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Twenty Years Ago
IN THE HURLY-BURLY OF THE
WAR DAYS
INTERESTING MEMORIES REVIVED
(From "The Sunday Times" Files of August 13, 1916.)
By RIP VAN WINKLE
The Shovellers
The toughest lot of recruits that ever
struck Blackboy Hill camp (according
to a 1916 scribe contributing to "The
Sunday Times") were The Shovellers.
That wasn't exactly the name of the
unit, but it is near enough.
Composed, for the most part, of
brawny boggers from the goldfields
and navvies from the railway con-
struction camps, they were the despair
of their officers and the mingled pride
and dread of their camp mates-and
the cause of the greatest
OUTBURST OF PROFANITY
that ever issued from the military
cooks of this or any other war.
Their three abiding passions were
beer, biff, and bad language, and they
indulged in all liberally.
Was a soldier awakened out of his
beauty sleep by the sole of a No. 10
brogan imprinted firmly upon his coun-
tenance he knew without asking that
it was a Shoveller.
Did an Indian file of lurching forms-
-each hilariously brandishing a beer
bottle-- swim into a sentry's ken he
merely sighed, and said, "Pass, Shov-
ellers."
For captain they should have had a
giant of a ganger with a sure and
rapid fist, a bitter tongue, and a bellow
like a starving bull. Instead of which
Fate, the humorist, sent them a minc-
ing little man from the civil service,
weighing 132lb. and standing 5ft. 4in.
in his fancy socks.
The Shovellers called him Captain
Cock Sparrow.
With his paternal airs, his dandified
manners, and his rapid transition from
the keenest elation to the depths of
despair, according to the unit's beha-
vior. The Shovellers found him a per-
ennial joy.
In one respect they resembled the
little girl in the poem: "When they
were good, they were very, very good,
but when they were bad they were
horrid."
On one occasion their behavior was
eo unexceptional that he addressed
them in terms of the warmest praise.
"You're a credit to the army, men,"
said the dapper little captain. "I'd
place my life in the hands of any one
of you."
This was just before kit inspection.
Kit inspection revealed a bottle of beer
for every man in the company, and the
captain
BECAME VERY WRATHFUL,
"You're a lot of rapscallions!" he
yelled, "and Tm ashamed of you.
You're a disgrace to the army. I can
see what's going to happen to you.
YOU'LL never get to the front!"
This was too much for The Shovel-
lers.
"Will you?" demanded a recruit from
Korrelocking.
"Certainly I will," replied the cap-
tain, forgetting his dignity in the ex-
citement of the occasion.
"Then," retorted the Korrelocking
humorist, "yer'll avter be able ter
swim," whereupon there was wild, ri-
bald and rebellious laughter.
Another time the captain was de-
livering an impressive exordium upon
the perils of life in the trenches.
"Orl right, ole cock," exclaimed one
of The Shovellers, "we'll look after
yer!"
You mustn't imagine from this that
The Shovellers were a refractory lot.
As a matter of fact, they were very
amenable to discipline, especially Big
Mick.
It was the morning after a "wet
night in the city," and the captain
couldn't get things to go right at all.
The company marked time when it
should have formed fours, turned to
the right when ordered to turn to the
left, and stood easy instead of at
'"Shun!" All but Big Mick, the pride
of the ballast pit-- Big Mick, the best
fighter in the company. There was
such a babel of profanity and
BIBULOUS LAUGHTER
that the captain could hardly hear the
sound of his own voice.
Big Mick stood it until his patience
gave out. Then he yelled: "Look 'ere,
if enny of you'se blokes don't do wot
Cock Sparrow tells yer, I'll push yer
blanky face in first an' then throw yer
in the river afterwards. Do wot the
poor little blankard tells yer, yer blan-
kards-- do what the poor little blank-
ard tells yer!"
Thus did the sense of discipline, in-
nate in every Britisher, assert itself.
It ls not. known for certain how The
Shovellers got aboard their transport.
One account was that the process was
accomplished at dead of night, each
Shoveller being bound, gagged, and
blindfolded, and dumped in a big pack-
ing case, in which he was toted to the
Fremantle wharf by motor waggon.
However this may be, The Shovel-
lers did really quit this land of sin
and sand. We know this by a letter
received from a subaltern-- it was
written in sight of Table Mountain.
"We have had an interesting trip,"
he wrote. "The ship's captain says
that if he bas any more like it he will
retire from the sea and enter a monas-
tery. Ginger Joe ran a two-up school,
but was flattened out with a bucket
for ringing-in a double-header. Big
Mick fought a chap for the champion-
ship of Queensland, and
KNOCKED HIM OVERBOARD.
The boys are well, but complain of
being thirsty. They have promised the
captain of our company that if he will
let them land in Capetown, they will
have just one drink each."
"Just one!"
'I'm beginning to feel sorry for
Capetown. They have promised to
take the little captain ashore, as Big
Mick put it, as our -- mascot!"
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