Periodicals Books

WASHOUT. We had hardly settled down to Mess when an orderly, armed with a buff slip, shot through the door, narrowly missed colliding with the soup, and pulled up by Grigson's chair. Grigson is our Flight Commander—one of those rugged and impenetrable individuals who seem impervious to any kind of shock. There is a legend that on one occasion four machine-gun bullets actually hit him and bounced... more...

THE SUGAR FIEND. "I will have a cup of tea," I said to the waitress, "China if possible; and please don't forget the sugar." "Yes, and what will you eat with I it?" she asked. "What you please," I replied; "it is all horrible." I do not take kindly to war-time teas. My idea of a tea is several cups of the best China, with three large lumps of sugar in each,... more...

THE SUPER-PIPE. When Jackson first joined the jolly old B.E.F. he smoked a pipe. He carried it anyhow. Loose in his pocket, mind you. A pipe-bowl at his pocket's brim a simple pipe-bowl was to him, and it was nothing more. Of course no decent B.E.F. mess could stand that. Jackson was told that a pipe was anathema maranatha, which is Greek for no bon. "What will I smoke then?" said Jackson,... more...

MILLIE AND THE "KAYSER." Millie is a "daily help." Who it is that she helps—whether herself or her employer—I am not in a position to say, for I am only temporarily a lodger in the house where Millie helps, and she doesn't help me much. But to-day I have made her hear and understand one whole sentence. It is the first time during the six days that we have known each other that... more...

THE GREAT MAN. What am I doing, Dickie? Well, I'll tell you. I'm one of those subalterns you hear of sometimes. You know the kind of things they do? They look after their men and ask themselves every day in the line (as per printed instructions), "Am I offensive enough?" In trenches they are ever to the fore, bombing, patrolling, raiding, wiring and inspecting gas helmets.... more...

THE CARP AT MIRAMEL. [In the following article all actual names, personal, geographical and regimental, have been duly camouflaged.] The carp that live in the moat of the Château de Miramel (in the zone of the armies in France) are of an age and ugliness incredible and of a superlative cynicism. One of them—local tradition pointed to a one-eyed old reprobate with a yellow face—is the richer these... more...

PRATT'S TOURS OF THE FRONT. THE LAST WORD IN SENSATION. By special arrangement Pratt's are able to offer their patrons unique opportunities of witnessing the stirring events of the Great Struggle. Don't miss it; you may never see another War. Come and see Tommy at work and play. Come and be shelled—a genuine thrill! Same as during London's Air-raids, but less danger. At the... more...

MONSIEUR JOSEPH. On the day that I left hospital, with a month's sick leave in hand, I went to dine at my favourite Soho restaurant, the Mazarin, which I always liked because it provided an excellent meal for an extremely modest sum. But this evening my steps turned towards the old place because I wanted a word with Monsieur Joseph, the head-waiter. I found him the same genial soul as ever, though... more...

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NIGHTMARES. II. OF A T.B.D. CAPTAIN, WHO DREAMS THAT HE HAS FOUND HIS LOG BOOK MADE UP BY MR. PH*L*P G*BBS. Time:—7.30 A.M.—Once more we set out on our never-ending mission, our ceaseless vigil of the seas. The ruddy weather-stained coxswain swung the wheel this way and that—his eyes were of the blue that only the sea can give—in obedience to, or rather in accord with, the curt, mystic,... more...