dozen of soda. The earth-pounding Todd came out
of his hole, gazed on the corrugated iron and saw
visions, dreamed dreams. He handed the hole back
to the rabbit and set to work to evolve a bungalow.
By evening it was complete. He crawled within
and went to sleep, slept like a drugged dormouse.
At 10 P.M. a squadron of the Shetland Ponies (for
the purpose of deceiving the enemy all names in this
article are entirely fictitious) made our village.
It was drizzling at the time, and the Field Officer
in charge was getting most of it in the neck.
He howled for his batman, and told the varlet that
if there wasn’t a drizzle-proof bivouac ready
to enfold him by the time he had put the ponies to
bye-byes there would be no leave for ten years.
The batman scratched his head, then slid softly away
into the night. By the time the ponies were tilting
the last drops out of their nosebags the faithful
servant had scratched together a few sheets of corrugated,
and piled them into a rough shelter. The Major
wriggled beneath it and was presently putting up a
barrage of snores terrible to hear. At midnight
a battalion of the Loamshire Light Infantry trudged
into the village. It was raining in solid chunks,
and the Colonel Commanding looked like Victoria Falls
and felt like a submarine. He gave expression
to his sentiments in a series of spluttering bellows.
His batman trembled and faded into the darkness
a
pas de loup. By the time the old gentleman
had halted his command and cursed them “good
night” his resourceful retainer had found a sheet
or two of corrugated iron somewhere and assembled
them into some sort of bivouac for the reception of
his lord. His lord fell inside, kicked off his
boots and slept instantly, slept like a wintering
bear.
At 2 A.M. three Canadian privates blundered against
our village and tripped over it. They had lost
their way, were mud from hoofs to horns, dead beat,
soaked to the skin, chilled to the bone, fed up to
the back teeth. They were not going any further,
neither were they going to be deluged to death if
there was any cover to be had anywhere. They
nosed about, and soon discovered a few sheets of corrugated
iron, bore them privily hence and weathered the night
out under some logs further down the valley.
My batman trod me underfoot at seven next morning,
“Goin’ to be blinkin’ murder done
in this camp presently, Sir,” he announced cheerfully.
“Three officers went to sleep in bivvies larst
night, but somebody’s souvenired ’em since
an’ they’re all lyin’ hout in the
hopen now, Sir. Their blokes daresent wake ’em
an’ break the noos. All very ’asty-tempered
gents, so I’m told. The Colonel is pertickler
mustard. There’ll be some fresh faces on
the Roll of Honour when ’e comes to.”