Free Private's Progress by Alan Hackney Page B

mornin’,” said the man glibly.
    “——liar,” said Major Hitchcock.
    The man hung his head in shame.
    Eventually the major came back into position in front of the parade.
    “I’ve never been on a parade like this,” whispered Stanley.
    “You wait, mate,” whispered Cox. “Wait till ’e’s on about pinchin’ the nominal roll some time.”
    “Platoon sergeants!” bawled Major Hitchcock.
    The four sergeants marched out to him, saluted, were given orders, saluted again and marched back.
    The four great platoons were marched away, off the square to positions round an emergency water-supply tank outside the Company Office.
    Major Hitchcock clambered onto the wooden covering of the tank and surveyed them.
    “Come closer!” he shouted.
    “’Ere we go,” murmured Cox.
    “Right, pay attention,” said Major Hitchcock. “I hope this parade has woken you all up a bit because you’re most of you in need of it. I’m going to keep on with these weekly parades and get you lot organised. Some of you,” he continued, raising his voice, “think I’m the biggest shit on the face of God’s earth. Well, I am. I’ve got to be a shit when I’m dealing with shits, and, by God, some of you are an absolute shower. This business of the taps is typical. Sheer outrageous bloody dishonesty. I stopped a man this morning and asked him: ‘Who are you?’ He gave me a name and number and I knew damn well it was somebody else’s. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Where are your identity discs?’ Not got them on, of course. Pay book? In the office for a check-up. Oh yes, I know all the old yarns. What did I do? I sent for the orderly corporal and said: ‘Who is this man?’ and he knew who he was all right. Very well, I had him put under close arrest. Damned impertinence . Anyone playing silly-buggers round here is liable to be shoved in too, mark my words. Now, whatnext? Oh yes. Eighteen men were checked for not shaving on pay parade just now and they’re coming up on orders tomorrow. I’ll tell you now, they’ll get seven penn’orth. That man at the back! Are you the Company Commander or am I? I am? Well, keep your mouth shut, d’you hear me? Next week’s parade will be in battle order, with rifles. Right, get away smartly. Dismiss.”
    He climbed down from the tank and went into his office.
    “Better than a play,” said Cox. “’Ear that about shaving? Some days you could go in there trippin’ over a beard down to your ankles and ’e wouldn’t bother. Same with this colonel I was telling you about in some ways. Sometimes a bloke would go for a ball of chalk—a walk—go absent; come back next day and ’e’d give ’im twenty-eight days straight off, no bother. Other times a bloke would buzz off for, say, a fortnight, come back pissed as a newt and use obscene language to the guard commander, and all ’e’d say would be: ‘Don’t let it occur again or you’ll be shat on from a great height.’”
    “What’s seven penn’orth?” asked Stanley.
    “Seven days C.B.,” said Cox. “Cushy here, but no lark in some places. Lot depends on the provost sarnt. We ’ad one in my old battalion was ’ot on knife, fork and spoon. Every jankers parade ’e’d ’ave you doublin’ up, and what ever else you ’ad to show clean, it was knife, fork and spoon too. They ’ad to be bright, and no metal polish either, being it wasn’t allowed in Standing Orders as insanitary, and ’e used to smell ’em to see. One day some bloke sharpens ’is knife up like a razor and this provost sarnt is smelling it andit cuts ’is lip so’s ’e ’as to ’ave three stitches in it. Laugh!”
    Stanley received a letter from his father:
    My dear Stanley,
    I was sorry to hear that you are back as a ranker. A little nepotism would, in my opinion, do the Army no harm. Jenkins from the garage has a commission in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers. I saw Stilton on his bicycle talking to him last Thursday, but he went off before