THE ARMY THAT WAS.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XLVII, Issue 13050, 12 January 1917, Page 5

THE ARMY THAT WAS.

TRANSFORMATION OF THE OFFICERS' MESS.

BUSINESS OF WAR

Not many of the young subalterns that swarm the streets of London today have ever stood up in full nwss kit in an officers' mess to reply to that old service toast, "Mr Vice, the King!" The days' when an officers' mess was literally a holy of holies and 1 the most elect of clubs are gone, dispelled, perhaps for ever, by the storm of war. The old mess peculiarities are talked over bv those who understood 1 them in the good old days as happy Yeminiscenos, for, although mess traditions remain to a. certain extent, the ceremonials' have, owing to the war, been discontinued. An officers' mess to-day presents an appearance very different, from the old-time mess. Young officer.'' in muddy boots and trench-soiled: khaki lounge in and out of the ,in ess at all hours of the day, some in "slacks," some in putties, some gaitoved, and others shod with cumbersome fiefd boots, but —all in uniform. There von have the first difference. Uniform is worn to-day, every day, and 1 all day. .Mufti is forbidden, and the redi mess jacket is buried, for the time being at any rate, with the frock coat, the red tunic, thq black and gilt helmet, and the steel parade sword. In peace time no uniformed officer might enter the mess after three o'clock in the afternoon. There was one exception only. The orderly officer, a figure in. blue patrol jacket, overalls, with a red stripe and Wellington boots,'was generally to be seen, consoling himself in the billiard-room making "pot shots," or writing letters in the anteroom, to while away the time until some duty called him away. IN THE OLD DAYS.

"Shop" was barred. The talk in those days of peace run to the hunting field, the polo-ground, and, among the younger officers, to the musical comedy stage. It must be remembered that in the d-ays before the war the Army, from the officer's point of view, was not so much a profession as a club or social time-passer for the more well-to-do. An officer.-;' mess was an institution where all members were ff)\ial. There were some regiments in which the officers, from the colonel to the last-named subaltern from Sandhurst, called each other by their Christian names. There were many rules, strictly adhered to, and scarcely ever broken. No dogs were allowed in the mess', "pumps" wrre a forbidden species of footgear, punishable with a fine of drinks all round for the benefit of all who witnessed the monstrosity. Sam Browne belts were never worn in the mess or ante-room, and drawn sword spelt champagne for all and sundry at the offender's expense. The waiters were soldiers, but they wore civil ia n livery and answered'only to the call of "Waiter." Tile messroom at night presented a scene which can never be forgotten by those who have sat around the long mess table listening to the yarns and' counter-yarns that were bandied from one end of the room to the other.

Imagine a long table decorated with regimental silver. around' which arc seated some twenty-odd offices, their red jackets and' white waistcoats contrasting finely with the shaded lamps and the dark corners of the room.

At each end of the table sat the president and the vice-president. In front of each was a little silver bell. When the time arrived for "The Kins" to be drunk, the president rang his hell, the vice-president answered with a tinkle of his, and the mess rose as a whole, poT't. glasses in the- right hand, the left at attention. "Mr Vice, the King!" and the subaltern who was doing vice=-presi-dent answered "The King, God bk?ss him!" From the billiard'-room next door the bandi played the National Anthem, the mess repeated the old toast with one voice, and —carry on. OUT TO'KILL GERMANS.

"The King'' is seldom drunk in messes to-day. Occasionally on guest nights the old' ritual is revived, but it is only a whisper of days. The merses of our service battalions stili uphold the. old traditions as far .as they can, but it is war time, and the peace spirit has gone out of any ceremony that may survive. The officers and men of our Nfw Armies have not the time nor the inclination to give itetiquette and tradition that their elder brothers of the service had. They ar.e o-ood soldiers. That is sufficient for them. If tiny do wear their Sam Browne belts at breakfast, lunch, and' dinner—what of it? If their dogs adorn the mess hearth and the waiter answers to a whistle instead of the dog, what does it matter? We are out to kill Germans in this war, and none know it better than the officers and men of our service battalions. "But," the old' soldier will object, "the. regiment is no longer THE regiment." Quite true, but this state of affairs is only natural. A man joins the Army now for something else than mere social pastime or even professional occupation, and what matters it whether one wears the grenade of the Grenadiers or the China Dragon of the Borders? War is no longer picturesque, and the new order must replace the old. Will the old times come back? Perhaps. But only after the German has been beaten. P- L. B.