Combed Out. F. A. Voigt
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F. A. Voigt
Combed Out
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4057664600974
Table of Contents
"The silent, colossal National Lie that is the support and confederate of all the tyrannies and shams and inequalities and unfairnesses that affect the peoples—that is the one to throw bricks and sermons at."
(Mark Twain).
COMBED OUT
I
SQUAD DRILL
Our Sergeant looked at us contemptuously and we looked anxiously back at him. Then he gave his first instructions:
"Now I'm goin' ter show yer 'ow ter do squad drill. It's quite heasy—yer've only got ter use a bit o' common sense an' do hexac'ly as I tell yer. Now we'll start wi' the turns. When I gives the order Right Turn, yer turn ter yer right on yer right 'eel an' yer left toe. When I gives the order Left Turn, yer turn on yer left 'eel an' yer right toe. Now just 'ave a try an' see if yer can do it.—Squad!—now when I shouts Squad it's a word o' warnin', an' it means I want yer ter be ready ter go through yer evverlutions. Now then, yer s'posed ter be standin' to attention. That's not the way ter stand to attention—yer want ter use some common sense—when yer stand to attention, yer stand wi' yer chest out, yer stomach in, yer 'eads erect an' facin' to yer front, yer shoulders straight, an' yer 'ands 'angin' down by yer sides wi' yer thumbs along the seams o' yer trousers. Now then, Squad! Stand at Ease! … When I gives the order Stand at Ease, yer places yer feet about eighteen inches apart an' yer clasps yer 'ands be'ind yer backs, yer right 'and inside yer left, but yer mustn't look round or talk until I shouts Stand Easy! Now then, Stand at Ease!"
We obeyed the command with fair smartness, only a few stood awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with their hands or doubtful whether their feet were really eighteen inches apart.
Recruits.
"That ain't so bad for a first shot," said the Sergeant, to our great relief. "Now, remember what I told yer about standin' to attention—when I gives the order Tshn! yer all springs smartly to attention. Now then, Squad—Tshn! … No, no, I wants it done smarter'n that. Stand at Ease! Now then, try agin: Tshn!—No, no, that ain't 'alf smart enough. Try agin. Stand at Ease!—Tshn! That's a bit better, it wants a lot o' improvin' though. Still, yer only a lot o' rookeys* an' yer can't learn everythink all at once. Now we'll 'ave a bit of a change an' try the turns."
We turned to the right, the left, and the right-about. We were all depressed or resentful and thinking of home. We performed the movements mechanically and repeated the same mistakes time after time. The Sergeant was losing patience. He glared at us and bawled out his orders. But the hour came to an end and we were dismissed for breakfast.
The breakfast interval seemed to pass like a flash. We were back on the parade ground, standing at ease. Another Sergeant approached us and yelled "Number Four Squad—Tshn!" We sprang to attention and stood rigidly erect, not daring to move. The roll was called and then the weary round of drill began again.
We marched up and down in response to commands that were barked at us in a sharp ringing voice. As the minutes and hours crept along we became sore-footed and thirsty, for the ground was hard and the sun very hot. From time to time we were allowed a brief respite. We would then sit down on the parched grass and feel the stiffness of our limbs and the burning in our flushed faces.
We learned to "form fours" and to "form two deep." We formed fours again and again, but someone was sure to make a mistake every time. Our Sergeant shouted abuse at us, but no one cared. We passed on to other movements. We "changed direction to the right" or to the left, we "formed squad," we advanced, we retired, we wheeled and turned and gyrated. The stultifying occupation dragged on as though it would never cease. Our sore feet, our aching limbs, the burning sun, and our clothes clammy with perspiration maddened us. Suddenly the man next to me began to sniff and a tear rolled down his cheeks. Our Sergeant observed him and shouted "Halt!" and said:
"Don't take it ter 'eart, yer'll soon get used to it. I know it's bloody awful at first. Fall out an' sit down a bit."
The man—a tall, elderly fellow, with dark hair and bushy eyebrows—left the ranks and flung himself down in the grass, sobbing violently.
"Pore bloke, 'tain't orften they're