Bedridden and the Winter Offensive eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 11 pages of information about Bedridden and the Winter Offensive.

May 22.—­After comparing notes with neighbours, feel deeply grateful to Q.M.S.  Beddem for sending me the best six men in the corps.

July 15.—­Feel glad to have been associated, however remotely and humbly, with a corps, the names of whose members appear on the Roll of Honour of every British regiment.


N.B.—­Having regard to the eccentricities of the Law of Libel it must be distinctly understood that the following does not refer to the distinguished officer, Lieut.  Troup Horne, of the Inns of Court.  Anybody trying to cause mischief between a civilian of eight stone and a soldier of seventeen by a statement to the contrary will hear from my solicitors.

Aug. 29, 1916.—­We returned from the sea to find our house still our own, and the military still in undisputed possession of the remains of the grass in the fields of Berkhamsted Place.  As in previous years, it was impossible to go in search of wild-flowers without stumbling over sleeping members of the Inns of Court; but war is war, and we grumble as little as possible.

Sept. 28.—­Unpleasant rumours to the effect that several members of the Inns of Court had attributed cases of curvature of the spine to sleeping on ground that had been insufficiently rolled.  Also that they had been heard to smack their lips and speak darkly of featherbeds.  Respected neighbour of gloomy disposition said that if Pharaoh were still alive he could suggest an eleventh plague to him beside which frogs and flies were an afternoon’s diversion.

Oct. 3.—­Householders of Berkhamsted busy mending bedsteads broken by last year’s billets, and buying patent taps for their beer-barrels.

Oct. 15.—­Informed that a representative of the Army wished to see me.  Instead of my old friend Q.M.S.  Beddem, who generally returns to life at this time of year, found that it was an officer of magnificent presence and two pips.  A fine figure of a man, with a great resemblance to the late lamented Bismarck, minus the moustache and the three hairs on the top of the head.  Asked him to be seated.  He selected a chair that was all arms and legs and no hips to speak of and crushed himself into it.  After which he unfastened his belt and “swelled wisibly afore my werry eyes.”  Said that his name was True Born and asked if it made any difference to me whether I had one officer or half-a-dozen men billeted on me.  Said that he was the officer, and that as the rank-and-file were not allowed to pollute the same atmosphere, thought I should score.  After a mental review of all I could remember of the Weights and Measures Table, accepted him.  He bade a lingering farewell to the chair, and departed.

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Bedridden and the Winter Offensive from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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