THE ORDEAL.

War Wit, Volume 1, Issue 4, 1 May 1941, Page 18

THE ORDEAL.

He opened his eyes and lay there gazing at the ceiling. He had hardly slept a wink, but he didn’t care about thathe had a sick feeling in the stomach, the kind of feeling that you get when you know a horrible ordeal is in store for you. There was a knocking at the door. “I’m ready,” he said. Heavy footsteps did not raise his hopes any. In fact, the very monotony, of their dull tread filled him with horror and dread of what was coming to him. . A door was opened for him and he stepped inside. His eyes dilated in terror as he looked across the room; his mouth.gaped open as he realised that the time had come. His arms were gripped from behind and a dessertspoonful of cas-tor-oil was tipped into his mouth. “You’ll feel better for it, son,” said, the M.O. * * *

/ Private Brown was grumbling about the five very fat pieces of meat on his plate compared with the one very tiny piece of juicy meat, when in walked the orderly officer. “Any complaints?” he asked. “Yes, sir; this meat is all fat,” said Private Brown. The officer picked up a fork, deftly, pinned the one juicy piece of lean and .ate it. “Tastes good to me,” he said, and walked off amid the laughter of the company at Private Brown’s face as he surveyed the remaining pieces of fat. ■ - * * * The Germans are now broadcasting propaganda in Gaelic. Even Scots ought to see something funny in that. * * * According to one writer, “the war has taken the divine spark out of motoring.” Well, the spirit, anyway. t