* * * * *

Monuments of the war.

  Let those who fear lest Memory should mislay
    Our triumphs gathered all across the map;
  Lest other topics—­like the weather, say,
    Or jazzing—­should supplant the recent scrap;
  Or lest a future race whose careless lot
    Lies in a League of Nations, lapped amid
  Millennial balm, be unaware of what
    (Largely for their sakes) we endured and did;—­

  Let such invite our architects to plan
    Great monumental works in steel and stone,
  Certain to catch the eye of any man
    And make our victories generally known;
  Let a new bridge at Charing Cross be built,
    In Regent Street a deathless quadrant set,
  And on them be inscribed in dazzling gilt:—­
    “In case by inadvertence we Forget.”

  Or, eloquent in ruin unrestored,
    Leave the Cloth Hall to be the pilgrim’s quest,
  Baring her ravaged beauty to record
    The Culture of the Bosch when at his best;
  At Albert, even where it bit the ground,
    Low let the Image lie and tell its fate,
  Poignant memento, like our own renowned
    Albert Memorial (close to Prince’s Gate).

  For me, the tablets of my heart, I ween,
    Sufficiently recall these fateful years;
  I need no monument for keeping green
    All that I suffered in the Volunteers;
  Therefore I urge the Army Council, at
    Its earliest leisure, please—­next week would do—­
  To raze the hutments opposite my flat,
    That still impinge on my riparian view.

  O.S.

* * * * *

A pair of military gloves.

It was in Italy, on my way home from Egypt to be demobilised, that I decided to buy a pair of warm gloves from Ordnance.

After being directed by helpful other ranks to the A.S.C.  Depot, the Camp Commandant’s Office and the Y.M.C.A., I found myself, at the end of a morning’s strenuous walking, confronted by notices on a closed door stating that this was the Officers’ Payment Issue Department; that this was the Officers’ Entrance to the Officers’ Payment Issue Department; that smoking was strictly prohibited; and that the office would re-open at 14.00.

I went away to lunch.

At 14.01 I knocked out my pipe conscientiously and entered.  From 14.01 to 14.50 I watched a Captain of the R.A.F. smoking cigarettes and choosing a pair of socks, and studied notices to the effect that this was the Officers’ Payment Issue Department; that only Officers were permitted to enter the Officers’ Payment Issue Department; that smoking was strictly prohibited; and that the office would close at 16.00.

At last I heard the B.A.F. man explain that, by James, he had an appointment at three, and would return, old bean—­er, Corporal—­in the morning to see about those dashed socks.  The Corporal behind the counter blew away a pile of cigarette ash and regarded me distrustfully.