A Way With Words

By Ronnie Bray


Most of us take talking for granted. It is something we picked up at our mothers’ knees [and other low joints], but unless speech is a requirement of our occupation, we don’t give it much thought. We run along with how we do it without analysis, and it seems to work. That could be why we sit up and take notice when someone uses speech in an exceptionally odd way.

The first time I was forced to pay attention to something said in a spectacular fashion was many years when I was reading the Readers Digest. I chanced upon an article about street-based Indian letter writers. These fellows, I suppose the correct term is ‘Wallas,’ sit in the streets of India’s major cities and with a typewriter balanced on their knees, produce official looking letters for their customers.

The article cited a customer who was having difficulties with another and needed a letter couched in legal terminology that would elicit a suitable financial response from his antagonist. Obligingly, the typewriter-walla wrote the letter spelling out the details of the complaint, adding the threat, “If you do not immediately comply with our just demands, we shall take steps that will cause you the utmost damned astonishment!” How effective this threat of condign legal consequences was, or was not, the article failed to say.

Perhaps more fitting in a piece about a way with words is an example I heard during military service when two soldiers sought compassionate leave on account of their having become new fathers.

The British Army has a peculiar code that must be rigorously observed in all such requests. Although even the most rigorous procedural code is not beyond reconstruction and misapplication by those practised in the manipulative arts.

The two soldiers lined up outside the door of the Commanding Officer’s office were under the guidance of the Company Sergeant Major, and were given instruction as to the manner of their ingress, laying out their petition, and the manner of their egress, after the fashion of the British Army at its best when intimidating its own soldiers.

Thus spake the CSM: "You men, one at a time, when I point to you and say ‘QUICK MARCH,’ will snap to attention and march into the CO’s office, up to the desk, where I shall say ‘HALT!’ whereupon you will halt and stand perfectly still until you are asked by the CO what your reason for being in there is." Is that understood?”

As one man, both answered in chorus, “YES SIR!”

Then, it was time. Pointing with his regimental stick at the nose of the first soldier, the CSM barked, “QUICK MARCH!” The soldier snapped to attention, and when the Orderly Sergeant, another key player in the pantomime, opened the door wide, the soldier smartly marched in and halted on the CSM’s command an inch before he would have collided with the ‘Table, Wooden, Officers for the use of.’ The Army has it’s ways!

The soldier, a private, had been well educated, and had only just failed to pass the War Office Selection Board’s test for taking a commission. He looked every inch a soldier of the Queen, which, in fact, he was, which is probably why he looked as if he was.

The CO looked up from his apparently fascinating notepad and asked politely what the soldier wanted. This opened the floodgates, because the private was more than a little prepared to enter his request.

“Sir,” he began, according to the accepted formula. “I request compassionate leave to go and see my wife and new born son, in accordance with Queens Rules and Regulations, 1955 edition, section 14, article 9, paragraph iii a, and in accordance with the Manual of Army Discipline, 1947, covering compassionate requests as found at Section 8, clause 5, paragraph 3, lines 14 to 19, SIR!”

It could be that someone in the office smiled. We shall never know, because the British Army’s commissioned officers and NCOs are taught from an early age how to smile without it showing on their faces. There was a pause. During this silence, all that was happening was face control.

The private was satisfied that he had made his case cogently, citing the proper sources, and so was confident of success. The seven-day pass was as good as in his pocket.

The CO eventually broke the silence. “Permission denied. That is all!”

The crestfallen soldier was marched out back in the hallways and the other man was marched in. The CO had returned to whatever it was he found fascinating on his notepad. When the CSM screeched ‘HALT!’ the CO looked up at the solder and asked him the nature of his request.

The man shuffled his feet a little, earning him a scathing glower from the CSM who was well practised at glowering. Looking uncomfortable, he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came forth from his buccal orifice. The CO, a helpful sort of man, tried to help him overcome his discomfort.

“Out with it man. What is it you want?”
“Well, sir, I … ” his voice trailed off into silence.
“What is it you want?”
“It’s my wife, sir.”
“What about your wife? Is she ill?”
“No sir.”
“Well, man, what is it?”
“She’s just had a … ”
“Had a what? A fall? A disappointment? What?”
“Sir it’s a … she has had … I’m now a … ”
“Soldier, are you trying to say that your wife has had a baby and you are now a new father?”
“Yes, sir. That’s it, sir. She’s had a little baby boy, sir, and I was wondering … ”
“And you were wondering if you could go and see her. Is that it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of course you can, my man. Congratulations. Sergeant Major, make out a pass for this man for fourteen days compassionate leave at once.”
“Oh, sir, thank you, sir.” Gushed the new father.

He was quick-marched back out into the hallway to await his pass. And was parked by the CSM next to the failed applicant.

“How did you get on,” asked the almost officer. “Did you get a seven days pass?”
“No.”
“Me neither,” said the first man. “What did he say?”
“He congratulated me on the birth of my son and gave me fourteen days leave!”
“What! He gave me nothing! ‘Permission denied!’”
“That’s because of your problem.”
“My problem?”
“Yes.”
“What, exactly IS my problem.”
“Your problem, mate, is that you just don’t know how to talk!”


Copyright 2012 – Ronnie Bray