They
have to put in a minimum three weeks' camp every other year, and they get
fifteen bob a week and their keep when they're at it, and some sort of a
yearly fee, I've forgotten how much. 'Tisn't a showy service, but it's
very useful. It keeps the mass of the men between twenty-five, say, and
thirty-five moderately fit, and gives the Armity an excuse for having more
equipment ready--in case of emergencies."
"I don't think you're quite fair on the Militia," drawled Verschoyle.
"They're better than we give 'em credit for. Don't you remember the Middle
Moor Collieries' strike?"
"Tell me," I said quickly. Evidently the others knew.
"We-ell, it was no end of a pitman's strike about eight years ago. There
were twenty-five thousand men involved--Militia, of course. At the end of
the first month--October--when things were looking rather blue, one of
those clever Labour leaders got hold of the Militia Act and discovered
that any Militia regiment could, by a two-thirds vote, go on 'heef' in a
Military Area in addition to its usual biennial camp. Two-and-twenty
battalions of Geordies solemnly applied, and they were turned loose into
the Irish and Scotch Areas under an I.G. Brigadier who had private
instructions to knock clinkers out of 'em. But the pitman is a strong and
agile bird. He throve on snowdrifts and entrenching and draggin' guns
through heather. _He_ was being fed and clothed for nothing, besides
having a chance of making head-money, and his strike-pay was going clear
to his wife and family.
Pages:
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258