The
aiming was very accurate; little spurts of earth danced up and around
the targets, and every iron disc fell. The "searching ground," the
locality struck by bullets, scarcely measured a dozen paces from front
to rear, thus showing that there was very little erratic firing.
"That's some shooting!" my Jersey friend remarked. "If the discs were
Germans!"
"They might shoot back," someone said, "and then we mightn't take as
cool an aim."
We are trained to the rifle; it is always with us, on parade,
on march, on bivouac, and recently, when going through a dental
examination, we carried our weapons of war into the medical officer's
room. As befits units of a rifle regiment, we have got accustomed
to our gun, and now, as fully trained men, we have established the
necessary unity between hand and eye, and can load and unload our
weapon with butt-plate stiff to shoulder and eye steady on target
while the operation is in progress. In fact, our rifle comes to hand
as easy as a walking-stick. We shall be sorry to lose it when the war
is over, and no doubt we shall feel lonely without it.
CHAPTER V
THE COFFEE-SHOP AND WANKIN
What the pump is to the villager, so the coffee-shop is to the soldier
of the New Army. Here the men crowd nightly and live over again the
incidents of the day. Our particular coffee-shop is situated in our
corner of the town; our men patronise it; there are three assistants,
plump, merry girls, and three of our men have fallen in love with
them; in short, it is our very own restaurant, opened when we came
here, and adapted to our needs; the waitresses wear our hat-badges,
sing our songs, and make us welcome when we cross the door to take up
our usual chairs and yarn over the cosy tables.
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