Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, April 25, 1917 by Various
page 15 of 53 (28%)
page 15 of 53 (28%)
|
never win a war by squatting down in a hole and lookin' at the other
fellow. No, open fighting--that's what the new armies have got to learn. I fear it's been badly neglected; but not in _this_ battalion. Now, with regard to the screen of skirmishers, I want ... VII. _Drill Sergeant._--On 'er left, form--squad. For--erd, by the ri.' Mark--time. For--erd. Wake up, Thomson; we don't want no blinkin' _dreamers_ in the Army. Pick up the step there, Number Three, fron' rank. 'Ep, ri'; 'ep, ri'; 'ep, ri. Sker-wad--'alt. Stan' still. 'Alt means 'alt. No movin' at all; just 'alt. Right--dress. Eyes--front. 'Swer. Eyes--front. Stanat--'ipe. 'Swer. Stanat--'ipe. Stan' easy. Now listen to me, me lads. The chiefest dooty of a soljer is O-bedience. Drill an' discipline is 'ow you gets that. Stop chewin, 'Arris. You'll be losin' your name again, me lad. Don't pay to lose your name twice--not in this regiment it don't. You'll learn a deal of other stuff 'ere; but take it from me it's the barrick-square work wot makes a soljer. Wot _is_ a soljer? Why, a _drilled_ man. 'Ow jer think I 'ave turned some 'undreds of blankety militiamen into the real thing? If a bloke can't stan' still on parade _I_ don't want to hear about his doin's on the range or 'ow he can chuck a Mills. Sker-wad-- 'shun. Dis--miss. 'Swer. No call to go salootin' me, Private McKenzie. I ain't an orficer--_yet_. Dis--miss. _Private Jones_ (_young and keen, and a trifle confused_).--Good 'evins, Bill; they carn't _all_ be bloomin' well right, can they? _Lance-Corporal Smith._--No, boy. It's the 'appy mejium we gets wiv 'em all, yer see. That's it--the happy mejium. |
|