. ROUTE MARCH
By M. CLARKE-HALL
THYSICAL fitness," said the Brigade Major, " is the most important attribute of the modern soldier." An awful hush fell on the ante-room. Nervous Liaison Officers looked at each other in a hunted way. The Brigade Intelligence Officer started to mutter something about " mind over matter." The G.3 fumbled with his tie. The Staff Captain began to write out an application for leave. The Brigade R.A.S.C. Officer ordered another pink gin.
"That being so," continued the Brigade Major, " the Brigade Commander has ordered a route march for all personnel of Brigade Headquarters, including Officers. It will be quite a short one to start with, abbut r5 miles. I think Friday week would be a good day."
For a moment there was a stunned silence ; then a babel of protest broke out. The Staff Captain said that he'd love to go ; in fact, there was nothing he liked better than marching, only, unfor- tunately; he expected to be on leave, and went on writing his application. The G.3, who was apparently trying to terminate an existence grown suddenly unendurable by strangling himself with his tie, pointed out that a duty officer must be left behind, and unselfishly, but none too optimistically, volunteered for the job. The Intelligence Officer, a beautiful young Fusilier with small feet and wavy hair, recalled that he had a conference of Battalion I.O.s that day. Only the Brigade R.A.S.C. Officer remained unmoved, and, being a creature of habit, ordered another pink gin.
That evening at dinner the chief topic of conversation was the march. Everyone had some different idea as to how it might be- avoided ; no one had much hope of achieving that. Eventually, resigned to their fate, the Mess began to discuss the exact standard of physical fitness required and the best method of attaining that standard with a minimum of effort. The Staff Captain favoured an orange for breakfast each morning, an extra hour's sleep every night and two pairs of socks on the day. The G.3 placed his trust in a brisk walk ,to the village (one mile) each evening, while the Intelligence Officer was of the opinion that no amount of train- ing would ever make so gruelling a test of stamina possible.
It was in the middle of a despondent lull in the conversation that the Brigade R.A.S.C. Officer put down his beer and said : " You're all talking nonsense. There is," he continued, "only one way of training and, if you give me a chance, I'll explain. First, we must face the fact that this perishing hegira is going to be a very con- siderable shock to all our systems. Now, all you fellows have only' one idea, and that is to get fit. In fact, you're going to coddle your bodies in order to prepare them for a feat of endurance almost unparalleled in military history. You should let your systems get used to shock. Deal your constitution blows that will make it reel. Smoke twice as much as usual, deny yourselves a breath of fresh air, drink a bottle of port every evening. Rain blow after shattering blow on your physique, and by Friday week it will be so used to shocks that it won't even notice the march. A large Kummel, please, waiter."
It Was a gloomy band who assembled in the ante-room after dinner on Thursday evening, ten days later. All, that is, save the R.A.S.C. Officer, who had utilised a bottle of port as a cudgel to deal the final buffet in his training programme. Just as the Intelligence Officer was talking wildly about applying for his dis- charge on medical grounds, the Brigade R.A.S.C. Officer rose, a little unsteadily, ordered a large whisky and soda to be taken to his room, and moved slowly and with dignity towards the door. He paused for a moment, and, turning round, said : " Gerflemen, I am prepared to bet I am the only person who, thanks to my infallible system of training, suffers no ill-effects from the march. Goo' ni'."
And, as it happens, he was. He was in bed next day, with a chill contracted through going to sleep in his bath.
3
a e I I a d y
e a is a d ie
ly
a al ss
Previous page
