Miss Verity continues to amuse herself by wistfully browsing propaganda posters–would that she had any artistic talent! If she did, she’d whip up a few in praise of her own pet causes.
But since she has not, she can only admire the artistry of others. This one, for instance: without coming out and actually saying so, it manages to hint that amongst the pleasures of Service Life one will learn a standard of grooming (and possibly make-up) that will put most actual women in the shade. Oh, yes, and there will be sports–or gorgeous sporting outfits, anyway, which is the main thing.
I once knew a chap – a very dapper little Captain in the Foreign Legion – who, in his off-hours, liked to dress up in women’s clothes and go to the cabaret. He didn’t actually do anything there – well, nothing besides what one usually does at the cabaret – and when he returned to quarters, he would wipe off his makeup, roll down his stockings and be himself again.
He was one of the bravest men I ever knew, hardly sissyish, despite his love of satin and lip rouge. I remember he died at Verdun, in the last war…he was defending an untenable position when a shell exploded literally on top of him. I had been talking to him mere moments earlier; we’d shared his last cigarette. “Eh bien, Renault,” he said, “I must away.” And he went over the top. I never saw him again…
“Shared his last cigarette,” indeed–is that what you young people call it?
That is what we used to call it, vraiment! *wink*