World War, 1914-1918 -- Australia; World War, 1914-1918 -- Campaigns -- Palestine
(And some that didn’t)
Among the many examples of ingenuity displayed by Billjim on service,
the manufacture of illuminants, if you will pardon the prolixity, shines
out the most brilliantly. The Sun itself is considered to be a pretty
perfect and economical source of light, but it is not infallible. The
annoying habit it has of dodging off about sundown excludes it from the
category of the perfectly perfect, and Billjim is forced to procure a
substitute to enable him to relieve the tedium of his evenings with the
exhilarating influence of two-up, poker, swapping yarns and other
harmless pursuits.
The issue candle is, of course, the recognized form of illuminant; but
by the time the Greatest, the Sub-Greatest, the Q-Emmer, the
Orderly-Room Ogre and the Sigs get their cut, the stock is usually
depleted to a mere skeleton of its former fat self, and the
insignificant stump that is left to shed its radiance around the humble
bivvies of the rank and file, is, as often as not, irretrievably lost to
sight owing to the shortage of telescopes in the unit’s equipment. Hence
the exercise of Billjim’s ingenuity.
Some devices were truly efficient, others resembled the seeds that fell
on stony ground; while one I know of was positively dangerous. The one
in question was disapproved of from its very inception. The wise ones
shook their heads dubiously, and opined that it was sheer flying in the
face of Providence to use one’s issue of rum for the sacrilegious
purpose of making air-gas for a blooming light. After the explosion
occurred, and the blasphemous one was struck off the strength, they
said, “I told him so,” and everybody was satisfied.
The most popular form is the slush-light, which is simply composed of
any old thing that will hold grease, and any kind of grease that will
fit into it; first, a layer of sand or clay is dumped into the jam,
milk, cigarette or other tin; then a wick made of “3 x 2,” or issue
flannelette, wrapped around a thin pine stick, is stuck upright in the
middle of the sand or clay; and finally the grease is introduced, the
quantity being governed by the amount one has been able to acquire. It
is on record that some chaps have had the effrontery to use dubbin, yes,
“dubbin!” but, of course, this is not official, just common furphy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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