, whatever I cost for
bread; and though Mrs Bantem wasn't a bit like my mother, she brought
up the homely thoughts. Mrs Bantem was, I should say, about the
biggest and ugliest woman I ever saw in my life. She stood five feet
eleven and a half in her stockings, for Joe Bantem got Sergeant Buller
to take her under the standard one day. She'd got a face nearly as dark
as a black's; she'd got a moustache, and a good one too; and a great
coarse look about her altogether. Measles--I'll tell you who he was
directly--Measles used to say she was a horse god-mother; and they
didn't seem to like one another; but Joe Bantem was as proud of that
woman as she was of him; and if any one hinted about her looks, he used
to laugh, and say that was only the outside rind, and talk about the
juice. But all the same, though, no one couldn't be long with that
woman without knowing her flavour. It was a sight to see her and Joe
together, for he was just a nice middle size--five feet seven and a
half--and as pretty a pink and white, brown-whiskered, open-faced man as
ever you saw. We all got tanned and coppered over and over again, but
Joe kept as nice and fresh and fair as on the day we embarked from
Gosport years before; and the standing joke was that Mrs Bantem had a
preparation for keeping his complexion all square.

Joe Bantem knew what he was about, though, for one day when a nasty
remark had been made by the men of another regiment, he got talking to
me in confidence over our pipes, and he swore that there wasn't a better
woman living; and he was right, for I'm ready now at this present moment
to take the Book in my hand, and swear the same thing before all the
judges in Old England. For you see we're such duffers, we men: shew us
a pretty bit of pink and white, and we run mad after it; while all the
time we're running away from no end of what's solid and good, and true,
and such as'll wear well, and shew fast colours, long after your pink
and white's got faded and grimy. Not as I've much room to talk. But
present company, you know, and setra. What, though, as a rule, does
your pretty pink and white know about buttons, or darning, or cooking?
Why, we had the very best of cooking; not boiled tag and rag, but nice
stews and roasts and hashes, when other men were growling over a
dog's-meat dinner. We had the sweetest of clean shirts, and never a
button off; our stockings were darned; and only let one of us--Measles,
for instance