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Mackechnie's Final Leave
A Camp Chronicle

(By “Fishplate”)

All the good camp stories have not yet been preserved in print. Here is one of them, which, by the way, well illustrates the adage—“Truth is stranger than Fiction.”

During the World War Jock Mackechnie joined up with the Thirtieths. Though a little belated in getting into khaki, Jock was no shirker and was really anxious to go overseas and have a smack at Fritz. Various reasons had hitherto stood in the way of his going, but one day he received a letter from his native place ayont the Tweed. The letter bore the postmark “Milngavie,” an out-landishly spelt name which the natives pronounce “Mulguy!” This letter was black bordered, and brought Jock the unwelcome news that his only brother, who had gone to France with the “Gordons,” had been killed.

Jock, who was a railway porter at Inverell station, was in the act of wheeling a truck of luggage up the platform when the letter was handed to him, and like a faithful servant, stopped to attend to his own business first—in other words, to read his letter. This done, he sought the stationmaster and flabber-gastered that worthy officer by declaring: “The New Zealand Railways can gang to buzzamay. By Gode, somebuddy's gote to pey for this!” and straightway went off and enlisted.

During the period of training Jock was all impatient to get away, and privates, non-coms. and officers all remarked on his keenness. At last he was given his fourteen days “final leave,” and Jock set out and had what, on his return to camp, he described as “a braw time.”

On the day after his return he ran into the colonel, who stopped him and said:

“I believe you are anxious to get away to the front, Mackechnie?”

“Yes, Sir,” replied Jock, coming to the salute.

“Well,” said that officer, “the Twenty-ninths are short. You had better take fourteen days final leave and report with the Twenty-ninths on your return. I'll see to the transfer.”

That night saw Jock back in Wellington starting out upon another “braw time.” At the end of the fortnight he duly reported for duty with the Twenty-ninths, and saw that his transfer had been fixed up.

Next day an old acquaintance of his early days, Captain C—–, came to him and said:

“Oh, I say, Mackechnie, they tell me you are very anxious to get overseas. 's that so?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jock.

“Well, look,” said the Captain, “the Twenty-eights are a few men short, so I'll have you transferred so as you can go with them. You had better take your final leave and report with the Twenty-eights on expiry. I'll fix things for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jock. And that night he was again in Wellington starting out on a third course of “a braw time.”

At its finish, somewhat the “waur o' th' wear,” Jock returned to Trentham and reported for duty with the Twenty-eights. Next morning he was called to report himself at head-quarters. Jock thought he was in for a bad quarter of an hour, at least, but again, his good fairy favoured him.

“Mackechnie,” said the O.C., “They tell me you are devilish keen on having a smack at Fritz?”

“Yes, sir,” once more said Jock, wondering what was coming next.

“Then I'll have you transferred to the Twenty-sevenths,” said the C.O. “They leave in ten days, so you had better take nine days final leave and join up the night before embarkation. Sorry, Mackechnie, that I didn't think of it earlier so as you could have had your full final leave, but I suppose you do not mind, as a day either way is neither here nor there at such a time, is it?”

“No, sir,” said Jock, “it isn't,” and added that he didn't mind, saluted and quit.

Once more Jock set out to have a “braw time.” When he got to his old diggings late that night there were palpable and visible signs that he had lost no time in getting it. As he lurched into the sitting room his landlord cried, “Good God, Mackechnie, back again?”

“Ay,” said Jock, “I jined up (hic) wi' the Thirtieths an' (hic) after ma final leave they transferred (hic) me to the Twenty-ninths, an' gi'ed me mair final leave (hic). Gin I gote back they transferred me to the Twenty-eighths, an' again I (hic) gote final leave. Noo they-ve pittin' me in the Twenty-sevenths (hic) an' I'm on my final leave. S'elpme, gin they (hic) continee at the rate they've been gaun I'll (hic) be leavin' yet wi' the b-b-blastit Main Body, that's (hic) gin I can get through wi' my final leaves afore (hic) the f-f-flamin' war's feenished!”