ork;
There are gangs of men with "gangers,"
To see they do not shirk.
There's the usual waste of power
In the usual Western way,
There's a tangle in the transport,
And a blockage every day.
The sergeants do the swearing,
The corporals "carry on";
The private cusses openly,
And hopes he'll soon be gone.

One evening the colonel sent me from our dug-out near the Salt Lake to
"A" Beach to make a report on the water supply which was pumped ashore
from the tank-boats. I trudged along the sandy shore. At one spot I
remember the carcase of a mule washed up by the tide, the flesh rotted
and sodden, and here and there a yellow rib bursting through the skin.
Its head floated in the water and nodded to and fro with a most uncanny
motion with every ripple of the bay.

The wet season was coming on, and the chill winds went through my
khaki drill uniform. The sky was overcast, and the bay, generally a
kaleidoscope of Eastern blues and greens, was dull and grey.

At "A" Beach I examined the pipes and tanks of the water-supply system
and had a chat with the Australians who were in charge. I drew a small
plan, showing how the water was pumped from the tanks afloat to the
standing tank ashore, and suggested the probable cause of the sand and
dirt of which the C.O. complained.

This done I found our own ambulance water-cart just ready to return to
our camp with its nightly supply. Evening was giving place to darkness,
and soon the misty hills and the bay were enveloped in starless gloom.

The traffic about "A" Beach was always congested. It reminded you of the
Bank and the Mansion House crush far away in London town.

Here were clanking water-carts, dozens of them waiting in their turn,
stamping mules and snorting horses; here were motor-transport wagons
with "W.D." in white on their grey sides; ambulance wagons jolting
slowly back to their respective units, sometimes full of wounded,
sometimes empty. Here all was bustle and noise. Sergeants shouting and
corporals cursing; transport-officers giving directions; a party of New
Zealand sharp-shooters in scout hats and leggings laughing and yarning;
a patrol of the R.E.'s Telegraph Section coming in after repairing the
wires along the beach; or a new batch of men, just arrived, falling in
with new-looking kit-bags.

It was through this throng of seething khaki and transport traffic that
our water-cart jostled and pushed