THE DOG FROM DOONE 



It was when I was at Sandhurst, and that is not 

 yesterday. I was at home, in West Galway, for my 

 first Christmas leave, and I was very much aware 

 that it was not Hohdays, or even Vacation; it was 

 Leave. The fact was even more impressive because 

 for othei's of the family, it was Christmas Holidays ; 

 for four others, to be exact ; mere schoolboy brothers 

 and cousins, and quite beneath any special notice 

 from a Sandhurst cadet. 



I arrived in a stately and fitting manner, with a 

 gun-case and a new fashion in collars ; the holiday 

 party turned up on Christmas Eve, palhd, unwashed, 

 still, in one case, seasick, and minus their luggage, 

 according to immemorial custom, but none the less 

 still eating penny-in-the-slot toffee, still reading four- 

 penny magazines. The seasick member of the party 

 spent his Christmas in bed, and continued to make 

 heavy weather of it (twenty-three was the official 

 record of catastrophes); and I think that it was at 

 this time that the dormitory was estabhshed as a 

 first line of supports by the Dog from Doone. 



The house was full, and I was obhged to accept 

 exile in Patmos, a room so named for simple and 

 obvious reasons. It was at the end of a wing kno^vn 

 as The Offices ; underneath were stables and a coach- 

 house ; beside me was the chamber of Lally, the 

 general utility man, beyond him was the schoolroom, 

 and beyond it again was the dormitory, a large 

 whitewashed room, into which had been cast the 



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