It was not meant for such an one as I,
A plain rough gunner with one only pip.
No doubt 'twas destined for some lofty soul
Who in a deck-chair lolls, and marks the map
And says, "Push here," while I and all my kind
Scrabble and slaughter in the appointed slough.
But I, presumptuous, wore it, till the gods
Called for my laundry with a thunderbolt.
* * * * *
[Illustration: HOW TO LOSE THE WAR AT HOME.]
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
_Monday, October 22nd._--The fact that a couple of German raiders
contrived to slip through the North Sea patrol the other night was
made the excuse for an attack upon the Admiralty. Sir Eric Geddes came
down specially to assure the House that if it viewed things "in the
right perspective" it would realise that such isolated incidents were
unavoidable. Members generally were convinced, I think, by the sight
of the First Lord's bulldog jaw, even more than by his words, that the
Navy would not loose its grip on the enemy's throat.
If "darkness and composure" are, as we have been told, the best
antidotes to an air-raid, where would you be more likely to find
them than in a CAVE? The HOME SECRETARY'S explanation did not, of
course, satisfy "P.B."--initials now standing for "Pull Baker"--who,
in a voice of extra raucosity, caused by his _al-fresco_ oratory
in East Islington, demanded that protection should be afforded
to--ballot-boxes.
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