THE CORPORAL'S WAY.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 6, Issue 268, 20 April 1917, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE CORPORAL'S WAY.

HOW HE STINGS ONE INTO "CARRYING ON," (By a Private.) New recruits are apt to think that the voluble men who drill them in the early days of their training are men without souls. This is not so. I have met them in the canteen, and how different. Besides, their barbed personalities are one of the most valuable elements in the hardening process of one's training. It is a fact that the first time one is is the object of their linguist attacks cne is cruelly conscious of a feeling of a smallness. One mentally shrinks within one's self; yet one feels horribly large. So large that one imagines that every eve in the battalion is on one. Yet, I will guarantee that just three weeks afterwards their vitrolic strictures will leave the most susceptible recruit unmoved. It simply has an impersonal application, and passes as a little kindly pleasantry. And really oat is all it is. When one realises that the corporal has to impress the minds of all kinds and conditions of men, he is absolutely forced into making use of one comprehensive phraseology that shall break through to the intelligence of all. In other words, he stings one into "carrying on." And this is how he does it. "Squad—'shun! "Shun!' I said, Ginger. You're standing to 'tention with yer feet, and yer 'ands is standin' at ease. Fums to the front and behind the seam 3 of the trowsis." "That's it! Inter file—left turn, 'shuwer! 'Struth there's a man there 'aint moved. Jump to it, man; yer feet'l take root if yer don't move 'em. Left turn—'shuwer! Same man agin, i'll send yer a card, cocky, an' let yer know when I want yer to move. Now then—left turn. Oh! my Gord—'ow manv lefts 'ave yer got, Oliver Crumwool"? Go on, get on with it—by the left—quick mar-r-ch. Left—left—LEFT that man with two left feet. '"Old yer heads up, yer won't find nothin' down there. Me an' the Colonel was round 'ere five o'clock this mornin' gatherin' the fag ends. 'Old yer 'eads up, I said. There's some o' yer wipin' yer noses on yer trowsis. Squad—halt! HALT! I said, that leading file. All right, let 'em go on. 'Spose they think they're spare generals." That is a modest estimate of the orders for one of the easiest and earliest military evolutions. As they become more involved so does the vocabulary of the corporal become more lurid. Thus: "Slo—pipes" (this is the recognised formula for "Slope Arms.") " 'Slo—pipes,' I said, and bust me if there ain't a man climbin' up 'is rifle. And CUT the right 'and away. Don't iop it. Chuck it aeway as if it don't belong to yer. "Lummie—if there ain't a red-headed perisher wearin' his rifle like a necklace. Jtu! vou in the rear rank. You're supposed to carry that rifle on your shoulder, not wear it round yer bloomin' neck. Yer'd strangle yerself if I wasn't here to look after yer." "Squad will move to the left in four 3. Form—foires! Quick mar-r-ch!" The squad moves off to amuse itself for a few hours at "extended, order," a very fatiguing exercise, carried out by means of signals with the arms. You double up and down fields, trying to keep intervale and a fairly straight line. You assume a prone position in the mud for the purpose of firing at an imaginary enemy. lou get up and make a bayonet charge, and generally wear yourself out. And then—the corporal strides up to some one, and demands to know "why 'e ain't doubling." "I'm puffed, corporal!" pants the offending member. "Puffed, are yer? Puffed. Well parade at six o'clock to-night outside the quartermaster's stores and draw yer breath! And you, Cohen," turning to another culprit, "wot the blazes do yer think yer doin' walkin' about when 1 give yer the double? Think yer in a convalescent 'ome, don't yer? Tryin' to work ver ticket?"

"No, corporal," answers Cohen. "Then yer're no bloomin' soldier," comments the corporal as he issues a fresh order.

But the palm for voluble invective is easily borne away by tie corporal who instructs one in the useful accomplishment of bayonet-fighting. There is the utmost psychological value in his statements: "You've gotter to put yer guts into it. It's 'hn or you, an' you've got to hurt him some'ow. I don't care 'ow yer do it. Yer can bite 'is bloomin' nose orf if yer like—but 'urt 'im." It is so horribly vulgar and callous, yet' so palpably true, as is also his statement to the following effect: "I'm tellin' yer for yer own good. It don't matter to me if yer go over

-he way an' git stuck. I shan't draw yer insurance money. It'o up to yer to learn 'ow to 'andle yer - rifle as easy as yer can. Now then!" "On guard," snaps the corporal. " 'On guard,' I said—an' don't forgit you're fighting Boches, not makin' a bit of toast. Left arm slightly bent, grippin' the rifle in front of the backsight, Tigiit 'and over the stomick, g£ippiii' the small of the butt. Good Lord, there's a man there with 'is stomick under 'is right ear. Lower yer butt, man, lower yer butt. You with the 'arf naked 'ead, I mean. That's right. And when I give yer the point don't fergit to grunt." "Point! 'Struth! d'yer call that a point? Yer'd only tickle 'em. Put some go into it. Say to ycrself, 'That's the man 'oo ran away with my missis.' "That's better. In aWit a couple of years I'll make yer work like real soldiers." That is the playful manner in which one is instructed, yet I have known that same corporal, when the orderly officer "has complained of dirty Iwiots under a man's bed, nublushingly affirm, "Man on pass, sir," what time the offending man has been standing to attention within one yard of the bed. So that corporals really have got souls. —Evening News.