SERVICE YARNS

Evening Post, Volume XC, Issue 147, 18 December 1915, Page 11

SERVICE YARNS

Few living soldiers have a, more amusing Etock of "service yarns".than General Sir Dighton Probyn, who is such a close friend of our Royal Family One of the best of Sir Dighton's tales is in regard to an Irish sergeant who flew into a temper with a raw recruit. " How dare yez come on parade," he shouted, " before a respective man like mesilf smothered from head to foot in. grease and pipeclay? Answer me when I spake to yez." The frightened recruit was about to invent some excuse when the sergeant cut him short. "Dare yez to answer me when I puts a- question to yez? Honld yez lying tongue and open yez face at yer peril. Tell me, now, what have yez been doing wid yer uniform and arms and kit? Not a word, or I'll clap yez in the guard-room. When I axes' yez anything an' yez spakes, I'll have yez tried for insolence .to yer shuperior officer, but if yez don't answer wen I question yez, I'll, have yez punished for disobedience of orders. So, be jabers, yez see, I'll have yez both ways."

. It was a certain barrack-room, and the men were about to begin their dinner " Any complaints?" asked the orderly officer. "Yes, sir," instantly exclaimed a new recruit, "the beef an' bacon in this 'ere Irish 'ash ain't fit for the likes of us to eat, and I wish., to report it." The doctor was sent for to inspect the food. "So you think this meat isn't fit for a man in your position to eat?" said he. "Allow me to tell you that greater men than ever you will be have eaten it. Even the Commander-in-Chief wasn't above eating it in the Crimea, and made many a hearty meal of it." "Oh, did he?" retorted the recruit. "Yes, he did," replied the surgeon. " Oh, well," was the reply, "it was all very well for the Commander-in-Chief, 'causethe meat would be fresh an' good then. You see, sir, it's a long time since that 'ere Crimea job, and it can't be expected to keep good all these years." The drill-sergeant was drilling the recruit squad in the use of the rifle. Everything went smoothly until blank cartridges were distributed. The recruits were instructed to load their pieces and stand at the " Ready," and then the sergeant gave the command, "Fire at wili !" With a puzzled expression on his face Private Smith lowered his gun; "Which one is Will?" he asked.—The Tatler.

Mr. Will Crooks, M.P., seems to have done his best to keep the men at the front from being downhearted, says a London paper :—" At all the meetings I had to tell them stories. The joke that fetched them best was this one. I would say, 'You know Piccactillvcircus?' and they would shout back, 'Rather!' 'Then,' I would say, 'I'll give half a pound of tea to the man who can tell me what the figure on the top of the fountain is?' Not one of them could. Some said it was a woman some Cupid, and some an angel. In the end I would say, ' What! None of you know? And no more do I.' Then they simply rocked with laughter." Neither Air. brooks nor his hearers were singular in that ignorance; for not very many people are aware that the figure at the top of the Shaftesbury memorial is Eros, rhe action—that of discharging an arr°W J l"t?., the a play on the word " Shaftesbury " "