WAR-TIME WITTICISMS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 41, 29 May 1917, Page 2

WAR-TIME WITTICISMS.

SOME YARNS TOLD BY THAT PRINCE OF STORY-TELLERS, R. G. KNOWLES. Soldier stories ? I know just a few, and I’m given to understand that the following arc true ones, but I really must leave it to the Editor to argue with the Censor. Of yarns concerning the irascibility of drill-sergeants there is no end, and this one was related to me recently ; The sergeant had been trying for hours to instil the rudiments of drilling into a pa.! ’ uilavly awkward ■quad. At last, in an icy voice, he wid ; "When I was a !;•■! I had a box of wooden soldiers, and one day I lost 'em. Now, after f.U these years, I wem to have found the beastly things !” Another sergeant, an Irishman, was drilling his raw recruits. Disgusted at their erratic idea of marching in a straight line, he yelled : "Halt ! Now, jest you step forward and come and look at yourselves ! It’s a foinc straight loiae ye’re kapiag, ain’t it?”

me lollowing gem was also perpe- | trated by an Irish soldier. He was asked by the instructor : “Why should a soldier always be ready to die for , his country ?” ■ Pat looked puzzled for a few mo-; ments. Then a look of understanding crept over his face, and said he brightly : “That’s quite roight what ye sez, sor. ‘Why should he ?’ ” 1 A major, returning very late to a training camp one dark night, was challenged by a zealous sentry doing bis first bout of sentry-go, and proud of his responsibilities. '

Then the major found that he had forgotten the necessary password. So the enthusiastic sentry barred the

way. “Don’t be absurd, my man !” said the major, in a none-too-gentle voice. “You know me well enough. I’m Major Blank.’’ “Afraid I can’t let you pass without the word, sir.”

“But, confound you, man, I tell you I’ve forgotten it !” “Sorry, sir ; not my fault, sir ! Must have the password.”

“But, dash it, I tell you I’m Major Blank !"

“Yessir ; but it’s strict orders, as you know, sir. Must have the ” Then came a muffled voice from a near-by tent : “Oh, for ’Baven'’s sake, Bill, don't stand there arguing all night ! Shoot ’im !”

After a bayonet attack two British soldiers were lying’flat on the ground to escape the flying bullets. In a few momenta oue of theta said :

“Come OHi Jack ! Let's be getting on !”

“Can’t !” answered Jack. “I’ve got plugged in the leg !” "Never mind, old man,” said the “I’ll carry you on my hack.”

"ffi’l you?” replied the other promptly and in a v c-’ce. “I don’t think ! Another bullet iu the back for me and the bloomin’ V. C. for you !”

Captain Brown —let us say—had bean giving his compam a brief lecture on their behaviour in pubbe, during which he said : "If a civilian should try and induce a quarrel in a public-houoe, the well-behaved soldier would drink up his beer and go quietly away.” After his speech the captain questioned his audience on various points.

“Now, Private Smith,” he said, “what would you do if a civilian tried to quarrel v;ith you in an inn ?’

“I should drink up his beer, sir, and ’ook it !” came the prompt and beaming reply. Evidently the advice found favour in that particular recruit’s eyes. The following story was told by an officer stationed at Seaford : A rather simple-looking young recruit was seemingly bewildered by the maze of cross-questioning he was being subjected to. Then came the question concerning the allotment of allowances, etc.

“Next-of-kin ?’’ asked the officer sharply.

The recruit dropped his voice and became confidential.

“I’m only wearing a vest, sir,” he replied. “My shirt’s at the wash.” After a long spell of heavy rain the conditions in the trenches were far from happy, but the high spirits of the men holding them absolutely refused, as usual, to be quenched. “Buck up out of this, my bonny soldiers !” cried a cheery sergeant to his men, who were waist deep in water.

“Soldiers!” ’’said one of them. “I’m not a soldier ; I’m a bloomin’ bulrush !”

Here is an actual conveaation that I overheard in New York. Two negroes were talking about the war. One coon said

“Doggone them Germans ! They certainly am a terrible people. They just done sweep all over Belgium like a plague. Soon they’ll be cornin’ right here to America, an’ what are you going to do then ?” “That ain’t got nothin’ whatever to do with me,” the other negro answered calmly. “I’m nootral !”