Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 156, March 12, 1919

Excerpt

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.

"Only one pair of gloves left, Sir," he said. "Gloves, woollen, knitted, pairs one, one-and-tenpence."

"Thank you very much," I said. "They'll do nicely. I'll take them now."

But of course I didn't. At 15.00 was in another building, watching another Corporal make out an indent in quadruplicate for gloves, woollen, knitted, officers, for the use of, pairs one. At 15.05 I was in another building, getting the indent stamped and countersigned. At 15.12 I was in another building, exchanging it for a buff form in duplicate. At 15.20 I re-entered the Issue Department and went through the motions of taking up the gloves.

"Excuse me, Sir," said the Corporal, skilfully sliding them away; "you must first produce your Field Advance Book as a proof of identity."

"I'm afraid I haven't a proper Field Advance Book," I explained. "You see, in Egypt, where I come from—that is, I was attached, you know, to the—well, in short, I haven't a proper Field Advance Book, as I said before. But I have here an A.B. 64 issued in lieu thereof—they do that in Egypt, you know—and I have my identity discs, my demobilisation papers, my cheque-book—oh, and heaps of other things which would prove to you that I am really me. Besides, my name is sewn inside the back of my tunic. And my shirt," I added hopefully.

"If you haven't a Field Advance Book, Sir," said the Corporal coldly, "your only course is to obtain a certificate of identity from the Camp Commandant."

"But, look here, Corporal," I protested, "it would take me a quarter-of-an-hour to get to the Commandant's office and another quarter to get back. I'm sure I couldn't get a certificate of identity under an hour and a-half. It is now twenty-five past three. You close at four....