A story told about Field Marshal Wavell is that while throwing some things into a bag for a field tour of soldiers defending India from invasion by the Japanese, he asked if anyone had seen his Browning. When someone pointed out that he was wearing it – his Browning 9mm – he said that he was looking for his copy of the poems of Robert Browning. In all his campaigns, Wavell always carried poetry with him.
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If there must be time capsules buried beneath /
Statues of bold men wearing uniforms /
As a remembrance of man’s noblest ideals /
Let us have one for dear ol’ Sergeant Schultz
A man draped in iron-bound ringlets. / His forearm is clenched, bearing his few pounds of metal, beaten and refined into a blade. He calls it beautiful, his friend, his right hand. /
Booted in stout cobbled leather, his feet remain settled in the grains of sand, waiting for the hourglass of happenings to converge on him.
Jest as soon as we got our kits settled, an orderly ordered us to a drill area where we proudly showed off our new fightin’ skills to General Abner Stone, the base commander. He looked grim at our display, but we quickly decided that he always looked this way.
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