Books: The Fine Art of Swearing

(2 of 2)

"What I says, is: one man, one vote"

"Whadyer mean?"

"Clear, ain't it? One man, one vote"

"Can't make out whadyer mean . . ."

"Seems to me what you want is your bloody ear-'oles syringed out! What I mean is: one bloody man, one bloody vote!"

"Aow! Now why didn't you say so?" Wooden Soldiers. It is Graves's grave conclusion that the growing decadence of what was once called Christendom is leading to a point where even when the swearer has a full, fruity vocabulary his soul will be too withered to put proper punch into even his most foul-mouthed efforts. This decadence has even seeped into the British army, Graves avers; but since Britons do their best with their backs to the wall, a few drill sergeants here and there are fighting a magnificent rearguard action. When "positive swearing" fails to impress their rookies, these dauntless bulldogs fall back on the finer, far-more-difficult art of "negative swearing," i.e., not swearing at all. This art is shown in its finest flower by the following little story, told by a desperate physical instructor to his squad:

"When I was a little nipper, my dear old Granny gave me a little box of wooden soldiers on my seventh birthday. Oh dear, you wouldn't imagine how pleased I was with them! I drilled them up and I drilled them down, and then one day I took them to the seashore and lost them. Bless my soul, how I cried! My little handkerchief was soaked. And when I came home to tea that night, blubbering and late, my dear old Granny—God bless 'er, her hair was white as snow and her soul whiter still—she says to me: 'Little Archie, cheer up!' she says. 'For God is good and one day you'll find your little wooden soldiers again.' And oh, good God, she was right; I have. YOU WOODEN STIFFS WITH THE PAINT SUCKED OFF YOUR FACES !"