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Updated: May 28, 2025
So never go scouting in your nightshirt, Mucklewame!" The respectable Mucklewame blushes deeply at this outrageous suggestion, but Wagstaffe proceeds
Private Burke, never a tactician, concludes a most ardent love-letter thus: "Well, Kate, I will now close, as I have to write to another of the girls." But to Private Mucklewame literary composition presents no difficulties. Here is a single example of his terse and masterly style: Dere wife, if you could make the next postal order a trifle stronger, I might get getting an egg to my tea.
Without a moment's hesitation, Nigg hurled a Mills grenade straight through the loophole, and then with one wild screech of "Come away, boys!" took a flying leap over the parapet and landed in his own trench, in the arms of Corporal Mucklewame. As already noted, it is difficult, when lying curled up in a circular shell-hole in the dark, to maintain a true sense of direction.
The hospitable Mucklewame agreed, and Scout Dunshie, overjoyed at the prospect of human companionship, promptly climbed over the low wall and attached himself, in the rôle of languishing captive, to Number Two Sentry-Group of Number Three Piquet. Meanwhile M'Snape had reached the forward edge of the wood, and was cautiously reconnoitring the open ground in front of him.
One of these monsters, coming apparently from infinity and bound for the back of beyond, lumbered wearily over the heads of "A" Company, partaking of breakfast. Private Mucklewame paused in the act of raising his canteen to his lips. "There's Wullie awa' for a walk!" he observed. Considering that they were upon the eve of an epoch-making combat, the regiment were disappointingly placid.
The great, mediocre, undistinguished majority merely go to stiffen the rank and file, and right nobly they do it. Each has his niche. To take a few examples, we may begin with a typical member of the undistinguished majority. Such an one is that esteemed citizen of Wishaw, John Mucklewame.
Bobby explains to him modestly what he has been trying to do. "Yes, I heard you," says Wagstaffe. "You take a breather, while I carry on for a bit. Squad, stand easy, and tell me what you can see on that target. Lance-Corporal Ness, show me a pit-head." Lance-Corporal Ness steps briskly forward and lays a grubby forefinger on Bobby's "mine." "Private Mucklewame, show me a burn."
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