PLAIN TALES FROM THE TRENCHES 



As Told Over the Tea Table in Blighty- A Soldiers' 



"Home" in Paris 



By Carol K. Corey 



Author oe "From thk Trenches to Versailles," etc. 



ALL the long tables are ready for tea. 

 The cloths are blue and white and 

 ^ so are the dishes. The milk pitch- 

 ers are full to running over, the jam 

 bowls too, and the large plates of fresh, 

 sweet-smelling bread and butter are just 

 where they ought to be. And there's 

 cake — the good kind, full of raisins and 

 currants and nuts. Why, there's even 

 plenty of sugar! So, as I tie on my ab- 

 surd little apron I say to myself that it 

 doesn't look like a war-time tea at all. 



But it is, in the fullest sense of the 

 word; for in this big, cheerful, sunny 

 room every guest will be in uniform. He 

 may be a "Tommy," a "Canuck," or a 

 "Scotty." If he's a New Zealander he'll 

 call himself a "Pig Islander," and if he's 

 Australian he's an "Aussie" for short. 

 If he's French Canadian we never ask 

 his name — just call him "Pierre," at 

 which he smiles and shows his nice white 

 teeth. 



Never mind, he's a soldier on leave, 

 else he wouldn't be in "A Little Corner 

 of Blighty." Everybody knows that 

 "Blighty" is just another name for Mem- 

 ory, or Courage, or Strength. Briefly, 

 it's home, the beginning and end of the 

 soldier's long, hard trail. 



The first three to come to my table are 

 "Kangaroos" — tall and straight, freshly 

 shaven, uniforms brushed and pressed, 

 boots of a dazzling brilliance; happy 

 faces, happy laughter, happy hearts. "By 

 these signs ye shall know them," for they 

 are "just in." 



"just in" and what it means 



To be "just in" means everything for 

 which you have longed during twelve, 

 fourteen, sometimes even nineteen or 

 twenty months. It means Paris, with 

 money in your pocket. It means free- 



dom from discipline. It means sleep in 

 the morning. If your pal's sharing your 

 room, the last thing you say to him at 

 night is, "Call me at six," just so you can 

 tell him to "Go to," etc. Then you turn 

 over again. 



Often a glistening new alarm-clock is 

 carried in, hilariously wound, and curs- 

 ingly set for some unholy hour. And 

 when it attempts to fulfill that mission 

 for which all alarm-clocks were invented, 

 it is sleepily but vigorously kicked into 

 space to an accompaniment of "That sure 

 was worth the price." It's nice to be 

 "just in." 



Before very long the three have learned 

 the name of the best theater in town, and 

 that of the finest and most expensive 

 restaurant. The smiling one asks if the 

 circus is still on, and when informed that 

 it is he immediately decides for the other 

 two: 



"We'll go there tonight, though we're 

 all pretty tired from the long ride down, 

 and I suppose we ought to go to bed, in- 

 asmuch as we've got eight full days here. 

 Indulgence leave, you know, only for 

 good boys. And the best part of it all 

 is that we're together. Two more 'birds' 

 from our 'divvy' came to town day before 

 yesterday, and we're all going to meet 

 here. We've heard a lot about this little 

 village and now we're going to prove it. 

 Wright, here, didn't want to come to tea 

 at all. Said he wanted to look 'em over. 

 My word ! The girlies are scrumptious 

 in this old town. I'm saying to myself 

 as I listen to your talk, dear friend, 'don't 

 move ; she might vanish' ; for we haven't 

 heard a lady speak English in seventeen 

 months. 



"Last night we saw a girl ; she was plow- 

 ing, and I don't mind telling you she got 

 us going, at that. Wright hung out of 



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