Bethlehem, U. S. A., September 30, 1917.
I am now awaiting my orders to return to my regiment. Towards the beginning of the month I felt that it would be a good idea to try and see some fellows I knew. Things were getting impossible here, and I was feeling a little lonely, so I asked my chief in New York if he would allow me to visit some friends for a few days. He agreed and so I decided to visit the commodore and his wife on the "Reina Mercedes" at Annapolis. The "Reina Mercedes" was captured by the American Navy at Santiago. Her own crew sank her hoping to block the channel at the entrance to the bay. She was easily raised and now all snowy white, possessing an absurd little funnel, and a couple of thin masts, she acts as a receiving ship at the Academy. She suggests a beautiful houseboat, and the captain possesses very comfortable quarters for his wife and family.
I left Bethlehem at 3P.M., arrived at Philadelphia somewhere around five o'clock and decided to get into uniform sometime during the evening before catching the midnight train for Washington.
While the kit of a mounted officer in the Britisharmy has certain attractions for the wearer in England and France, its leather field boots, Bedford cord breeches, and whip cord tunic make one feel very hot and uncomfortable on a warm midsummer's night in Philadelphia. At eleven o'clock, with still an hour to wait for my train, an iced drink became a necessity, so I descended to the café and suggested to the waiter that he should supply me with an iced drink as large as possible. I thought that orangeade might meet the case, but the waiter mentioned a mint julep. The drink was unfamiliar, but it sounded good, and American people make the most wonderful soft drinks in the world. The very word "mint" suggested coolness, and the fragrant smell of the upper river at Cambridge on a summer's day came back to my mind as I sat behind a large column in the café. Hence I said: "Right O! Bring me a mint julep." He did, curse him! With a large chicken sandwich it arrived. The glass was all frosted, filled with mushy ice, while a dainty little bunch of green mint with its stems piercing the ice floated on the top. I was more thirsty than hungry, and I was very hungry.
I drank the mint julep at once. It was delicious, a trifle dry perhaps, but delicious. For a soft drink the effect was decidedly interesting. My first sensation was a nice singing, advancing sound in my head. I felt myself to be drifting along a smooth stream with overhanging willows and masses of mint growing onthe banks. I felt that delightful sensation that one feels when a tooth has been removed with the aid of gas and one is just returning to consciousness. It is a jar to one's nerves when the dentist's voice is first heard and the attending lady in the uniform of a nurse hands one a glass of water, and the world, with all its troubles and dentists returns to one's consciousness.
This pleasing feeling continued for a little while, and then I could see the panelled walls of the room, and I heard what seemed a still small voice talking in extremely bad French to the waiter who answered in what must have been good French. The voice using the bad French was very familiar and then I realized that it was my own. I promptly switched to English, but the voice was still far distant. Finally full consciousness returned, also a realization of the situation. Then the voice in the distance said: "Waiter, your d—— mint julep has gone to my head and I must catch a train in exactly half an hour." The waiter's voice expressed sorrow and suggested much water and more sandwiches. I drank water and I ate sandwiches, and the vision of Mr. Pickwick in the wheelbarrow came upon me with full force. I was thankful that, in spite of all, I could see my watch; but if the waiter had not been firm I should have missed my train. The water and sandwiches were successful. A faint knowledge of Christian Sciencepicked up from my chief in New York helped and in a perfectly stately manner I walked out of the hotel and along the road and caught my train.
I would advise all foreigners arriving in America to avoid mint juleps. I am not going to say that the experience was not pleasurable. It was extremely pleasant, almost delightful, but a mint julep taken several hours after a meal when one drinks but little at any time is extremely potent. I have been told since that just after a meal a mint julep is comparatively harmless and that it isnota soft drink. Frankly I will never touch one again as long as I live. There were too many possibilities lurking in its icy depths.
I arrived in Washington safely and found that my uniform acted as a wonderful talisman. Every officer of the U. S. A. that I met desired to show kindness in some way. It was impossible to pay for a meal.
I put up at a hotel and, with the aid of the telephone, commenced to accumulate friends from certain officers' training stations around. Most of them had not had time to buy uniforms of their own, but were dressed in the sort supplied by the quartermaster's store—good material, but badly fitting. However this fact could not in the slightest alter the effect produced by the glowing health that seemed to characterize all of them.
Their eyes were clear and bright like the eyes of a thoroughbred in perfect condition. One or two had lost a little weight, with some advantage perhaps. In a word, good looking, handsome fellows though they had been before the war, military training, plain good food, and an entire absence of mint juleps had worked magic.
We had all lived together in Bethlehem and coming so recently from that town that both they and I had grown to love, we commenced that form of conversation which consists of many questions and no answers. You know the sort—everybody pleased with everybody else and everybody talking at once. I forgot most of it, but as far as I remember it consisted of, "Gee! Mac, but you do look fine in the English uniform. Have you been over to see Lucy lately? How's Lock? Are 'yer' getting your guns a bit quicker? How's 'Sally?' Does Curly still serve funny drinks? We're all on the wagon now even when we get the chance. It makes you feel fitter. We hope to get over soon. Don't forget to let us have those addresses soon. Gee! but we'll all havesomeparties in London some day. We've got to work awful hard, but its fine, and we've never felt better in our lives."
Finally we all rushed out to buy equipment and uniforms. Young officers always get smitten with a very pleasing disease which makes them rush aboutany city buying every conceivable form of equipment and uniform. They'll buy anything. They'll extract from a pleased though overworked tailor promises that he can seldom keep. If he does keep them he ought to spend many hours in bitter remorse for supplying clothing and uniform that would have been spurned by a well turned out Sammee or Tommy in the days of the great peace.
It is part of the fun of the thing, this disease. We all had it in England in the latter days of 1914 and the early days of 1915. We also caused expressions of horror and dismay to creep over the well-bred faces of the regular officers we found at our barracks.
However we all rushed about Washington enjoying the process of being saluted and saluting. We assaulted a department store and descended to the basement, where a worn-out clerk and his employer, especially the latter, did what he could for us. He was interested in what he called the "goods" which formed my tunic. He regretted that Uncle Sam had not adopted our uniform with its large pockets and comfortable collar. I've often wondered about this myself, but I suppose that stiff collar looks smarter, although I am sure that it must choke a fellow.
These fellows are going to make wonderful officers, I am sure. The whole thing brought back to me the wonderful early days of the war when we wereall longing to get over to have a whack at the Boche. We still enjoy fighting him since he is such a blighter, but nowadays it is slightly different. It has become a business minus mad enthusiasm, for we know what we are up against.
Of course when you first get over there the chances of getting knocked out seem one in fifty, but after six months it becomes "fifty-fifty." After nine months or a year the chances of getting scuppered seem to grow greater, and the deadly monotony becomes unbearable. It is then time to get a "Blighty" and a rest in hospital.
A visit to Washington on a Saturday afternoon is well worth while, merely to see the young officers going about. They are very careful about saluting. I suppose war is a bad thing from every aspect, but it seems bearable in the capital city, when one sees the effect of military life on the many men walking about the streets.
One thing seemed unusual to me, and that was the number of junior officers who were over thirty. It would seem that this in America were a good thing. I wonder. The respect and affection shown to the young junior officer by his men is a very fine thing. We find in our army that the subaltern of immature age gets this much more easily than anyone else. Affection is more powerful than respect, and when it comes to the actual difficult, dangerous work, theleading of a charge, for instance, the youngster can sometimes carry it off with less effort than the older man. Of course, he has not the same sanity of judgment possessed by the older chap. Possibly he will attempt the most impossible kind of stunts. However, time will tell and it is useless to compare British experience in this respect with American.
In our army it is only the subaltern and the field marshal who can afford to be undignified. A little lack of dignity on the part of both is often effective. A man just over thirty is apt to overdo dignity. He is like a second year man at a university—just a little difficult to manage. In our army, the men seem to take a fatherly interest in their platoon commander and will follow him to hell, if necessary. Of course, when you become a captain or a major or something equally great, then it is a different matter, but the subaltern has so much personal intercourse with his men, that if you can introduce a personal feeling of love and affection to this relation it is a great help on a nasty, rainy, miserable night in the trenches. The subaltern forms a connecting link between the men and the more superior officers, and that link becomes very strong when the junior officer is an enthusiastic youth who makes a few unimportant mistakes sometimes, but with all is a very proper little gentleman, who understands when a fellow makes a break occasionally. There's nothing greater in this world thanlove, and in my experience there's nothing finer over there in France than the affection, and protective interest shown by the dear old British Tommy for the youth, not long out of school, who is his "orficer" and a "proper torf" into the bargain, or what the Sammee would call a "reg'lar feller."
After dining at the hotel I had to leave my friends, and catching a slightly unclean trolley car found myself dashing along to Annapolis.
At the academy gates I was met by a coloured steward who, after feeling the weight of my bag, asked if I were going to stay a week. Secretly I hoped so, but merely laughed lightly. At the "Reina" I was received cheerily by the commodore and his wife, and their two nieces R—— and M——. They are both ripping girls of entirely different types. R—— is what we would call in England a typical American girl—original, bright, happy-go-lucky, a delightful companion; while M—— represents an international type of young womanhood; sympathetic, the sort of girl that makes a priceless friend, as the newsboy says: "One wat knows all abawt yer and yet likes yer."
The next day after lunch, dear old Eddy came on board full of enthusiasm and witty remarks, that would come out, in spite of his efforts to keep them back, or to reserve them for more fitting occasions. I was very glad to see him. His father, a naval officerof rank, had lived at Annapolis during his son's boyhood. Here Edward established a reputation for being the "baddest" boy in America. He was brimming over with mischief and was the terror of the young midshipmen who had attained sufficient seniority to be allowed to walk out with young persons.
He is still full of mischief and loves to tease people, but the person being "ragged" always enjoys the process. I met him first at a large steel plant. For two years he had worked very hard, practically as a laborer, refusing to go about with the young people of the town. Finally, however, he got promotion and found himself in the sales department. He now burst upon our local society and no party was complete without him. He is very much a man's man. He says more witty, droll things in one week than most people say in five years.
As soon as war broke out he joined the Navy as a "gob," in other words an ordinary seaman. However, he got a commission, and was soon sent to Annapolis for a short course of intensive training.
We all chatted for a time and then walked round the city of Annapolis. Annapolis is very like Cambridge, apparently quite as old fashioned, and has numbers of nice old red brick houses rather like Queen Anne houses in England. It seemed sound asleep.
We sought a movie show, and went in to see some star alleged to be good looking, playing in a piececalled "The Snake's Tooth." There were no serpents, and the star seemed to me to be a little fat and bourgeois looking, but she wore some stunning frocks for her more agonizing scenes. There was a handsome looking fellow moving about the screen very well dressed. I tried to sleep, but couldn't because the chair was not meant for sleeping in.
After the show we went to a party given by one Peter, which was a great success. We were the first to arrive, but soon numbers of other people came in. I enjoyed this party very much and fell in love with both my host and hostess. Mademoiselle, Peter's sister and our hostess, told me that she loved my countrymen; and I told her that it would be impossible for all my countrymen not to love her, which remark seemed to please her. They've got a ripping little house all filled with old china, prints, and daintily wrought silver. We were a very cheery party. All the men were in uniform and everybody knew everybody else and I was quite sorry when we had to return to the "Reina Mercedes" for dinner.
However, after dinner we went to the local inn and danced, but unfortunately, I wounded a lady's frock with my spurs so we sought the grill room, an underground place suggesting the vault of a royal prince in a fashionable mausoleum.
The next day we all set off in launches to visit some friends who have a charming country house onthe Severn. There were about twenty of us and we decided to form a club called the Reina Club. There are no rules or regulations to our club but as we form a mutual admiration society it is impossible to remain a member unless you like or are liked by the other members. We made the Commodore president and his wife vice-president.
We had a wonderful day which consisted of golf, swimming, boating, dancing, and all sorts of other amusing things. Our host and hostess had engaged the services of a darky band which seemed to follow us about everywhere even while we were all swimming. I have never tried to swim to music before.
The Severn is a beautiful wide river. I have heard people in Australia boasting about Sydney Harbour; I have heard New Zealanders singing the praises of the Waitemata; I have heard Tasmanians observing that there is no place in the world like the Derwent River; but I have never yet heard an American say a great deal about the Severn River. And yet I cannot imagine anything more lovely than this wide stream which winds its stately way through the low lying hills of Maryland.
The few houses that appear amidst the foliage help to add beauty to the whole effect, and when the stream reaches the grounds of the academy, with first the hospital buildings, then the pretty wee cemetery, and finally the main group of buildings, the effect isjust wonderful. You should be there on a summer's afternoon when the river is literally covered with the sailing craft in which the midshipmen practice seamanship. Some of them man long-boats and dash past with long sweeps crashing into the blue water, keeping perfect time. They all wear little round caps edged with white, a superior edition of the head-gear worn by the ordinary seaman.
Sometimes larger craft will pass, manned by gentlemen wearing the ordinary naval officer's caps but dressed in khaki shirts and breeches. They are naval reserve officers and are out with the fell purpose of laying mines of a harmless nature, and when they pass M——, R——, and I give up enticing the wily crab to fix itself to the piece of mutton we have dangling at the end of a string, and have a good look to see if we can recognize any of our club members. Sometimes we see J——, sometimes we catch a glimpse of B——; often J—— is at the helm, so we all wave, but they are much too serious about their work to notice us, so we return to the job of catching crabs for to-morrow's dinner. This crab catching is rather fun, but R—— is very bad at it for as soon as a crab has been tempted to fix its great big claws to the bait, she gets very excited and the crab gets suspicious and lets go.
One day Eddy and I called on the superintendent and had tea, and I am perfectly certain that westayed too long, but we hated leaving, because our hostess and host were so amusing, and in any case, it was their fault. There were several midshipmen present; third year men, I believe. That academy training would make a man out of any "rabbit."
At the end of the week, all my friends of the naval reserve graduated, and we all went to see the ceremony. The superintendent made a short speech, every sentence of which was of value—short, brisk, bright, inspiring. The Secretary of the Navy then addressed the men and presented them with their diplomas. We all cheered as our friends went up and returned with their certificates. K—— got a particularly enthusiastic reception. He is a youth of great size, a mighty man before the Lord, a fine type of American manhood. He now commands a submarine destroyer and my great hope is that the Boche sea soldiers won't get him.
After the ceremony we all parted feeling a little miserable in spite of the fact that we were all going to meet in New York, a few days later, at a party given by a very charming American lady who had invited us to be her guests in New York.
The New York party was a great success. I occupied an apartment at the hotel which the Duke of Plaza Tora would have been proud to live in. We went to theatres together and also visited the Midnight Frolic.
The very name "Midnight Frolic" suggests sin and wickedness, but the show is not at all wicked, really. If you want to be particularly devilish, the thing to do is to engage a table right underneath a glass gallery where a few chorus ladies walk around. This struck me as being a little curious, because it could either be impossibly revolting or merely futile. It must obviously be the latter, but I dare say certain men feel themselves to be "reg'lar fellers" as they look at these ladies from an impossible angle. I wonder why they have it, but I suppose the people running the show realize that it takes lots of people to make up this funny world, and that quite a large portion of humanity, while hating to be really nasty, likes at times to appear fearfully wicked to others. I guess that they are merely "showing off" like the people at the Sunday school exercises in Tom Sawyer. This world would be a very puritanical place if folk showed themselves to be as good as they really are.
The next night we went to a musical comedy which had some bright spots marred a little by the leading actor who possessed the supreme courage to imitate a rather more clever person than himself—Billy Sunday. Of course, if Billy Sunday is a knave then the actor chap is doing the right thing to expose him, but quite numbers of people have been made a little better by the Reverend William and the evidence seems to show that he is sincere and just as capableof making men better as of being able to play a jolly good game of base ball. "Voilá!"
A few days after this I visited two members of the Reina Club who are married to each other and who live on Long Island with a tiny wee baby. I loved the baby especially. She had a bad cold and her wee nose was all red at the corners and her tiny eyes were watering, but that did not prevent her from being a profound optimist. She looked at me doubtfully for a moment while she wondered if I would respond to the great big smile she threatened to give me. I got the smile all right.
And now I am back in Bethlehem, but my mind refuses to think about guns and gun carriages, but rather persists in soaring sometimes down to Annapolis, sometimes down to Norfolk, often across the ocean to the Irish channel, at all of which places I have warm friends amongst the sailors of Uncle Sam.
Bethlehem, U. S. A., October 30, 1917.
I want to tell you about an interesting race of people called "inspectors." If you are merely a footslogger, and know nothing about guns and carriages, I had better give you a slight idea of the things that happen to a simple gun and carriage before it reaches the comparative rest of the battlefield.
Now the word "inspector" at once suggests someone who inspects. I've had to inspect my men in order to prepare myself and them for the visitation of the major, who in turn awaits the colonel. But the inspection of a gun is a very different matter. As a mere person who is responsible for the firing of the thing, and also the unwilling target of the people who desire to destroy the gun and its servants, I was always wont to call the whole thing, including the wheels and all the mechanism, a "gun." But this showed remarkable inaccuracy. The gun is just the tubes of steel, with the top or outside one termed the jacket, that form what a layman would call the barrel, and a properly trained recruit "the piece." All the rest is the carriage. If you are dealing with inspectors be very careful about this. They aregenerally awfully good at mathematics, and can dictate letters by the yard without winking. They can work out fearful things called curves. I believe this has something to do with strain, and suggests to my unmathematical mind the dreadful thing I had to draw in order to get through my "little go."
Now the manufacturer of a gun and carriage doesn't just make the thing, and then after a few trial shots hand it over to the inspector saying: "Here's your gun. Now go and shoot the Germans, I don't think it will burst during the first preliminary bombardment and kill a few men." No sir! The inspector is responsible to his government, that every inch of that gun and carriage is according to specification. I should think that on an average each complete gun and carriage requires at least five pounds of correspondence, three lesser arguments, four greater arguments, two heated discussions and one decent fight. I have been present at a fight or two and have come to the wholesome conclusion that both sides were right—so what can you do?
Now inspectors can be easily divided into two classes—the thorough mechanic who knows more than the manufacturer about the production of the piece he is inspecting, and the other. The first chap only requires to use the five pounds of paper, and seldom or never has the arguments, unless he lacks a sense of humour. I know an inspector of whom a shopforeman boasted: "That ther koirnel could condemn every bit of woirk in the shop without making a single enemy." Now in these times of stress the fellow above described is a rare blessing, so the men on the job have got to do their very best. Still inspectors are strange and interesting people.
Before I came out here, I toured all the great munition factories in England. I had a wonderful time, but never met an inspector. Now that I come to think of it, I do remember having seen sitting at the table at lunch one day some gunner officers, but I thought that they were anti-aircraft fellows. They must have been inspectors.
In peace time, I suppose the job is an entirely different proposition. The firm that manufactures artillery and shells probably gets an order for half a dozen equipments and I suppose the contract time is liberal. Then the inspector's job and the manufacturer's is simple. The inspector must have rigid attention to specifications, and the manufacturer, possibly, only has his best men doing the work. I should think then that things would run smoothly.
In these days of stress the contract time is cut down to the shortest possible, and instead of getting orders by the dozen, a manufacturer gets them by the hundred, sometimes by the thousand. The result is that all his men are on the job. Also many other munition firms are doing the same sort of work andreally good workmen become scarce. Then again the inspection staff is multiplied tremendously, and it naturally takes years to make a really good inspector. Still the fellows I know do their very utmost to make things go smoothly. But let me tell you just a little about things as I see them, and of course I see them through inexperienced eyes.
A manufacturer decides to make a gun and some money, thereby proving himself to be an optimist. Of course, he may succeed in making the gun. Poor fellow! He ought to be allowed to make the inspector, too. But he cannot, and so commences a strife in comparison to which the great war is a mild performance.
An inspector is ordered to inspect the production of guns at a given munition plant. He arrives, and meets the officials of the company, and the first hour is spent in social amenities. But the inspector is not deceived. He knows that all manufacturers are nice villains, so he must be on his guard. If, however, he is a villain himself, and I deny, of course, the existence of villainous inspectors, the matter should be easy and simple; the whole process is delightful and the manufacturer will make much money and his optimism will be justified. If the manufacturer is an honest gentleman and, strangely enough, all the manufacturers I have met are honest gentlemen, a villainous inspector will have a hectic time. Some honest manufacturersare comparatively intelligent, and of course the villainous inspector, if he existed, would soon leave a rope behind him upon which he could be safely hanged. Upon an occasion like this if it should happen, I, as a Briton, would sing "God Save Our Gracious King," and an American would doubtlessly sing "The Star Spangled Banner," if he could only remember the words and had a voice of sufficient mobility. However, the whole position is difficult. There are boundless opportunities for an inspector to develop "frightfulness."
But let us trace the history of a simple gun and carriage. Its opportunities for frightfulness and a frightful mess end only when it reaches the firing line. It has really reached paradise or Nirvana when it is issued to the battery.
The manufacturer gives orders to the steel mill to make certain steel ingots. The inspectorial eye watches the billets. They must be of sufficient length so that the frothy part of the ingot at the top will not form a vital part of the forging. Generally speaking, the intelligence of the steel man prevents this from happening so that the inspector merely gives this a little attention.
The steel is then forged into what eventually will be tubes, breech rings, and jackets. You see a gun is generally made in at least two parts unless it is a very small one. They are shrunk together. Theinspector ignores these forgings until they have been "heat-treated." It is sufficient to say that the forgings are placed in the hands of the gentleman in charge of the treatment department. After treatment, a portion of the steel is cut off. This portion enters the laboratory and here it is placed in a machine which pulls it apart. The machine displays a sort of tug of war and the inspectors watch. The steel has got to stand a certain strain. At a certain strain it should stretch; this is called the elastic limit. At a greater strain it should break, this is called the ultimate limit. If the steel fails to pass, the gentleman in charge of the treatment department has failed us all, and a feeling of exhaustion creeps over the man in charge of production, for he knows that he must worry the life out of the fellow until he gets it through again. In these times of stress when all munition factories in America are endeavouring to work above their capacity the man in charge of production has a rotten time of it.
However, the steel sometimes gets through and finally reaches a machine shop. Generally speaking, the foreign inspector doesn't worry very much about the actual gun until it has been proof-fired. If the manufacturer has been clever he will have caused his own inspection staff to watch closely every inch of the steel as the machine work gradually exposes the metal. If he is wise he will immediately condemn thewhole thing if it is very bad. If the fault is trifling he will have several arguments and a heated discussion including an appeal to the production man, who will sympathize but do very little. Perhaps the inspector will decide to let the work go on. Inspectors are sometimes bad at deciding. They ponder and ponder and ponder until the production man decides that they are fools and the manufacturer's man decides that they are villainous and officious, and possess any amount of damnable qualities. It is all very difficult. I seem to be wandering on and on about inspectors, but it is interesting when you think that in a comparatively simple gun and carriage there are at least three thousand parts, and every part contains the possibility of an argument.
Why doesn't this wonderful country give titles to its kings of manufacture? It would simplify matters considerably. You see Mr. Jones in the position of an inspector, or even Lieutenant Jones, or possibly Major Jones of the Terriers regards himself as much superior to any "damned Yankee," and takes a vastly superior attitude. This can be displayed in an argument. Now if Mr. Beetles, president of the Jerusalem Steel Company, could only be Lord Rekamnug or the Duke of Baws, believe me, our national snobbishness would prevent Mr. Jones in the position of an inspector, or even Lieutenant Jones, or possibly Major Jones of the Terriers minus a sense of humour, fromtaking the futile attitude of superiority which could only be displayed by the wives and daughters of the more elegant clergy and smaller country gentlemen in "Blighty."
Of course, as a production man, it is my duty to regard inspectors as effete. Still I will be a traitor and say that a certain inspector who was at one time the manager of a large ordnance factory not many miles from Leamington did a great deal for our country over here during this time of trouble. I wish I could mention his name, but I fear the censor. He was the "koirnal who could condemn any amount of work without making a single enemy." He had personality—that colonel.
An inspector obviously should be a specialist. He must know his job thoroughly. He must know as much about manufacture and metallurgy as the average officer in a mounted regiment thinks he knows about horses. As I said before, the whole matter was perfectly simple in the days of peace. Now it is different. It is impossible to get sufficient men in these days for the job, so we have got to take what we can get. The most dangerous form of inspector is the fellow that knows just a little and pretends that he knows an awful lot. His very ignorance allied to his sense of duty will make it impossible for him to decide when a part is serviceable, although not absolutely up to specifications. This man causes delays and trouble.
Then there is the chap who knows quite a lot, but alas, possesses no sense of humour! This type is called an obstructionist. He is very difficult, well nigh impossible. He has much fighting spirit and thoroughly enjoys a dispute with the manufacturer. He also enjoys his autocratic position. Quite often he gives in all right, but he lacks "sweet reasonableness." The longer one lives, the more one sees the value of personality in every branch of life.
An essential quality in a good inspector is personality. This never exists minus a sense of humour. An inspector has to condemn masses of work—work that has had hours and hours of patient machining and fitting. If he could only do it nicely! Quite often, he uses a large axe when a fine surgical instrument would save a lot of trouble. In America it ought not to be difficult, for in my humble opinion the American manufacturer is generally "sweetly reasonable." It always seems to me a good thing if you honestly disapprove of a man or a nation, moreover, in dealing with that man or nation to hide your thoughts, or forget them, if possible. Take the "wisest fool" in Christendom's advice to the Presbyterians at the Hampton Court conference—"Pray, gentlemen, consider that perhaps you may be wrong."
In every organization there is always a definite procedure which has got to be adhered to. The big man and the fool will take a short cut sometimes andthey often get away with it. Of course, they do not always and there is trouble, but the big man takes his punishment. The mediocre man will always stick to the beaten tracks, with the crowd.
It has always seemed to me that during these distressful times all short cuts should be taken. The guns have got to get to France and that is all about it. If they are thoroughly serviceable that is all that matters.
But talking about short cuts and fools, I remember an awful thing that happened to me once in the early days of the war while we were training in England. I, as a fellow from the cavalry, was given the charming job of teaching the N.C.O.'s of two brigades to ride. It had to be done quickly, of course, so instead of taking the men into the riding school I used to take them across country. Of course, they fell off by the dozens. I commanded them to follow me and dashed down narrow tracks in the forest at a good smart trot. It meant bending down to avoid branches or getting swept off. All kinds of things used to happen but they learnt to stick to their horses. Sometimes I had not enough horses, and I am ashamed to say that some of my fellows pinched all the mounts from another battery. Quite selfish this, and when the officer commanding the battery whose horses had been pinched asked where his gees were, he was told that they had been pinched "by thatthere lootenant who takes the sergeants out over the hills to see the German prison camps." Of course, it is well to say that I was ignorant of the whole proceeding and although all Battery D's horses had been taken they only numbered about twelve. Incidentally this officer said nothing to me about it, but he gave his own men hell for allowing the horses to be taken, showing himself thereby a clever man. However, I did not mind very much. My N.C.O.'s had to learn to ride and that was all about it.
One day I decided that as they had all attained a good seat it might be a good idea to put them through a short course in the riding school. It was important that I should get the riding school at the time I wanted it which was nine o'clock. I am ashamed to say that I had not read orders that morning otherwise I would have scented danger.
At 8.45 I sent three large Welsh miners up to the riding school to prevent others from getting there before me. I told them to hold the school against all comers. This thrilled them; our sentries were only armed with sticks in those days, so they procured large sticks and took up a position at the door of the riding school. I wish I had read orders that day.
At nine o'clock I advanced to the door of the school, and to my horror I saw a gentleman on a large horse with a red cap and many decorations being held at bay by my three Welshmen. I nearly beat astrategic retreat, but it was difficult so I advanced in much fear. He rode up to me looking purple and said: "Did you put these men here to hold the riding school?" I saluted and replied meekly: "Yes, sir!" "Why, may I ask?" "Well, sir," I replied, "I have never had a chance to use the riding school and every time I come I find it already full." He looked bitterly at me and said: "Boy, do you ever read orders?" This silenced me. Then he started to move off but turning round asked me my name, and then he said: "Never put sentries at the door of a riding school; it isn't soldiering."
It was all very terrible but Providence looks after fools and I had my hour in the riding school. When lunch time came I rushed to the mess and looked at orders. My heart sank. They showed that a staff officer had arranged to inspect a certain battery's equestrian powers that morning. The men under a sergeant had arrived, but being impressed by the formidable appearance of the Welshmen had decided to go somewhere else. The colonel then arrived and found my sentries. A staff colonel was nothing in their lives, but I as their "lootenant" was very much so, and they knew that they would get into trouble if they failed to do what I had ordered. I was very pleased with them, but knew there would be trouble for me. I had only been an officer three weeks and it looked very bad.
At lunch time I sat as far away as possible from the staff officer. My own colonel, a topping chap, who had left his charming old country house to help to make us all soldiers sat next to him. Elderly colonels are sometimes a little deaf and they shout as a rule. I was very worried until I saw my own colonel looking down at me with a grin. A moment after, he gave the staff colonel a smack on the back and said: "Timkins, you funny old top, fancy being kept out of the riding school by one of my subalterns!" I felt safe after that and looked for promotion.
Of course, I would not recommend that sort of thing to any one. After a time, I learnt better and discovered that at regular intervals during the week I had the right to use the riding school. It appeared in orders. However, I learnt a great lesson,i.e., that if you want a thing badly enough there are always ways of getting it if you are willing to take risks. However, it is a good idea to know the extent of the risk.
In this life you must be honest, of course, but there is nothing like a little wiliness to help out occasionally. My major was the wiliest person I have ever met, also the best officer. He knew more than most people did in the brigade because he had been wounded at the Marne, though slightly, so that in the early days of training he was the only officer of rank who had seen service.
One day he sent me off to the ordnance stores with about one hundred men, because he alleged that the "emergency caps" supplied to the men did not fit. They did fit all right, but the major had hopes. These emergency caps were made of nasty blue serge and were the variety that are placed on the side of the head and that are shaped like the boats you make for children out of a square of paper. They suggest a section of the bellows of a concertina.
Now the way to get stores from the ordnance depot is to write out a requisition. It is sent off by the Q.M.S., and returns in a day or two, because he has not filled out the form correctly. However, after many weeks the things arrive but half of them may not fit, and there is trouble and worry. Upon no consideration, do you send your men to the stores to have the caps and tunics fitted. This is obviously impossible. However, off I went with my hundred men to Aldershot, eight miles distant. They were a funny bunch, I will admit. We arrived at the department where caps were kept. We marched in fours, myself at the head, and then came into line in front of the building. It had never occurred before and astonishment was displayed on the faces of the sergeants and others, who wondered what should happen next. I sought the officer in charge and the sergeant took me to his office. On the way I took some shameless steps with the sergeant and made him my friend for life.
The officer in charge, a ranker captain, was not very pleased, but I talked a lot and made him regard himself as vital to my earthly happiness. I painted in vivid colours the smallness of my men's caps; how they fell off when they doubled, and what confusion ensued in the ranks as they all stooped to pick them up. He grew more friendly, and slightly amused, and said he would do what he could. We started to go out to the men, the sergeant helping me wonderfully, but, alas, we met an old man with a red cap and of furious mien who stood looking at my brave soldiers in the distance with much displeasure. He came to me and gave me blazes and ordered me to get out of it. He disliked intensely the fact that my major regarded him as a shop keeper, he, the "D.C.O.S." or something equally dreadful! I explained that the caps did not fit, and that we were desperate men. He said: "They do fit." "Well, sir, will you have a look?" We had to go round, in order to avoid a platform from which stores were loaded into wagons G. S. I jumped this place and quickly told the sergeant to make the men put their caps on the very tip of their heads, to change some, to do anything, but to do it quickly. The men were fools—they took the matter as a joke and commenced exchanging one anothers' caps, laughing and affecting a certain cunning which seemed fatal to me. The general, of course, caught them in the very act, appreciated thesituation and roared with laughter. After that it was not difficult. All of my men were supplied, not with new emergency caps, but with beautiful field service khaki caps and they took away with them one hundred extra caps for the men at home. When this operation had finished the general said: "Now is there anything else that you want, for I'm damned if I will have you coming here again in this manner?" It was all wrong, hopelessly wrong, but we were proud soldiers as we marched back into the barracks at Deep Cut, each man wearing a perfect cap and carrying another. Of sixteen batteries, we were the only people who could boast of "caps, service field."
The major, of course, was pleased but if it had not come off I should have been the person to getstrafed, and not he.
There are always short cuts, even in the inspection of guns and carriages.
I sometimes wonder how I have managed to get along out here possessing so much ignorance of business. It has been comparatively simple. I had no intention of being clever, even if it were possible, and from the start I took a perfectly honest line, and placed all my cards on the table. I found that this was a fairly unusual manner of doing business and it worked well. I also made the discovery that, instead of being cunning knaves, the American manufacturers of my experience were honest gentlemen. In any case,I decided that if they were cunning the heights of my cunning would never reach theirs, owing to my lack of experience. I also endeavoured to learn from them a "good approach." This helped. I just put it up to them. "Here am I out here to get work from you. We must have it. We've got tostrafethe Germans somehow and it is up to you to help me." And they have, bless them, especially the big men. At any rate, I can safely say that anything I have wanted I have got.
I think that I realized the situation. Not only had they mostly "bitten off more than they could chew," but they had not realized the difficulties they were up against. Of course, one had to use a little common sense. During my time here in America one has learnt a great deal, and, indeed, one has met some villains. They were not "Yankee manufacturers."
Do you remember Lady Deadlock's lover in "Bleak House," and the street boy's eulogy after his death, "He was very good to me, he was"? That is how I feel towards the men I have met during my time here. They have been very good to me, all of them. I suppose that if I had been an inspector the matter would have been different. Perhaps I have laughed a little at inspectors, but my job has been child's play compared with theirs.
The average American, like other folk, enjoys a decent fight, but he dislikes killing people bymachinery; hence the machinery of war has never been manufactured to any great extent over here. The American is impatient of delay. He wants to get going. When held up, he sometimes fails to see the inspector's point of view. He is an optimist, but optimism in gun and carriage manufacture will often bring some bitterness of heart, and when an optimist develops bitterness, it's awful.