was a playful habit the Chink had contracted of picking up a rusty rifle
and a salvaged clip of cartridges, pointing the gun anywhere and pulling
the trigger to make it say _Bang!_ I often found myself doin' the old
B.E.F. tummy-wriggle when the _Chinois_ was really happy.

"One Sunday--a non-working day--when all was drab and dreary and existence
seemed a double-blank, my orderly mentioned that he had discovered some old
'golfing bats' in one of the hutments. Evidently they were the remains of
the spoils of a lightning foray on the Base. A further search revealed a
couple of elliptical balls, quite good in places. So I tipped my cub,
Laxey, out of his bunk and we proceeded to resurrect our pre-war form.
By-and-by we got adventurous, and Laxey challenged me to play him a match
after lunch for ten francs a side. The details required some arranging, as
there were no greens or holes, but eventually we decided on a cross-country
stroke competition, starting from the hut-door and finishing at a crump
hole, map ref.: B 26c, 08,35.

"We tossed for clubs, and as I won I picked a driver and a hockey stick,
leaving Laxey a brassie and a putter head tied to a whangee cane that gave
it plenty of whip. Laxey was spot, and broke with a ten-yard drive. Then I
teed up and drove with a good follow-through action that carried me round
several circles before I could stop.

"I did better the next time, and made my ball rather sorry that it had been
making fun of me. Laxey had a bad lie and, though he lofted his ball with
the putter (as I said, the whangee _did_ give it 'whip'), he didn't clear
the hutments. After he had cannoned off the roof of a 'Nissen' into the
cook-house I took my turn, and to my disgust pulled into a trench that
formed part of our old support line.