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464
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[December 2, 1914.


A SPORTING DESPATCH.

[From William Wheezle, K.G. (Keeper of Game), addressed to our own Sub-altern at the Front, and describing the operations of the Allied Forces in and round the West Wood and the Middle Planting, November, 1914.]

Sir,—I have the honour to report that on Saturday last the Allied Forces advanced, as soon as they could be got out of bed, in the direction of the West Wood. The troops under my command or supposed to be under my command, were drawn chiefly from the Old Fogey Division. In addition to the Household Extremely Heavy Infantry, there were two battalions of the 160th London Potterers (the "Puff Hards"), specially summoned from Pall Mall to act with us. These battalions, under the command of Colonel Bowindow, D.S.O., fully maintained the noble traditions that attach to their name. There were also two regiments of unmounted cavalry, the 210th (Flannel Feet) and the 396th Purple Lancers (Buster's Own) These sections declined to co-operate unless provided with shooting ponies.

Circumstances unfortunately deprived me of the assistance of other contingents, such as the Dog-potters, upon which I had in previous years been able to depend. At Westwood our troops deployed, and a hostile demonstration on the part of the enemy, signalled by loud von clucks, kept us thoroughly on the alert. They found our range very quickly, a good deal more quickly, indeed, than we found theirs; but as they advanced closer their casualties became more numerous. On the whole the result of this action was not unsatisfactory. After a short march through the bracken we occupied a well-chosen position in open country, our troops availing themselves of such cover as offered, though some of them took a good deal of concealing. A violent general engagement ensued, and for some time the firing was continuous. The enemy's losses were serious, a frontal attack in close formation and at a moderate pace being attended with great disaster. The Potterers, after taking some time to bring their guns into action, kept up a constant and, as they assured me, effective fire.

Reports having been received that the enemy were holding the Middle Planting in strength, I decided to manoeuvre in that direction. There was an affair of outposts in the course of the march, Colonel Bowindow bravely engaging a strongly entrenched rabbit. There was no actual loss of life, the rabbit retiring in good order, but its moral is, I understand, seriously shaken if not completely shattered. It subsequently succeeded in digging itself deeper in, and took no further part in the day's operations.

Before attempting to dislodge the main body of the enemy our forces took cover in open order under an adjacent hedge. With scarcely any delay large numbers of the enemy appeared above the top of the wire entanglements, the rapidity of their movements taking our artillery by surprise. Our gunners, however, served their pieces with regularity and determination until the enemy were reported to be in full retreat. Their casualties were few, chiefly owing to the speed at which their movements were conducted, and only amounted to one wounded, or said to be. Two more were alleged to be missing, but have probably by this time rejoined their regiments. The expenditure of ammunition during this skirmish was great.

At the battle of Middle Planting, which followed, the enemy suffered severely. Our encircling movement was capably carried out and our high-angle fire was very effective. On our left flank Colonel Buster found himself at one time almost completely enveloped by hares, but in this critical situation he handled his guns promptly, and in repulsing the adversary suffered no loss except that of his temper. That he did not inflict more damage was, according to his own statement, due to the fact that the opposing forces, when they saw him preparing to develop his attack, kept at a prudent distance. During this engagement numerous wood-taubes were sighted flying over our position, but at such a height that it was impossible, or appeared to be impossible, to bring them down.

Rations were then served out, the commissariat being under the able direction of Major Domo. The quality of the supplies was satisfactory, nor was there any real shortage, if I may judge from the report (received by me after lunch from General Torpor, in temporary command) that our troops were incapable of advancing, or indeed of any movement at all.

Later.—On waking up we made a forced march in the direction of Mudford Village and occupied a wide front, the considerable spaces between units rendering our operations less hazardous to each other. A flanking movement upon the line Stubblefield-Tenacre-Turniptops was attended with some success, though several entire Army Corps of the enemy succeeded in extricating themselves without disaster. Nor were we able to come in touch with them again before darkness set in, and the Allied Forces retired, highly pleased with themselves, to their base, in the immediate neighbourhood of Auction Bridge.

I have the honour to be, Sir,

Your obedient Servant,

William Wheezle.



WAR'S REVENGES.

(A True Story.)

This War has done many wonderful things;
It has altered our views of Kaisers and Kings,
And quite discounted the stern rebukes
Of those who anathematized Grand Dukes.
It has hurled from many a lofty pinnacle
The self-sufficient and the cynical;
And revised the judgments we once held true
In various ways that are strange and new.
For instance, the other day there came
To see me, the same yet not the same,
A former office boy, whom once
I wholly misread as a Cockney dunce,
Who only cared for music-hall tunes—
And who went and 'listed in the Dragoons.
His khaki was much the worse for wear,
Soiled and crumpled and needing repair,
And he hadn't unlearned since his office days
His gruff laconic turn of phrase.
So I had to drag it out by degrees
That he hadn't been in the lap of ease,
But from Mons to Ypres, out at the Front,
Had helped to bear the battle's brunt.
Rest? Well, they had to do without it;
But he didn't make a song about it.
Last three weeks he'd never been dry;
A sniper had shot him through the thigh;
But his wound had healed, he was right as rain
And anxious to get to the Front again.
So there he stood, erect, serene,
Unshaken by all he had suffered and seen,
And ready once more at his Country's call
To leave his wife, his home, his all.
And I, as I thought of what he had done,
And the arm-chair band (of which I am one),
Elderly scribblers, who can't even drill,
And are only good at driving a quill—
Humbled and shamed to my inmost core
I wished I could drop clean through the floor.
For the tables were turned; I stood at zero,
And the office boy was a full-blown hero.