The Tragedy of a Lost Piglet

Winter 1915-1916

"What is a Sardine?" was a problem which vexed the courts not long ago. Recently "What is a Sausage?" was debated by our hospital's authorities in conclave, and the question of how much pork the savoury morsel should contain was tested not only practically (by an impromptu Tasting Committee) but theoretically (by telephoning to experts). The episode was an amusing one, and our poet has treated it lightly; but its occurrence is just one of those trifles which serve to show with what care the powers which rul eht 3rd L.G.H. investigate even the smallest matters of detail.

It was a winter's evening, the C.O.'s work was o'er,
And in his office, neat and trim, he sat behind the door;
Lieutenant's Clarke and Cameron were standing by his side,
The Matron, too, and Captain Gosse - and all one object spied.
An orderly was in the room, his hand with fright did quake,
A look of dread was in his eye, in deadly fear he spake:
'O Sire! This sausage fat I bring, upon this china plate,
The Sergeant bade me hurry up, but I fancy I'm too late:
For as I came along the path I saw a shadowy ghost -
It was the last remaining pork, just slipping round a post."

Then the party set to work to hold a full inspection
And find out if the pork had gone, by a process of dissection.
Each member ate a portion small, and each pulled different faces,
While the orderly in awe looked on, taking notes of their grimaces.
Then the telephone began to buzz all over London Town,
To find out where the pork had gone and track the piglet down.
The A.S.C. turned out in force (calling the merchants rotters!),
But up to now they haven't found so much as one of its trotters.
So if you see a pig about that looks like a Prodigal Son,
Please hustle him back to the Steward's Stores as sharp as he can run.

PTE. G. H. VARLEY