Combed Out | Page 9

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, damn 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 assembled 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 bloody 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 pass.
"Who gave you permission?"

"Er--I--Hartley said I could take his place."
"Who's Hartley? Is he God 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.
"D'you refuse to obey the order? Get back at once, or I'll have you put
under