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Lights Out

Long Mac and Hoe had proved themselves capable mess orderlies at the first test. From the cook-house to their hut they had sprinted, one bearing a dish of roast beef, potatoes, and vegetables, sufficient for ten men, the other with a huge tea-urn from the capacious spout of which the men poured themselves pannikins of boiling-hot tea. In the light of the softly-glowing electric lamps the ten men disposed of their first course. Then the mess orderlies, it being Tuesday, brought currant pudding, and there was bread and butter and jam to follow.

"If," said William Race, whom men called Bill, "if this is the tucker on Tuesdays, what do they give us on Sundays?"

The Rooster, to whom the question was put, did not know. Yet, had they inquired further, they would have been told that in every cook-house in the Camp there is a messing-sheet showing each day's menu. Since there are seven days in the week, the alternating of items every day makes the menu different on the same day of different weeks. The messing-sheets read as follows:—

• Monday.—Breakfast: Porridge, Irish Stew, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea. Lunch: Bread, Butter, Cheese, Jam, Tea. Dinner: Mutton (Roast and Boiled), Sauce, Potatoes, Vegetables in season, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea.
• Tuesday.—Breakfast: Porridge, Fried Chops and Onions, Hashed Mutton, Bread, Butter, Jam, Coffee. Lunch: Soup, Bread, Butter, Cheese, Jam, Tea. Dinner: Beet' (Roast and Boiled), Gravy, Potatoes, Vegetables in season, Currant Pudding, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea.
• Wednesday.—Breakfast: Porridge Bacon and Mashed Potatoes, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea. Lunch: Bread, Butter, Cheese, Jam, Tea. Dinner: Mutton (Roast and Boiled), Potatoes, Vegetables in season, Bread and Butter Pudding, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea.
• Thursday.—Breakfast: Porridge, Fried Chops, Onions, Dry Hash, Bread, Butter, Jam, Coffee. Lunch: Soup, Bread, Butter, Cheese, Jam, Tea. Dinner: Beef (Roast and Boiled), Potatoes, Vegetables in season, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea.page 51
• Friday.—Breakfast: Porridge, Sausages, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea. Lunch: Bread, Butter, Cheese, Jam, Tea. Dinner: Mutton (Roast and Boiled), Potatoes, Vegetables in season, Treacle or Jam Pudding, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea.
• Saturday.—Breakfast: Porridge, Fried Chops and Onions, Curried Mutton Stew, Bread, Butter, Jam, Coffee. Dinner: Beef (Roast and Boiled), Potatoes, Vegetables in season, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea. Tea: Welsh Rabbit, Bread, Butter, Cheese, Jam, Tea.
• Sunday.—Breakfast: Porridge, Bacon and Mashed Potatoes, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea. Dinner: Mutton (Roast and Boiled), Potatoes, Vegetables in season, Sago or Tapioca Pudding, Bread, Butter, Jam, Tea. Tea: Bread, Butter, Cheese, Jam, Tea.

The mess orderlies were gathering up the plates and knives and pannikins and taking them to the washing-up benches near the cook-house. Curly was smoking an evening pipe. It was still daylight outside the huts, and he strolled towards Headquarters. At that instant the steam whistle, which is used to signal certain hours of the day, blew hoarsely. When it had ceased blowing, the buglers sounded the Retreat. It was a brisk soldiers' call, yet had notes that were rich and rounded. As they played, the blue ensign was lowered slowly to earth, to be gathered in and stowed away. Curly noticed that every man stood at attention while the Retreat was sounding. He placed his heels together and stood very rigid, too, till the flag was lowered.

"What do you call that?" he asked a soldier.

"That's the end of the day," said the soldier—"what they call the Retreat."

"Thanks," said Curly. "Rather fine, I think."

"You bet!" was the reply. "But wait till you hear Reveille!"

The new soldier strolled along the lighted street. At a building with the sign "Gospel Hall" above its doorway he paused, and finally entered. There were writing-tables there, and he sat down to write a letter home to his mother. He told her briefly about his experiences in camp. Putting the letter in his pocket, he went out again, and presently came to the Church of England Institute. There was a writing-room there, too, adjoining the large hall. Curly's eyes twinkled. An idea had occurred to him. He would write another letter home on the notepaper of this Institute.

"It will open their eyes to know how they provide for soldiers here," he soliloquised.

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This was only a short note. Then he went further along the street and saw, in a bunch, the Methodist, Y.M.C.A., Presbyterian, and Catholic Institutes, all roomy, attractive places.

"This is making it too hot," thought Curly. "However, here goes."

He went into each of them in turn and wrote more letters.

"Now for the canteen and some cigarettes," was his next thought. But, opposite the canteen he saw the Salvation Army Institute. He was a persistent person, and he wrote another letter to his mother on Salvation Army notepaper. He could see no more institutes, so he called at the canteen and bought his cigarettes. Then to the post office.

"Seven penny-ha' penny stamps, please," he said to the clerk.

"What do you want penny-ha' pennies for?" asked the clerk.

"Why do you want to know?" asked Curly.

"Because soldiers in camp only have to put a penny stamp on their letters—that's why."

"Well, I'll save money if I do nothing else in camp," said Curly, "and the more letters I write, the more money I'll save. Thank you, son."

Having posted his letters, he went back to his hut and found Long Mac and Hoe struggling with the problem of making their beds with the blankets that had been issued to them.

"I think I can do it better than that. A corporal at the store was telling me how to do it. 'Fold one this way and one that way,' he says, 'and put the single blanket that way. Sleep warm, my son, even if it takes a lot of time to make your bed. Half the sick parades are caused by sleeping cold,' he says. That's right, I do believe—anyhow, it's near enough. We can touch 'em up at bedtime. Let's go and look at the shops and have a game of billiards."

Sounds of singing came from one of the halls, where a concert was in progress. A concertina wheezed in a hut over the way. Someone was step-dancing further along the lines. They passed on, over the railway siding, and gazed in the shop windows for half-an-hour. Then they wandered back to the saloons and watched the billiards for an hour—they felt too shy to play. As they made their way back to their hut they heard a bugler sounding the First Post. The silver notes seemed to soar to the stars that shone so clearly in the skies. But there were slow, reluctant notes at the end.

"Sounds like a first warning. Let us go to bed," quoth Curly.

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They were between the blankets when the Last Post sounded. Its golden notes rose, it seemed, on rushing wings that carried the sound to the very gates of heaven—that was how the big, quiet man Mills, who had loved his garden, put it.

"It's a second warning, any way," said Hoe. "What's the next, Curly?"

"Lights out," was the sleepy reply.

Presently it came, husky and slow.

"Lights—out! Lights—out!"—just those slow notes and nothing more.

"An' pleasant dreams," added Curly, as the n.c.o. snapped off the electric light.