e servant of an A.D.C.

"Spot" was a little man with a cheerful squint. He knew everything that
had ever been recited, and his knowledge of the more ungodly songs was
immense. He would start off with an imitation of Mr H.B. Irving, and a
very good imitation it would be--with soft music. He would leave the
Signallers thrilled and silent. The lights flashed up, and "Spot" darted
off on some catchy doggerel of an almost talented obscenity. In private
life Spot was the best company imaginable. He could not talk for a
minute without throwing in a bit of a recitation and striking an
attitude. I have only known him serious on two subjects--his master and
Posh. He would pour out with the keenest delight little stories of how
his master endeavoured to correct his servant's accent. There was a
famous story of "a n'orse"--but that is untellable.

Posh may be defined, very roughly, as a useless striving after
gentlemanly culture. Sometimes a chauffeur or an H.Q. clerk would
endeavour to speak very correct English in front of Spot.

"'E was poshy, my dear boy, positively poshy. 'E made me shiver until I
cried. 'Smith, old man,' I said to 'im, 'you can't do it. You're not
born to it nor bred to it. Those that try is just demeaning themselves.
Posh, my dear boy, pure posh.'"

And Spot would give a cruel imitation of the wretched Smith's mincing
English. The punishment was the more bitter, because all the world knew
that Spot could speak the King's English as well as anybody if only he
chose. To the poshy alone was Spot unkind. He was a generous,
warm-hearted little man, with real wisdom and a fine appreciation of men
and things.... There were other performers of the usual type, young men
who sang about the love-light in her eyes, older men with crude songs,
and a Scotsman with an expressionless face, who mumbled about we could
never discover what.

The audience was usually strengthened by some half-witted girls that the
Convent educated, and two angelic nuns. Luckily for them, they only
understood a slow and grammatical English, and listened to crude songs
and sentimental songs with the same expression of maternal content.

Our work at Locre was not confined to riding and cable-laying. The 15th
Brigade and two battalions of the 13th were fighting crazily at Ypres,
the 14th had come up to Dranoutre, and the remaining two battalions of
the 13th were at Neuve Eglise.

I had two more runs to the Ypres district before we left Locre.