THE General's Christmas Goose

Evening Post, Volume CII, Issue 151, 23 December 1921, Page 11

THE General's Christmas Goose

IS befitted the season, the talk A among the passengers in the smokeroom was of Christmas, and especially of I Christmases spent in strange ■ ■■■■.I circumstances during the [ war. Almost everybody in the group around the table bad related some more or less, moving tale of war Christmases on land or sea in different parts of tho world, and the v-ry haze of empke from pipes and cigarettes; floating upwards seemed charged with the names and memories of places and events, famous or obscure, in those wonderful years. The last story had touched tho supernatural rather crudely, and was received with the sort of incredulous silence that is usually the prelude to a general conversation. "You young fellows think you know everything," came a voice that had not been heard before. "Take it from an old soldier, there's such a thing as miracles still." The big Australian who, unconsciously perhaps, but characteristically enough, dominated the gathering in the capacity of informal chairman, looked over to the owner of the voice inquiringly. "Perhaps you could give us an instance, sir," he said. "Perhaps I could," returned the old soldior.- "If you gentlemen will hay& a drink with me, I'll tell you a true tale, and then I'll ask you to explain the facts—if you can." Drinks were served all round, and the old man, raising his glass to the company, said : "Here's wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, gentlemen, and may you never go short of a Christmas goose, as General Cockrfioot nearly did in Palestine—would have done, in fact, but for a miracle." And he took a long draught at the beer. THE NARRATIVE OF MR. BANKS. I. "Some of you may have heard of the .general. I suppose he •»,as about the oldest soldier in the Britisb Army on active service during the war, bar none. He was a whale for war, and, if there was any fighting going on, you might be sure he would be there —India, Egypt, South Africa,: China—the old fellow wpuld be right in it, you can bet. So was I too, for I was his servant, and he took me with him wherever he,went. You are right, I did see some service in my time. "We had been so long together that we were more like old pals than officer and servant, and off parade I used to talk to him as I would to you. And he ■would swear back, 'too. And he knew some language; He had his peculiarities like everybody else, but I loved him liko a brother. 'You're an old rascal, Banks,' he used to say, 'but there's nobody can cook a goose like you. ■» You won't, leave me, will you, damn you?' I should have mentioned he waa very partial to roast goose—it •was one of his idio-what-you-may-call-its. I • don't think he ever missed having roast goose for Christmas all the yeahs I served with him. It was his favourite dish for Sunday dinner too, and when we did part for a few years over a bit of a tiff—that was after we left the Army— and I took a position as college servant at St. Quentin's, I often got a Sunday off to go up to his cottage in North Oxford to roast him a goose. 'A very estimable woman, Mrs. Purdie,' (his housekeeper—he was an old bachelor) 'but she can't cook a goose b'ke you, Banks,' he would say. I hope I'm not wearying you gentlemen with all these details, but you've got to understand what kind of a man the old general was to appreciate what I am going to tell you." There was a chorus of "Carry on" from tho company, and the old soldier took another drink.

"Whet^ this last war broke out I knew what it would be. The old general would be mad to go, and nothing on earth would stop him; and that meant me going too—me, a respectable college servant with a wife and family. Sure enough, the old war-horse comes along to see me, high-stepping and prancing like a two-year-old, full of life and character the old general was with a war on. I knew the symptoms and made a stand. 'Let the single men go first/ I was .Jjing to say, but the old firebrand had it all arranged.' 'Marching orders, marching orders, Banks/ he cried. 'Pack up your kit and come along.' I mumbled something about wife and family, but he dismissed that plea with a sweep of the hand. 'I'll see they are well looked after, Banks, you're not going to let that stop you from going. This looks like being the best war of tho lot.' Then he explained that ho had offered his services' once again to his country and they had been accepted. He hoped we would soon be in France. 'We've not had a Christmas goose in France yet, have we, you old rogue ?' That goose did it; I gave a sort of groan and, as the papers say, graciouslyyielded to the inevitable. • "We did not get to France—at least for a year or two. They gave the old chap a job in England training recruits— a sinecure-rest cure, I called it—waiting for him to cool off, I suppose. They did not know the old fire-ea'#3r, like I did. Cool off? I don't thmk! He only got worse and worse, and worried them poor recruities and tho War Office, until somebody got up a petition, and it was decided to send General Cockshoot overseas— to get rid of him. . . . That was after we'd had roast gOose for Christmas twice, I fancy, and Lord knows how many times for other days. They used to call him the old gander in the ( ranks— 'Goosey Goosey Gander.' "We hadn't been long in France before they gave us another name —him and me. What a time! He wasn't content to stay at the base with other old soldiers, but he must get into' the front lino trenches—him and me, of course. And what a. job I had to persuade him to wear a tin helmet to cover his old bald head. That just saved his life, for he would persist in looking over the top —reconnoitring, he called it. One day a sniper rung the bell on his tin hat, and sent him silly for a clay or so. As for gas he had no idea what it meant and utterly refused to don the mask.

" Fancy mo all the while—me, a married man with responsibilities—trotting behind him as he strode along them trenches —he was about seven foot high— and pulling his coat tails to keep him from exposing himself, and cursing him all the" time. ' You silly old son of a gun, if you don't keep your blanky head below that blinking parapet, I'll never cook another Christmas goose for you as long as I live.' That settled it. 1 had only to mention Christmas goose and he was as quiet as a lamb. "He soon made a name for himself end—me. Somebody in tho ranks—one of them students, I daresay—christened

A of Palestine

For The Post.—All Rights Reserved.)

him Don Quickshot or Kickshot, or something like that, though, the old bloke was never much of a shot so far as I knew, being a cavalry man, like me; and a damned good one too. Me they called Hanky Panky or Sankey Pansy or something like that, it sounded, for I was never much at any language except English. That was it—Don Quickshot and his Hanky Panky—and very well known we became. You might have heard of us?" One or two nodded and the old soldier finished his glass. The Australian called for another round. , " You'll be thinking we were a long time getting to Palestine," resumed Mr. Banks, after quenching his thirst, " but we are nearly there. France did not suit the general, though you will be pleased to hear we had one Christmas goose there, a very fine bird. But the general could not get any fighting of the kind he liked—he could only get killed, and I was doing my best to prevent that. He slipped away into a night raid one time,\ and I just managed to pluck him out1 of the wire, where he was hung up like a. Christmas goose, before ' the enemy bagged him. Then he got a whiff of gas that sent him back to Blighty for a long spell. He never could manage his mask. The poor old fellow could hardly breathe when he whispered to me: 'This is no place for—us, —Banks. The age —of—cavalry—is dead.' ' Well, sir,' said I consolingly, ' thank Heaven, we're not with it.' "I breathed again. No more of the war for me I thought. No such luck. If I'd had enough, the general hadn't, and as soon as he got well a bit he was applying to the War Office again. 'I hear there is a really good war in Palestine,' he said. I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, taking the glory from the younger men. Palestine was said to be a picnic, not worthy of him, the bloodthirsty old sinner. No use—we were in Cairo a month later, and a few days after went up the line. "This time I swore if Hanky Panky was going to be with his Don Quickshot, there was going to be no hanky panky about the business. I had steered him through safe and fairly sound so far, and I wasn't going to take any risks for the rest of the journey. I caught him sneaking off to join the cavalry in the ride after the Turks, and gave him a real piece oi my mind. If we were going to have a Christmas goose in Palestine, I said, and I was going to cook it, he would have to obey orders—my orders. He reproached me for spoiling what he called his bit of sport, but he was too anxious about the goose to defy me, for it was getting near the festive season. Things looked to be running smoothly with the Christmas campaign in the Holy Land and all plans were complete for a great day, when the rain fell. Communications went to pieces. The railway was washed away in places and the motorlorries bogged on the plains. Only Fords and camels could get through, and Iwe began to feel the pinch a l_t, even 'the general and me on the staff. As for the. rank and file, they were actually on short rations.. The prospects for the goose were poor, and the old general began to fret and fume and worry me to death with questions. /

" Where w,as the goose? Did I think it would arrive all right? Would it be in time for me to coqk it for Christmas dinner? Was I sure I had made proper arrangements? and so forth—just like a little boy asking his father—ybu know. Gentlemen, when I thought what that old soldier had been in his prime, and what I had seen him do with my own eyes in the field at the head of his men, I can tell you I was upset myself, and nearly broke down. You may laugh, you young fellows, but every mari has his weakness, and it may be a worse one than a craving for roast goose. And you must remember that he was an old man now, and suffering from the effects of long service—a touch of the sun in India, old wounds, and, lastly, that smack on the head in France and the sniff of gas, which had certainly impaired his eyesight. What I know I learned from him, and I used to do nearly all his correspondence and get out his orders of the day for him, and read to him the letters, both private and official, that came to him. We had no secrets from each other, and, though we swore at each other in private, I always knew my place, and kept it on parade. I owe everything to General Cockshoot, God rest his soul."

The old man was almost overcome with emotion, and the tears came into his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. The big Australian leant over the table and patted him comfortingly/on the shoulder. " We understand," he said, " we've had our mates too and lost them. Drink up and we'll have another in their memory. Then you can go on, if you like." Drinks were served again, and all stood and drank to mates gone west. Old Banks passed his hand through his grizzly hair, gave his moustache a twist, and looked up smilingly. j " I was thinking how the general came to be so fond of geese," he exElained. "He once told me that when c was quite a little boy—he came of a military family—he was struck with The resemblance of geese to soldiers drilling, how they marched together, wheeled together, turned together—all with the most perfect discipline. It's a wellknown fact, of course, but it was a discovery to the little lad, and he thought there must be some virtue in the goose that was worth acquiring by. one who was going to be a soldier. And he enjoyed his Christmas goose all tho more for that thought. Something like cannibals devouring their enemies to absorb their martial qualities into the system. He could never remember going without roast goose on a Christmas Day. " Well, gentlemen, it got nearer and nearer the appointed day, and still no goose—not even word of the goose. The general was making himself ill with worry, and I can tell you I was at my wits' end myself wondering what to do. I felt sure if the old chap did not get his goose, he would never survive the break in the habits of half a century, and I was not going to lose my old friend for the lack of any effort to put a goose, or something like a goose,' before him for his Christmas dinner. " I left no stone unturned in search of a goose.- I scoured the whole countryside, all the villages—dirty, stinking holes* they were—but nobody had a goose. The Turks had cleaned up the land too thoroughly in their retreat. I could get a fowl—scraggy, long-shanked, squawking things they were—but never a sign or trace of a goose. I had heard of your colonial goose, Mr. Australian, made out of a leg of mutton, but I knew the old man.would spot the imposition, if I tried it, for 7 his eyes were dull, his taste-never was. I was up against it, sure enough. " With about two days to go the weather cleared up a little, and a convoy got through with rations. There was a good deal for our mess—wine, beer, whisky, cigars, tinned stuff, and what not—but still no goose. Personally I

would have given it all for a goose for the'old man's sako. • " Still, I did not altogether despair. I The Ford boys on the convoy told us the railway had been repaired as far as the base depot, and the geese and tha turkeys for the troops were expected through tho day they left. They would try to get them out to us—our goose— next day, which was Christmas Eve, God willing and weather permitting, and barring accidents. " Considering about forty miles of muddy plains, narrow, greasy, tracks through gorges, and on the sides of steep hills, separated us from the goose, I reckoned it was something of a forlorn hope, but I did not tell the old man so— he couldn't stand any more disappointment.

" I'm not a religious man—you can look in my paybook—"but I prayed that night like a young woman for a husband, or a boy to Santa Claus for his Christmas present—yes, gentlemen, I'm not ashamed to say I prayed God to send us our annual goose for the old general's sake. The old soldier paused in his story, and somewhat agitatedly rose from his chair and took a turn up and down the room. The veteran of the old Regular -Army was written all over him, plain to be seen in the still erect figure, the rounded chest and martial swinging gait. " If any of you were in Palestine at the time," he continued, still pacing the floor, " you can't have forgotten the weather of Christmas Eye. It blew up a storm of wind and rain, and half the tents in tho camps went down during the night. The last chance of getting the goose seemed gone. I never expected the, convoy to come through. I had resigned myself to the last resource for the general's Christmas dinner—an imitation goofie—to delude the old fellow, if it were possible, when early on Christmas morning, while the general was still asleep, a message came that some of the transport; cars had arrived. Saved at last, I thought, as I rushed down to where they were parked. Tlie officer in charge of the convoy thought they had the goose somewhere—he was too tired, and, he looked it—-would I see for myself? I searched all the cars, but there was no goose. They told me that several had been unable to get through^ and perhaps it had been left on one of them. I coul3 get no satisfaction, and came away seeling that all was over. The news would break the general's heart.

"To my astonishment, when I got back to camp, I found the old gentleman already up and seated outside his tent in the sun, which had begun to shine through the clouds. He was smiling and cheerful and as gay as if there had ' never been any such thing as trouble I about a goose or the lack of a goose. IHe was Tike tho old general of many merry Christmases of the past. I " '"What's gone wrong?' I said a bit testily. 'Surely you can't have given up the goose? Or perhaps you've had it stowed away' all the time just to vex me? I can tell you ' " 'You.nesidn't tell me you haven't got it, because I knew you hadn't before you spoke, you sour old reprobate. Your long face gave you away.' ■" "Then why this mirth?' I said, my temper a bit on edge with the worry. "'Because we're going to - have our goose after all/. he said with his old grin. " 'Then it'll be a miracle, like the manna or the loaves and fishes,' I flung back, thinking all my anxiety had been needless, if he was going to take things so easily. " 'Now don't be irreverent, Banks,' he said with a touch of seriousness. 'I've had a dream, and we are going to get our goose. Get dinner ready early, I'm expecting visitors. That'll do now, _Sanks. Don't expostulate. That's an order.'

"In all my long connection with the general I never saw him in higher spirits than he was at that strange Christmas dinner—the dinner without a goose. We had 'the table out under the olive trees ; it was sunny and warm and sheltered there from the wind. The gale had blown itself out in loose low-lying clouds through gaps in which the sun shone ibrightly. The officers were seated about or strolling under the trees waiting- for the bugle to announce that dinner was served. The general was chatting with a little group around him, listening to light banter about his absent goose, for the case was common property in the mess now. The old gentleman was giving back just as rood as he took, amid laughter at his quick repartee. Now and then he glanced at the skies as if he expected, as one officer said; the goose to drop from the clouds. His manner was serene and calm a3 it had been in his best days.

"As for me, I moved about my duties mechanically, like a man going into action, past caring, resigned to fate, whatever it should be. I was beyond hope and beyond despair, with but one faith, and that was in the luck of the old general. We had been in many a tight corner before, and his luck,, or his faith, I don't know which it was, had always pulled ns through. He was a great believer in Providence, and he used to say his prayers every night, though he did swear like any old trooper any other time. He feared nothing and nobody, and his only weakness was over the goose. He seemed to have got over that this time, and it was comical to see him waving away the apologies of the convoy officer for failing to bring 'the goose. 'Don't worry, my good fellow,' I heard him say, 'we'll have the foose here for dinner, if it has to fly.. 'ye had a dream- '

I "The table was set, and a fine show it made. The general looked at his watch and turned to me. 'Are you ready, Banks?' he said. , " 'Yes, sir/ I replied, 'except for you know what.' He motioned to the bugler, who blew the call. "'Come, gentlemen,' said the general, 'take your seats and let us begin.' & "I have waited at hundreds of dinners in my time, with some of the greatest men of the day as guests, but I never saw a dinner that promised so well as that little affair on Christmas Day under the olives in Palestine. The old general surpassed himself as host, kindly, .genial, jovial, and mellow, putting all the company at ease with the true spirit of the day. There was only one thing missing and that was the goose. Grace had been said, soup was over, and they were starting on the tinned fish. The goose was to come next. I had a joint ready, and a thin like your colonial goose, Mr. Australian, something stuffed, but" ' I knew it would be all up and the old man would collapse under the disappointment. I could see tho strain of every passing minute was beginning to tell on his spirits, though the company | might not have noticed it, he bore himself so well. "Just then a faint humming noise from somewhere in the sky made itself heard above the gentle rustle of the westerly breeze through the leaves. Tho guests looked up and began, to stir uneasily in their seats. Tlie sound was familiar, but we could see nothing for the clouds and the overhanging branches of the trees. Then suddenly and ominously the sound ceased. "''l wish the old chap hadn't insisted on flying the flag to-day. It's such a good mark/ I heard one officer say. "Then there was a great rushing swish; and through a gap in the clouds swooned towards our Christmas party an aeroplane. "There was an instant stampede from tho table, and the general and I were left alone, the general staring with his weak old eyes in the direction of tho sound, me rooted at his side see-

ing all happen as clearly as®l can see you now.

" 'My dream,' he had time to say, still smiling, when something dropped from the side of the 'plane, only a few hundred feet overhead. "I seized tho general's hand and wrung it. 'Good-bye, old friend,' I said in his ear, as the thing landed j on the tablo with a tremendous thud j and crash of—crockery. I waited for; the explosion and the end. How long it was in coming, but—what was that strangely familiar savoury odour stealing over tho table?' I remembered the sweet, sickly smell _of the gas that had ended our career in France, and with an in- j spiratiori tried to pull the old man from ! the table. He had a most fascinated, \ ecstatic look oil his face, as he contemplated the fallen object among- . tho plates. . . ■ ."■'Gas, gas!' I yelled mhi 3 ear. 'It's a new form of German poison gas. Wake up! wake up!' " 'You blithering old idiot, Banks,' he ' roared back, all energy again. 'Haven't you got a nose?' Gas be damned—it's goose! ROAST GOOSE AND STUF-1 FING. Can't you smell it? Go and get a dish.' "Then ha turned round and called put loud: 'You can come hack to dinner, gentlemen, the goose has arrived.' "And they all came back and sat down rather sheepishly, but he soon had them at home again with his high spirits. I dished up the goose, or what remained of it, for it had suffered a bit by the fall on the table. But it was a splendid bird, dono to a turn and piping hot, too, strange to say. The only thing about it„was that the two wings were missing and , the parson's nose. General Cockshoot did not mind, as he preferred the legs and breast and stuffing, but it did seem 3 bit curious. If they dropped off in the air, it was a wonder nobody picked them up. A wag among the guests suggested that the ■ angels, who, according to the general's dream had dropped tha goose from: Heaven, might have been hungry with tho long journey and helped themselves. Anyhow it was a real goose and everybody enjoyed it. We all got drunk, including the batmen. It was the best Christmas dinner I ever. had. There was a long pause. The story seemed somehow incomplete and the company waited expectant for Mr. Banks to proceed. Instead he resumed bis :

seat with an air of finality and emptied his glass. "Is that all, Mr. Banks?" queried the chairman. "All for the present," replied the old soldier shortly. ; "It appears to me," said another speaker, "that the story leaves a good deal to be explained, if you don't mind me saying so, sir." "Of course," observed the veteran calmly, "Did you ever hear of any miracle that did not require a good deal of explanation? ' I have given you the facts as I promised; it is for you gentlemen to explain them, if you can. There was the general without his goose until the middle of his Christmas dinner away in the wilderness, far from anything like roast goose, and, 10, the goose dropped right on'the table right before .our eyes at the very time it was needed. If that wasn't a miracle—well, I don't know what was. Still, if you're not satisfied, I'll be pleased to answer any questions as far as I can." "Any questions—any complaints?" came the invitation from the chair. "You say you-saw an aeroplane, Mr. Banks?" was the first question from a man who was apparently qualifying for the legal profession. The old soldier nodded. "Then I suggest as an explanation that the general may have rung up the nearest aerodrome for delivery of the goose by aerial despatch. That's the sort of stunt they are doing every day now and nobody thinks it' a miracle." "I should have mentioned," rejoined Mr. Banks drily, "that it was an enemy 'plane, though I Know poor General Cockshoot did not realise it, his eyesight was too weak."

"Perhaps it was a practical joke on the part of some Hun airman with a, sense of humour; some of them were pretty decent fellows," persisted the nonbeliever. "Did you see anybody in the 'plane?" asked the Australian who had followed the narrative with increasing attention. "Well/" returned the old man, "it all happened so quickly—but I fancy there was somebody waving to us over the side—looked like two people." "Wasn't there some message with the jroose?" and "Didn't the A.S.C. trace their goose?" came two questions almost simultaneously. Before the witness could reply—and he seemed puzzled—the Australian inter-

vened: "Wait a bit, Mr. Banks, I thftik I can throw some light on this. Your story has interested me very much— niore and more as you came near Ithe climax—and I rather imagine I'm in it. If you'll permit me', I'll tell you what! I know, but it will take a little time ana I think we'll havo another drink first." j. "Certainly, Mr. I "Kelly's my name—Kelly of the Liitht Horse, at your service, and if I may choose a toast, it will be that of "Ifhe Ladies.' You'll usually find when, it comes to considering miracles, there';? a woman in the case. 'Cherchez la femrne' ;you know. I The toast—-"The Ladies—God bless I'em" was duly honoured and the Ausj tralian began: 11. THE AUSTRALIAN'S STORY. "No doubt you all know what tihe Light Horse did in the campaign in Palestine, and I need not go into th at. We were pretty well knocked up aftier I the ride to Jaffa, and some of us g»t ' leave to go down to Egypt. I viras one. Just before Christmas I Was xe-. called and went back with a number of other details up the line. The win ter rains had begun in Palestine with a.vengeance, and we found at the adv__iied base that the railway had been washed out in several places and the plains wore practically under water, and that, instead of going up by train and moilor lorry, we'd have to march it. "Now I'll go anywhere with a horse, but I hate foot-slogging worse than at ivthing I know. And forty miles of it over the most awful country in the woirld —rain and mvd —worse than out-back in Australia in flood timej—not me--I guessed I would find a conveyance somewhere en route. "I thought, my luck was out that dajrWe started in the early morning over a country which looked as if it had ju:it • come up out of the sea and was sti U dripping. Those mud villages where the Arabs live gave me the creeps. Onb would have thought they were big seaimonsters breaking through the crust witl's their-flat roofs like a turtle's back ami the ragged vegetation hanging abou'f; them Hke seaweed. We saw nobody about, and as for a conveyance—then>> was a lorry' hero and there stuck in tht» mud up to the axles, like a fly on fly-

paper. That was all. We were about the only moving thing in the landscape, until the Eords came along in the afternoon. " ' Here's my chance' I thought as they came slowly squattering along through the mud—nothing could go fast along that track in, winter—and I slipped out of the ranks and hopped aboard an old 'bus near the end of the line, tumbling right over the driver. He was a pretty smart fellow with his steering and cleared a bad hole with an inch to spare. " ' Well, of all the— Why, it's Kelly !' he cried. 'What the blazes are you doing here?' " 'You've got me' beat, mister/ I said, ' but I'm much obliged for the lift.' ..■■,..- ---" 'Don't yon remember Luna Park?' And then I recalled a night out in Cairo together. 'It's little Mayhew.' He was a little fellow with fair curly hair, blue eyes and a pink and white skin. He always reminded me of the girl who plays the soldier on the stage. . "My luck was in again. I had, liked the bloke as soon, as I saw him that night,, in Cairo. .'., " 'Lucky you're a privileged person, Mr. Kelly,' he said, glancing over his shoulder at my late comrades in the column of details trudging behind us like a funeral procession. 'You've evidently been missed.' "'A soldier's farewell to them,* I said. 'Carry on.' "W« were making painfully slow progress through the mud, moving by fits and starts, as one car got stuck and? had to be helped out, and then another audi so on. The clouds had banked up black in the west, and the rain was beginning to fall in the gusts of wind. It was now late in the afternoon, and the light was failing. " 'What day do you reckon it is, Dink ?' ached Mayhew suddenly after a long silence. - "I did a little mental arithmetic, working out the 'days of my leave, and mad© it out Jo bo the 24th, ? Deoember.

" 'Christmas Eve, I thought so/ said the little man from his perch on the driving seat. 'Now, what kindi of a. Merry Christmas do you think we are going" to have this- journey with a sk_; liko that? Last time wo had' weather liko this I was out three days in the rain, and I don't like it.' " 'No more do 1/ said I. 'Now, what's th© plot?'

" 'We've got the noble job of carrying Christmas rations to the brass hats up tho line,' explained the cherub, 'that's why I thought it was somewhere near Christmas. If you'll stretch over the hack of this seat, under cover of my extemporised waterproof ' (he was wearing an oil sheet round bis neck), you'll find- something in a sack. Lift it out and put it unfler the seat.' 1 "I followed instructions, and got hold of something soft in a bag. 'Feels like a bird,' I said. "'That's all right,' he assured me, 'Hurry up. I wouldn't like the general's goose to get wet.' "Then be added : 'I hope you like goose, Mr. Kelly. I prefer turkey myself.' , " 'You little / I exclaimed, admiringly, using a term of affection in our push, 'I don't quite know what your game is, but, whatever it is, Australia will be theie.' "We put a few more useful articles for Christmas under cover, from the wet, and then he remarked that the old) 'buß eeemed to be going badly. " 'I'm afraid we'll never get through to-night,' he said. "I hadn't noticed anything wrong with the old Ford myself, but somehow I shared' the driver's apprehensions. The next stop he hopped off quickly, and pulledi the ragged, rusty thing of a bonnet up and did something with tho works inside. " 'Clever device this system of ignition, but apt to go wrong in wet wea ther like this.' He winked at me from underneath the bonnet. " 'You're talcing a risk, aren't you?' I said. " 'Well, yon know war is full cl dangers/, was his reply. " 'You'll be'shot if you're Caught.' " 'I'll get my death of cold if I'm out all night again in weather like this. I was turned down for the infantry on account of my chest. It's" worth thei risk.' "Just them a big fat M.T. sergeant came waddling up, cursing andl .wearing. 'What the 's wrong now, Mayhew V ' "Same old thine, Searge; old age. You know this is- the oldest car in the company. Must have been in the retreat from Mons.' " 'For the Lord's sake do something to fix it up. The captain's going mad. Here he comes,' and the sergeant pro- ! ceeded to.give Mayhew all the abuse he

could lay his tongue to—just for the benefit of the officer. "Little Mayhew started winding her up as if his life depended on it. Then, he gave it up, and the sergeant' had a go. Not a spark, not a sign of life in the '•,old 'bus. The captain looked on with a portentous savage scowl. He was too full for words. " 'We can't wait, sergeant/ hesnariedl out at last. 'We'll never get through to headquarters with the rations by next Christmas, at this rate. Let him stay behind and have his Christmas with, the Bedouins. That'll teach him to keep his car going,' and he turned round on his heel. The sergeant followed, but, before he1 went, he mentioned that a Corporal Clarke was coming up behind with aniothei straggler, and would give Mayhew a hand, and he gave a kindly grin, as he waddled off after ths officer. " 'The sergeant's not a bad fellow,' said Mayhew, 'but the skipper's an ass. Christmas, with the Bedouins !—I suppose we can take that as an order.' "The tail-end pf the convoy passeout of sight over a slight rise in the road, and that moment Mayhew was all activity again. " 'We've got to get busy/ h« said, 'before Tommy Clarke gets up.' " He dipped into the works again, didi some rapid adjustment, gave a turn to the starting handle, and we were off again.. ;' "Wonderful thing that Ford ignition/ he said. 'You never know.'

"The storm burst before we hadl gone very far, and the rain came down in sheets, with flashes of lightning and growls of thunder to the west. The 6ickly, muddy light of the day was fading out into a dirty night. We had no protection wliatever on the Ford, which was simply a kind of open tin tray, with a plain bench for a seat, exposed to al' weathers. The car hadi been equipped for the desert, and there was nothing to keep the mud from the wheels from splashing all over us. We were getting very wet, when Mayhew ■swung her off the road, such as it was, up a sort of lane between cactus hedges leading up to what looked like one of those Arab villages. Water was pouring down the channel almost up to our hubs. We pulled up under a big tree and took shelter. We saw in the dim, watery light a car pass along the road tit the foot of .the lane. "Tliat'll be Tommy Clarke trying to catch up with the

Wnypy.' paid' ljttle Majtasw, through the -rpar Q f the wind, and the rain. After a fthort-interval came a bilge .camel popvoy, iriileslong.. It took over Mi hour to go 'by, ari4 l^s passage parried us into the night. W|a"'cpiU<|' seldom see the camels, except when j* flash of lightning . flw» 'bsbfcf, SMhd, but- we' cpuld hear the slop/clop, slop of feet in the mud, vthe scrjearo when one shopied' arid fell, the''gutturai curses pf vie Egyptian .drivers/the • shouting of (the officers',' and the "crack of th*\revpLyer that epded the camel's earthly tatter. ' . "'"■' „ •'- 'Vyhat' are we waiting for, Tom? my,?' |ai;4 I at last, a bit' fad up. 'We can't stay here all night.. Iv» your move again, '"* -"-'f know,', replied the imperturbable cherub,.. 'We're waiting luitii the folk in the village go to bed. '^(Ye are, going to dio a bit of hpusebrpaWng'tb-mgh.t. I've been herje before.-' ■ ''Hss' lighted one of ih« oil lamps on the car and looked at' hie wateh'. 'I think" we're safe now,' he said! •'Come along.' "We were moving towards $he village when a figure of a'soldier staggered! put; of the dripping darkness and lurched up against me, with a despairing cry: ■'I'm done!' '■"" "'■'" : * ' ''Mayhew turned the light ,of the lamp on his face, and I 6aw an English sergeant who had been with mi pa the march wtyh the details column. " 'Quick, Tpmmy, hold Eim,'/I yelled. 'I've gpt a jibttte of cognac here I brought back from Egypt. He's nearly outed.? ■ "j gave the sergeant a strong nip, and he revived a little. 'N<jw" on with the hpusebreaking,' I said, i "We walked forward,' the sergeant between us, until we' earn* to the outskirts of the mud village,' and stopped before a mud wall in which there wap a small door about a yard square. The* door' would hot open. '"'" "What about'a drink, Mr. Kelly, while ypu proceed to the hpusje/breaknig?" put in pne of trie listeners. V "Good erfpugh," returned the Augtraljan;' "They're pn youI,'' and drinks we're seryed.'"' " »—_•<<■

"That door," paid Jjhe Australian, "was feplted with a w.<x)den bplt of a patterp as old as Safflsqn, but we poiildp't jnana^e'the combination apd we h^ji tp chop ii opt of the miij}.wall jyith pur bayonets. I reckon there's a future |p t,hat ijuildine material: it's aa'tqqgh as a rubtfer tire. We efept inside arid" exaniihed thp |4tpripr by the a|d pf'a lamp. Ifc was fujl -,bf cqrri straw and brushwood and dried pacsus ahd'sprng' "stij'fjf'we didl npl know yhat. 'It" must have/been the vjllage barn," and hardly a' house withip the meaning of the Apt,*■bij't it'was/ijry and jjyreet ■ iitfide " and. anyhpw, a' perfect refuge from" the'sform. Here was'pl'enty pf wood fpr a fire, and "there Beaps'qf straw for bur"beds'. The sergeant a«4 X gq't' tlie'fire' -,"ihg,')vhile the eh#rub"wjn't to fetch things up from~thecar. Wehad the (h*'** boiling by the' time hp came back Ipaded like a camel with all sorts of things, including the Chrißtmas goosetrip jih4 ,ts» was ready, "with .bully apd biscuit to eat.. ! '"We supped iri pur shjrjs, our wet • clothes drying on stick* around the fire. A*s pld campaigners, boys, you will understand, we were happy. ' I moved a hearty yot» pf thanks to the cherub for his fpresight in selecting such a comfortable spot for a Christmas Eye supper, and that brought up the talk of Christmas just as we have Tieen talking' to-night. But we talked of Christmas in peace instead qf Christmas at war, \ and remembered the Christmas stocking, and. the .. Christmas dinner. Full and contented and warm •in our cosy refuge,' while the raip swished on the thatched roof arid the mud walls outside, we "swapped war experiences, too, and the sergeant showed us bis wound-scars and the marks left by the new poison gas thpy were using against us in France. He, was a great spjdier that 'sergeant—lndia when war brbke'out, Mesopotamia in '15, France in '16,' and now Palestine.' He had bits taken put of him,all over the ruace, anjl yet ht' was the most modest' man I ever came across. j "There 'was only one thing wrong .with that barri, and that was the lack qf a .chimney for the fire. There was no iotjtlet for the'sriioke'bHt the little door," and that was' a bit too low down to be any good. Mayhew had carelessly pitched on tlie blaze some.cactus, apd that made matters worse. . " ' , ' "We all started coughing, and—so did somebody e;lge 1 There was sqmebqdy else in the place.' We grabbed' bur bay*opefe<| rifliap and rushed to the .corner where the noise came from. Mayhew pulled the bruahwopd away, and. we stood oyer with bayonets ready, to jab, when we saw to pur" utter' astonishment a wbriian with a l>aby |n her "arms".'' "I Have tqld you how -vye were dressed, or, rather, undressed, and you' can fancy hoy? we felt. It wouldn't have, been so bad if'she had been an ordinary Arab woman—they don't seem to matter—but she wasn't, though she was 'clad in the Native cpetujhe.' Shj&". wap a lady iji tier oyYn country, we could see" that, if her clotlies were travej:'stairiea. " She \(ras like one 6f these beautiful veiled women we used to see in Efiypt with eyes shining like stars. The curious part was that, though she was dark" like'ah Eastern, • woman,' the baby was fair,' with"i-'edl-<hsk hair and blqe eyes/ The little fellow did/ pot seem" at all cpncernVd/." but sleepily p$ put his hand towards our bayonets. ;. " , .

"She seemed scared to death of us, and no wphder, arid neither the sergpant upr I could make her understand there was no riepd tp he alatrpcd—bur Aiabip w£r* top meagre fpr that —arid srie didn't seem tp understand any English,' jjhe simply looked at us with those dark unfathomable eyes and clung tight to the baby. '

"Then we heard strange sounds behind us, arid saw a "look' of intelligence come hrfp the lady's solepm eyes, and there was pur friend the cliprn^, with ii little bqpk in his hand, like a'bishop in" his, frock reading a le'sso'n'i spitting out wpr4B in an putjandish lingo like sparks. And thp lady's face became animated, and she began to fpealc", top, and soon" the,conversation was hissing apd spluttpring |ik> grepn' wpod pri "a fire. '''. " ' "We stood it for a time, then I touched the cherub on the 'shoulder. T.appreciate your vocal powers,' I said, Jpijt wquld you mind interpreting- The pepgean't' arid me 're in this.' ''" 'Sorry, Pink,', 'he/'apolpKi&f4, 'the lady's bn|y telljqg hip all about! it.' '"■ 'Let's have "it, then,' said 1../ " !j3he says her husband was an officer with the Turks, and he's gone'—and lie pointed upwards. 'Gone west, d'ye rhean?' said I, He nodded. ." 'Apd that's she ,3pirig here?' I as^ed again. ■'.'■"■' "'She's trying to gpt back tp her, people with the baby,' he replied. ', " 'Well, all' I, cap say,' said I, 'she's got a job. And what's that nipper doipg with ginger hair anyhow?' " 'Hpw dp J know; d!.Ye think I'm gpipg to ask a married lady a question like that?' Hp championed her indignantly. "Tilings' looked like gettins a, bit hot over the baby's fiery hair, when tho sergeant chipped in/ 'Look "here, Jads, it's Christmas Eve; what about a stocking for the baby, for old times' sake?' ' ('That cleared the air, and the motion was carried rieih. coii. ' Whilo the lady snt" down', by'the fire, which was burning red now without smoke, and ate heartily

of our frugal supper, we searched about for Christmas presents for the young Turk, .or whatever he was. "Tbere are'hp stockings in the army, but we managed to rake up between us a passably clean pair of socks. For presents we combed through all our scanty store of belongings, and filled the pocks with a strange "collection of things fojr a ypungster, about a year old, to wit: "From the sergeant, as senior in rank and service, one cartridge, „to cut hi? teeth on, as the veteran explained; one Indian war medal with ribbon . (rmich prized); one old jack-knife with lanyard. From,your humble/one /Aussie badge, greenstpne Maori tiki', ope pippo scarab from tine Pyramids'■ (I don't think), pne Australiajrflorinl From Private ilayhew, A.S.C., M.T., one silver pencil-case, one book of poems, autographed/ ■ '■.'

" "From its general itock of provisions the assembled company fibntribiiteo*: pne' tin' of Macdriochie'g M. and V.^rations, one tin of Australian peach jam, one tin of spaghetti (from the canteen), and seven assorted biscuit*. "It was .getting late now, and the fire and candles were burning out. We rnadg the lady a Comfortable' bed of millef. straw in her corner J and fenced it with sticks on which we hung the iwp loaded socks, with the rest pf the presents alongside. "We drank the baby's health —he lay sleeping peacefjiny in his mother's arms—in tea, wltli.just a suspicion of Cairo cognac, received the lady's assurance—through the cherub—that she would partake of Christmas dinner—we told her pf the general's goose—-with us on the' morrow 'without fail, bade her goodnight—through the \cherub—and turned iri, the sergeant and'l in'the far corner. The, cherub volunteered, for guard, savin? one never knew what these Araty villagers : would do—he had been robbed befpre. Wp agreed to relieve him when he called us. / -

"I riiust have slept soundly. When I woke up the sun was shining through the little square doorway on little Mayhew dozing oyer his#bpok, with his rifln under his crooked elbow. The sergeant was still asleep, snoring with the ugly shore of the once gassed. The lady and her child were gone. ?JI jumped up and gave the cherub a prod. He woke with a start. I nointed to the empty corner where our two Christmas "guests had been. 'Look, they've flown,' I said. "'Well,' he replied calmly, -it would never do for her to be found here, nor us either for that matter. We'll have to get out right away. The weather's picked up and the transport']! be on the move again, and they might spot us from the road. We must be off. Hey, Searge!' "The sergeant was awake in a second, like" an old soldier, and in a few minutes we were packed" up and off again in the car. "Mayhew drove us quickly round the side of the village, where the men and women were already stirring in their lazy, sleepy fashion as if time were eternity. We climbed a* sandy slope wherp the Jyoune grass was-peeping up after the rain, as it does but back in Aussie, topped a rise, and drew up some distance down the other side. '? 'I think we'll be safe enough here,' said young Mayhew, pulling up. '\Ve can see the road from the top and not be seen.' "It was a fine morning- after the rain, and the-country looked better. A few scattered Wriisps of cjoud were all that was lpft of the storm. We were. settling down to make, breakfast, when the sergeant ca|led but'su4djniy: 'Thpre she is.' We looked where he was pointing, and there was a beautiful sight I shall nevei .ijjflwi./.'-' s: '••"'■*■ '■■ "Opt lady Pi &c PWi]al was kneeling on the top of a little hillock like ours to the east, and at her side was the baby, sitting on the iaiid watching her b'pw pyer anpi anop her head till her brow touched ■ the grpqnd. knew she was saying her prayers, perhaps for the father pf her child, We did not d"**^l!s lier, and it was long before she realised pur presence. When she did, she gaye\a flight mptiqn of the head by /way of greeting, but did riot rise. "We all agreed that an early dinner would be advisable, fpr we^ealised quitp well what it would mean if we were caught with the general's Christmas/gpos.e. We had up excuse,- as it wa|» labelled distinctly 'General Cockshpot.' Yes, it was the general's goose all right. We were like schoolboys robbing an orchard, but with a far more serious punishment than a thrashing Swatting us if we were caught. "Still, 'dangpr is the spice of crime,' as the cherub put it, arid ive had - gone far too far for explanations. The Only, thing was to cook our goose and eat it with the least possible delay. So we set to work. The' sergeant made the fire; I dressed the bird, and the cherub went down to the village, where he knew the sheikh, for materials, onions, herbs, etc., for the stuffing" -He was' back loaded by the time we were ready for him.

" 'How did you manage it?' I said. ■ ■f ?I told the old chapthat/if he "didn't part up, AUeiiby would come dpwn with his army apd burn his village. Therp was no difficulty in securing his consent.' We laughed. That little boy was very resourceful for an Englishman', and ought to rise in the army. He did, as ,1 found but later, by joining the Air Force. "We roasted that goose on spits, over a roaring fire that made'a lot of smoke, then "we basted the bird with some carpel fat the cherub had procured -in the/ village! He was a'triflp anxious oyer the smoke, which he said might "easily attract the attention/bf any passing airroan who might come dpwn to have, a' closer look. ''"

f'The gpose was browning nicely, and we were'about to signal'the Uidy that dinner would soon be ready, when we heard that distant humming that makes everybody who has beenthi-qugh ah air raid run for the nearest hole. We could see' t|ie little speck moving towards us from the north. Friend! or foe^both were dangerous to us alike. ''Then the sergeant, who was' bastipg, ,w»th a touch of nerves dropped the fat in the fire. Up went.a column of thick, black smoke, just as if it were a isigrial to the airman. The fat was in the fire all right. The 'plane shot down straight towards us, and 'now,' by the big black crosses pn the wings, we saw to" bur horror it was an iaert\y -plane. " A man who stands out in the open when a hostile aerpplape is coming' at liim straight is either a hero or a fool. We were neither. We did not! emulate your general, Mr. Banks. We dropped the goose and ran. Peeping over the edge of the wady, where we were trying' tp camouflage ourselves as browsing sheep, we saw the!'plane come circling round like" a treat bird of prey, and on the further hill the" dark lady and the child playing round her feet with his Christ-, mat-gifts'of ours, his auburn hair shirjing like a flame in the sun) She Sid riqt seem at all afraid! Far from it; to our infinite astonishment she raised her arms arid held them but towards the machine now sailing low.' As/if by some magnetic attraction the airman' instantly responded, and made a perfect landing just by her side. The next moment he was out and locked in her embrace; We say? his big red head on' her shoulder. Then he picked up the baby and hugged him, and' their heads together made a brilliant patch of colour in'the dun landscape. ■ " We looked at one another with complete understanding; the relationship was top obvious for words.

" 'I. thought ypu said he had gone West!' the ' sergeant . reproached tlie cherub. ■„ . ' " !'*'.Oh, Hell,' ejaculated the linguist in tones of disgust,'*' ehe said he had

soared away,- and I took' it poetically, and it was a fact.'' "The discussion was cut short by a cry from the sergeant: ' Look at that! She's told him about us and thai goose, and—they're coming over.'! •: "So jfchey were, and at,a great pace too, the red-headed pilot in the lead. '"Come on,' said I, 'or we'll Ipse pur ( goose.' we started* to run.. Pretty soldiers we were—we had left our rifles by the goose in our rush for cover. "It was a race, and we might havo won, but the pilot, seizing the situation, whipped out one of those nasty-looking long German automatics and had us covered in a. tpcond. • ; " - Halt where you stand or I'll shoot,' he called out in perfect English. . ' •"We must have cut's pretty ridiculous figure of three, as'we sheepishly; stopped arid held up pur hands.. The lady came frpm behind and said something to him —in German, I'm pretty sure it was. He laughed. ' „

" ' I'v.e heard all about, you and the fppse,' he said with mock severity," ajid 'ye a good mind to report you to your own officers, -and you know what would happen then. It's oui duty as officers to 'mainta|n discipline even in the enemy's forces.' put if you're shocking soldiers, you'rp three good-hearted' chap's, and I'll pass it over this time, but don't let it occ'ui again. The goose I must restore to its rightful pwper,' "Our glum/faces at this (depressing announcement after all our "trdujble sent him into renewed peals of laughter. The lady^ who was clinging to his left arm, whispered something to him again, pfeading'pn our behalf, I supposed, arid he said relentingly:'' Oh, 'all right,' it's Christmas Day, and we've fraternised before now, haven't- we -r—,' and he ealledi the cherub by some artistocratic-sound-ing name' which' wasn't .tyayhew. Tho little fel}ow nodded sulkily.' . * '■'' Anyhow, what are you doing her<» now?' added the pilot. "'Seeing if I can rise in the British Army by merhV-fpr'a wager, replied the cherub, like a spoilt child. "-One of the lions led by asses, eh, Babe?' suggested the pilot. 'But there is no time for explanatipns: Let us to purgpose".' '" '" " .'" "\ " ",. " Se 'we sat down on thesand to our Christmas dinner, the pilot and his. lady and the baby; on one side, and we three on the, pther. The pilot was a brave man, to take, such risks, and I admired him for his sporting spirit. Tfiere was his machine, there pur car, and. round the fire the six of us. '•

'"'Just time ' to' tak<s ppt-lnck with ypu, gentlemen—-just a minute to pick a bone wjth ypu arid then we're oft nome.V my, wife and I arid the baby. We'll "take a win'g'apcf ypu two cap take a wing' (meaning "me arid the sergeant), arid Lord r-~"■' (again that 'funny namp) can have the parson's ripse.' " The cheru^ looked daggers at him, jmd then, seeing' if was no use, grinned his cherubic best. ' Ypu old sausage, Von^' he cried,' 'wait till I meet ypii in civil life again, and I'll put the gloves on with you.'! '~ C "It "was all dpub|e-Dutch to me and the sergeahf,'but—our troubles—we were giving that goose-wing a gqpd thrashing. The pilot'and his missis made me blush the way tti*y gnawed at that bone of theirs together. Then they gave it to tjie baby to sue}!:. Quite a family P-j-T!?. , wjth'the cherub—-Lord Who's Who, or sopieth|ng like that, making a beast of hiriiself on the parson's nose. '''Time to say gopd-byp,' said the , pilot 'looking*at his watch, 'the general \ be missing .his gppse, and I know he wpul.d never *'get oyer it- Come pn and see us off.' ' ''"'"' ' "So we set off just like a blanky picnic party in the bush, the Geraian, hi? wife,'and the cherub in frpnt^ all chatting familiarly, together, anct tbeaerg'ea/hi and me/ bringing iip the rear, the . sergeant cfwying the baby—l suspect he was a married man, and it reminded him. of home, the, baby tweaking his nose—and me, the mug, toting the wing-: less, short truncated goose that' looked like one of those "New Zealand khyis, plucked' and cooked. ' ."^Vhen'we got to the machine, the' pilpt'shook handsall iound,'wished iis again c merry Christmas/ hoisted his wife and yottngster and all the parap'|ierna'lia„ ipcliidittg bur presents, into the observer's seat*, swung/the propeller "trtd jumped/ in himself. «c was a fine-lobkiiig-chap. 'C^tch,/Aussie,' he cried, as "the 'plane began to move,' and flung me something in straw. It was, a large-, bottle. " .' " 'That'll make/up for the goose,' he shouted, 'anc| ypu pan drink pur healths. Good-bye.* '.'''.' "! ■ "Arid I heard the lady call out eomething'that sounded'just'like: 'Gbod-bye Mr'.'! Kelly,' though the cherub. said r it a dignified farewell to us all. "'What language were• ypii 'speaking to her ariyhqw,' said I 'last night?' ".'Esperanto,' was his brief reply. I don't "carej''"!' shall always think Bhe said'goo^-bye to me", especially ,_ and take it as a complinie|it to Australia. ' "That was the last "we saw of the \ pilot," the dark lady, the red-haired baby, and our! goose. We clearied off from that spot as quickly as we could, and "parted a few miles down the road, after scoffing the champagne, all going! different ways'. I never' saw, either the sergeant or the cherub again. "That's the way in war. The rest of the story you have heard'frbm Mr. Banks." / ■' ■ ' "Perhaps I may be permitted to add," said the'old narrator of the first part oi this story', ''thatl knew bpth the Baron , Yon F—— anil Lord M , I won't gjve th/eir names. They were at' St. Qwenhn's tpiipther; the Baron was one of the <?eriplii i?hpdes, scholars.", He was.always - a gen't^em^n and very liberal with lvs money. "Lord M—- was known «s 'the • Babe;' They ye'ere great friends.' The - B^rpn was' "often up at General Cpcksjiqqt's, of whom -he was a,fK?';>f 'mirer. J knew it was he propped the gqbse pn pur' tsblerbpcause I picked up thi? bit of paper." The pld 'splc)ier produced a greasy bit of paper from his pocket''book, aria read,;—' ' " '■/. TO A GALLANT SGLDIEB, GENERAL pOaKSHOOT, V.C:, D:B.p. . T/he Compliments of the Season' from Erip and H^hna vpn F—tt. All,best wishes and hopes for a Christmas dinner with you in happier times ■ ■' with, a Christmas goose.—A. F..' T. OHORLTON-" '