Before the Travelling Medical Board.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 6, Issue 266, 13 April 1917, Page 3 (Supplement)

Before the Travelling Medical Board.

Every unit in training (says the i Weekly Scotsman) has its "crocks" —, that is, generally, men classified as unfit for general servico and included in | categories B and C. As long as he remains thus classified, life for the ' "crock" may he hard and humdrum,! particularly if he is put on guard duty, ' but it is smooth and uneventful in a wider sense. The oaJl for "men and' still more men" might be insistent: the "crock," or home service man, can look on the course of events with equanim- , ity. The call does not concern him. So j ho thinks. But sometimes h e is mis- ' taken. j Periodically a flutter comes to com- ';

pany "bunk" and billet. "T.M.8." is heard on tho l:ps of men who know, and who have probably run the gauntlet of as many as three or four sucli Boards. In the company "bunk", or orderly room, a list is made out, and in this list are included fill N.C.O.s and man who are not in A 1, or fit to proceed overseas. Even the company ser-gcant-maior, 37 years of age. rheumaticy and "long past marching"—he has the Transvaal and other ribbons' on his breast—is obliged to present himself. PARADE FOR T.M.B.

Then tho fiat goes forth—" Parade to- ! morrow at 9.sharp for T.M.8." At 9 the 'following morning a cheerless process'on wends its way from each company headquarters to the local hospital. The morning is bleak, wet, icycold, and an invitation into a largo baro room on tho ground floor is very welcome, even if the pervading smell of lint and carbolic is suggestive of thoughts hardly pleasant. The com-; pany officers are present, kicking their j heels in th© corridors or smoking by tho fire in tho medical officer's sanctum. !

The weary wait goes on till ten; then, shortly after the hustle begins in earnest. Tho "Board' arrives—a Staff , Colonel, active, loud-voiced, incisive; ' another officer of tho same rank, big, bull-necked, purposeful; next, a junior officer who acts as general factotum together with tho local M.O. An imposing enough cavalcade, bringing not a little awe to tho big bare room where already the men of "A" Company havo started to undress, lining up near the door in tho order their names appear . in tho list. j

"Don't like their looks," comments M'Ma-nus, who, as company sergt.- ' major, comes first. "I'm having « pot at it anyhow. It's my walking-ticket I'm after this time. And I'm wanted . in the yard." Before being recalled to j tho colours, M'Manus was a familiar : figure in ono of the big Clyde yards. "It's a farce," adds the sergeant i next on the list. "I'm (for A.l —evan ! if I can prove I'm without two arms . and a leg." "Hurry, Jake, it'll soon be yotir turn," says another through chattering teeth to a mate who is still involved with his puttees. ! "Ay, our number's up!" responds | Jake, disconsolate. j Tho officer hustles in. .

"Look slippy there! Now, see that you're in order, and when your names aro called come along—slick. Answer your names—Smith, Walker, Thomson

THE SHIRT-TAIL QUEUE. As his name is shouted out, each man shuffles into his place in the huddled, frozen, shirt-tail queue with a muffled "Here, sir." " Wo jined two years too sune," says the pessimistic sergeant.

" It's the Salvation Army for me next time," another voice takes him up. A urown-faoed youth near by keeps a firm lip and says nothing—it is too cold. There are two gold bars on the tunic he cast aside; twice lie has been "out," and twice wounded, with a whiff of gas the second time. He has two fingers missing off his right hand, has been on "light duty" for a month or two back, and, frankly, hopes lie has seen the last of France.

"M'Manus!" is shouted down tno corridor. The next examination is .soon over. "You aro an old soldier?" said the colonel.

• Fifteen years, sir." "What do you do?" Tho medical

WHEN SOLDIERS "CHANGE CATEGORY." *

officer is brief but interested, and, nil the time, with his back to the light, his searching eyes travelling up and down tho wizened warrior before aim. "Ho is so-and-so's batman—.has been for tho last year," an officer leans over to saw

"C 3 is rapped out, and the next man's name s bawled down the passage.

And so the business goes on. Thirtyfive or forty men arc put through the null inside the nour—just a little over a minute each on tho average. Others join the shivering, huddled queue and speculate on their chance.?, wounded men returned to their unit, " unfits," misfits—men who have never seen service, and probably never will. "Wucre were you wounded?" one is asked.

Ho shows the mark of tCie bullet on his body, where it went in and where it came out His arm is powerless, ho asserveratcs. The ruthless medical officer of experience is ready with some simplo test. "Conic, there's a good boy—those are not the muscles affected by the wound at all!" he will say, and nobody is there to say he is right cr wrong. A WORKING PRINCIPLE.

The principle may not l_p a sound on e —in somo cases it is necessary, perhaps—and it is, that all men are regarded as deceivers until the examination has proved their story, or disproved it. Your average this too -well, and hoTiates to be told in a polite_.rounda.bout way that he is a liar. As a rule, therefore, ho says very little, and, indeed, even if his story is good and convincing, and he feels that it is his duty to himself or others to mention any facts, he is allowed no timo to tell it. Occasionally, such a case will crop_ up and feathers will bo ruffjed. Tho twice-wounded man, for instance, thinks rightly enough that he has done his bit. Until the announcement of his inclusion in the "T.M.8.", ho did not doubt but that he was home for good. He t;hows his mutilated hand, tho remaining fingers of which have become paralysed and useless.

"Try him with a rifle! suggests tho senior medical officer. And, while ho engages himself in the next caso .nis colleague adjourns with the .wounded man to another room. A rifle is fetched, and experiments carried on. "I couldn't use it," says the man. "I'm not trying to get round you, sir."

"Wo know that, my good lad," says the officer, who is sympathetic and patient, but anxious to get his way. "Wo're not asking you to use it—not at tho front, at least. We want you to do garrison duty abroad, which is quite another thing, as you know. You've dono your bit—let's be quite straight about it. But you know how hard up tho country is, and we won't put you into B unless we feel sure yen are fitted for it. Now, just try—get the rifle up to your shoulder —finger round the trigger, please. How's that? You could shoot if the occasion arose, couldn't you now?"

There is a touch of irony in the young man's gmile. "You don't got mo," ho says. "Send mo to Franco again! If I can do the ono job, lam able for the other. I'd as soon go bade." Down in the big room for a third time, ho breaks out. "Do you take mo 'for a liar?" Whereupon lie is bundled out, cautioned, and, after a wea'-y wait, is un«iblo to find out whether ho has been changed into category B for Garrison Duty Abroad, or left ir : C. There were men ready to toll hjm that he was lucky escap'ng A, but that was their point of view. To some, A 1 is the worst of misfortunes, and s nee, generally, they have been "out" and wounded and wore V-erta.inJy among tho first to respond to their country's call, who can blame them. M'Manus waited on hopefully and. towards the end, one of tho men of another company comes to fay that ho has had a peep at the revised list.

"You, M'Manus —you're Al !" M'Manus hardly looks it: but in this way aro the gaps filled up.