Magazine 'The Bystander' of the 12th of June 1918, pages 11 until 15., item 5

• November 4, 2017 23:06:44 Thomas A. Lingner

  The Bystander, June 12, 1918
  

   Photo of Soldier sitting against a low wall. 

   Caption 

  Captain Bruce Bairnsfather
  

  A snapshot by an American officer "Somewhere in France"
  

  
  

  "Somewhere in France"
  

  BOTULISM
  

  My Dear Bystander -
  

  I know all about botulism, the new disease the papers are so full of just now. I have it in its most aggravated form, and I attribute my state of health entirely to the military authorities in my area. Without any provocation whatever from me they coolly and deliberately issued an order that every W.O., N.C.O., and man in this area with a knowledge of the French language, should report to my office for the purpose of undergoing a test in efficiency.
  

  Can you conceive, my dear Bystander, any W.O., N.C.O., or man in the British Army willing to admit that he was without "a knowledge of the French language?" It is like asking a monkey if it is fond of nuts.
  

  My first impression on approaching the office in the morning was that peace had been declared, and that the entire British Army had come to let me know about it in case I hadn't heard; rarely have I observed Military Policemen perspire with greater freedom. A kind of intuition told me that these were candidates for the test in efficiency.
  

  Cutting my way through the whole battalion, I rushed up the stairs, and, adjusting a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez borrowed for the occasion, I became at once the stern, inflexible examiner. I have always held the opinion that human intercourse cannot be said to have reached its highest development so long as it remains confined to monotonous interrogation on the one side, and monosyllabic rejoinders on the other; but I find that Thomas does not share this view.
  

  He is perfectly content to give a straight answer to a straight question - "Oui, oui," or "No, Monsoor," as the case may be - and leave it at that. He believes in deeds, not talk, and all honour to him; though, from the point of view of the hard-faced examiner, one could almost wish that for once he would relax his iron principles. For there comes a moment, just after about the twentieth query has met with the inevitable terse rejoinder, when a sudden blank and aching silence descends upon the room; and candidate and examiner, instead of by this time revelling in a delightful heart-to-heart intimacy, stand and regard each other with mutual suspicion and dismay. It then only remains to throw the ink over the man before you and burst into a flood of scalding tears.
  

  But then there is a brighter side as well. There is the cheery category of candidate, whom nothing can submerge. I had two of them. They came in together, to give each other moral support, saluted, and falling into an immediate trance waited for the ordeal to begin.
  

  "Where did you learn French?" I asked them in the lingo.
  

  "Oui, Monsoor," they replied in unison.
  

  "Where did you learn French?" I repeated in a slightly louder key.
  

  "Oui, Monsoor," came the ready response.
  

  "Où - avez-vous - appris - la - langue?" I bellowed at the top of my voice.
  

  And once again came the melodious chant, "Oui, Monsoor," breathed with a husky determination under trying circumstances that in more chivalrous times would have earned our immediate pardon.
  

  "Look here!" I said. "What the devil do you two men mean by coming in here and wasting my time pretending you can talk French? What do you mean by it?"
  

  A slow smile illuminated the wooden features of the men before me.
  

  "Well, sir," explained the spokesman, "thinking as how we'd like an afternoon in the town we told our officer as how we could speak French fluent. He give us the afternoon off to be examined and we're going on to see the pictures now - ain't we, Alf?"
  

  "That's a fac'!" confirmed Alf heartily.
  

  And they left rejoicing.
  

  Yours even,
  

  Jack Johnson
  

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