Monty's Breeches

Chilled by Italy's rains, the Eighth Army's General Sir Bernard Montgomery last week asked London for waterproofed pants and jacket. The package was made up, sent. Its custodian: the Bishop of Southwark (pronounced suth'-erk), beginning a tour of military stations. But ahead went a message to "Monty" from Lieut. General A. E. Nye, Vice Chief of the Imperial General Staff:

We've dispatched pour La Guerre,

A mackintosh pair

Of trousers and jacket, express;

They are coming by air,

And are sent to you care

Of the Bishop of Southwark, no less.

So wherever you go,

From Pescara to Po,

Through mud and morasses and ditches,

You undoubtedly ought

To be braced by the thought

That the Church has laid hands on your breeches. . . .

According to Moss,

The outfitting Bros.,

'Twon't matter, so stout is their fibre,

If you happen to trip,

And go arse over tip,

Like Horatius into the Tiber.

And you'll find, so we hope,

When you call on the Pope,

That his blessing's more readily given,

On learning the news,

That your mackintosh trews

Were brought down by a Bishop from Heaven.

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