MILITARY DIALOGUES
Reading edition
I Army Reform
Scene.—The drawing-room of the Colonel's quarters, decorated with trophies from many lands and water-colour sketches. Mrs. Bulkwise, the Colonel's wife, a tall, broad and assertive lady, is giving tea to Mrs. Lyttleton-Cartwright, with the stamp of fashion upon her, and Mrs. Karmadine, who has a soul for art—both ladies of the regiment. Colonel Bulkwise, a small and despondent man whose hair is "part-worn" gazes morosely into the fire.
Mrs. Bulkwise (waving a tea cup). As surely as woman is asserting her right to a place in medicine, in law, and in the council, so surely will she take her proper place in the control of the army.
Mrs. Lyttleton-Cartwright. What a lovely costume one could compose out of the uniform. I've often tried Jack's tunic on.
Mrs. B. (severely). The mere brutal work of fighting, the butchery of the trade, would still have to be left to the men; but such matters as require higher intelligence, keener wit, tact, perseverance, should be, and some day shall be, in our hands.
Mrs. Karmadine. And the beauty and grace of life, Mrs. Bulkwise. Surely we women, if allowed, could in peace bring culture to the barrack-room, and garland the sword with bay wreaths?
Mrs. B. Take the War Office. I am told that the ranks of the regiments are depleted of combatant officers in order that they may sit in offices in Pall Mall, and do clerical work indifferently. Now, I hold that our sex could do this work better, more cheaply, and with greater dispatch.
Mrs. L.-C. "Pall-Mall" would be such an excellent address.
Mrs. B. The young men, both officers and civilians, who are employed waste, so I understand, the time of the public by going out to lunch at clubs and frequently pause in their work to smoke cigars and discuss the odds. Now a glass of milk, or some claret and lemonade, a slice of seed-cake, or some tartlets, brought by a maid from the nearest A. B. C. shop would satisfy all our mid-day wants.
Mrs. L.-C. And I never knew a woman who couldn't work and talk bonnets at the same time.
Mrs. C. Just a few palms—don't you think, Mrs. Bulkwise?—in those dreary, dreary rooms, and some oriental rugs on the floors, and a little bunch of flowers on each desk would make life so much easier to live.
[Colonel Bulkwise murmurs something unintelligible.
Mrs. B. What do you say, George?
Colonel B. (with sudden fierceness). I said, that there are too many old women, as it is, in the War Office.
Mrs. B. George!
[The colonel relapses again into morose silence.
Mrs. B. The Intelligence Department should, of course, be in our hands.
Mrs. L.-C. I should just love to run about all the time, finding out other people's secrets.
Mrs. B. And the Clothing Department calls for a woman's knowledge. The hideous snuff-coloured garments must be retained for warfare, but with the new costume for walking out and ceremonial I think something might be done.
Mrs. L.-C. The woman who makes my frocks is as clever as she can be, and always has her head full of ideas for those sort of things.
Mrs. C. Michel Angelo did not disdain to design the uniform of the Swiss Guard. Perhaps Gilbert, or Ford, or Brock might follow in the giant's footsteps.
Col. B. You ladies always design such sensible clothes for yourselves, do you not?
[He is frozen into silence again.
Mrs. B. And the education of young officers. From a cursory glance through my husband's books on law, topography and administration, I should say that there are no military subjects that the average woman could not master in a fortnight. Strategy, of course, comes to us by intuition. The companionship and influence of really good women on youths and young men cannot be over-rated, and the professors both at the Staff College and at the Military Academy should be of our sex.
Mrs. L.-C. I always love the boys; but I think some of the staff college men are awfully stuck up.
Mrs. B. Now as to the regiment. The mess, of course, should be in our province.
Mrs. L.-C. How ripping. The guest-nights would be lovely dinner parties, the ante-room we'd use for tea, and the band should always play from 5 to 6. We'd have afternoon dances every Thursday, and turn the men out once a week and have a dinner all to ourselves to talk scandal.
[The colonel groans.
"Regimental Orders"!
Volunteer Captain. "Ah, Sergeant Jones—didn't I send you an order to be at headquarters on Monday, at nine o'clock, with a corporal and six men for duty?"
Sergeant. "Yes, sir. But I think if there was a little more 'request', and a little less 'order', it would be (a-hem)—better!"
"BOBS"
An Indian idol—as worshipped by Mr. Thomas Atkins. (The property of the British nation.)
"BOBS" AS A BOBBIE
["Coronation Claims.—There being no succession to certain offices, the appointment thereto rests with His Majesty, and the following are regarded as probable candidates:—Lord High Constable—The Earl Roberts," &c.—Vide Daily Mail, Nov. 19, 1901.]
SORROWS OF A SUBALTERN
"Curious way that boy has of salutin'. Don't believe it's correct!"
The Dog!
(A romance of real life.)
The Gallant Major. "I beg a thousand pardons for the apparent liberty I take as an entire stranger, but may I make so bold as to ask you, is not this one of that wonderful breed of black or Chinese pugs?"
The Pretty Lady (most condescendingly). "Yes, you are perfectly right, and if I am not mistaken, you are Major McBride, of the Ninety-ninth Hussars."
[From that moment they became fast friends, and within the next three months there appeared in the "Morning Post," 'A marriage has been arranged between Major McBride, of the Ninety-ninth Hussars, and Mrs. Bellairs,' &c., &c.
"One of our Conquerors."
Imperial Yeoman. "Much obliged if you would pick up my sword for me."
TOMMY'S SUNDAY AFTERNOON AS IT WILL BE
["It has been decreed in several line battalions that in future no soldier will be allowed to walk arm-in-arm in the street with a female."—Daily Paper.]
"Oh! I say! 'E 'as got eyes after all!"
Doctor. "Don't feel well, eh? Appetite all right?"
Tommie. "Eat like a wolf, sir."
Doctor. "Sleep well?"
Tommie. "As sound as a dog, sir."
Doctor. "Oh, you'd better see the vet.!"
THE JOKE THAT FAILED
Lubber. "I say, Jack, do you know why they've painted the ships grey in time of peace?"
Jack. "I s'pose 'cos it's a neutral tint!"
[But the other didn't laugh. He intended making that witticism himself.
SCENE ON BOARD H.M.S.——
"I say, why am I like the Queen's chief cook? Do you give it up?"
"Yes."
"Because I am in a high cool-and-airy (culinary) position."
[Astonished cadet nearly falls from the yard.
You young monkey, how dare you joke up in the air like that? However, we look over it this time.—Punch]
