e platoon, whereupon, by a further process of elimination, due to the
fact that he has only sizes 7 and 8, he selects the fortunate twelve who
are to walk dry shod.

The same method of procedure is carried out in selecting the braces.
Private Reynolds, whose trousers are held in place by a wonderful
mechanism composed of shoe-laces and bits of string, receives a pair;
likewise, Private Stenebras, who, with the aid of safety pins, has
fashioned coat and trousers into an ingenious one-piece garment. Caps and
puttees are distributed with like impartiality, and we dismiss, the
unfortunate ones growling and grumbling in discreet undertones until the
platoon commander is out of hearing, whereupon the murmurs of discontent
become loudly articulate.

"Kitchener's Rag-Time Army I calls it!" growls the veteran of South
African fame. "Ain't we a 'andsome lot o' pozzie wallopers? Service? We
ain't never a-go'n' to see service! You blokes won't, but watch me! I'm
a-go'n' to grease off out o' this mob!"

No one remonstrated with this deservedly unpopular reservist when he
grumbled about the shortage of supplies. He voiced the general sentiment.
We all felt that we would like to "grease off" out of it. Our deficiencies
in clothing and equipment were met by the Government with what seemed to
us amazing slowness. However, Tommy is a sensible man. He realized that
England had a big contract to fulfill, and that the first duty was to
provide for the armies in the field. France, Russia, Belgium, all were
looking to England for supplies. Kitchener's Mob must wait, trusting to
the genius for organization, the faculty for getting things done, of its
great and worthy chief, K. of K.

* * * * * *

Our housing accommodations, throughout the autumn and winter of 1914-15,
when England was in such urgent need of shelter for her rapidly
increasing armies, were also of the makeshift order. We slept in leaky
tents or in hastily constructed wooden shelters, many of which were
afterward condemned by the medical inspectors. St. Martin's Plain,
Shorncliffe, was an ideal camping-site for pleasant summer weather. But
when the autumnal rains set in, the green pasture land became a quagmire.
Mud was the great reality of our lives, the malignant deity which we fell
down (in) and propitiated with profane rites. It was a thin, watery mud
or a thick, viscous mud, as the steady downpour increased or dimini