was a loud blast of
a whistle, and a distant voice shouted, "On Parade!"
The irritation that had been accumulating since reveillé burst out.
"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 bloody 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 bloody
move on!"
Masses 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, damn 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 hell 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, damn 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. Buttons" (he
pronounced 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