The land we from our fathers had in trust,And to our children will transmit or die:This is our maxim, this our piety;And God and nature say that it is just.That which we would perform in arms—we must!
The land we from our fathers had in trust,And to our children will transmit or die:This is our maxim, this our piety;And God and nature say that it is just.That which we would perform in arms—we must!
The land we from our fathers had in trust,And to our children will transmit or die:This is our maxim, this our piety;And God and nature say that it is just.That which we would perform in arms—we must!
The land we from our fathers had in trust,
And to our children will transmit or die:
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and nature say that it is just.
That which we would perform in arms—we must!
Wordsworth’s“Motherland.”
Glory we count of lesser worthThan wife and babe and hearth and home;Theirs is the mandate speeding forthOur steps of thunder on the foam;For them we fight, for them we stand,Yea, and for faith ’twixt land and land.
Glory we count of lesser worthThan wife and babe and hearth and home;Theirs is the mandate speeding forthOur steps of thunder on the foam;For them we fight, for them we stand,Yea, and for faith ’twixt land and land.
Glory we count of lesser worthThan wife and babe and hearth and home;Theirs is the mandate speeding forthOur steps of thunder on the foam;For them we fight, for them we stand,Yea, and for faith ’twixt land and land.
Glory we count of lesser worth
Than wife and babe and hearth and home;
Theirs is the mandate speeding forth
Our steps of thunder on the foam;
For them we fight, for them we stand,
Yea, and for faith ’twixt land and land.
William Watson’s“Ten Men Forsworn.”
Give my love to Patrick-street, Waterford, for that is where the best girl on earth lives, and tell Ireland that we’re doing our duty and that Thomas Moran will have another go at the Germans directly the doctor permits:Pte. T. Moran, East Lancashire Regiment.
We have had no time for anything, for when we have a minute to spare I have to give my clothes a scrub, and they don’t half get in a state. I have only got one pair of socks, and I have to wait while they dry before I can wear them:Pte. Chapman, 3rd Hussars.
I am well, and just about having the time of my life. It’s really good always being on the move, seeing fresh sights every day; and if there should be a few Germans on the move—why, it only increases the fun, and throws a little more excitement into the work:Corpl. R. Carton, Royal Field Artillery.
We are having good sport out here. I have got as good a heart now as I had when I left home. I tell you there is nothing better than having a few shells and bullets buzzing round you as long as youdon’t stop one. We are having some fine feeds out here—ducks, chickens, rabbits, and bags of fruit:Trooper G. W. Maddocks, 5th Cavalry Brigade.
Every now and again our vans go out to aid in collecting and dealing with the poor fellows who are wounded. The dead, of course, are beyond earthly aid, but the chaplain reads some prayers as the bodies are interred. Burials take place at all sorts of queer places—by the roadside, in farmyards, etc. It is awful to see the devastation which has been wrought:Pte. Coombe, Army Medical Corps.
Except for a bad cold and having lost all my belongings, I am none the worse. The thing I am sorry about is that it all happened so soon and sudden, and I hardly had time to look round. But I am ready for the next “Day excursion to Berlin.” I have one consolation, and that is I killed two Uhlans and wounded one before they captured me:A Trooper of the Dragoon Guards.
Much amusement was caused during yesterday afternoon by some remarkable legends chalked up on some transport wagons passing through. Such sentences as “This way to Berlin!” “Kaiser killers,” “Kaiser’s coffin,” “Vive la France!” and sundry other information marked up in chalk by the dusty, but jovial travellers, caused people to stop and smile:Lance-Corpl. F. E. Hunt, Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry.
I am very well; plenty to eat, and tobacco. We are in action in a wood, guns nicely under cover, and we shall be, too, shortly, for it is getting dark. We have made snug little shelters for ourselves, and are quite “comfy.” The pot is on the fire, and it won’t be long before we have a good feed. I hope to be home for Christmas dinner, so have a good spread:Bombdr. Earp, Royal Artillery.
I came down to the rest camp with others to get a fresh horse. My old horse was shot under me. I was sorry, too, for he was a splendid animal, and it is solely due to him that I am alive to write this letter. We had to make a run for it, and I can tell you that those with slow horses did not get far. Things are going very well indeed with us now, although they are about five, and in some cases twenty, to one. But we can generally manage to thrash them:Corpl. R. Greenwood, 18th Hussars.
I have given up collecting pieces of shells for souvenirs, having found myself a veritable Krupp’s scrap heap. Spies seem to be the chief excitement here, and the old motto has been altered to read, “Catch that spy!” Two days ago a haystack was found in the interior of which was a complete telegraph office working by underground cable to the German lines, and thus the Germans were kept acquainted with our movements and the disposition of our artillery:A Telegraphist, 1st Army Headquarters.
Another chap tried to get some bread at a farm. After he had made all sorts of queer signs the woman seemed to understand, and said, “Oui, oui, M’sieur,” rushed back into the house and brought back a bundle of hay! There was a terrific roar of laughter from the troops. The nonplussed look on the woman’s face and the “fed-up” expression on the chap’s made a picture worthy of the pencil of poor old Tom Brown:Bombdr. E. Cressy, Royal Field Artillery.
The troops are wonderfully popular, and I think a lot of it is due to their kindliness to the kiddies and animals, and also to their unbounded enthusiasm and good spirits. There’s no grousing, and there is nothing but what fun is made of. No one has seen the soldier at his best unless he has seen him here. Grimy, unshaved, his khaki full of grease marks, and tired out, yet full of life and fun, his sole luxury a good wash—grub, sleep, everything goes to blazes if there’s water to be had for a wash, but, good Lord, you should see our towels:A Sergeant of the Army Service Corps.
Every day we receive jam, bacon or ham, bread, tinned meat (commonly known as bully-beef), biscuits, and cheese. We do not get a lot, but enough to keep us in trim and free from want. We also get plenty of dry tea and sugar. It is quite amusing at first to see the lads making their tea, a thing they are doing all day long. On this game the boys generally get together in groups of sixes, draw their rations in bulk, and mess together. You ought to see their cooking utensils. They use water-cans, pails, in fact, anything that holds a decent amount of water:Sergt. Clark, Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry.
I see you are all excited about getting us plenty of socks, butHeaven only knows when we shall get a chance to wear them. I haven’t been out of my boots for a fortnight. It would be much more to the point if you were to send us men to give the Germans “socks.” “Merry and bright” is still our motto. Don’t get downhearted, no matter what you hear at home. Some of these days things will come all right. Keep your eyes wide open, and you will have a big surprise sooner than you think. We’re all right, and the Germans will find that out sooner than you at home:Private J. Willis.
I have never seen our lads so cheery as they are under great trials. You couldn’t help being proud of them if you saw them lying in the trenches cracking jokes or smoking while they take pot-shots at the Germans.... We have very little spare time now, but what we have we pass by smoking concerts, sing-songs, and story-telling. Sometimes we have football for a change, with a German helmet for a ball, and to pass the time in the trenches have invented the game of guessing where the next German shell will drop. Sometimes we have bets on it, and the man who guesses correctly the greatest number of times takes the stakes:Sapper Bradle.
We are at present living in a school, and it seems funny to see so many soldiers’ beds on the floor. Our bedding (don’t laugh) is one waterproof sheet and our coat for a blanket; and still we are all as happy as sand-boys. We have been here some time now enjoying a rest, and at the same time getting fitted out again for the front. As you can imagine by reading the papers, nearly everything we had—horses, carts, wagons, cookers, and Maxims—were all blown in the air by German shells, but I am thankful to say we have got over all that, and shan’t forget to pay out Johnnie German with interest the first time we have the luck to meet him again, which we all hope won’t be long, as the sooner they are crushed the sooner we will get home again:A Private of Keith, N.B.
I am having a very interesting but a jolly hard time. About fourteen days ago I was chased four miles by German Lancers. They were on horses, and I was on my machine. The road was so bad they nearly had me, but I stuck to it and got away. It has been raining “cats and dogs” the last three days, and I am wet through, but happy and contented and very well. I shall have loads to tell you when I get home—tales, I fear, of pain, rapine, suffering, and all the horrors of a great war; but allthe same I have some funny experiences to relate as well:Special Dispatch-Rider A. R. Gurney.
On the Marne we spent two days on a long mine out towards the German lines, and just when we were getting to the close of our job we heard pickaxes going as fast and as hard as you like, and then the wall of clay before us gave way, showing a party of Germans at the same game! You never saw men more astonished in your life. “Fancy meeting you,” was written all over their faces, and they hadn’t quite recovered from their shock when we pounced on them. We had a pretty sharp scrap down there indeed, but we got the best of it, though we had four of our chaps laid out. One German devil was just caught in time with a fuse which he was going to apply with the mad idea of blowing us all up!Sapper T. Gilhooly, Royal Engineers.
In the last fight we were posted near to a wall over which hung the most tempting grapes you ever set eyes on. When you’ve lain for nearly a day in a hot sun without bite or sup, grapes seem more tempting than ever. Though the Germans seemed to concentrate their whole fire on the corner where those grapes were, most of us couldn’t resist the temptation and risk of stealing out to get them. What you had to do was to crawl along the top of the trenches like a big snail, and then, when you got there, make a big spring up and catch what you could before the German shots caught you. We weren’t always successful, and there’s many a lad of ours owes his life or his wounds to touching that forbidden fruit:An Irish Guardsman.
We were on a convoy of ammunition and food, and had to go about 150 miles. We had got seventy odd miles, when we were sighted by Uhlans. There were about 100 of them, and fifty of our men, and we got in a very bad position, but we got out with the loss of a few drivers, and we never lost any of our convoy. This is our menu: Monday: breakfast, eggs; dinner, roast beef; tea, cake; supper, fish. Tuesday: breakfast, eggs; dinner, roast beef; tea, cake; supper, eels. Wednesday: breakfast, steak; dinner, rabbit; tea, biscuits; supper, eels. Thursday: breakfast, liver; dinner, pork; tea, kippers; supper, stew. Friday: breakfast, beef; dinner, ham; tea, jam; supper, stew. Saturday: breakfast, bacon; dinner, rabbit; tea, ducks; supper, eggs. Sunday: breakfast, eggs and bacon; dinner,roast beef; tea, tea. After Sunday tea we all go to the pictures (Idon’tthink):Driver Ellis, Army Service Corps.
We were all of us hungry yesterday. To-day I have been out about a mile and have returned with some carrots, onions, and potatoes. These have been peeled, cut up, and are now boiling in a pail with six tins of corned beef added. A feed is what we contemplate, and a feed we will have. We are all looking forward to a profound gorge, and I, for one, have moist lips at thought of the meal within a commandeered pail! But the bucket of stew is done! It’s fine! Excellent!! Yes! All that because it is rare on campaigns such as this. We very seldom see a cooked meal. It is usually bread and biscuit, tinned beef or tinned jam, bacon or cheese. Trust Thomas Atkins to look after himself, as you trust him to break the back of Kaiserism:Pte. A. E. Basham, Bedfordshire Regiment.
You ask me what night duty in a surgical ward on active service is like. Well, imagine a huge square room, holding fifty beds, at present occupied by thirty-three patients, the rest having been sent to the base hospital for convalescents. We mount duty at 8 o’clock, and finish at 7A.M.next morning. Our work during the night consists of attending to their personal wants, such as—one would like a drink of hot milk, another cannot sleep, he is in pain—a shrapnel wound in the thigh, and, unfortunately, he cannot turn over. So you have to look at the dressing, see that everything is O.K., start a bit of a yarn about anything, until he or you get fed up. Get him a drink, and, in all probability, the next time you have a look at him he is asleep:A Hospital Orderly.
We get now and again odd stories of what our tars are doing, and we were mighty pleased over that dust-up in the North Sea. We kept singing “Boys of the Bulldog Breed” till we thought our throats would crack, and it was taken up all along the line by our men. It’s not so risky as you would think on the battlefield. We were under heavy fire for two days before one of us was hit; I know other regiments had similar experiences. You’re all right so long as you keep under cover, but where the losses come in is when you have to retire with all those fiendish guns blazing away at you in the open. Then you can’t help being hit, and there’s always their cavalry to look out for, though it isn’t of much accountagainst men with the bayonet. They have more than they know what to do with, and they’re always turning up where they’re least expected:Corporal W. Johnson.
There are two of us in charge of each motor, because the roads being very bad our hands and wrists get awfully tired holding the wheel, and we relieve each other. Ours is most important work, for it has been said an army marches on its stomach—that is to say, an army is not much use if it is hungry; therefore, if I have food wagons attached to my motor I must be on the spot when wanted—with ammunition it is just the same, of course. When our ammunition wagons get empty other full ones are brought up and ours are filled. We never go back to fetch anything; so it is the fighting line all the time. When the battle is over—and some of them have been very long, lasting over days and days—we get what rest and sleep we can, and have a sound meal. If we have been fortunate enough we have had sundry naps during lulls in the fighting, and have been able to get our food in the same manner:A Salvationist Motor man, Royal Field Artillery.
I now coil myself up in the “O.P.” corner of the stage of the municipal theatre. It is curious to see by the dim light of the pilot lights forty or fifty men sleeping on the boards with their rifles stacked between them. The curtain is up, but the auditorium is dark and empty, for what is probably the most realistic and interesting scene that has ever been set between its proscenium. I am surrounded by a crowd of French people of every age and of all shapes and sizes. The fact that I am writing a letter seems to strike them as an incident of extraordinary interest. “Here’s one writing a letter,” they call to their friends, and they all flock round. The people of this town press round us when we feed, sleep, wash, dress, and, in fact, at every moment of the day. Until we were quartered in the theatre some of the more modest soldiers were compelled to wait till it was dark before they could summon up sufficient courage to change their clothes. One old lady has just come up and tested the quality of the material of my tunic and has moved off nodding her head in approbation. Their interest in our welfare is practical, nevertheless:Pte. F. J. St. Aubyn, Interpreter.
We saw a small body of Germans, and, having nothing better to do, we were told to go and capture them. There were thirty, and theyall gave in except one, who made a rush for it right back past our convoy. Two of us went after him. The men on the lorries fired, but they were afraid of hitting us. He led us through the village, and turned up a back lane into a sort of builder’s yard. In that yard was a pit of soft lime, and we were all running so fast that we did not see it. It looked like sand. In he falls. I am following; in I goes; can’t stop in time; up to our waists. This bloke makes a grab at me; we have a struggle; we are going in further, gun and all. The other man is shouting, “Why don’t you shoot him?” but I couldn’t. The barrel was choked with lime. Then he spit in my face. That done it. I hit him just a tap with the butt end of my rifle on the napper, and down he went. Meanwhile my pal had gone for help. They fetched planks, ladders, and all sorts of things. At last they pulled me out by sticking my head and shoulders through the rungs. You should have seen me when I did get out—a very pretty sight. When the women saw me they tore all the things off me and threw pails of water over me and thoroughly dowsed me. One woman gave me an old skirt to put on, and I marched back like that. As far as I know, that “sausage” is there now, as he did not wake up after that tap for luck:An Infantry Private.
The Germans are great on night attacks, but they soon found out that they had to be out very early if they wanted to catch us napping. One night we got a hint that something might be looked for, so we made preparations to give them a very nice reception when they paid their early morning call. Strong parties of picked shots were thrown out all along the line towards the German trenches and their orders were to lie in wait until the Germans came up to drive back the pickets. Just when we were getting impatient and wanting to shout, “Hurry up! Hurry up!” like they do in the music halls when the turns are slow at coming on, rifles began to crack in front, and the pickets fell back more quickly than usual. That was our chance. The Germans came on like the great big brave chaps they are when they’re twenty to one, and we let them come until the head of their force was level with a tree that had been marked for range. “Now!” the officer in command whispered, and we gave it them right where they carry their rations after dinner. We poured another volley into them, and then went after them with the bayonets. They beat us easily in the sprinting; besides, we had orders not to venture too far from camp, so we came back and lay down to wait for the next turn.They came back again, and when they got to the tree they stopped to look around. They got the same old sauce as before, and they were off again. The entertainment wasn’t altogether over, for half an hour later a big body of Germans falling back from another little surprise on our left walked right into us. We blazed right into them, and they didn’t wait to ask what sort of culture it was that made it possible to grow rifles in the wood at night-time:A Lance-Corporal of the East Yorkshire Regiment.
I daresay you wonder how we go on about our cooking. When we were in column we had a cook for every sub-section. Every evening, or when we arrived at our billet, rations were drawn. A sub-section of forty men would draw about eight to twelve pounds of cheese, nine or ten pounds of bacon, about one and a half to two pounds of tea, two to three pounds of sugar, and, if there was bread, about sixteen loaves, each weighing about two pounds, or two 56 lb. boxes of biscuits, forty tins of bully beef, or twenty-eight pounds of fresh meat. I cooked for three weeks, and I can assure you it is no joke to be cook to forty men and not know much about the work. I will give an idea of a day’s work as cook. We had as a ruleréveilléat 3A.M.or 4A.M.I would get up half an hour earlier and start the fire. The water would boil within twenty minutes, and I put the tea and sugar in. The men would afterwards use the fire themselves for frying. Directly breakfast was over I filled the dixies again and kept them ready for dinner. Some of the fellows would come in and would peel potatoes and carrots. I cut the meat up, or, if there was no fresh meat, I opened tins of bully beef as a substitute. I put this on the fire two or three hours before dinner so as to ensure it being done properly. In the afternoon rations were drawn. I had to cut them up, and it wants some judgment to cut a small piece of bacon or cheese for forty hungry men. But it was always done somehow. Tea was ready from four to five o’clock. Milk was got where possible, in addition to eggs and butter. I was fed up with it after three weeks and handed it over. It is different in the battery I am in here. The corporal draws the rations and cuts them up. We generally have bacon for breakfast. We fry it in our saucepan together and soak the bread in the fat; it goes down good:Gunner Southern, Royal Horse Artillery.
One night—there were about ten of us—we were surprised to find a light in an empty farmhouse,and were still more surprised to find sounds of revelry coming out through the window. We peeped in, and there were about fifty Germans all over the shop, drinking, and eating, and smoking, and generally trying to look as if they were having a jolly old time. It was a dare-devil of an Irishman who suggested that we ought to give the Germans a little surprise, and we were all in with him. Doing our best to look fierce, and create the impression that we had at least a brigade behind us, we flung open the door without any ceremony. Our first rush was for the passage where most of the Germans had stacked their rifles, and from there we were able to cover the largest party in any one room. They were so taken aback that they made very little resistance. The only chap who showed any fight at all was a big fellow, who had good reason to fear us, for he had escaped the day before, after being arrested as a spy. He whipped out a revolver, and some of his chums drew swords, but we fired into them, and they threw up their hands, after the little one had sent a revolver bullet through my arm. We fastened them up securely, collected all the smokes and grub they had not touched, and marched them off to the camp. There was a nice how-d’ye-do when we got back, for the sound of firing so close by had alarmed the whole camp, and we were called to account for our behaviour. I think they were inclined to let us down lightly, because of the prisoners, particularly the spy chap; but we had no business to be out of barracks that night, and we’ll probably have some mark of official displeasure chalked up against us:Pte. F. Lewis, 1st South Staffs.
Come all the world against her,England yet shall stand.
Come all the world against her,England yet shall stand.
Come all the world against her,England yet shall stand.
Come all the world against her,
England yet shall stand.
A. C. Swinburne.
Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed;Vain, those all-shattering guns,Unless proud England keep, untamed,The strong heart of her sons.So, let his name through Europe ring—A man of mean estate,Who died as firm as Sparta’s king,Because his soul was great.
Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed;Vain, those all-shattering guns,Unless proud England keep, untamed,The strong heart of her sons.So, let his name through Europe ring—A man of mean estate,Who died as firm as Sparta’s king,Because his soul was great.
Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed;Vain, those all-shattering guns,Unless proud England keep, untamed,The strong heart of her sons.So, let his name through Europe ring—A man of mean estate,Who died as firm as Sparta’s king,Because his soul was great.
Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed;
Vain, those all-shattering guns,
Unless proud England keep, untamed,
The strong heart of her sons.
So, let his name through Europe ring—
A man of mean estate,
Who died as firm as Sparta’s king,
Because his soul was great.
Sir F. H. Doyle’s“Private of the Buffs.”
We run a series of concerts each evening round a big camp fire, and I am always the first to start them off. There are three French girls who come down and sing for us, but they are not as good as you at singing:A Private of the A.M.C.
Most of the Highlanders are hit in the legs. It is because of tartan trews and hose, which are more visible at a distance than any other part of their dress. Bare calves also show up in sunlight:Private P. Barry.
Our officers don’t grab the best for themselves like the German brutes. The other night, in the wet and cold—and it was really cold—three of our officers turned out of a snug big bedroom in a farm to make way for four of our privates who were done up with cold and fatigue:Pte. Watts, Cheshire Regiment.
Soap is unknown out here, but luck had it that I found a German haversack the other day. It contained, amongst numerous useless things, two sticks of shaving soap (scented). Now all the troops are chipping me for using scented soap on active service. I don’t mind—it’s soap:Pte. Revis, 4th Middlesex Regiment.
Some of the towns we passed through suggested that there had been a battle of bottles rather than a battle of bullets. The streets were thickly strewn with bottles, champagne bottles and bottles that had contained the modest vin ordinaire. In those respects the Germans do themselves well:Bombdr. Jamieson, Royal Artillery.
The French are fighting hard all round us with a grit and a go that will carry them through. Have you ever seen a little man fighting a great, big, hulking giant, who keeps on forcing the little man about the place until the giant tires himself, and then the little one, who has kept his wind, knocks him over? That’s how the fighting round here strikes me. We are dancing about round the big German army here, but our turn will come:Corpl. T. Trainor.
It is a funny thing that Harry should dream about my arm being in a sling. You can tell him it is quite true. It was my right arm, and it is in a sling, but it will soon be out again for action. I enclose you a photo of dear old “Taff,” the goat which was the mascot of the regiment. He was shot the same day as I was, but I am very sorry to say that he is dead:Pte. Boswell, Welsh Regiment.
Have come across some very strange soldiers, with stranger weapons and equipment. Talk about the load of a Tommy, the pack of a Turco or Senegalese is double the size, and they are tough nuts, you take it from me. The cultured army of Kaiser Bill is material for mincemeat before very long, and all I can say is, “God help the troops with which the native regiments, both African and Indian, get to grips”:A Staff Sergeant-Major.
It is all very well to read in the papers what a chap wrote to someone in Redhill about being fifty-six hours in the trenches and arranging football matches. We were thirteen days in the trenches at one place, where we only had to stand up a minute to bring a battery of German artillery on the top of us, and for hours we had to lie still or be blown to atoms. But never mind; the sun will shine again:Pte. Gibson, Royal Scots.
“Daddy’s Old Corps,” as we call the Lincolns, caught a lot ofprisoners who seemed glad to get caught. One man was asked if he spoke English. He replied, “English none,” and on being asked if he wanted some biscuits, he said, “Ah, yes, I’m hungry,” so he was evidently a typical German—good at telling lies. He also knew how to demolish, for he got through six biscuits and a 12 oz. tin of bully in the twinkling of a gnat’s eyebrow, and then said, “More”:Corpl. Hawkins, of the Lincolns.
Even the animals in the French villages seemed to know the difference between us and the Germans, and they used to come out to meet us. There was a dog that followed our battery on the march for four days, and we hadn’t the heart to chase it away, and kept it with us. It was a soldier’s dog, you could see, and it died a soldier’s death, for it was smashed to pieces by a shell when curled upon the ground beside one of our guns in action. We crave it a soldier’s funeral with our own comrades next day:An Artilleryman, of Leicester.
I am thankful to say I managed to take communion this morning, the first time since I have been out here, and I took it under very extraordinary conditions. It was in a large house, which has been converted into a hospital, and we were in a dark cellar, in which were several casks of wine. We knelt on mattresses covered with blood, and we could hear shells bursting outside. We could also hear the groans of the wounded inside the building, Germans as well as English, but still the communion service was nice and inspiring, even under such conditions:Sergt.-Major Elliott, Queen’s West Surrey.
You see some of us with a saucepan, or a frying-pan, and all sorts of pots to do a bit of cooking in. We covered a large cornfield one day in action, and when a few rounds had gone up a hare and a rabbit dodged my way. I had them both. My pal had a plump little partridge, and then a fowl got in the way; so we had a good feed at the end of the day. We pooled the lot and put them in a pot together:Pte. Oliver, 2nd Worcesters.
Before leaving Belgium we arranged with a priest to have masses said for the souls of our dead chums, and we scraped together what odd money we had, but his reverence wouldn’t hear of taking our money for prayers for the relief of the brave lads who haddied so far from the Old Land to rid Belgian soil of the unmannerly German scrubs. When we got here we sang “Paddies Evermore,” and then we were off to chapel to pray for the souls of the lads that are gone:Private McGlade.
By the address, you will see I am at my winter hotel, but, unfortunately, am confined to my room by a slight indisposition. As a matter of fact, I have been wounded in my left leg by a sweet little German humming-bird, or bullet, which wanted a good home. This place is a magnificent hotel, and we are very comfortable here. I am in a spacious ball-room, beautifully decorated. The kindness of the French people is wonderful, and an example to some of the Britishers, who in time of peace won’t look at a redcoat:Lance-Corporal Hawkins.
We were down to the last cigarette in a box that had done the company for a week. There was a fight to get it, but the sergeant-major said we would have to shoot for it like the King’s Prize at Bisley. It was to go to the man hitting the most Germans in fifty shots. A corporal was sent up a tree to signal hits and misses as best he could. Half the company entered, and the prize was won by a chap who had twenty-three hits. The runner-up had twenty-two, and, as a sort of consolation prize, he was allowed to sit near while the winner smoked the cigarette. He said being near the smoke was better than nothing:A Private of the Scottish Rifles.
We billeted for two days at a place two days’ march from Belgium, and had a pretty good time bathing, and—what was most amusing—fishing in a small pond for “tiddlers.” I and a chum went to a woman at a house and, making her understand the best way we could, begged some cotton and a couple of pins. We had a couple of hours’ fishing, and captured quite two dozen, although before long lots of our chaps caught the complaint and did the same as we did, causing much amusement. I suppose that Frenchwoman had to buy a new stock of cotton, but she was a good sort and was as much amused as the soldiers:Pte. Purgue, of the Royal Fusiliers.
The open-air service was good. The chaplain is a dear old chap. I had to go and fetch him from headquarters and take him back after the service, which was rather touching, though he managed to puta bit of fun into it. He gave us a text which I think I shall remember all my life; it fitted the occasion so good. It was: “The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in.” I am having a rather soft time of it lately.... Two weeks ago I was out buying bullocks, and that journey lasted ten days. I had a nice bed each night, tons of good food, and a good bath. It was the first time I had taken my clothes off since we landed:A Soldier with the 4th Division Train.
Our fellows get on very well with the Frenchmen; I suppose it is because most of us can talk the lingo after a style. There was one old chap called Polus, a short, tubby little fellow with bright eyes and black moustache, we palled up to quite a lot. He could sing quite well, and was very funny when we called him Signor Caruso. We had him by the fire the other night; you can imagine us round a fire in a corner, formed up against the outside wall of the station, and a lean-to shed, ourselves, some of the Scottish, and some Frenchmen, and this old chap singing and keeping us laughing all the time. He had really a fine voice, and sang the “Marseillaise” and “Toreador,” and one or two other songs very well indeed:Sergt. Sandle, of the H.A.C.
Two of our chaps one day had a wrangle about when we were likely to reach Berlin. One thought it would be by Christmas, but the other, being more patriotic, was for St. Andrew’s Day, and said there was no prospect of any haggis for the occasion. They made a bet on it, and it was duly registered by a chum, who acted as bookmaker for them frequently. Next day they were in action, and one of them was badly hit. His mate found him, and he saw he hadn’t long to live. The wounded man was far gone, but he had enough sense to recognize his chum, and in a weak voice he said, “I’m thinkin’, Geordie, that wee bet o’ oors wull hae tae be aff noo. It’s gey hard, but the Almighty kens best”:A Sergeant of the Seaforth Highlanders.
I see men of the other Irish regiments now and again, and they’re terribly put out over the way these German heathens are destroying churches and sending priests out to starve by the roadside in order that the Germans may be free to live in their swinish way in the houses and churches and sacred buildings. There’s not a man in any of the regiments, Protestant or Roman, that doesn’t mean to make the Germans pay forthis, and, with all their bitterness against our faith, there are Protestants from the North who are wilder than we are about it, and declare they won’t stand by and see such things done by dirty Germans without making a row about it. One of them said the other day in his solemn Presbyterian way, “I hate the Pope as much as any man, and I wouldn’t think twice about shutting down all your chapels, but it’s another story when the Germans try it on.” That’s the way most of the men from the North look at it:Pte. Harkness, Royal Irish Regiment.
I am one of the fortunate ones. I was always told I would never be killed, and I begin to think I was born under a lucky star. I have been engaged in driving motor-wagons to and from the men lying in the trenches fighting our battle on the Aisne. Certainly I have seen very little of the fighting, but the roar of the big guns has been my companion night and day. I had not been on the job four days before I lost my first wagon, which I named the “London, Croydon, and Purley Growler.” On my second journey to the field of operations we were ambushed by a body of Germans, who pounced out of a wood, but not one of them got back to tell the tale. It was a perfect eye-opener for me and a nerve-tester, I can tell you. We were just congratulating ourselves when crash went a shell on to the bonnet. How I escaped I don’t know. My growler was no good; she was a complete wreck. After transferring the load to another lorry we abandoned her and got away, but not before several of our fellows were winged:Private W. G. Davies, A.S.C.
Some men prefer to prepare their own food, but the majority divide themselves into sections and get one, or sometimes two, of their number to do all the cooking, washing up, etc. And whatever “cookie” serves up is always accepted as excellent. And many are the jokes cracked and tales told round the fire during meal-times. Very often the cooks have just got a fire going and the pots on when the order comes, “Wind up,”i.e.start engines going, and then there is commotion. Semi-boiling water has to be thrown away, and half-cooked food put back in the “grub-box” till the next stop. But we have nothing to grumble at. There is food—and to spare—for all of us. One thing that is often wanted by our men is a good glass of English ale. I know a few here who would gladly give their day’s rations for a “pint.” The “landof wine and cider” will never be the “land of beer” to the English Tommy. We have many a sing-song of a night round the camp fires. I have got a melodeon, which was left on a battlefield by a German soldier, so that is our band. It is an impressive sight to see about thirty fellows around a fire singing lustily “A Little Grey Home in the West,” accompanied by a melodeon, with the roar of cannon occasionally breaking in:Driver Drake, of the Supply Column.
The people all round here speak Flemish; it is a curious mixture of English, French, and German, and they sometimes give us useful information. They are a fine healthy stock, and work like niggers for us. Our hostess was up all night feeding soldiers as they came in. Yesterday I met a splendid old man, who told me all about his son and showed me his photograph; he had one postcard from his son, with no date, merely saying, “All well,” and the old man told me he had buried it in the garden for fear the Germans should come and take it from him. That gave me some idea of how people at home feel about their relatives at the front:Despatch-rider Gabain, 1st Cavalry Brigade.
We sleep fourteen in a tent, which is a bit crowded, but we are not in it long enough to notice it. Fourteen of us washed in two quarts of water this morning! So we have plenty of ink, and some of us haven’t changed our clothes for five or six weeks. We have two rather queer pets here: two little pigs, who run about among the horses, and are quite friendly with them, and eat their corn as well. As one of the fellows said, pork (or, as the French call it,jambon) tastes very nice boiled, so they may be, before very long, in the casualty list as missing or prisoners of war:Lance-Corpl. Forward, Army Service Corps.
We must be free or die, who speak the tongueThat Shakespeare spake: the faith and morals holdWhich Milton held.
We must be free or die, who speak the tongueThat Shakespeare spake: the faith and morals holdWhich Milton held.
We must be free or die, who speak the tongueThat Shakespeare spake: the faith and morals holdWhich Milton held.
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake: the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.
Wordsworth’s“It is not to be thought of.”
Drink! to our fathers who begot us men,To the dead voices that are never dumb;Then to the land of all our loves, and thenTo the long parting, and the age to come.
Drink! to our fathers who begot us men,To the dead voices that are never dumb;Then to the land of all our loves, and thenTo the long parting, and the age to come.
Drink! to our fathers who begot us men,To the dead voices that are never dumb;Then to the land of all our loves, and thenTo the long parting, and the age to come.
Drink! to our fathers who begot us men,
To the dead voices that are never dumb;
Then to the land of all our loves, and then
To the long parting, and the age to come.
Henry Newbolt’s“Sacramentum Supremum.”
Now we have our nose in the right direction, but it’s stiff work and slow, and a case of dog eat dog, the meat being tough on either side:Sergt. Surr, East Lancashires.
Don’t run away with the idea that this is going to be an easy thing, for it’s not, and the sooner the fireside chin-waggers at home realize it the sooner will the job be finished in the way a soldier likes to see such jobs done:Private E. Mayhead.
The German bully has not quite come up to expectations. Tommy is his superior in every department, bar telling lies, of which the “sausage” has no superior. They are getting hard hit all over the place, and seem anxious to get back to the Vaterland:Corporal Rogers.
Surely you are not anxious in England about the result of the war. There can only be one result if Germany still continues to fight—that is, the absolute destruction of her army. There has no one been taken in more than we ourselves have been with the quality of the German army:Pte. Harker, Army Service Corps.
The Germans are making a dead set at the English, and are puttingtheir best troops against them. They despised us as a negligible quantity, but they have got to know by now that they have to reckon with some of the best fighting troops in the world. We fight voluntarily and not compulsorily:A Sergeant-Major of 18th Hussars.
The whole of the army has absolute confidence in General French. He is such a splendidly cool leader. Nothing flurries him, and he treats his troops like men. When he passes along the lines he doesn’t come looking sulky or stern, but he will talk as pleasantly to the ordinary soldier as to the highest officer. Yes, the army in France will follow General French anywhere:Pte. S. Powell, 2nd Batt. Welsh Regiment.
We don’t mind how hard the Germans press us, for we can always give them as good as they give us, with something to spare as a reminder to Kaiser Bill that he’s backed the wrong horse this time. I expect he knows it by now, however, and I wouldn’t be in his place for worlds. It must be awful to feel that you have made mugs of so many poor chaps who are being sent to their deaths for no good reason that any sane person can see:Private J. Thomson.
When it comes to close fighting it has been shown more times than I can count that, man for man, our regiments are equal to anything the Germans can put in the field, and we’re certainly not impressed with the fighting finish of the German soldier. Their prisoners are surly and bad-tempered, who don’t like being taken, and evidently bear us a grudge for catching them:Private T. Macpherson.
There’s very little chance for any of the showy kind of fighting that gets into the papers and delights the girls. It’s simply dull, dreary work in the trenches, where there’s more mud than glory and more chills on the liver than cheers. This war will be won by the men who can put up with the most of that sort of thing, and we have got to grin and bear it right to the end. I must say that, though it’s not what they like best, our chaps are keeping at it pretty well, and they won’t be easily worn out at this game:Pte. G. Turner, Hampshire Regiment.
What do you think of our army now? I wonder what the Kaiser thinks about it? His famous crushing machine turns out to be an easily demoralized crowd of automaticsoulless clods who don’t know the meaning of individual effort and efficiency. Take away their driving power, the fear of their brutal officers, and they stand a useless mass of brainless, bewildered men. They have a certain amount of pluck, but they don’t know how to put it to account:A Manchester Soldier.
German prisoners are a good deal more friendly than they were. I think they are coming to see we are not the fiends we were painted, and, besides, many of their men are sick of the whole business. All classes of society are found in the ranks as private soldiers, and one of the toughest customers I have had through my hands was a professor of music at one of the universities. He was quite young, in spite of his position, and he fought like a tiger. His hatred of us was shown in every way possible. He had lived in London for some time and knew our language well:Sergeant T. Whelan.
I am not at all surprised to find the Germans cracking up before the swift advance of the Allies. They gave us the impression at first that they were in too big a hurry to keep going for long at a time, but I suppose haste is part of the method of waging war. The Germans themselves are not very terrible as fighters. It is the strangeness of their methods and the up-to-date character of their appliances that count for a great deal. You do not expect to be half blinded with searchlights when marching at night, and though we get used to it soon, the horses do not, and I found that we often got into tight corners through the horses getting terrified at the glare of the light:Trooper P. Ryan, 4th Dragoon Guards.
Our men are easily the best troops out here, and the Germans are the “rottenest” fighters it is possible to imagine. They fight like devils when you can’t get at them, but when captured (and we have got them wholesale) they try to give one the impression they don’t want to fight, and only do so under compulsion. Our infantry are simply marvellous, especially the “Jocks” and the “Guards.” Taking things on the whole, the Germans rely almost entirely on artillery, and their shells drop like rain without doing a great amount of harm, whilst their infantry are packed like sardines in trenches, and they could not hit the town they were born in:Pte. L. Brown, 18th Hussars.
There’s not the least doubt that we have the whip hand of the Germans now, and it’s only a question of time until we knock them under altogether. Their officers simply won’t hear of letting them surrender, and so long as there’s an officer about they’ll stand like sheep and be slaughtered by the thousand. They fear their officers ten times worse than they fear death. When there isn’t an officer about they’re quick enough to surrender. Some of them have been kept marching night and day for days on end. It’s a horrible sight to see some of them used up as they have been; and they hate their officers like poison for what they have had to go through:Private King.
One dare not think of all the misery, sadness, and sorrow that greets one where the fighting has been; lifelong efforts and struggling dashed to the ground in the space of an hour or so. You quiet English folks, with your beautiful homes and orderly lives, cannot realize what a modern war means. You must spend night after night in cattle trucks, where groaning, dying men are lying on straw; you must imagine the interior of those trucks, only lighted with a dripping oil lamp; you must see the pale, drawn faces and the red-stained limbs; then you must stop and ask yourself if you are really in the twentieth century, or if you are not dreaming. How one gets to love the light and the sun after such nightmares, even when the Germans were so near, and that with the dawn we knew the sing-song of the cannons would start again. I could have yelled with joy at the first signs of daylight:An English Interpreter.
Some plucky things have been done by chauffeurs and motor-lorry drivers. It would make some of your London drivers stare to see what they will risk. One of them said this war will cause a revolution in motor driving, as, till now, they never had a chance of seeing what a heavy motor-van could do off a macadamized road. They simply go whereever there is room for them, and more than once they have charged patrol parties who tried to capture them, and got through all right. One driver, seeing that the road was blocked, charged a wooden fence and turf wall, and got out of the way of a lorry that the Germans sent at full speed to smash him. The smashing was on the German lorry. Motorcycles also do wonders. They travel like demons, and rarely get hit:Pte. Watts, Cheshire Regiment.
Fighting’s kindergarten work compared with lying in your damp clothes in the washed-out trenches night and day, with maybe not a chance of getting any more warmth than you can get from a wax match. That you may have in the day-time, but you’ll get into trouble if you fit it on in the night, when the least sign of light will bring the enemy’s fire down on you, besides the court-martial next day. You’re lying there until you’re as stiff as if you were dead, and your body’s twisted and torn with the pains of rheumatism and lumbago or quinsy, or your whole frame shakes with the ague. That’s the sort of work that tells you whether a man’s made of the right stuff, but you needn’t think there’s any grumbling. Our chaps can put up with that just as well as anybody, and they’ll come through it all right:Pte. Cook, Coldstream Guards.
What most of us feel here is that the Germans are staking everything on fighting in France or Belgium, and when they are beaten, as they will be sooner or later, they will howl for peace to save their own country from the horrors of invasion. That’s an idea we have got from their prisoners, and they think it’s a rattling good one. If it were left to the army to settle you may be sure that we’d vote to a man for giving the devils a taste of their own medicine, and you’ll see us crossing their sacred Rhine before long unless you’re the greatest fools in creation. You are only a woman and can’t vote, but for Heaven’s sake rub it in to all the men you know that this is what the army feels about the thing. We wouldn’t make peace with the devils until we’ve rubbed their noses well into the ground of their Fatherland, and we’ll do it yet, even if it costs us a million lives:Lance-Corpl. S. Northcroft, of Wolverhampton.
The great match for the European Cup is still being played out, and I daresay there’s a record gate, though you can’t see the spectators from the field. That’s one of the rules of the game when this match is on. Our team is about as fit as you can have them, and they’re all good men, though some of them are amateurs and the Germans are all “pros.” The German forwards are a rotten pack. They have no dash worth talking about, and they come up the field as though they were going to the funeral of their nearest and dearest. When they are charged they nearly always fall away on to their backs, and their goal-keeping’s about the rottenest thing you ever set eyes on. I wouldn’tgive a brass farthing for their chances of lifting the Cup, and if you have any brass to spare you can put it on the Franco-British team, who are scoring goals so fast that we haven’t time to stop and count them. The Kaiser makes a rotten captain for any team, and it’s little wonder they are losing. Most of our side would like to tell him what they think of him and his team:A Gunner of the Royal Field Artillery.
We have been in the thick of the fighting all the time, and I can’t understand how it happens that I’m alive and here now, and everyone else is the same. If ever there was a Providence above watching and guarding, there is one over our regiment, and me in particular. Last week I was four days and three nights without sleep at all, except an hour in the saddle or lying on the roadside; but we have been having a rest this last two days, and we could do with it. You don’t look very well in your photo; in fact, it made me feel more worried than whole regiments of Germans would do. You are worrying about me, I am afraid, and you absolutely must not do that. Why, I’m in the pink of condition; have just had a chicken for dinner (from a deserted château). Have just had two packets of Player’s from the Cigarette Fund. I’m just going to have a sleep, and I wouldn’t call the King my uncle:A Bandsman of the Lancers.
Everybody is wild about the Indians, and the way they behave themselves under fire is marvellous. One day we were close to them when their infantry received its baptism of fire. When they got the order to advance you never saw men more pleased in all your life. They went forward with a rush like a football team charging their opponents, or a party of revellers rushing to catch the last train. They got to grips with the Germans in double-quick time, and the howl of joy that went up told us that those chaps felt that they were paying the Germans back in full for the peppering they had got whilst waiting for orders. When they came back from that charge they looked very well pleased with themselves, and they had every right to be. They are very proud of being selected to fight with us, and are terribly anxious to make a good impression. They have done it, and no mistake. I watched them one day under shell fire and I was astonished at their coolness. “Coal-boxes” were being emptied around them, but they didn’t seem to pay the slightest heed, and if one of them did gounder his mates simply went on as though nothing had happened. They make light of wounds, and I have known cases where men have fought for days with wounds that might have excused any man dropping out: I have seen a man dress one himself in the firing line. One day I questioned one chap about it, and his answer, given with a smile, was, “We must be as brave as the English.” They are astonished at the coolness of our men under fire, and it’s amusing to hear them trying to pick up our camp songs. They were greatly taken with “The March of the Cameron Men,” which they heard one night. They have a poor opinion of the Germans as fighting men, and are greatly interested when we tell them of the horrors perpetrated on the French and Belgians. We are all impressed with the Indians—they are fine fellows:A Sergeant of the King’s Own Scottish Borderers.
I have a French book for travellers in France, so with it I went to a farm and showed them that I wanted eggs. So they said, “Ah, wee.” The man got a whip and bunched all the chickens together, and then told me to pick one out. I tried to make him understand it was eggs I wanted, not chickens, but failed. So I got an onion, put it on some straw, sat on it, and then got up and “Cock-a-doodle-dooed!” Laugh, you would have thought they had gone mad. They went to the farm next door and told them, and there I was stuck in the middle of them, going all colours of the rainbow. The secret of it was this; in the book it says: “English, I would like two boiled eggs; French,Je veux deux œufs à la coque.” I showed them the last word, which I thought was eggs, but eggs isœufs. Well, well, it’s all in a lifetime:A London Fusilier.