" On his back he carries a
"pack," containing his greatcoat, waterproof sheet, and such changes
of raiment as a paternal Government allows him. He also has to find
room therein for a towel, housewife, and a modest allowance of
cutlery. (He frequently wears the spoon in his stocking, as a
skean-dhu.) Round his neck he wears his identity disc. In his
breast-pocket he carries a respirator, to be donned in the event of
his encountering the twin misfortunes of an east wind and a gaseous
Hun. He also carries a bottle of liquid for damping the respirator. In
the flap of his jacket is sewn a field dressing.
Slung behind him is an entrenching tool.
Any other space upon his person is at his own disposal, and he may
carry what he likes, except "unsoldierly trinkets"--whatever these may
be. However, if the passion for self-adornment proves too strong, he
may wear "the French National Colours"--a compliment to our gallant
ally which is slightly discounted by the fact that her national
colours are the same as our own.
However, once he has attached this outfit to his suffering person,
and has said what he thinks about its weight, the private has no more
baggage worries. Except for his blanket, which is carried on a waggon,
he is his own arsenal, wardrobe, and pantry.
Not so the officer. He suffers from _embarras de choix_. He is the
victim of his female relatives, who are themselves the victims of
those enterprising tradesmen who have adopted the most obvious method
of getting rid of otherwise unsaleable goods by labelling everything
_For Active Service_--a really happy thought when you are trying
to sell a pipe of port or a manicure set.
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