duties ain't arf a job. I'm blowed if marchin' in full kit ain't ten
times better, and I'm going to grease to the battalion parade."

Fifteen minutes later I met him leaving his billet, his haversack
on the wrong side, his cartridge pouches open, the bolt of his gun
unfastened; his whole general appearance was a discredit to his
battalion and a disgrace to the Army. I helped to make him presentable
as he bellowed his woes into my ear. "No bloomin' grub this mornin',"
he said. "Left my breakfast till I'd come back, and 'aven't no time
for it now. Anyway I'm going out on the march; no light duties for me.
I know what they are." He was still protesting against the hardships
of things as he swung out of sight round the corner of the street.
Afterwards I heard that he got three days C.B. for disobeying the
orders of the M.O.

Save for minor ailments and accident, my battalion is practically
immune from sickness; colds come and go as a matter of course, sprains
and cuts claim momentary attention, but otherwise the health of the
battalion is perfect. "We're too healthy to be out of the trenches,"
a company humorist has remarked, and the company and battalion agrees
with him.




CHAPTER III

PICKETS AND SPECIAL LEAVE