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Western Mail, Thursday 12 October 1933, page 2
"WASHOUT!"
I always got a fair spin from Imperial Army officers! It may be that my venerable and clerical appearance prejudiced them in my favour, but certainly my manifold delinquencies were minimised. Nor was I penalised for others shortcomings.
At No. 5 Convalescent Camp, Boulogne, they "tamed lions!" Leave was granted daily, but no excuses were accepted for arriving late. Having been hustled away from Lady Dudley's Australian Voluntary Hospital, Wimmereux, I applied for and was, granted special leave from 12.30 "pip emma", to ''tattoo" to proceed there and say farewell.
The cards were stacked against me, and I scented trouble. Alighting from a tram in darkness I hailed a soldier thus:
"Can you direct me to the Canadian Hospital, mate?"
"No," he replied; "but I'll help you find it!"
Closer scrutiny showed a captain who accompanied me to the guard room, where Colonel _ was waiting to roar –
"Private _! Is this 9.30?"
“No, sir," I replied; "it's 11.5!"
“Where have you been?"
I answered truthfully, with the "boob" in sight.
"Washout, Sergeant!" he remarked, {And then to me): "You need not get up in the morning to answer roll call. The orderly sergeant here will answer for you!"
"398," Wagin.