18

OUR STATION.

By OLA.

(Continued from Vol. lvi, p. 433.)

"Now then, Kilo," shouts Pom, ii step this way. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the Chairman of the West End Universal Providers. Anything from a cap badge to a caster. Show the distinguished visitors over your rebate factory, young fellow "j and turning to us he whispers: <i Our Kilo is a jolly good P.R.I."

Kilo blushes and looks awkward. iI No kerosine butter and no pork in this establishment, gentlemen. An honest deal, small profits and scrupulous cleanliness is our motto. With a motto like that you can't afford to push a line in pork-can you, Pom? though not for the world would I suggest that the piggery was financed by you."

ii You don't i suggest'? I should think not, and confound your impudence!" roars the affronted Pom.

This rally refers to the discovery, made yesterday, that Pom's bearer­a Hindu Christian-has been running an illicit, but profitable, cantonment piggery in the servants' quarters attached to the officers' mess. ' Boot· legging in pork, in fact.

Pom's outburst is much appreciated by the owner of a laugh which sounds like the ~reaking of a heavy oaken door swinging on rusty hinges. It is a laugh based on chronic bronchial asthma. The asthmatic one is Khan Sahib Taffazal Husain, and the worse his complaint the more cheerful, risible and spasmodically expectorant does he become. During attacks he is like a jack-in-the-box; in the middle of a conversation he will suddenly disappear, and strange and distressing noises follow his exit. In a minute or two he will pop up again, a little shaken, but less wheezy. He is a polite man, but too unsophisticated to use a pocket handkerchief.

The arrival of the Khan Sahib initiates a series of events of psycho­logical interest, At first the old man keeps in the background; the only thing noticeable .about him is his laugh. Presently you observe that he is standing at the elbow of the C.O. or P .R.I. and acting as a sort of privileged prompter. At this stage his sudden, occasional disappearances (cum guttural noises) become evident. Finally he dominates the scene, takes charge, laughs as heartily as the rust will allow, and vanishes round the corner and comes back again with elaborate, if basty apology such as: iI 'Tis the will of Allah, but-Your Honour understands" ; or ii A moment, o ! Protector of the Poor." Relations become so intimate that you feel you ought to slip into privacy with him and pat him between the shoulder­blades; but you would have to be careful and gentle about it, for the Khan Sahib is a frail, wizened little creature. He is clad in a quilted garment-a

i ,

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sort of tailored eiderdown---shaped like a frock-coat buttoned up to the neck; black, wIth a pattern of red,rambler roses and lovers' knots in blue. A black lamb-skin pap like a small busby, voluminous Punjabi trousers and red leather shoes from Delhi complete his costume.

Khan Sahib Taffazal Husain is not only a beau, a character, and an aristocrat in his own sphere-he is an Important Personage. He is the regimental contractor-indeed, he is the owner-of the institutes of the 22nd Cuirassiers, the Royal Horse Marines and many other units in the Punjab and N.W.F.P.

The institutes are tastefully decorated in white, royal purple and grey. A liberal, but neat, application of whitewash, a lavish powdering with chloride of lime, a display of numerous basins of freshly made U pinky" and the formation of streams and puddles of cresol solution provide the ingredients of the colour scheme. The artistic effect is slightly marred by the bright henna-red hue of the proprietor's beard; but one cannot have perfection.

With the exception of a few years'interval,the Khan Sahib has been at the game since 1874, when he was introduced to the business by his late father, Najmul-Islam Bahadur. He is an adept at passing sanitary inspections with a "d." He will even show you receipted bills for bleaching powder, potassium permanganate and' cresol-to prove that, if your hospital stocks are becoming mysteriously depleted he, at least, has no hand in it.

The interval mentioned above occurred during and after the war. The old system failed at the outset; the Army made an attempt to run its own show and, in the end, to get rid of the regimental contract system altogether. But Indian conservatism, vested interests and, above all, low overhead expenses of a native, as compared with a British, establishment defeated the Army scheme. Taffazal Husain and his like have returned triumphant and will remain in possession-until the next big war breaks out at any rate.

"Very good, Khan sahib: no complaints. Oh! by the way, how is your friend the Cantonment Executive Officer? I hear he has been indisposed."

"Nay, sahib, it is unseemly to poke fun at an old man. As Your Honour knows full well, the Cantonment Executive Officer is no friend of mine. And as for his alleged indisposition (would it were true) may Allah be glorified by the idolator's early demise! The extinction of a man who worships a monkey cannot but benefit the enlightened."

" And what about his sorrowing family?" "Bah! The widow will commit suicide, thank God. The daughters can

devote themselves to the service of one of their unholy temples-of which, , by the grace of the Almighty, I have heard much and know nothing-and the sons, being uncircumcized" may starve,; and the longer and more lingering their sufferings. the better."

U Taffazal Husain, thou art a wicked old man. I pray that God may endow thee with a modicum of charity before long. Salaam."

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20 Our Station

. <j Salaam, Lord Sahib, and may your years outnumber the rose petals of Shalimar; may your male descendants cover, your name with all honour and glory. Salaam!"

In the serjeants' mess, Quartermaster-Serjeant Partworn draws off a glass of the famous Kulu beer, and is much relieved when you refuse it with: "No, thank you: notbefore·sundown." The fact that he expects you to say this in no way diminishel'l his anticipatory delight. In accord­ance with the accepted ritual, you now proceed to admire the signed portrait of H.M. The King, which hangs over the mantelpiece.. Time: seven seconds. This is long enough to permit the Q.M.S. to put down the beverage from Kulu and to wipe his lips with a jahran extracted from a pigeon-hole marked "Monday."

On arrival at the West End married quarters, we find it is imperative to point out to Mrs. Corporal Spurs that the hillside behind her residence is adorned with an unusually large number of empty tins and broken bottles. Mrs. Spurs, who has been upbraided for this kind of thing before, receives the news somewhat coldly and replies, in a disinterested fashion, that Mrs. Serjeant Surcingle knows more about it than anybody else. Mrs. Surcingle, hitherto invisible, suddenly pops her head out Qf a nearby window, and reckons that she don't hold with tinned stuff. And as for bottles-well-the less Mrs. Lance-Jack Spurs talks about bottles, the better. The effect of this is considerably enhanced by the alarming appearance presented by Mrs. Surcingle; she has been washing her hair; and everyone is taken aback-except Mrs. Spurs, who remarks that the soft soap has its work cut out.

It is at times such as these that Pom shows the worst side of his character. He simply fades away, and leaves me to face the music, with Quartermaster-Serjeant Part worn hovering in the middle distance to ensure that Hygiene shall have that powerful backing which only Administration can afford.

The road now descends gently between the long barrack blocks of the 22ndCuirassiers on the right and the Royal Horse Marines on the left. The two units are engaged in a perpetual, friendly rivalry. The fire buckets of the Cuirassiers. are a flaming scarlet, with "Fire" neatly printed in white. Each bucket stands in a tiny square marked off by whitewashed stones. The buckets of the R.R.M. are of a crimson lake colour; "Fire" is in big, bold letters of yellow, and each bucket is mounted on a small mound ofpuddledclay. The Cuirassiers are fond of monkey.s; the R.H.M. favour green parrots. The Cuirassiers go in for marigolds and cosmos, but the R.H.M. prefer hollyhocks and sweet peas. However, in one respect the two units are indistinguishable; in both the dogs are innumerable, and variegated beyond beb~f.

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The end gable of the last barrack stands on the edge of a sfeep~g. Here Pom and the Q.M.S. take theil' leave ; Kilo waves a fareweH from the steps of the guard-room, 200 feet above; and we turn our backs Oll

the West End and enter the domain of- .

~t'. Jl)anulllan ,~unwat', $ai$er-i-~.inb f3rb ~ra$$)

§anfonlllenf {j~ecutive ~fficeX', ~Ut; gJtafion.

Prior to 1924 cantonments were looked after by Cantonment Magis­trates-mostly British officers, LA., permanently seconded ,to the Canton­ment Department; Now we are being Indianized, and Mr. HaIiuman Junwar is our share of the process. He is a transfer from the Military Accounts Department, in which he led a vegetative existence for over twenty years. He is married, age unknown, thirteen children, passed matric .. Punjab University, and failed B.A.

Like Kahn Sahib Taffazal Husain, Mr. Hanuman Junwar belongs to a generation and school of thought which is fast passing away. He is an old-fashioned round peg in a modern square hole; but he is an optimist and, except for occasional doubts and disappointments, he does not realize that the receding tide of the recent past has left him high and dry on the shingle. Also, like the Kahn Sahib, he is old-fashioned in the choice Ilnd ardency of his likes and dislikes; and there the resemblance between the two men stops. Physically, Mr. Hanuman J unwar is so big and so round that he is like a colossal Tobyjug, and he is quite unable to wedge himself into any chair with arms. This disability prevents him from moving about and seeing things for himself-an unfortunate circumstance, since he iscom­pelledto delegate his outdoor work to subordinates and to rely on hearsay for information.

In India, above all places, hearsay is a weak reed. Our C.E.O. has one other defect; he cannot speak fluent and idiomatic

English. Unfortunately we cannot speak fluent and idiomatic Hin!iustani; but we are in the stronger position for, whereas we are well aware of our linguistic limitations, Hanuman J unwar is in proud and innocent ignorance of his. It is not his fault because, when he was in his heyday, British officers talked and thought in the vernacular; it was not the custom to converse in English with an Indian. Now all that is chapged; and even if the C.E.O. were aware of his weakness, he is now too fat and fossilized to effect repairs.

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22 Our Station

Mr. Hanuman Junwar's office is on the southern aspect of the ridge, and is surrounded by all the odds and ends-the waifs and strays-of the station, clinging like limpets to the steep declivity. The British .cemetery, the 8ikh gurdwara, a wood stack, quarters for the conservancy personnel, a humble bazar, a red post box and a yellow dog, bits of rusted wire, a few corks, pieces of tin, some stunted bushes and millions of stones. A slippery site, baking in sunshine and dangerous in rain.

Look! there is the squire, basking in front of his office: enormous grey-white pugri, Kashmir shawl in natural colours bordered and fringed in emerald green, grey-white Jodhpurs and patent leather shoes. The figure is majestic, but the drapery would be none the worse for all application of Lux.

(( Good-morning, babuji. How are you? " (( Good-morning, sir. I am AI, at Lloyds, thank you." « And the family? " "By the grace of Almighty Providence, in astounding and astonishing

states of health." (( You will be good enough to convey my salaams to Mrs. Hanuman

J unwar in due course? " (( By God, sir, that is act of glorifying kindness! Not since pre-War

has post-War friendly message not been sent to my wife. Sir, on my wife's part you will accept heartfelt gratitude. Often my wife and childrens are praising Your Highness's magnanimity, of which we do not see so little these subsequent times. My wife endures pain in belly since cessation of suckling of last-born. What, sir, is good for such indispositions ?"

« H'm. By the way, babuji, Taffazal Husain tells me that none of his men is allowed a cantonment hawker's pass except on payment of annas ten. But, as you know, the cost of a pass is annas eight. What have you to say to that ? " .

"Major sahib, I am man of peace. You are aware that my religion forbids me to harm even bluebottles. But, sir, if I were man of war I would consider it exigencies of Service to order execution of Khan Sahib

'Taffazal Husain forthwith. He is bad man." . "That is all very well, babuji, but it does not excuse, or even explain,

this surcharge of annas two." "I make clean breast. Your Highness knowsall'8.nd understands all.

No doubt office chuprassi Jag Das solicits annas one; he is a humble man and poor. Perhaps writer Prem Singhrequires annaSOlle also; he is man of large family and mean emoluments. These things may be; and would' you have me to take necessary actions to encourage this rich fellow, Taffazal Husain, to rob the pauper and impoverish the father of the naked and hungry? No, sahib. I swear treasury, Likhnabad, is credited annas six only per pass."

.it Very interesting, but not altogether satisfactory. For instance, neither the chuprassi nor the writer is a Muslim. Have you ever contributed to the welfare of any Mu~sulman? "

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"Yes, sahib, I have; I pay my taxes without fail not later than 25th instant per mensem." Hanuman Junwar says this with a sly twinkle in his eye, and then quickly adds: "whereas Khan Sahib pays his dues not sooner than 25th proximo per mensem-ha-ha-ha ! "

You think our C.E .O.'s English is not so bad after all ? Well-perhaps you are right.

Our Station is a judicious mixture in which there is much to praise and not overmuch to censure. However, there is one nasty blot on the land­scape. Were this a natural, inevitable, ineffaceable blemish it might cause us a certain amount of sorrow and distress; but it is not this kind of disfigurement; it is artificial and remediable and, as such, its continuance fills us with considerable humiliation and shame.

When we show our friends the beauties of Our Station, we steer them clear of the British cemetery.

You are a privileged visitor, and you are not a hard-bitten materialist; therefore, I propose to let you see the place.

"There is a certain frame of mind to which a cemetery is, if not an antidote, at least an alleviation. If you are in a fit of the blues, go nowhere else."

When R. L. Stevenson wrote that, he had not inspected the cemetery in Our Station.

The cemetery is square-shaped, and is bounded by four low walls which stand in need of repair. It is terraced, but the terraces are pitched on such an acute slope that one fears for their safety-and the safety of their contents-should the slightest tremor afflict the earth's surface. The ground is divided into small areas allotted to the C. of E., the R.C., and ({ other denominations." Each reservation is indicated by a dingy notice board; but the shale, loose stones and noxious weeds which fill the place are no respecters of creeds, for each parcel of ground is equally dismal, dreary and dilapidated lool,ing. Printed across this poor, starved acre you read the grim word 11 NEGLECT."

There is a double gate in the upper wall. It is always open, and nobody takes the trouble to close it. Facing this gate is a small building. You and I would call it "a godown," but its official title is " the robing room." It has a door, permanently ajar, and nobody seems to be responsible for keeping it shut and locked.

Most cemeteries in occupied cantonments in India are guarded and tended. Here there is neither a chaukidar to chase away the pariahs, nor a mali to keep down the weeds.

There is not even a chaukidar-mali. There are just two clergymen of different denominations and a slogan. Well, of course, you have guessed 'what the slogan is: "Financial

Stringency"; and as neither you nor I belong to the M.E.S.; we cannot do anything about that. But why should not the the two padres join forces'

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24 Our Station

ahddo something? A house divided against itself is no match for the plea of financial stringency; but supposing our two reverends were to call a meeting oLalldenominations, in the cemetery, and open. the proceedings by singing Hymn (A. and M.) No. 215, it cannot be doubted that some good would come of it. Meanwhile the poor little cemetery is simply aching for the human touch, and surely this could be provided without much trouble or expense-on the condition that you are not too critical or fastidious. A simple inscription above the open gateway, for instance. That would not cost much; about half an anna a letter. What shall it be ? Something sardonic, after the fashion of the American road notices to motorists?

HERE IS THE LIMIT OF FINANCIAL STRINGENCY. KEEP AWAY.

Or something said, like this :-

. AND LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DE~D."

Or in a cheerful spirit, thus:-

"EAT, DRINK AND BE MERRY, FOR TO-MORROW WE DIE."

No; none of these is quite fitting. In the face of this example of the length to which financial stringency can go, the philosophic vein is more appropriate to the circumstances, e.g. :-

ON ENTRE, ON CRIE, ET C'EST LA VIE; ON CRIE, ON SORT, ET C'EST LA MORT.

At parade service last Sunday we sang No. '137, Hymns A. and M. You know the fifth and sixth verses?

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, Steals on the ea1' the distant triumph-song, And hearts are b1'ave aga.in, and arms are strong.

Alleluia !

The golden evening b1'ightens in the west; Soon, 800n to faithful warriors comes their rest; Sweet is the calm of Paradise the ble8t.

Alleluia !

Yes, that is very beautiful: "Soon, soon to faithful warriors comeS their rest." And yet, when I whispered to the Honble. Charlotte-" Think of our cemetery now" -she looked daggers at me.

That is the Honble. Charlotte all over. Deep in the heart of the forest I know a lovely, grassy glade. It is

bounded by big, grey rocks which, in turn, are encircled by giant pines. Wild flowers grow there, and birds and butterflies haunt its fresh stillness. When I die I wish to .be planted in this sanctuary-far away from financial stringency. I mentioned this to the Honble. Charlotte, she being the most

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reliable and sympathetic person in Our Station. Her comni.ent" 'Was typical. "All right; I'll see it is done; but when I die I shall be quite, . content to lie in the weed reserve. Trooper Smith and Baby Brown are already there."

That is all very well; but I do not think that the Ronble. Charlotte looks at the situation from the correct angle. There is too much sentiment and too little protest in her remark. Glance across the hillside towards the Sikh gurdwara. From the outside it does not resemble a temple; but it is well bnilt and in excellent order; it is clean and tidy; the paintwork is fresh; there is grass in front, bushes on each side and trees behind. There are no weeds. It is a simple, unpretentious structure, but it and its surroundings have an air of self-respect; they are not financially stringent.

Let us hope that none of the Sikhs on the balcony of the gurdwara are glancing across at the British cemetery.

Before leaving this neighbourhood we must pass the time 0' day with old Bobad who keeps the baniya's shop in the little bazar. Re is like an aged horse because, no matter how much food he may consume, he will never fatten. The pits in his cadaverous cheeks betray the fact that he is completely edentulous. '1'he sunken eyeballs indicate a minimum of post­orbital fat. The scraggy arms and legs are devoid of any adipose tissue; they are almost skeletal. His skin is unusually dark; in contrast with a heavy white moustache and big gold earrings, it appears nearly black. Ris faded orange-coloured pugri might pass muster, but the rest of his clothing is not even up to the standard of the meanest jumble sale. Outwardly, Bobad is not prepossessing; his portrait would ma.ke good propaganda in an appeal for famine relief. But we must not judge by what meets the eye, for Bobad is a merchant and usurer of substance and property, and his wretched physique, poverty-stricken appearance and ramshackle premises are actually business assets in tbis land of paradoxes.

The baniya sits in his shop surrounded by bags and tins of rice, atta, gram, ghi and gur. Sometimes he lies on top of his comestibles and dozes. Scattered about in corners and on shelves are the lesser articles of commerce: sulphur-tipped Swadeshi matches, six-a-penny Rob Roy cigarettes, fearful and wonderful spices, powdered antimony for the babies' eyes, onions, garlic and third grade kerosine oil. Affixed to a shutter is, a smudged and tattered poster announcing that Dr. Chiranju-Lal, Dental Surgeon (retd., LM.D.), of Likhnabad, visits Our Station on the first Monday of every month during the season. Extractions, annas twelve; fillings, rupee one.

Bobad caters for the proletariat. He is also a money-lender. It is true that he only deals in small amounts; but his transactions are extensive, for most of the natives in and around the place are in his debt. Interest is charged at the rate of 1 anna per rupee monthly, i.e., 75 percent per annum; and for all the blessings bestowed upon him Bobad renders thanks to the great Shiva (or, as he says, " Shankar ") the bringer of good luck.

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26 Our Station

The little shop is the village pump of Our Station; it is frequented by all and sundry although, of course, social distinctions are carefully pre­served. Thus, a broken-down cane chair has been brought out for the comfort Of Civil Sub-Assistant-Surgeon Abinashi Ram, and in deference to this gentleman's Western leanings. Abinashi Ram wipes his gold-rimmed spectacles, attempts to sit on the chair as if he had never sat on anything else alibis life and, after five minutes of torture, squats beside old Bobad on the floor of his shop. The S.A.S. is the district vaccinator and has just been inoculating the baniya's youngest grandson. Undoubtedly, a visit from the Goddess of Smallpox is a fortunate event for any house­hold; but, wheri you live in a British military cantonment, it is easier to run the risk of Her wrath than to be on the black list of the. sirl,ar, and especially of the sirkar's cantonment health .officer.

On a bench in front of the shop are squatting Hoshyar Ali, the carpet dealer from Peshawar, and Yaran, the head pony man. The latter is inspecting second quality grain and trying to calculate the minimum amount necessary to keep his wretched animals alive-and just alive. 'l'he former is sipping sweet, highly spiced tea of a pale mauve colour, from an imitation Russiail cup. He is in fine fettle, for he bas managed to infect Our Station with an epidemic of carpet buying. Sales amount to Rs. 3,000, with a profit of Rs. 1,750, and the epidemic has not yet died away.

Hoshyar Ali's stock-in-trade is divided into five bundles, each weighing at least 160 pounds. These bundles are carried on the backs of five Kashmiri coolies who come from a little village near Tangmarg. They are. cheery, powerful fellows who deserve and earn good pay, and contract enormous appetites in the process. At present they are squatting behind the bench, close together in a circle, gossiping (the word" paise" is of frequent occurrence in the conversation) and smoking a communal and very dirty hookah; three short, quick puffs apiece, and pass.

The Mall continues its steep downward descent below the bazar and from here, on a clear day, we obtain a good view of Likhnabad.

This article purports to be a description of Our Station, and so it is not possible to say much about Likhnabad, the hub of our small universe. Were one to attempt a description of the latter, there would be an end to any further remarks on the former. Those who live in the backward mofussil will forgive. 'l'hey may even applaud-secretly. Those who live in the mountain hive of inky industry and super-cerebration will condemn. Nevertheless, and even at the risk of retaliation, it is essential to preserve herein a proper proportion. It must suffice to say that, in Likhnabad, there is a club, a cinema, an A.D.M.S., a D.D:M.S., six Specialists, twelve hotels, and about twelve hundred habus with books of regulations (amended) and typewriting machinery complete.

Our Station is not endowed with any of these advantages. We cannot compete.

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Let us resume our humble peregrinatIOn. " Rold on a moment," you exclaim; "what is a Specialist?" A Specialist is a man of two moods and two phases. In his expansive

mood he tells you about other people's mistakes; in his reticent mood he does not tell you anything. In his phase of slackness he gives you good advice and much help; in his phase of activity he says ta) "Go to the devil"; or (b) "I'll do it, though I can't understand why you don't do it yourself" ; or (0) "Right! it's up to me, sir. Excuse haste." The choice of (a) (b) or (0) depends on circumstances, the chief of which is relative rank.

A Specialist does not know the difference between an Operation Order and an Appreciation of a Situation, but he is a very rich man.

The badge of the Order of Specialists is a chunk of Aberdeen granite, denoting immovability. On one side of it is inscribed" Dermatology," "Obstetrics "-or whatever the specialism may be-together with the motto: "Responsibility walks hand in hand with capacity and power:' On the other side there is engraved a representation of a golden guinea, and underneath.this the battle-cry of the Order: A bas l'O.M.O. !

Let us continue on our insignificant way.

Rere are the East End officers' mess and bungalows. At this time of day the exigencies of military service prevent the officers from being at home; but, with any luck, we should find their ladies in residence ; it is the convivial hour of "Elevenses."

Although we are now a thousand feet below the dairy, yet we have reached the zenith of our tour.

·The spiritual .transcends the physical. What has passed has been but a prelude and, after you have met the

wife of the Commandant of Our Station, what will follow will be but a decline.

Allow me to introduce you to the chatelaine of Flagstaff Rouse, the Ronble. Charlotte.

I first met the Ronble. Charlotte at the International Rorse Show at Olympia. It is true that. she was careering round the arena on a big grey gelding, while I was occupying an obscure position in the five-shilling seats. Nevertheless, something told me that I and the Ronble. Charlotte were good friends. It was not a personal affair. I was not allowed to monopolize the lady. Every member of the vast audience, women and children as well as men, felt that here was a pal; and each was well pleased to share her with his neighbour. The best of it was-or perhaps the reason of it was-that the Ronble. Charlotte was as happy fI,nd delighted with our company as we were with hers. Even" Sabretache," the g-elding, tossed his head and flicked his tail as if to say: "Come on boys, don't sit there like a lot of tailors' dummies. Join us down here, the going's grand!" When the

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Ronble. Charlotte's magnetism is reinforced by her equine partner's flag­wagging messages, the appeal is irresistible and tbe response unstinted.

Not only does the Ronble: Charlotte impress you with the' fact that yotiare the one and only person in this. wide, wide world, but she makes the units of a crowd feel the same thillg. On an occasion such as this « Sabretache" may be guilty of a certain amount of play-acting ; I suspect he is ; but not so his adorable mistress. She is wholly unconscious, entirely serene,while her smile enraptures and her sincerity enslaves.

It happened during one of the important open jumping events. The crack riders of half a dozen different nations had performed with

varying degrees of succeSEl, but with a monotonously high standard of efficiency and skill. Wonderment and enthusiasm were yielding to boredom j the thing was too machine-like. Some of us were beginning to think of making tracks for home, when the- big doors were throwll.open, the band struck up Vesta Tilley's old song" Here's to the lass who loves a soldier," and competitor No. 9 cantered into the arena. It was at once evident to everyone that No. 9 and her mount were neither pothunters nor Robots; they were out for the fun of the thing. The grey gelding swept over the tan with long, easy strides while his rider sat down in her saddle as jf she were part of it-a perfect picture of grace, harmony, and power.

" Sabretache "took the first fence like a bird, and proceeded to put the remaining obstacles behind him with a minimum of effort and an air of artistry which captivated the audience and earned the approbation of the

_ fairy on his back. The Ronble. Charlotte was obviously pleased,- and we were vociferously enthusiastic. Thus, without a fault, the difficult course was coverecl until the penultimate obstacle-a set of sloping rails-was reached. Here the gelding took off too late, crashed into the rails and turned a complete somersault. The Honble. Charlotte was thrown clear, but she hit the ground with some force and lay very white and still.

The band wavered and the rounds of cheering suddenly died down. It was an unpleasant moment.

Then a curious incident occurred: "Sabretache" picked himself up, shook himself heartily, and trotted over to where his mistress was lying at the same moment as grooms, ring officials and stretcher-bearers hurried in the same direction. However, this excited, jostling throng was too mu.ch for the grey; back went his ears, up went his tail, while he curvetted, sparred, lashed out, attempted to bite the chief judge,and scattered everybody to the four winds. The fury of jealousy.

The audience sat tense and silent. VeRta Tilley's song threatened to die of inanition.

The gelding stood over the outstretched, motionless little figure and lleighed. Then he lowered his head and very gently stroked the white face with his muzzle. The figure stirred: It rolled over. It struggled to its knees.

Tha.t finished the band. There were murmurings amongst the audience.

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A St. John's man, too daring, felt the whizz of a pair of hoofs which passed within a few inches of his head. The chief Judge, who had lost his cigar, wrung his halJds and retreated out of range.

The figure fumbled with the reins, patted the gelding's neck and seemed to whisper in his ear; and then, before we had recovered our wits, the Honble. Charlotte, hatless and radiant, was in the saddle! "Sabretache" whirled round, cleared the wreck of the rails in a flash and was over the last jump-a high gate-with a foot to spare, when the roof split. It must .have. split. Nothing could have withstood the tremendous volume of cheers upon cheers as the horse aud his rider turned and faced us.

The great doors swung open again: the Ronble. Charlotte and" Sabre­tache" were swallowed up in the gloom without; but the cheering continued and, after that, the rest of the show fell flat.

That is a digression. It is a long way from Our Station to Olympia. Also, it is an absurd piece of heroine-worship-,-but that is inevitable; to know the Honble. Charlotte is to fall in love with her, and to fall in love is to assume the mantle of irresponsibility. I make no apology.

Ah! You notice that her hair is chestnut and her eyes blue? but you have not seen her in the lamplight, when her locks shine like burnished copper and her eyes are grey. Well-grey, with a tinge of blue, perhaps; or so they say. Truth to tell, lam not sure about it. The colour varies, and each variation is more wonderful than the last. Then there'is that breadth between the eyes, and the straight nose. Straight? Yes, surely. Maybe, as you say, it is slightly tip~tilted; but anyway, it is a beautiful nose. And the lips-firm, regular, naturally red; not a diminutive Cupid's bow, too small and mean to harbour steadfastness and generosity, but an ample, well-moulded affair in which you may place unbounded confidence. The fine forehead, the chin which denotes purpose without suggestion of obstinacy, the rows of regular white teeth of which you may catch a rare glimpse in moments of merriment, the voice-

Really? Well, I entirely disagree; it has no resemblance whatever to the sound ofa muted organ. A silver bell if you like-or a nightingale­or the violas in Tristan's love song-or the voice of your dreams; but a muted organ~no, never! Have it your own way; I don't care; but­I disagree-that's all; and in any case it has no bearing on the fact that, to quote Trooper Seebee, the Ronble. Charlotte is "'Eaven's own peach," or, as Mrs. Seebee says, " a haingel upon earth." 'l'he Seebees are manifold, and woe betide those who would contradict them on this subject. Neither Trooper nor Mrs. Seebee has ever heard of a muted organ, I'm sure, and that is a point wortbremembering.

However, we must away. We have not yet exhausted the sights or met all the notable inhabitants of Our Station. And although the Ronble. Chatlotte if.) supreme, still, there are oth~rs~hocan rouse our admiration

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or interest. It is written that there is a book into which some of us are happily led to look, aud to look again, and never tire of looking. It is the Book of Man. You may open that book whenever and wherever you find another human voice to answer yours, andanotherhuma'nhand to take in your own.

For instance, look at the man who now approaches: the Commandant of Our Station, Major O'B. O'C. Cantle, D.S.O., of the King's Browns. If "the great man is he who does not lose his child's heart," then Cantle must be a great man indeed. He is always referred to as" the Honble. Charlotte's husband" or "Mary."Both are desirable titles. The former is easily understood; the latter is based on the line" Kind, kind and gentle is she," and this, in turn, takes origin in Major Cantle's special scale of punish­ments. His summary awards are not to be found in King's Regs. They run something like this :-

I. Well-you ARE a prize donkey. Go away. 1I. You ARE a d-d idiot. Clear out. Ill. You ARE a b-y fool. Get out. IV. Seve1'ely warned. March him out. The remarkable thing about this scale, as handled by Mary, is this:

that it seldom fails to produce the desired effect. It is rumoured that, as soon as an evil-doer returns to his barrack room, Mary's troopers deal out to him what his Commander has omitted; but be that as it may, there is no doubt that Mary's squadron is the most efficient and best disciplined in the regiment, and that Mary's popularity with the men knows no bounds. Naturally, these men are dubbed "Mary' s little lambs" -outside their range of hearing, of course.

Mary is a modern Sir Roger de Coverley. Our Commandant is assisted by a station staff officer, Captain John

Company, 1st Battalion the Goomshire Regiment. Mary lays down the broad outlines of policy . John Company fills in

the detail and sees to its execution. Company is the proud possessor of the nickname" Milord." To under­

stand the significance of this, and to appreciate Milord's characteristics, let us glance for a moment at a piece of regimental history. The following is an extract from General Sir George Grosvenor-Millbanke's monumental work, "Infantry Annals" (Pale and Golden. Bisley. 1881. Pp. 957. Twenty coloured plates. 17s. 6d.) :-

(, THE Go OM SHIRE REGIMEN'I'.

" This magnificent regiment is doubly fortunate, inasmuch as it is com­posed of two battalions which-prior to the fatal scheme invented and carried out by the late Mr. Card well-were equally renowned in, peace and war, in chivalry and the chase, in love, loyalty and devotion.

11 The 1st Battalion,now lying at Mian Mir, was originally the 149th

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E'oot, raised in the North-west Riding in 1715 as J orrock' s Fencibles. The badge ofthe 149th Foot was a Yorkshire hain, bone ,in situ, and bore the legend I Ba Goom.' It seems that when the regiment was hot on the tracks of the Old .Pretender, the latter was heard to exclaim : I Tae get the legs 0' yon fencibles, a body maun first fillet them-ba goom ! '

"The 2nd Battalion, at present engaged in the autumn exercises on Wimbledon Common, was originally the 150th Foot, raised in the South­east Riding in 1745 as the Duke of Whalley's Militia. It is recorded that, when the unit was encamped on the slopes of Ben Achiltibuie, Flora Macdonald, disguised as a fille du regiment, visited the lines. Her beauty and blandishments overcame the gallant colonel, whom she induced to grant her an interview in camera. No one knows what happened; but, on the following morning, when the colonel's batman stepped over the door­flap with the chhota haziri tray, he was only able to ejaculate the one word • Champion!' before falling on the ground in a dead faint.

11 At this point the old regimental- records become somewhat involved: much is made of a court of inquiry assembled to determine the value of the pots, tea, earthenware, officers', for the use of, 1, and other articles broken, and to decide whether the cost should be borne by the individual concerned or by the State. The batman, Militiaman Steadfast Peat, was definitely in favour of the latter course. In evidence he stated that, on the previous evening, when about to enter the tent with the colonel's warming pan, his master shouted in a loud and angry voice: '. Go away, dunder­head! Two dozen lashes for you in the morning!' This was followed by a peal of silvery laughter which, Peat declared, was quite unlike the sounds made by the colonel when amused.

11 Eventually the court decided to charge the damage to the colonel's estate.

"In a footnote it is explained that the batman fainted because his .master was lying in a. pool of blood on the floor of the tent, with a Highland dirk stuck in his chest.

11 There was no trace of the erstwhile fille du regiment. 11 This, then, is the origin of the badge of the 150th Foot: a Yorkshire

ham impaled by a large knife, over the word • Champion.' 11 Tha.nks to the efforts of Her Majesty the Queen, the Prince Consort,

the Commander-in-Chief, the Board of Directors of Messrs. Holt and the Committee of the In and Out, the two battalions have been able to come to an agreement on the matter of the new regimental badge: a ham, bone in situ, transfixed by a Celtic dagger. However, Mr. Card well's reluctant permission was obtained for the retention by each battalion of its distinc­tive legend. This is all to the good, and has an important bearing on esprit de corps. It is true that a first battalion man strongly resents the pro­nouncement of the word I Champion' in his hearing; and a second battalion man becomes frenzied if addressed as 'Good owd Ba Goom.' Many more or less serious affrays have occurred in consequence of the passions roused

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on this account. Still, the preservation of old customs and traditions in the British Army is of more importance than a hundred broken heads."

After that. it will not surprise you to hear .that Milord'svisiting cards are printed thus :-

" Captain John Company, " 149th Foot (J orrock' s Fencibles)."

If you address him as an officer of the Goomshire Regiment he may forgive you; but if you write" 1. Bn. the Gooms," you make of him a bitter and implacable foe for ever.

Milord is a hard worker. He gets through the business of the day at hurricane speed, expends a maximum amount of energy himself and drives his subordinates to great deeds or drink. But there is no fuss: it is all done in a quiet, relentless manner, with a degree of efficiency which is not supposed to be possible outside Likhnabad or Army Headquarters. He .finds time to study for the Staff College Eutrance Examination, to keep himself up to date regarding the vintage properties of the old-fashioned wines, and to read the leaders in the Pioneer, the latest Russian novel and the Intelligence Summaries. In official life he se!'lms to be a stern disciplinarian, aud in private a humorist of the cynical type. When you know him well you find he is wearing an: iron mask: the real Milord IS

very kindly and full of charity. Milorp. isa Pers~nality-ba goom !

On leaving the station staff offices you will notice a scattered collection of buildings on an eminence to the left of the Mall. Most oC these buildings are low and long, and are protected by deep, shady verandahs. .The grey stones give an impression of solidity: the freshly painted woodwork has an air of cheerful optimism; and the tall trees, the green grass, the scented roses and sweet peas carry one's thoughts to England, home and beauty. Here is to be found contentment and rest, and here-as you may have guessed-stand the British military and families' hospitals. .

We are greeted by Assistant-Surgeon Le Quesnoy and Matron Mrs. Breach. The former you already know: the latter is an important person who must receive more th.anpassing mention.

Mrs. Breach is built on ample lines more suggestive of ballast than grace. Her complexion is seamed and tanned by the sun of many hot weathers. Her voice has suffered from a constant, double forte reiteration of the famous" Roi hai? ".......,that query which so often remains unanswered in this land of mystery and concealment .

. Mr. Breach, a driver on theB.B. and E.L, married her when she was only seventeen. They begat seven children, of whom four now survive. After seven years of connubial existence with a slight admixture of bliss. Mr. B. departed to make his fortune on an engine in French lndo-China. That was twenty-seven years ago, and Mr. B. has notbeen heard of since.

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Perhaps, one fine day, he will turn up again. Mrs. B. hopes he will not, and .continues to support an invalid. daughter and to pay the. silly debts of an erring son. Her two remaining children have done well: one teaches embroidery in the convent school of St. Katerina delIa Goa in Bombay, and the other plays the banjolele in Jazzorini's Calcutta Dance Band.

Mrs. Breach may be disillusioned, but she is not soured. In the hospital she exercises a good deal of discrimiriation with the

general class of patient. The genuine sufferer receives unstirited care and sympathy; the grouser, the person who is bent on rejoining her husband in the plains .in mid"August, the individual. who haunts the out-patient department because she has nothing else to do, the mother who neglects her children-these receive summary treatment. This treatment ranges from indifference to frigidity and eve~ to actual hostility, depending on such circumstances as the state of the weather, the efficiency or otherwise of Mrs. Breach's.powers of digestion, or u the monkey tricks" (to use Mrs. Breach's phrase) u 0' them blessed hospital ayahs." .

With maternity cases it is quite another story. In this Class every­body-the good, the average and the bad-occupies a high place in the matron's affections, and remains there unless a flagrant misdemeanour is committed. A bottle of stout may be smuggled into the hospital and matron will shut the near-side eye; but the surreptitious administration of brandy to a fractious infant is apt to cause a passing breeze.

The East End Serjeants' Mess is run as a mixed station club, of which Mrs. Breach is a most popular member. In partnership with Squadron Serjeant-Major Oddson she manages to win most of the tournament "doubles." Squadron Serjeant-Major Oddson has the face and figure of a professional jockey. From a tactical position in the centre of the court he rushes here, there and everywhere, like a Peter Pan .possessed. His plan is to play all shots likely to be outside the reach of his less active partner. Mrs: Breach takes her stand at themid~point of the back line, from where she.osmashes, volleys and lays about generally with· great accuracy and

. force. Her returns miss the top of the net by half an inch, land at an opponent's feet, and rise with increased velocity to a height of about six inches. To the local fans these shots are known as "Mrs. Breach's babies."

Mrs. Breach is also an accomplished whist driver and a persistent, if not too agile, dancer. In fact she is a social success; and she never spoils the effect by exceeding her customary allowance: four pints, pale ale, per evening. It is true that her dislike of "port and lemon" always puzzles her fellow members; but we all have our little foibles and unaccountable aversions, and it would not be fair to criticize the matron too severely on this score. .

Down the north-east face of the hill the path from the hospital winds among the trees and bushes, crosses a nullah which is watered by a babbling

3

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brook, and ascends a grassy, flower-bespeckled. bank, where it joins the Mall at the entrance to the East End married quarters. It is a pleasant path, cool and quiet, and the afternoon fatigue of the sweepers of the Indian Hospital Corps succeeds in keeping it clear of the dregs and debris deposited by the inhabitants of the adjacent married quarters and post· office.

Our post-master, Mr. Brikhbhan Chatterjee, is a Bengali, and leader of the local intelligentsia. Although not actually fat, he is inclined that way, and always looks as if he had just stepped out of a bath of olive oil. This lubricaut effect is enhanced by a liberal use of brilliantine, which emits a powerful odour and ruins Mr. Chatterjee's coat collar. The.coat is a sports garment-navy-blue flannel, patch pockets and numerous brass buttons which, are not always polished and shining. He also wears a flowing white dhoti with an orange border, coral 'socks attached to magenta suspenders, and patent-leather pumps with butterfly bows.

There are two ways of approaching Mr. Chatterjee : The British or wrong, and the B~ngali or right; and as, in Our Station, one is so dependent on His Majesty's mail, it is worth while to note the effect of each of these methods.

Adopt the foolish style -" Oy-post-master-'ow much? " " For registration? " " Yes," "Then I cannot accept. There are only twenty-one seals, whereas,

according to 'Indian Post and Telegraph Guide,' section 5, sub-section xx (g), a package of synonymous dimensions must bear twenty-two seals."

" Blarst! Then I'll fetch it back with another seal." " That will be ultra vires, since it is now 15.59 hours, and post-office

closes at 16.00 hours." Now try the wise way, thus:-" Ola, bhai! I trust Mahatmaji and Punditji are in good health." " Sir-' 'l'ribune,' Muttra, announces they will be released to-morrow

for purpose of hoisting national flag up the pole at High Court, Allahabad." " I suppose the troops will give a general salute facing the pole." "No doubt, sahib, they will provide colossal tamasha, but • Tribune,'

Muttra, preserves unwarranted silence on this matter," "I should like to be there. ' And day after to-morrow we shall all

.embark at the Apollo Bunder no doubt." "No, Your Honour, God forbid! We shall require safeguards for

twenty years, after which, I hope,martial spirit of Bengali nation will take precedence once more."

"Ah !" " Editorji • Tribune,' Muttra, says--" " By the way, would you very kindly register this package? I see it is

past closing time." " Sir, that is of no consequence; and will you give your humble servant

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permission to affix a few more seals in, accordance with certain dam rules relevant thereto? Otherwise· Brikhbhan Chatterjee, babu, will be the broken egg in the omelette."

" May you become Post-Master General and Foreign Secretary, Indian Dominion Government, babuji !" .

" May your servant's prayers exalt Your Honour's fortunes till they soar like our fire balloons on the last nights of the Durga Pufah ! "

Choose which you prefer; but Bengali fashion pays.

The East End married quarters resemble those in the West End, except that they harbour a greater number of rats. In the fight against these rodents it is essential ever to bear in mind the principle that "the full power of any army can be exerted only when all its parts combine in action." On our side the parts consist of a countless horde of canines, sulphur bombs, "stickphast" and traps. These are opposed to mining, mobility, interior lines of communication and intimate knowledge of the ground; and we find that, whenever our co-operation is defective or our offensive weakens in any way, the initiative soon passes to the enemy. It is a fairly level contest and, on the whole, honours so far have been easy. Great expectations arose in higher circles when Milord formulated a scheme for introducing a colony of snakes into the area. It was known as the S.S. Plan. Unfortunately, before it had reached fruition it was given away by Corporal Register, the S.S.O.'s own clerk. As a result Milord had to face an angry anti-snake deputation, headed by the formidable Mrs. Dough: the order for snakes had to be cancelled at the last moment: and Corporal Register had to be relieved of any further responsibility for Mrs. Dough's welfare. Serjeant Dough suddenly appeared on the scene-the first time 011 record that a husband has been restored to his wife by serpent agency.

Speaking by and large, Our Station is a most respectable, well-behaved township. But, with so many wives in the hills and so many husbands in the plains; minor domestic contretemps of the above kind are quite frequent. Usually they take one of two forms: the laughable and the magnified. Those in the former category cure themselves and are forgotten as soon as fresh ones come to light. Those in the latter class give rise to wonder for periods of nine days each, and are seldom as serious as gossip desires them to be. Lumped together they furnish us with as much amusement and excitement as people at home derive from their Sunday newspapers.

It is curious that, on the married strength of 1 Bn. the Goomshire Regt., there are very few Englishwomen. After the War the battalion led a roving existence, from the Rhine to Ireland,and thence to India via some of our outlying possessions. This, in part, accounts for the choice of wives; and, for the rest, it may be that the mild English maid has been deterred by the foreign legion, the colo!lial contingent and the Irish brigade. One of the Englishwomen, on being asked if she had seen the film "Beau Geste," replied :"No; but I live it-down in the lines, you know." ,

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No. 1 block, married quarters, is known as the International Settle­ment, and the eight women who preside therein are natives of Cadiz, Cologne, Coblenz, Wiesbaden, Lille, Louvain, Mauritius and Bermuda. The International Settlement contains the happiest, cleanest and quietest collection of families in Our Station; and yet,'not content with its pride of place, it entered into a dangerous form of competition which nearly spoiled everything. It challenged the traditionalsnpremacy of No. 2 block in a matter regarding which No. 2 block is exceedingly proud and extremely sensitive.

No. 2 block is the Irish reservation, and its undisputed claim to fame rests in its prolificity.

At the time in question No. 2 block was leading the rest of the battalion by two; so, when Mrs. Dubbin (nee· Schnitzelkopfer) and Mrs. Pipeclay (nee Dupuytren) each had a baby in the early hours of the same morning, the scores became level. Although for the moment nothing untoward happened, Milord looked grave and talked about the calm before the storm, while Mary went about begging all and sundry to do nothing to upset the peace or besmirch the fair name of Our Station.

Tension and anxiety were becoming almost unbearable when, at the expiry of a week, Mrs. Cartridge (nee Cafferty) saved the situation in true Irish fashion, and saved it handsomely too.

Mrs. Cartridge gave birth to triplets. The International Settlement took the rebuff quite calmly; indeed it

was rather relieved, than otherwise, to be deprived of a laurel which was threatening to become a fiery cross. No. 2 b10ck openly rejoiced and boasted in public places-Private Cartridge excepted. In the enforced absence of Mrs. Cartridge, Private Cartridge became the saviour-hero of Our Station. Nevertheless, and despite an unlimited and gratuitous supply of small beer, Cartridge never rose to the occasion; in fact,he consistently declared that, so far as he was concerned, the contest was now devoid of all interest-that he had dropped out, definitely and permanently; and the more his admirers plied him with small beer, the more depressingly obstinate did he become.

However, that is but the fatuous pronouncement of a mere man. With such an encouraging lead, it is not to be supposed that the daughters of Erin will run the risk of a second setback. Pace Private Cartridge, interesting developments are not unlikely to take place in the near future.

Unfortunately the Goomshires were stationed in Ireland at the wrong time, and this must account for the fact that the Irish wives have turned out to be good, bad and indifferent in the proportions of 1, 2 and 1; and while Mrs. Cartridge's effort gained for her our heartfelt gratitude and warmest thanks, yet it will not be forgotten that it was a . Cartridgean escapade which inspired a once-popUlar song in Our Station. I first heard this s~ng at a Sergeants' Mess" smoker ",.-ladies not invited, w.indows

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and doors closed and" Mum's the word, sir." The words were set to the tune of "Phil the Fluter's Ball" and the song, like its famous prototype, had six verses too many, and lines belonging to one verse were very apt to be interpolated in another. So I may be forgiven for only quoting the verse of which I am sure-number one, to wit :-

THE CARTRIDGE LINGERIE.

Have ye heardo'Mistress Oartridge who was Olara Oafferty l Sure, the way she went for Mislres{5 Slings nee Margot Marquetrie­o t the S.S.O., the doctor and the provost.sergeant bold Con8tituted a committee for to hear the ta.le unfold.

Mi8tre8s Cartridge swore that all her underclothe8, In the 8unshine hanging out tv dry, Had been pinched from underneath her very nose

By Mrs. Slings's khidmutgar, a cunning man and sly. Then the doc. had a shock and the provost and the S.S.O.

Said: "Here's a go-in half a mo' we'll have to vel. the ~bnderclo. " No-no-not at all-except 'tis from afar; " Undies never were intended for a bloomin' khidmutgar."

The song goes on to relate how Mrs. Sling's khidmutgar was trapped into divesting himself of all his clothing, for the purpose of indulging in the annual hot bath, and when-as he thought-nobody was about. But he reckoned without Mrs. Cartridge,

What Mrs. Cartridge thought of it all is not dweIt upon-at least, not in any detail.

The last verse describes how, a month later, Mrs. Cartridge discovers the miRsing garments in the oven-where she herself had pnt them" to air "-and the concluding lines run thus:-

So the cam and the knick8 and the vesty and the resty 0 ! Scented they of pasty and of tasty herring roe. .

Baked potatoes and Beeton'8 congeries. Were commingled in confu8ion in the Oartridge lingerie.

Are you tired of tales about the women? I hope not: I hope they interest you because, although the women do not appear on parade, their influence and conduct go a long way towards the making or marring of any unit. As an example, take the case of the Royal Caterpillar Corps, with its large proportion of wives from fair Midlothian. The R.C.C. is very efficient, smart and clean, but it is not too popular with the ruling classes: Instigated by its women, it is forever stirring up some minor trouble, flaunting a grievance or refusing to make bricks without straw - the greatest of all sins in the length and 'breadth of Hindustan.

Drink, desert or mutiny, but never refuse to make bricks without straw.

(To be continued.)

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