Of our officers, we do not forget the versatility of Lieutenant Pinkney, and his crowning success as Mlle. Sans Géne in light and gauzy finery tripping fairy-like about the stage in classical and other uncensored dances.
And again the clear-voiced Flight-Lieutenant Cooper (“Gladys”) singing “The Policeman’s Lot is not a Happy One.”
OUR RELIGIOUS SERVICES
Man is of dual composition - he has his gay and his serious sides. The Concert Party catered for the gay side and the Chaplains catered for the serious side.
We would not admit being religious. We always tried to play the game, to shield a pal, to face our gruel when our turn came to take it, and line qualities of comradeship and a manly sportsmanship predominated in the ranks, but we did not admit that there was any religion in that. By attending a religious service we got away from the camp and duties for an afternoon. Though we often started with this purely irreligious and selfish motive, we sometimes found the atmosphere of the Service a mellowing, softening all-for-our-good atmosphere. Home and wife were seen as it were through the windows of the old hut or marquee in which the Service was being held, and we beheld familiar streets and heard in fancy the church bells ringing, and wondered whether our good Arabella was going to Chapel with the son whom we loved.
In the restful atmosphere of that quiet Service we caught again the spirit of the home from which we had been so long estranged-the love of the wife, and the purifying nature of our child’s company.
Some Services I attended were marked by curious incidents. There was that Service in the Casualty Clearing Station at Lozinghem, near Auchel, where the Altar was set against a background of canteen, the mugs and bottles being only dimly draped by the overhanging Union jack - and where during the Service an absent-minded R.A.M.C. Orderly burst into the hut with pale ale designs and a loud, “Jim, give us a bottle of-”. The rest of the sentence died in his lips as he saw his mistake, and crashing the door quickly behind him we heard his boots clattering heavily and guiltily on the stones as he ran away ; whilst inside the canteen the pious congregation endeavoured to look as though they had never heard the disturbing voice, nor guessed its beery intent.
