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Updated: July 15, 2025
However, I suppose things will settle down again, now that you fellows have fired Brother Boche out of the Kidney Bean. Pretty fine work, too! Tell me, what is your strength, here and now?" "One officer," said Cockerell soberly, "and eighteen other ranks." "All that's left of your platoon?" Cockerell nodded. The stout Major began to beat upon the tailboard of the lorry with his stick.
The Hairy Jocks had eaten what they required at their extremely early breakfast: the residue thereof they had abandoned. About midnight Master Cockerell, in obedience to a most welcome order, led the remnants of his command, faint but triumphant, back from the reserve line to a road junction two miles in rear, known as Dead Dog Corner.
All telephone-users are familiar with it. It consists entirely of the word "Hallo!" repeated crescendo and furioso until exhaustion supervenes. Presently Mr. Cockerell reports to the Captain "Telephone out of order, sir." "I never knew a range telephone that wasn't," replies the Captain, inspecting the instrument. "Still, you might give this one a sporting chance, anyhow.
"Are there any other troops in the area, sir?" asked Cockerell, who, as already indicated, was no child in these matters. "There ought not to be, of course. But you know what the Heavy Gunners and the A.S.C. are! If you come across any of them, fire them out. If they wear too many stars and crowns for you, let me know, and I will perform the feat myself.
Angus found himself confronted by an immaculate young gentleman wearing two stars. Angus, who only wore one, saluted hurriedly. "Morning," observed the stranger. "You in charge of this draft?" "Yes, sir," said Angus respectfully. "Right-o! You are to march them to 'A' Company billets. I'll show you the way. My name's Cockerell. Your train is late. What time did you leave the Base?"
Master Cockerell, for instance, has it straight from the Horse Guards that we are going out next week as a single unit, to be brigaded with two seasoned regiments in Flanders. He has a considerable following.
"Montres-moi votre grenier!" The old man, grumbling, led the way up numerous rickety staircases to the inevitable loft under the tiles. This proved to be a noble apartment thirty feet long. From wall to wall stretched innumerable strings. "We can get a whole platoon in here," said Cockerell contentedly. "Tell him, Alphonso.
I shall want you in half an hour exactly. Don't go wandering off for the rest of the day, pinching soft billets for yourself and the Sergeant-Major and your other pals, as you usually do!" Alphonso saluted guiltily evidently the astute Cockerell had "touched the spot" and was turning away, when suddenly the billeting officer's eye encountered an illegible scrawl at the very foot of his list.
It is not to be occupied by troops passing through the town. By Order. Lieutenant Cockerell whistled softly and vindictively through his teeth.
"I want you to signal the results on the rear targets as the front ones go down. After that we will fire oh, curse the thing!" He hastily removes the receiver, which is emitting sounds suggestive of the buckling of biscuit-tins, from his ear, and lays it on its rest. The bell promptly begins to ring again. "Mr. Cockerell," he says resignedly, "double up to the butts and ask Captain Wagstaffe "
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