The Blue Book of the War 3
The Blue Book of the War
The Spirit of Britain
One of the delusions on which the Germans fed their stupidity was that all manly qualities had rotted away in the youth of these islands. Some of their writers mocked us as fat and lazy, incapable of endurance, moral or physical; others sneered at our fondness for sport, and contrasted, in their own favour, German work with British play. It did not occur to them, apparently, that our activities in sport were quite inconsistent with degeneracy; but then, as their conduct in the war has shown, the Germans have not the faintest conception of the qualities that make either a sportsman or a gentleman. Yet it is strange that they should so have deluded themselves. When we remember even such recent examples of the British spirit as Scott and Shackleton, we may quite fairly ask what signs of decadence are to be got from their careers, and what heroes Germany can put up to match them. And if any further proof were needed that the Germans have blundered, we have only to look at the deeds that our New Army is at this moment so heroically performing in all the theatres of war.
The Germans, in particular, were utterly sceptical of our capacity to produce competent officers. Boastfully confident in the virtues of their own iron military system, they were unable to conceive that a country which had never possessed a large army or devoted itself seriously to military training could in a short space of time provide officers that would match their own in knowledge and ability. Again, their mistake sprang from sheer stupidity. They did not realise that the ways of life, the traditions, which make a sportsman and a gentleman are precisely the foundations of character, and that it is character that tells.
Among the benefits which this terrible struggle will ultimately confer on the world not the least valuable will be that new knowledge and sympathy between man and man which is bred of constant intercourse in the face of difficulty and danger. Thousands of our working men had never, before the war, come in contact with men in higher stations, and regarded them with suspicion and distrust. They have had a revelation. I have seen letters from private soldiers expressing love and worship of the young men whom the King had appointed to lead them; "he was so good to us all"; "I have had the privilege of being officer 5 servant to . . . and found him to be not only my officer but a brother at all times "; "he was a brave leader of men, and is greatly missed by all." There can be no doubt that in the days to come the memory of thousands of these young officers will have an abiding influence on the social life of our people.
To illustrate the spirit in which young officers, scarcely more than boys, have entered upon the Great Adventure, I quote passages from two letters, the first relating the writer's first experience under fire, the second written on the day before the opening of our great offensive9 on the Somme, in which the writer was killed.
FIRST EXPERIENCE OF FIRE
"It was twilight; a faint ground mist increased the gloom below; but the sky showed bright and red in the west. The tall shell-scarred trees lining the road showed up darkly against this, and marked with precision the course along which the transport pursued its way.
"There were about half a dozen wagons; in front rode the quartermaster, in the rear were two brand new subalterns, on their way to join their battalion in the trenches.
"There was a distant rumbling of guns and the rattle of wheels and hoofs on the country road.
"Whiz! a mighty rushing sound overhead, louder than an express at speed, followed immediately by a volcano. A shell had struck the front wagon of the transport immediately following our two young subalterns.
"All seemed confused, but it was an orderly confusion; the untouched wagons increased their pace to get out of the danger zone.
Shells rained down round the site of the first. The noise resembled an unnaturally loud 'tube.' The air was full of red flashes. Then silence and darkness, except for the rumble of the carts and the light of the stars.
"The quartermaster rode up and explained the situation. The enemy had the ranges and positions of spots all along the roads which our transports had to travel, and every night at dusk their batteries landed out, in the hope of catching our traffic. .
"The transport halted at the battalion dump, a spot on the road between two ruined houses. No sooner had it done so than I was aware of a multitude of noises which previously had been hidden by the rumbling of the wagons. All around the air seemed full of ear-piercing cracks, while every few seconds could be heard the whine of a passing shot, and as often the sharp plonk as one struck some object. Less frequently there would be a quick hissing through the grass and mud as a bullet ricochetted along the ground. Every minute a rapid beating would resound for a few moments-a machine-gun traversing in short bursts. Now, too, not only could the concussion of the guns be distinguished, but I could follow the path of the shells from the rushing and humming they made overhead.
"In a semicircle around me, about a mile in radius, Verey lights were continually brightening the landscape, and although so distant they lighted our immediate surroundings more than the fullest moon. In their cold radiance the horses could be seen moving uneasily as a bullet sped past too near for comfort.
"The quartermaster guided me along an open road towards a small wood which showed up distinctly against this semicircle of light. It was the grounds of an ancient chateau, full of statues, arbours, picturesque stone bridges across running brooks and stagnant ponds. Somewhere a small waterfall splashed merrily. In the heart of the wood lights and moving figures could be seen and voices be heard.
"Whiz! Splash! A bullet has found its end in the water on my right. Plonk ! One hits a tree on my left. My emotions are extreme joy and enthusiasm. I repeat to myself: ' This is the life ! Quaint, don't you think so?"
BEFORE GOING INTO ACTION
"I am writing this letter to you just before going into action to-morrow morning about dawn.
"I am about to take part in the biggest battle that has yet been fought in France, and one which ought to help to end the war very quickly.
"I never felt more confident or cheerful in my life before, and would not miss the attack for anything on earth. The men are in splendid form, and every officer and man is more happy and cheerful than I have ever seen them. I have just been playing a rag game of football in which the umpire had a revolver and a whistle.
"My idea in writing this letter is in case I am one of the 'costs, and get killed. I do not expect to be, but such things have happened, and are always possible.
"It is impossible to fear death out here when one Is no longer an individual, but a member of a regiment and of an army. To be killed means nothing to me, and it is only you who suffer for it; you really pay the cost.
"I have been looking at the stars, and thinking what an immense distance they are away. What an insignificant thing the loss of, say, forty years of life is compared with them ! It seems scarcely worth talking about.
"Well, good-bye, you darlings. Try not to worry about it, and remember that we shall meet again really quite soon.
"This letter is going to be posted if. . . . Lots of love. From your loving son,
"Qui procul hinc Ante die penit, Sed miles, sed pro Patria."