The work of this Young Men's Christian Association has sunk so deep into the minds and into the lives of our fellow countrymen that its work in the future can never be diminished, and must be extended. And it is going to do more to my mind, than simply minister to the wants of the men in camp; it is going to be a bond between this country and the Great Englands beyond the sea.—The Rt. Hon. the Earl of Derby, K.G., G.C.V.O.
A strikingfeature of the war work of the Y.M.C.A. has been the promptness with which a new situation has been seized and a new opening entered. There has been an utter absence of red tape, and freedom of action has been given to all accredited representatives of the Association. The Red Triangle has always been first in the field, and has been likened to a tank in its knack of overcoming apparently insuperableobstacles. The day after the British troops first entered Bapaume a Y.M.C.A. man appeared leading a packhorse loaded up with cigarettes, biscuits, and dolly cakes, which he distributed amongst the troops. He had got a foothold for the Association, and that foothold was retained until Bapaume was evacuated.
In the British offensive in the early days of August 1918 a noted war correspondent at the Front wrote:—
'In one part of the line three hours after the troops reached their final objective they were eating a hot breakfast as part of the programme of the day. The familiar, ever-welcome sign of the "Y.M.C.A." blossomed on a roofless French café six miles within the crumpled German line, before the tanks had finished chasing the 11th Corps staff out of Framerville and downthe Peronne road. Food, and even books and papers, were set out under the Red Triangle for tired and hungry fighting men as they trooped into the rickety building to eat and be refreshed in a room carpeted with German papers.'
'In one part of the line three hours after the troops reached their final objective they were eating a hot breakfast as part of the programme of the day. The familiar, ever-welcome sign of the "Y.M.C.A." blossomed on a roofless French café six miles within the crumpled German line, before the tanks had finished chasing the 11th Corps staff out of Framerville and downthe Peronne road. Food, and even books and papers, were set out under the Red Triangle for tired and hungry fighting men as they trooped into the rickety building to eat and be refreshed in a room carpeted with German papers.'
What thrilling memories the name of Arras will always conjure up in the minds of Y.M.C.A. workers who served in that city of ruins! One wrote home the day after a strong attack by the British on the enemy lines. He wrote the letter from a dug-out which only the day before was occupied by the Huns, in which he was carrying on for the Y.M.C.A. So precipitate was their flight that he partook of the repast served up by German cooks for German officers. At one time the rival trenches were, in places, less than ten yards apart! It was here that Sir Douglas Haig personally complimented the Association on thework its representatives were doing on the field of battle.
The most memorable motor run we ever had was from Souastre to Arras in 1916. The hut was closed when we reached Souastre in the morning, the leader having received a letter from the Town Major politely requesting him to close it from 7.30a.m.as it was expected that the Huns would strafe the village at 8a.m., and again at 4.30, and so it happened. This seemed strange, as the village had not been strafed of late. How could the British have known when Fritz would fire again? It seemed uncanny, until a strange unwritten reciprocal working arrangement between friend and foe was explained, which means in effect that Fritz refrains from bombing or bombarding 'A——' three or four miles behind the British lines if Tommy leaves village 'B——' behind his lines alone, andvice versa. As both villages are used asbillets for the rival armies, both have been glad at times to honour this understanding. The run from Souastre to the railhead at Saulty was uneventful. Night was closing in as we left for Arras and there was no moon. For twenty kilos or more we had to travel with lights extinguished. We were less than a mile from the enemy trenches, which ran parallel to the road we were traversing. 'Verey' lights or star-shells sent up by the enemy continually made everything as light as day for the few seconds they were in the air. There were mysterious noises from the gun emplacements that run along the roadside, and mysterious shapes loomed up ahead of us from time to time as we overhauled and passed transport wagons and the like. At last we reached our destination, and it was the writer's first visit to a town of considerable size that had been wrecked by bombardment. There were barricadesin the streets, shell-holes and ruins everywhere. We motored through the famous Grande Place and passed through street after street in that city of the dead, until, turning a corner, we entered a narrow street near the ruined cathedral, and hearing a piano playing rag-time, it was obvious that we were near the Y.M.C.A. The memory of that old château in the narrow street will always remain with us as we saw it then—the entrance hall, where free hot drinks were being dispensed; the canteen crammed with British soldiers, including many 'Bantams,' who were then stationed at Arras; the little concert-room, with possibly a hundred men gathered round a piano singing choruses and snatches of songs or listening to the rag-time, accompanying it at times by whistling the refrain or stamping on the floor. Another crowd upstairs had been entertained to a lantern lecture, and the day's programmewas being concluded with family prayers. As we lay awake that night we heard many familiar noises that sounded strange there—a cat call, the cry of a baby, whilst ever and anon a shell would go shrieking over the town. In the morning we visited the ruined cathedral, which was a sight to make men or angels weep, but even there one saw erect amid the ruins, at the highest point, the Cross, the emblem of our Christian faith, and one knew that though it might be by way of the Cross, yet truth and freedom would triumph in the end.
A well-known war correspondent writing from British Headquarters in France to theDaily Mail, on August 13, 1918, told the story of a village under shell-fire and still within reach of machine-gun bullets, in which was a German notice-board pointing to an incinerator, and wrote:—'I hear from an officer who visited thespot again a day later that another notice, "This way to the Y.M.C.A." was added. A dashing cavalry officer, very much of the old school, possessing a voice that would carry two miles, begged me with great earnestness to do him one service, "Would I mention the Y.M.C.A.? It had provided his men with hot coffee before riding out."' That is the kind of service the Red Triangle has the privilege of rendering to our fighting men in the course of practically every battle.
The Bois Carré in 1916 was a very unhealthy spot. At the edge of a wood in a tiny natural amphitheatre the Y.M.C.A. had one of its outposts. An orderly was usually in charge, and day and night he kept up a good supply of hot drinks for free distribution to the troops. There they could buy biscuits, cigarettes, soap, and other necessaries, or receive free ofcharge the ever-welcome writing-paper and materials. The supervising secretary visiting the dug-out one day in the course of his rounds found it had been blown in by a big shell. The orderly was terribly wounded, part of his side having been blown away, but smiling amid his agony, he said, 'The money's safe here, sir!' Careless of himself, the brave fellow's first consideration was to safeguard the money in the Y.M.C.A. till.
We have vivid recollections of our visit to the Bois Carré in 1916. Late in the evening we reached Dickebusch. The Y.M.C.A. was there in the main street of the little Belgian village, and immediately behind it was the ruined church. It was only a small strafed building in a ruined street when the Red Triangle first made its appearance in Dickebusch, but the secretary held that to be the most convenient type of Y.M.C.A. building, 'for,'said he, 'if it becomes too small, all you have to do is to knock a hole through the wall on either side, and take in additional houses.' This was exactly what we had done and, unattractive as it was, the place drew crowds of men. At the Dickebusch Y.M.C.A. we were provided with shrapnel and gas helmets and instructed in the use of the latter. A two-mile trudge across a duck-walk over 'b——y meadow' brought us to the famous Ridgewood Dug-outs. It was here that the Canadians lost their guns in the early days of the war, and afterwards so gloriously regained them. We entered the wood at midnight. A huge rat crossed our path, and as we entered the first of the Y.M.C.A. dug-outs where free cocoa was being dispensed in empty jam tins, we remembered a yarn told us the day before by one of our workers. He had come to Ridgewood as a special speaker, and after the eveningmeeting lay down on the floor of the dug-out to sleep, but as he was beginning to feel drowsy, a huge rat ran over his legs, and later one passed across his face. With an electric flash-lamp he scared them away, but soon getting used to it they came on 'in close formation.' He lit a candle, and a few minutes later the rat ran away with the candle—so he said! From the Ridgewood we went on to the Bois Carré. Shells were screaming overhead all the time, but it was not a long walk though it provided many thrills. For a couple of hundred yards we were on open ground, and within easy reach of the Hun snipers. Only two of us were allowed to pass at a time, and my guide and I had to keep fifty yards apart, and when a 'Verey' light went up, had to stand absolutely still until it fell to earth, and its light was extinguished. Weird things those star shells! They shoot up to a good heightlike rockets, burst into brilliant light, poise in mid-air and gradually shimmer down and out. A few minutes brought us to the shelter of a ruinedbrasserie, and from its further side we entered the communication trenches, and thus passed to the Bois Carré. Standing back to visualise the scene, the orderly caught my arm and pulled me into the shelter of the dug-out—a second later came the patter of machine bullets on the sand-bags where we had stood not ten seconds before. There was something fascinating about that little dug-out Y.M.C.A., with its caterer's boiler, urns and stores, and it is sad to think that since then it has been destroyed by shell-fire, even though other dug-outs have been opened to take its place.
A GREAT BOON TO BRITISH TOMMY—A Y.M.C.A. WELL UNDER SHELL-FIREA GREAT BOON TO BRITISH TOMMY—A Y.M.C.A. WELL UNDER SHELL-FIRE
THE CAMBRIDGE DUG-OUTTHE CAMBRIDGE DUG-OUT
A year later we revisited that oldbrasserie. There was little of it left. The central hall remained, and the RedTriangle was on it, marking it out as a centre for walking wounded. A dressing station had been rigged up in the cellar underneath. A distinguished preacher serving with the Y.M.C.A. conducted a memorable Watch-night service in the Ridgewood. Two or three hundred men gathered round and listened with marked attention. A shell burst quite close during the prayer, and every man instinctively glanced up to see the effect on the padre. He carried on exactly as if nothing had happened, and won his way to every heart.
A REFUGE FOR THE WALKING WOUNDEDA REFUGE FOR THE WALKING WOUNDED
It is with very great pleasure I send a small contribution (3s.) to the Y.M.C.A. funds, and only wish it could match my inclination. Few things have brought so much comfort to the parents at home as the knowledge of the splendid work done by your organisation. As one boy puts it, 'When we get inside the Y.M.C.A. hut, we feel as if we are home again.'
Atthe close of a Y.M.C.A. Conference held in the Hôtel McMahon in Paris, a French lady came timidly forward with a lovely bouquet of red roses, and in a pretty little speech presented them as a thankoffering for the war work of the Y.M.C.A. It was the gift of a mother who had four sons serving with the Army. Those flowers have long since faded, but the kind thought that prompted them will always remain a gracious memory.
A soldier home on leave brought an interesting souvenir of the first 'Threapwood' hut, which did such good work in the Ploegsteert Woods, but was ultimately destroyed by shell-fire—a 2 franc and a 50 centimes piece which had become welded together in the heat of the conflagration. Another Tommy saw a fierce fight take place between British and Germans, actually inside the hut at Neuve Église. The incident that seemed to have appealed most strongly to his imagination was the fact that the pictures were still hanging on the walls. It is interesting to notice the curious freaks of dud shells. Outside the hut at Tilloy we saw one which had pierced its way through the trunk of a tree without exploding—the nose of the shell protruded at the other side of the trunk, the shell itself remaining firmly embedded in the tree.
An Australian officer one day sauntered into the 'Crystal Palace,' an important Y.M.C.A. centre in Havre. He was interested, and well he might be. It is a huge building, and swarms of men assemble there in the evenings. The Australian's interest took a practical form. Before leaving he handed two one-pound notes to the leader, expressing regret that he could not make it more, and adding, 'I think you Y.M.C.A. people will make a religious man of me before the war is over.' 'What do you mean?' said the secretary. 'Well,' said he, 'I have never had any use for religion, but at the battle of —— I felt down and out. I didn't care much if the Boche killed me. I had had nothing to eat for days—when suddenly a Y.M.C.A. man appeared, heaven knows where he came from, but he was there right enough, and he handed me a good hot drink, a packet of biscuits, and some cigarettes. Yes,' said he, 'Ibelieve you Y.M.C.A. men will make a religious man of me before you have finished.'
In war-time people often forget their differences, and in Paris one of our splendid British soldiers, who was a Roman Catholic, lay badly wounded and terribly ill. He wanted to confess, but there was no English priest near. Ultimately a French priest confessed and absolved him through an American Y.M.C.A. lady—a Protestant—who acted as interpreter.
In the early days of the war a valued worker on Salisbury Plain was the grandson of a famous Cornish revivalist. He was an ordained man and a very strong Protestant. He went out to France later on as a chaplain of the United Board. Returning home on furlough, he called at Headquarters and told his experiences onthe battlefield. 'You will be surprised,' said he, 'when I tell you that my greatest friend in Flanders was a Roman Catholic padre. He was one of the best men I ever knew, and we had an excellent working arrangement. On the battlefield if I came across any of his men, I would hand them on to him, and he would pass my men on to me. If he were not at hand, I would try my best to help the dying Roman Catholic soldier as I thought my friend would have helped him had he been there, andvice versa. I shall never forget,' said he, 'my last night in Flanders and our affectionate farewell. You know how strong a Protestant I have always been, and my convictions have never been stronger than they are to-day, but see this,'—and he unbuttoned his tunic and brought out a Crucifix which was hanging from his neck—'this was the parting gift of my Roman Catholic friend, and as long as I live I shallkeep it as one of my most treasured possessions.'
As a rule there is not much romance in the story of a department that concerns itself with nothing but trading. But the story of the growth and development of the trading department of the Red Triangle is a romance. All along we have discouraged trading for trading's sake in our huts, but in a crisis like the one brought about by the war, it is not for each individual or organisation to pick and choose, but to do what is needed by the State, and on that principle we have had to develop the trading side of our work enormously. Home and overseas, the department has been brilliantly led by men animated with the highest ideals of Christian service, who have been ready to take any risks, and whenever necessary to work day and night. Their task has been colossal andthey have done magnificently. During the six months ending 31st May 1915, our turnover in France amounted to £32,594, whilst three years later the six months turnover had risen to £680,000. It was thrilling work during the German advance in March 1918, chasing our ever-moving centres in the Somme area, and keeping up their supplies or maintaining touch with Amiens during these terrible days, when for a whole week more than £600 daily was taken in the little 'Joy' hut outside the Central Station. That meant day and night work at our Base Stores in France, and thanks to the cordial co-operation of the A.M.F.O. and the H.Q.L. of C. we were able to send forward 200 trucks from one port alone, containing 45,000 cases, or 1,500 tons of food-stuffs, smokes, and ingredients for hot drinks—tea, coffee, and cocoa. From December 1914 to the middle of May 1918—1,350,000 cases were handledby our stores in France, representing the double handling of 50,500 tons of goods. During the retreat the Y.M.C.A. motor lorries became mobile centres of operation. They were filled up at the nearest stores available, and often travelled from eighty to ninety miles to a cross roads or convenient point where men going in and coming out of the line were provided with the necessary supplies. For the six months ending November 30, 1917, our free gifts to the troops in France amounted to £157,000. This figure does not include the cost of huts and equipment, nor yet the general expenditure on the work—but it embraces the cost of the hostels for the relatives of wounded, and free food and drink for the walking wounded and for the men serving in advanced positions.
A distinguished officer of the Danish Army called at the headquarters of theBritish Y.M.C.A. after a visit to France, to acquaint himself with the history of our war work:—'One day I stood on Messines Ridge,' said he, 'and all around me was devastation caused by war, shells were to be seen bursting all around, accompanied by the deafening roar of the big guns. Overhead amidst the din could be heard the whirr of the engines of the German and Allied fighting machines. I felt thrilled to think I was in the midst of the greatest battle of history. Stepping aside a few yards I was surprised to find a dug-out with the Red Triangle sign. I could only exclaim, "What, these people here!"'
One of the funniest sights we saw in France was that of a tiny British corporal marching behind ten stalwart German prisoners, escorting them back to their quarters after they had finished orderlyduty in one of our tents. The humour of the situation evidently appealed to him, for he winked as he passed us—quite an unsoldierly thing to do!
Tommy has a knack of making himself comfortable, though his surroundings very often do not naturally suggest comfort. It is surprising what a snug bed and living room combined can be made out of a discarded hen-house! A barn occupied by men of the Horse Guards Blue was ingeniously rigged up by its temporary tenants. One wall was missing and was made up with sacking—on the other side of this flimsy partition were the horses. The harness was hung round the walls, and four stakes driven into the ground for each bed. The wire that had bound hay bales had been ingeniously woven into wire mattresses stretched from stake to stake; over it was, stretched the sacking—alsofrom hay bales—and over that again was a good thick layer of straw. There is never anything to be gained by grumbling, but everything by taking things cheerfully as they come and making the best of one's circumstances.
A Y.M.C.A. hut is a poor substitute for home, but our aim is to make every Y.M.C.A. as much like home as it is possible for it to be. It is surprising how much can be done by pictures, decorations and flowers, to give the home touch. A canary singing over the counter; a cat on the hearth; a bunch of primroses or forget-me-nots; a smile or a word of welcome; a woman's voice; a piano—family prayers at the close of the day—these are some of the things that count, and are numbered amongst the greatest assets of the Red Triangle.
It is strange how often scenes and sounds of war and peace are intermingled. It is a common sight to see men and women going unconcernedly about their work, and children playing in towns that are habitually shelled or bombed. Stranger still is it to note the habits of the wild birds, constructing their nest amid scenes of war and in localities subject to constant bombardment. The Y.M.C.A. hut in Ploegsteert Wood was destroyed during a three hours' bombardment in May 1916, but whenever there came a few seconds' pause in the booming of the guns, the nightingales sang as unconcernedly as in the piping times of peace. We once heard, near Hersin, a sort of duet between a cuckoo and a big gun; the bird punctuating with its call the thunder of the guns, and, as stated elsewhere, whilst the barrage was in full swing the thrushes on Kemmel, only a few hundred yards behind the guns,sang as sweetly and merrily as in the lanes and gardens of England. In the course of a brief visit to the American front in France we called at a little Y.M.C.A. shanty, badly strafed, within a mile or so of the enemy. Through the open window from which all glass had long since vanished, a swallow entered, and, perching on a wire stretched across the room, carolled joyously itssimplelittle song—a message truly of peace and eternal hope!
The 'Walthamstow' hut at Remy had to be temporarily abandoned during the German offensive. The leader in charge transferred operations to a dug-out across the way, which adjoined a clearing station. The inevitable caterer's boiler enabled him to keep up a constant supply of hot tea and coffee for the wounded. An Australian terribly mutilated was brought in. A happy smile, a few cheery words, and acup of steaming hot cocoa made the Australian feel he had met a friend—and speaking slowly, in a voice that was scarcely louder than a whisper, he said, 'I wonder why I am allowed to suffer like this,' 'I know why,' replied the Y.M.C.A. man; 'you are suffering like this so that two women I love—my mother and my sister—may live in peace and safety in the north of London. If it were not for the sacrifices you and thousands of other boys are making out here, that would be impossible.' The soldier lad was quiet for some time, and then whispered to his new-found friend—'I'm glad to go on suffering!'
The same secretary tells an interesting story of one of the bitter fights round Passchendaele. The wounded were being brought in on stretchers, and he was on the spot with hot drinks for the boys.The guns were quiet for a moment and a voice was heard singing clearly and distinctly:
'Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,Lead Thou me on.The night is dark, and I am far from home;Lead Thou me on!Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to seeThe distant scene; one step enough for me.'
Y.M.C.A. MOTOR KITCHEN BEHIND THE LINESY.M.C.A. MOTOR KITCHEN BEHIND THE LINES
The singer was a private, badly wounded and being carried in on a stretcher. The subsequent verses were drowned in the roar of battle, but those standing round could see from the movement of the wounded man's lips that he was still singing. Thus it is possible for a man to find his Saviour near him even amid the horror and noise of war.
One day in 1917 we stood outside a little Y.M.C.A. at Erquinghem, lost during the German advance in the following spring, and standing there we heard 'Grandmother'speak. 'Grandmother,' it should be explained, was a mighty howitzer. It was concealed under an improvised shed carefully camouflaged, and was brought out on rails, in a horizontal position. As we watched, it was brought to the vertical and out shot a tongue of flame. The projectile was so huge we could watch its flight for miles until it disappeared from view in the distance. Listening intently we heard the explosion in the enemy's lines. Many a Y.M.C.A. on the Western Front is situated right amid the guns, and when they are fired one knows it—'Grandmother' speaking, seems to shake the very foundations of the earth.
INDIAN TROOPS AT THE SIGN OF THE RED TRIANGLEINDIAN TROOPS AT THE SIGN OF THE RED TRIANGLE
The Y.M.C.A. is doing excellent work—its efforts are appreciated immensely by all ranks in this force. Experience of Y.M.C.A. work in the Army has long since convinced me how invaluable its services are to us, both in peace and war.—The Late Lieut.-General Sir Stanley Maude.
TheMacedonian call 'Come over and help us' has been repeated in our own days, and has come from near and far East. The Red Triangle has been quick to respond to the call, and a few incidents of its work are recorded here, though the story itself must be told after the war. The Chief Executive officer of the Indian National Council is himself an Indian, and not only has he, with the assistance of his Council, been responsible for the great work of the Red Triangle in India, but also for theextensive programme of work the Association has undertaken for Indian troops in East Africa, Mesopotamia, and Europe. In addition to work for British troops in India, the Y.M.C.A. has established work for Indian troops in a number of cantonments, where service parallel to that undertaken for British troops is carried on, with the exception that no religious work is done, unless in the case of Christian Sepoys.
The number of branches with British troops on August 1, 1917, was 43, worked by 40 European and American and 9 Indian secretaries, and 1 honorary lady secretary. With Indian troops there were 8 branches, worked by 1 European and 8 Indian secretaries. These figures do not include the temporary work undertaken by the Army Y.M.C.A. with the Waziristan Field Force, which terminated during August 1917, and which included 4 Britishand 4 Indian branches, with 3 European and 2 Indian secretaries. There was also 1 European secretary at Headquarters on August 1, 1917, for Army work in India; and in addition secretaries engaged in civilian Y.M.C.A. work in several stations gave part of their time to Army work, as well as many voluntary workers.
In Burma a large barrack-room, made of wood and bamboo with a grass-thatched roof, houses the Association, which works amongst the men of the newly formed Burmese regiments. The whole building is on piles, and stands about six feet off the ground, thus preventing snakes and other unwelcome guests from coming inside. The regiments comprise not only Burmans but Karens, Chinese, and Arakanese. Most of the men are from the deep jungle, and very few of them can read or write. The gramophone interests them enormously, and they look inside it to seewho is producing the sound, and will sit round in a circle listening to it for hours. Picture papers interest them, but usually they prefer holding the pictures upside down. The better educated men write a good deal on the free notepaper provided by the Y.M.C.A. Quartettes are sung by Karen and Chinese Christians. At the far end of the building is a huge image of the Buddha which was there before we came, and is used by some of the boys as a sort of chapel for private devotions. The boys have to take their choice between Christianity and Buddhism, and as we have three exceptionally good lamps there is much more light at the Y.M.C.A. end of the hall, and we have the better attendance in numbers at all events.
Egypt, handicapped at first through lack of money, has also done magnificently. There is no more important centre of Association activity in the world than theEsbekia Gardens in Cairo. Ever since the early days of the war, night after night, thousands of khaki-clad warriors have congregated in these lovely gardens, which under other auspices might easily have been one of the danger spots of Cairo, instead of a kind of modern 'City of Refuge' from the temptations of the city. The Anzac hostel is another striking feature of the work in Cairo. In June 1917 no fewer than 6893 soldiers slept in it, and that was not by any means a record month. The money for the purchase of this hostel as the permanent property of the Y.M.C.A. has been subscribed by members of the Baltic, but the discovery of the existence of a third mortgage has delayed the completion of the purchase. At Alexandria, Khartoum, Port Soudan, on both sides of the canal and far into the Sinai Peninsula, the Association outposts have been busy. A Red Triangle hut in thedesert was destroyed by a bomb dropped from a hostile aeroplane, but when the smoke subsided, the centre pole was still standing and the Association flag flying. The huts at Kantara are amongst the finest in the world, and neither here nor anywhere else has it been necessary to put up a notice intimating that the Y.M.C.A. is 'open to all,' Tommy knows it, and regards the Red Triangle as his own peculiar possession. One cannot conceive of any place on earth where it is more needed than in one of these desert camps, where there is nothing to do, nowhere to go, and nothing to see but endless stretches of monotonous and dreary sand. Under such circumstances the Red Triangle is Tommy's tuck shop; his church—with the chaplain as the parson; his post-office, concert hall, social room, school, and home. This is true of every fighting front, and that is why the Association has won for itselfa lasting place in the affections of the manhood of the Empire.
A young soldier writing home the day after his arrival in Mesopotamia, said the first thing he struck on landing was the welcome sign of the Red Triangle. 'And,' said he, 'if we are ordered next to the North Pole, I am sure we shall find it there!' The Y.M.C.A. secretary for Mesopotamia tells of a visit he paid to a centre on the way to Bagdad. It was a big bare marquee, crammed with men, with very little furniture in it—the difficulties of transport being so great in those days—just half a dozen tables and a few chairs, a heap of books, and a number of games. There were six inches of dust all over the floor, and the temperature was 120 degrees in the shade, yet one thing that attracted the men to the Y.M.C.A. marquee was that it enabled them to escape the heat of their own bell tents.Through the kindness of Sir Alfred Yarrow a Red Triangle motor launch has since then been provided for use on the Tigris, and has greatly simplified transport. The central Y.M.C.A. at Bagdad is one of the best of our war buildings, and is situated on the banks of the Tigris. An Association centre has been established on the reputed site of the Garden of Eden.
The story of the Red Triangle in Palestine is an epic in itself. For months the Association occupied dug-outs along the Palestine front, and in those days one secretary devoted the whole of his time to making personal purchases for officers and men, who could not themselves get away to any centre of civilisation to make purchases on their own account. Gaza was the first centre occupied in the Holy Land; Beersheba, Jaffa, and Jerusalem being occupied later. At Jaffa the former GermanConsulate was fitted up as a Y.M.C.A., and the Red Triangle as a matter of course has made its appearance on a big building in Jerusalem.
Malta was a very important centre in the early days of the war, and the Y.M.C.A. flourished in its numerous hospital camps. In Macedonia the work has been difficult, but greatly appreciated in Salonica itself, as well as on the Varda and the Struma. The need has been urgent, and every effort has been made to meet that need. Transport difficulties have led to inevitable delays in the delivery of stores and equipment, but there are more than forty centres now, including five for Serbian soldiers.
The Y.M.C.A. had its part in the ill-fated expedition to the Dardanelles. Mudros, Imbros, and Tenedos were centres of importance in those days, and the Red Triangle was at work in each island.The urgent need of the troops was for soft drinks, and those ordinary canteen supplies that give variety to the soldiers' menu, and make the official rations palatable. The official canteens were powerless to meet the demand. We were anxious to help, but transport was the difficulty. At last, through the kindness of Lord Nunburnholme, we were enabled to charter the s.s.Neroof the Wilson Line, and despatch it with a cargo of canteen supplies to the value of eleven thousand pounds to Mudros. A few days later the Peninsula was evacuated, but whilst they were there the men availed themselves to the full of the opportunity of buying supplementary food at British prices. When theNeroreached Mudros, Greek venders were selling our Tommies tinned fruit at twelve shillings a tin, and other prices were correspondingly high.
In the centre of an official photographof Anzac showing the Bay, the camp, and the surrounding sandhills, are to be seen the letters 'Y.M.C.A.' They appear on a tiny marquee and close to it a big dug-out, measuring 30 by 19 feet, in which the Red Triangle carried through its programme of friendliness and good cheer, always under shell-fire. One night a fragment of a Turkish shell, weighing twelve and a half pounds, found its way through the roof of that dug-out. At Cape Helles there were three tiny tents fastened end on end. Had they been larger they could scarcely have escaped the attention of 'Asiatic Annie,' the big Turkish gun that dominated the position. As it was, the Officer Commanding the advanced base at Lancashire Landing wrote to Headquarters to say how much the men appreciated those tents, and explained that the previous day an eight-inch high explosive shell from a Turkish gun had burst in the centre of themiddle tent and completely destroyed it. 'Fortunately,' said he, 'it didn't damage the piano, and still more fortunately,' he added, 'it didn't harm the gramophone.' That was curious, and we thought of some of the gramophones we had known, and felt it would have been no disaster if a shell had destroyed the lot! This gramophone was different, however, for it had only just been wound up when the shell burst, but regardless of the bustle and confusion caused by the explosion, it kept on playing until it had finished the last note of the tune! What a splendid object lesson for the Allies, to stick to the job they have on hand to the finish, or in other words, till victory crowns their efforts. Many months after the incident here recorded the Irish Y.M.C.A. was invited to open up at Rathdrum. The secretary responsible interviewed the O.C., and learning that he was a Catholic,asked politely if he knew the work of the Y.M.C.A. 'Indeed I do,' was the reply. 'I was at Cape Helles when a shell burst in your tent. I was the officer in charge, and it was my duty to remove casualties. I went up to the tents fearing the worst, and shall never forget the smiling face of the Y.M.C.A. man behind the counter. It won me over completely.'
A distinguished officer wrote:—
'Your work has been of inestimable value to the troops, filling a gap which it is impossible for the Military Authorities to provide for. "Always first up, always working hard, and always welcome—the Red Triangle will always be gratefully remembered by the soldiers in the Great War."'
'Your work has been of inestimable value to the troops, filling a gap which it is impossible for the Military Authorities to provide for. "Always first up, always working hard, and always welcome—the Red Triangle will always be gratefully remembered by the soldiers in the Great War."'
The Y.M.C.A. has fashioned a girdle of mercy and loving-kindness round the world which will stand to their credit as long as the memory of this war exists.—Lord Curzon of Kedleston.
A SHAKEDOWN IN A LONDON HUTA SHAKEDOWN IN A LONDON HUT
RELATIVES OF THE DANGEROUSLY WOUNDED ARE LOOKED AFTER BY THE Y.M.C.A. IN FRANCERELATIVES OF THE DANGEROUSLY WOUNDED ARE LOOKED AFTER BY THE Y.M.C.A. IN FRANCE
Thereare numerous side-lines to this work, that are important enough in themselves, the significance of which is scarcely realised by the general public, or even by those who are supporting the movement. Take, for example, the 'Snapshots from Home' movement, which represented the combined voluntary work of the photographers of the United Kingdom, organised under the Red Triangle. Upwards of 650,000 snapshots were sent out to soldiers and sailors on active service, each one bearing a message of love and a reminderof home. Sir Evelyn Wood, V.C., was one of the first to recognise the significance of the letter-writing that is done on such a large scale in the Y.M.C.A. tents. The veteran Field-Marshal pointed out that the benefit was two-fold: first, it occupied the time of the men; and, secondly, it kept them in touch with their homes, both matters of first importance. 'That's what my Dad always puts on his letters to Mummy,' said a little girl, pointing to the Red Triangle on the notepaper, when on a visit to the Crystal Palace. Fifteen to twenty million pieces of stationery are distributed free of charge to the troops monthly by the Y.M.C.A., and in four years the total issued amounted to upwards of nine hundred million pieces. Workers are often called upon to write letters for the men, and the latter make all sorts of mistakes with their correspondence. Sometimes they stamp their letters butforget to address them, often they address them but forget the stamps. One lad was greatly excited and wanted the secretary in charge of the post-office to rescue two letters he had posted earlier in the afternoon. When asked why he wanted them back he blushed like a schoolgirl and stammered out, 'I've written two letters—one to my mother and the other to my sweetheart—and I've put them in the wrong envelopes!' The letters were not rescued, for more than five thousand had been posted before he discovered his mistake, and one wonders what happened!
Y.M.C.A. NIGHT MOTOR TRANSPORTY.M.C.A. NIGHT MOTOR TRANSPORT
In Paris the Association has established a central inquiry bureau under the Hôtel Édouard VII. off the Grand Boulevard. Two daily excursions are arranged around Paris, and two each week to Versailles. Representatives of the Red Triangle meet all the principal trains, day and night.The Hôtel Florida is now run under the Association for British troops, whilst the American Y.M.C.A. has its Headquarters for France in the city, and has taken over several large hotels and other buildings.
There is not the romance about the work of the Red Triangle in the munition areas, that there is in what it is doing for our fighting men, but there can be no doubt as to its importance. The munition workers as a class are as patriotic as any other class, but their work is drab, monotonous, and strenuous. Little has been done officially to bring home to the man who makes the shell the relationship of his work to the man who fires it; or of the woman who works on the aeroplane to the man who is to fly in it, and yet the one can do nothing without the other. Things have changed for the better, but earlier in the war the output of munitions was positively hindered by the inadequacy ofthe canteen facilities available to the munition workers. The Y.M.C.A. was the first organisation to attempt to meet this need on anything like a large scale, and eventually the work grew to considerable dimensions. Our work in the munition areas has been essentially a ladies' movement, and has largely consisted of canteen work. Other features are being increasingly added, music and singing have been organised successfully, lectures have been greatly appreciated, and several big athletic features introduced. Sporting events, also cricket and football leagues for munition workers, have been well supported. It is intensely interesting to see these people at work, and no other proof of British organising power and ability are necessary than a visit to some of the great works, many of which were not built for the purpose of manufacturing munitions of war, and others improvised since the commencementof hostilities. At one place in which a canteen was formally opened by Princess Helena Victoria—who has taken the keenest interest in the development of our munitions department—from ordinary shipbuilding before the war great changes had taken place: a Super-Dreadnought was approaching completion; several T.B.D.'s were on the stocks, and some of the latest type of submarines were being built; aeroplanes were being turned out at an incredible rate; shells made by the thousand; rigid air-ships were under construction; and, perhaps as wonderful as anything, artificial feet were being made in the same workshops.
Incidentally might be mentioned here, the work the Association is doing for officers. There are four large hostels in London for the accommodation of officers, and one for officer-cadets. The youngofficer is often not blessed with too much of this world's goods, and hotel life is expensive, and not always too comfortable. The success of these hostels has demonstrated the need. At Havre, Calais, St. Omer, Étaples, and many centres up the line, as well as in home camps, such as Ripon, we have the pleasure of doing something to serve the officer, and in many English camps we have opened huts for the exclusive use of officer-cadets. Gidea Park, Berkhampstead, and Denham were amongst the first and most successful of these centres. The interned officers in Switzerland and Holland are largely catered for by the Y.M.C.A.
It has been a pleasure to co-operate from time to time with the work of the R.A.M.C. and the Red Cross. In huts, in hospitals, and convalescent camps, in caring for the relatives of wounded, in work for the walkingwounded, and in many other ways the Red Cross and the Red Triangle have worked closely together. An officer of the R.A.M.C. (T.), has written the following interesting description of the work of the Y.M.C.A. for the walking wounded:—'The O.C. the Divisional Walking Wounded Collecting Post was frankly worried as he sat in his tiny sandbagged hut with the D.A.D.M.S., and talked over all the problems which faced him in view of the "stunt" due to come off at dawn a few days later. "I've got plenty of dressings, and everything of that sort," he said, "and, of course, I can get plenty more brought up by returning ambulance cars. But there is the question of food—there's the rub. The numbers of wounded vary so greatly, and it's not so easy to lay in a huge reserve of grub as it is of dressings. Of course, I've done my best, but I'm rather worried." "If that is all your worry we'll soon putthat right," answered the optimist of the staff. "We'll get the Y.M.C.A. chap on the job." "What can he do?" "What can he not do rather? You wait and see. Come along and we'll call on him now."
'In a little shed of corrugated iron by the side of a shell-swept road they found him. With his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, he was pushing across the counter steaming mugs of cocoa and piles of buns to the crowd of hungry and clamouring Tommies who besieged his premises. He was not a young man. Not the strongest-hearted of Medical Boards would have passed him for service. To put it briefly, he had no right in the world to be where he was, in one of the nastiest corners of that particularly nasty place, Flanders. But there he was, roughing it with the rest of them, and to judge from his smiling countenance, thoroughly enjoying every particle of hisexperience. "Hello, Major!" he called out cheerfully on seeing his two officer visitors. "Anything I can do for you to-day?" "Rather! A whole lot. Can we have a talk in your own place—away from the crowd?" The Y.M.C.A. man led the way to the six feet square hole in the ground which he called his billet, and there the medical staff officer explained his needs. "There's a stunt on in a few days," he said. "You may have guessed that. What can you do to help us? You know the pressure under which the R.A.M.C. will be working. It'll be a big job dressing all the casualties there are likely to be; but we'll manage that bit. What we want is a hand in the feeding of them. You understand?" The face of the secretary glowed with excitement. "I'll do any mortal thing I can," he answered eagerly. "There'll be nothing doing here once the show starts, so I'll shut down, and bringmy whole stock over to your dressing station, and my staff too. We can feed several hundred if you'll let us." "What about the cost of the grub?" "Not a word about cost, sir! You're welcome to it free, gratis, and for nothing, with all the pleasure in the world." "Thanks awfully," said the D.A.D.M.S. "That's just what I wanted you to offer, and I thought you would; your folks have helped us so often before." "Jolly good job," mused the Y.M.C.A. man, "that I have kept hidden those extra cases of chocolates and sweet biscuits. I thought there might be something of this sort coming off."
'Ere the grey dawn of a certain morning brought the nerve-racking inferno of barrage and counter-barrage, the entire stock of the canteen was installed in the larger of the two huts which formed the collecting post. Boxes of biscuits, chocolates,and cigarettes with the lids knocked off, stood ranged along the wall, ready for the tired and hungry guests who would soon appear. Outside, in two huge cauldrons, gallons of strong cocoa were brewing merrily. Little was spoken by the men standing around, as they waited, nerves a trifle on edge, for the breaking of the storm. Suddenly from somewhere in the rear came the hollow boom of a "heavy," the artillery signal, and in an instant every battery in the area had hurled its first salvo of the barrage. The air was full of noise, the rolling roar of the guns at "drum fire," the hissing and screaming of flying shells, the echoes of far-away explosions. The ground trembled as if an earthquake had come. The battle had begun.
'The O.C. looked in at the door of the hut. "Everything ready?" he asked. "Ready and waiting," answered the Y.M.C.A. man,and very soon in twos and threes the wounded began to dribble in, and shortly a steady stream of battered humanity was straggling down the road, to halt at the welcome sight of the hut with the Red Cross flag by its door. How some of them limped over every weary step of the way was beyond understanding. With shattered limbs and mangled flesh they came, worn, hungry, thirsty, in agony, some stumbling alone, some helped along by less grievously injured comrades. In a pitiful throng they gathered around the dressing station.
'The quick eyes of the R.A.M.C. sergeant picked out the worst cases, and these were hurried into the hut where the medical officers plied their sorrowful trade. The others sat down and waited their turn with the stolid patience of the British soldier when he is wounded, and among them worked an Angel of Mercy, an elderlyangel clad in a flannel shirt, and a pair of mud-stained khaki trousers. Amid the poor jetsam of the fight went the Y.M.C.A. man with his mugs of cocoa and his biscuits, his chocolate and his cigarettes, as much a minister of healing as was the surgeon with his dressings and anodynes. All the men were bitterly cold after their long night of waiting in the old front trench, or were dead beat with the nervous strain of the action and the pain of their wounds. All were hungry. A few no longer cared greatly what more might happen to them, for they had reached the limit of endurance, as surely as they had reached the limit of suffering. But even to those last the warm drink and the food and, perhaps more than anything else, the soothing nicotine, brought back life and hope in place of apathy and despair. 'God bless you, sir,' murmured a man here and there. But the greater part could find no wordsto speak the gratitude which their eyes told forth so clearly.'
This little story is not the tale of one actual incident. It is only the stereotype of scenes that have been acted and reacted often and often at the Front. Time and time again has the Red Triangle come to the aid of the Red Cross, placing its workers and its stores unreservedly at the disposal of the Royal Army Medical Corps. When the wounded have been pouring into the dressing stations in hundreds, the Y.M.C.A. workers have taken over the responsibility of feeding them, and have halved the cares of the overwrought R.A.M.C. This they have done not once but unnumbered times, and what gratitude they have earned from their guests! The wounded man can scarcely realise what he owes to the surgeon who tends his injuries; but he does appreciate his debt to the man who feeds him and gives him the 'fag'for which he has been craving. The cocoa and cigarettes of the Y.M.C.A. do not figure among the medicaments of the Pharmacop ia, yet many a 'walking wounded' will swear to you that they have saved his life—as perhaps they have.