Summary

Various Punch, or The London Charivari…

They, of course, will presently be leaving for the Front. England will ring from end to end with the story of their prowess. In six weeks they will have beaten the Germans to a standstill. Then—best of all—they will return home, covered with glory and medals, to be received with frantic demonstrations of joy, affection and adulation.
Several years later, I gather, I may (if exceptionally lucky) return to England unhonoured and unsung, with indelible inkstains on my fingers and three vaccination marks on my left forearm as my only mementoes of the Great War.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or The London Charivari…

What does a man know about his own nose? He only sees it full-face for a few minutes every morning when he's shaving or parting his hair. If he ever does catch a glimpse of it in profile the dreadful and unexpected sight unmans him and he does his best to forget it. I give you my word of honour, Francesca, I haven't the vaguest notion what my nose is really like.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or The London Charivari…

Any self-respecting soldier would rather be frost-bitten to death a dozen times than wear a garment of pink wool."
"Do you think so?" asked Margaret, smiling.
"Besides, you really ought to stick to the beaten track—belts, mufflers and mittens. Nobody wants ear-muffs."
"This is going to be a coat," she said, holding it up and surveying it with satisfaction.
"A coat?—that handful of pink, a coat? That feeble likeness of an egg-cosy, a coat? A pink woollen coat for a British soldier! My poor friend over there in the trenches, whoever you are, may Heaven help you!
Source: Gutenberg

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