Algy, Misfit
“Hullo, old chappa!”
It was Algy, an old camp acquaintance from Australia, whom I hadn’t seen before over this way. By his greeting, you will probably be able to imagine Algy; yet, with all his “haw-haw,” when you got to know him, he was quite the opposite to what was suggested by his manner of speech.
He had the habit of unbosoming himself to everybody regarding his career, past, present and future, so when I met him, I knew that I would get the whole story of his army life. And I did.
“How have I been getting on? Top hole. The only thing is that my failure to rise in the army worries my mater. With my brains, or at least the brains mater believes I possess, I was expected to rise in big leaps. But the only rise I’ve made has been from my blankets in the morning, and then, too, only by the greatest effort. Awful bore, old chappa, these early reveilles.
“I try to explain to mater why it is that I am still ‘just merely one of the men,’ and seek to console her by quoting that well-known pictorial post card, ‘We can’t all be officers; somebody’s got to do the work.’ You know, the poor old lady believes in me so much that she lives in the hope of some day seeing me wearing a whole string of ribbons on my bally chest. No hope. You know, some people have most peculiar ideas regarding the military. They talk about ribbons as if the military were in the habit of issuing such things in lieu of something—say as a sort of consolation when the rations are short. If they did, well, I’d be wearing all the variegated colours of the bally rainbow.
“I’ve had a most varied career in the army. I was originally in the infantry—a private. You see, I started right at the bottom of the ladder, scorning all offers of assistance to get a commission. I was quite determined to go right up the ladder by my own unaided efforts. Eh, gad, I was an egotistical ass, that’s what I was. I never for one moment imagined that the rungs of the ladder leading to stripes and stars were so wide apart.
“But about the infantry. Goodness, shall I ever forget the beastly infantry. The unnecessary walking, and the enormous packs one had to carry, and the really rude sergeant-major, who always roared at me when on parade because I could not execute the fantastic movements he insisted upon—really, when I think about it I shudder. I always did my best, but marching used to make mesoexhausted, and I nevercouldsucceed in keeping in step with the other fellows.
“Finding the infantry uncongenial, I concluded that if I HAD to be a soldier I might as well sit down to the bally job, so I got a transfer to the mounted. I had never ridden a horse other than that of a merry-go-round, but I was satisfied that I could master the art. I’ve got a different idea now. I was quite all right while the animal walked, but when it trotted, oh, goodness me, I could never harmonize with the beast.
“Ultimately, I came over here with a unit which did not use horses and was not required to do much, if any, walking. At least, that is what they said, though I should have thought at the time how the unit was to move itself. Maybe, the authorities, when I left, were contemplating providing privates with motor-cars. I’ve found out, since I’ve been here, how the unit moves itself. Don’t do any walking? Well, look here, if there is a piece of accessible ground in Palestine, and not forgetting Syria, that I haven’t trampled on trudging behind heavily-laden G.S. wagons and limbers in the course of many and frequent camp shiftings, I’d like to find it and have it photographed.”
With a “Cheeryo,” Algy was gone.
“BILLZAC.”
“BILLZAC.”
“BILLZAC.”
“BILLZAC.”