Lice Race

They had been holed up in the trenches for over a year now. The war had prolonged itself. A decisive victory by Christmas was out of question. With the English and French together it would be a herculean task for his German Division on the western front.

The Colonel could do nothing but walk the trenches, try to instil courage and much needed patience among his men but to no avail. Most were bored, half of them had taken to drinking and gambling. It was becoming a tough job. Waiting before a battle was the toughest indeed.

The 13^th German Division on the onset of the Great War had outshined every Division in the parade. But now they could hardly be recognised. The once smart men with trimmed hair, fair countenance and a heavy sense of duty in their smart uniforms and matching shoes seemed like a band of outlaws and outcasts. Their long shaggy beards, lice-infested hair and drunken stupor was just enough to confirm that.

One way of passing the time was playing games. And the Colonel observed one betting game particularly. Two men held out their dinner plates and placed a louse each at the centre of their plates without releasing them. These days capturing a louse had become much easier than spotting the enemy.

The others shouted till 10 upon which the two competitors together released their lice. And the race began. The insect to reach the edge of the plate first was declared winner and his master claimed the money. This game had become quite a sensation and Schwartz had never lost.

On every occasion, he beat his opponent. On every occasion.

One day, the curious Colonel took Schwartz into his confidence and demanded an explanation for his unusual success. And he got this witty reply: “I simply heat my plate before the race.”