“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 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.