A. A.
when, their swords held vertically away from their
bodies, they stride tirelessly between the immobile
ranks: and you may be wondering now what the
Guards are doing in this war. You must look for
them no longer in the sentry-boxes of Buckingham
Palace or Windsor Castle, but rather on a muddy
plain that is pitted with beetroot. The bearskins and
the red tunics have been left behind in England.
Like the rest of the army, the Guards are in khaki.
For their work in the trenches on this particular
morning some of them had on over their cloth
trousers the blue overalls they had bought in some
French town or other. All of them, for it was cold,
wore over their jackets the leather jerkins that had
just been served out. The jerkins got a great
welcome.
But beneath this work-a-day dress you can still
recognize from brilliant detail and old habits that
they are the Guards. The sentry at the entrance
to the cantonment clicks his heels with inimitable
energy before he presents arms. In the officers* mess
the fine regimental drums are painted with the arms
of the Crown and the glorious list of battles in which
the Guards have played their part. I asked the
French liaison officer whether he found them
different from the others.
*Of course/ he said, 'their discipline is unique.
If my torch happens to flash on a ranker talking to
an officer at night, I'm sure to find that despite the