Free Sergeant Nelson of the Guards by Gerald Kersh

essential. I’ve seen some of it working out East, and so has your Squad Instructor, Sergeant Nelson.
    “Sarnt Nelson. A word of warning about him. He’s the decentest Sarnt you could wish to ’ave. He never goes about punishing fellers. He never chases you more than you can stand. He won’t bully you and chivvy you till you don’t know where you are. He’s never too tired to explain something to you. He’ll stand by you through thick and thin in the event of trouble. Nelson is ’uman and a good bloke. But Gord ’elp you if you take liberties with Sarnt Nelson! Just that: treat ’im decent and ’e’s a pal. Take liberties and ’e’s a terror. You’ll find that out, Thurstan, if you want to start something.
    “You? Hodge? You’re a big feller, Hodge, and they like big fellers in the Guards. What do you weigh? You don’t know? Well, all I can say is, Blimey. Somebody told me you’d been seen reading the Bible. You’d be surprised ’ow things get around ’ere. Remember that, all of you, and be careful what you say. Some’ow or other, news gets about in this Depot quicker than at a tea party. Well, there’s nothing against reading the Bible. I’ve never read it myself, but far be it from me. That is what I say—far be it from me. Why, we’ve ’ad blokes here reading poitry before now, and one of ’em used to write it. I’m glad to see you, Hodge.
    “And you. What’s your name? Bullock? Scrapper? Good. You won’t get a chance to box ’ere: you’ll be too busy otherwise engaged. We’ve ’ad a few decent scrappers ’ere in peacetime. Danahar. Jack Doyle. We used to ’ave some lovely fights in peacetime, but I’m afraid there’s none o’ that at present. There’s a war on. Religion? C. of E. I’ve got to put down a religion because of Church Parades. The Roman Candles go to Communion. The C. of E-ers go to a service.
    “Now I’ll tell you roughly what you do. You get up at five forty-five, when the second Reveille sounds. Then you wash and shave with greatcare, because they’re ’ot on washing and shaving ’ere. Then you make your bed up. You make it up nice and neat—I’ll show you ’ow—because they’re ’ot on making beds up neat in this place. Then on top of your blankets you lay out your ’oldall, containing your knife, fork, spoon, button-stick, razor, and shaving-brush, all polished till you can see your face in ’em, and your mess tins, also polished, laid end to end, like this … with the canvas bag neatly folded in the middle … so.
    “Got that?
    “Now your lockers must be kept neat and tidy, because they’re ’ot on lockers ’ere. In the top shelf, your battledress, neatly folded—they’re ’ot on neat folding—and your stiff cap neatly placed on top. You will polish your chinstrap till it looks like patent leather, and get the buttons up till they sparkle, because if there’s one thing they’re ’ot on in the Guards, it’s buttons. Got it? Good. On the lower shelf you place your brushes, all properly numbered, sandpapered, and laid in proper order. You mustn’t keep any personal property in your locker, because they’re ’ot on that, too. When you make your bed down at night, you’ll lay your battledress down to crease: I’ll show you ’ow, because they’re dead ’ot on creases in this Depot. Your boots go up there on top. Got it? And you’ll ’ave to work on them boots. They’re full o’ grease: you’ve got to work it out, with energy, spit, and polish. Spit is the best thing for boots. A little polish: a lot of spit; that’s the rule. And your greatcoat must be hung on the left-’and peg, with the buttons polished till they blind you; because they’re ’ot on that, I can tell you. Kitbag on the right-’and side, neatly tied up.
    “You’ve got to salute an officer whenever you see one. You’ll be taught ’ow by Sarnt Nelson. That’s ’ is job, poor feller. You’ll be ’ere for eight or nine weeks. It used to be four months,