MY DEAR CHARLES,--This letter is written in England, but the reason for
my presence here is not to be dismissed in a breath or mentioned first
anyhow. It is to be led up to gradually, the music being stopped and the
audience being asked to refrain from shuffling their feet about and
coughing when we come to the critical moment.
Reviewing my military career, I do not look upon myself as great; I look
upon myself rather as very great. Even at the beginning of it I had a
distinct way with me. I would say to fifty men, "Form fours," and sure
enough they would form them. I would then rearrange my ideas and say,
"Form two-deep," and there, in the twinkling of an eye, was your two
deep. This is not common, I think; it was just something in me, some
peculiar gift for which I was not responsible. So pleasing was the
effect that I would sometimes go on repeating the process for ten
minutes or so, and every time it fell out exactly as I said it would, no
one ever daring to suggest that the sooner I settled down to a definite
policy, whether in fours or twos, the sooner the War would end.
For six months I continued performing this difficult and dangerous work,
only once making the mistake of ordering my men to take a left turn and
myself taking a right one. Fortunately this happened in a local town of
tortuous by-ways, and so it fell out that I and my platoon only met
again later in the day; and a most touching meeting it was. Discussing
the matter afterwards with my C.O., I inclined to the view that it was
an accident which I, for my part, was quite ready to forgive and forget.
My C.O. was, however, out of sorts at the moment; in fact he let his
tongue run away with him. He even proposed to put me on the Barrack
Square for a month, a suggestion which caused my Adjutant (who was
interfering as usual) to smile quite unpleasantly. I just looked them
straight in the face and said nothing. This, I think, was little short
of masterly on my part, since I knew all the time, and knew that they
know, that there was in fact no Barrack Square thereabouts to put me on.
After this my men did so extraordinarily well that I became a marked
man. I was, in fact, invited to step over to France and to give some
practical demonstrations in the art of making war. To pack a few
articles into a bag and to parade my men was with me the work of a
moment. Before starting it was, however, proper to address a pre-battle
speech to them. Silence was enjoined and I spoke, spoke simply and
honestly as a great soldier should. "Form fours," said I, and paused
dramatically. "Form two-deep," I continued, and my meaning was
understood. "Form fours," I concluded ... and we were ready for the
worst.
So we moved away for the Field. We did this, I remember, at 5 A.M. Not a
moment was to be lost. Our train started at noon and we had three miles
to march to the station. Running it pretty close, wasn't it?
Never shall I forget the anxious faces which greeted our arrival at the
French port. "Nip up to the trenches," said O.C. megaphone, "and save
the situation if you can." Up to the trenches we nipped, covering the
distance of sixty miles in less than three weeks. There was no doubt
about our willingness and ability to do as we were told; our only
difficulty was to discover in the dark where the situation was. Never
shall I forget the tense strain that first night, my men standing to
arms through the long hours, with their rifles pointing into the
darkness beyond. But not a shot was fired, and when dawn broke all was
well. True, the first light revealed the fact that I had got us all with
our backs to the enemy, so that if there had been a battle it would have
been between ourselves and Mr. Jones's platoon. But you can't have
everything; and sense of direction never was my strong point. Never
shall I forget our first breakfast in the trenches. It consisted of
bacon and eggs, marmalade and tea. How strange and novel an experience
it was to be at war!
Never shall I forget.... Now I know there was something else, but there
are such a lot of things that I am never going to forget about this War
that I cannot be expected to remember them all. It was something about
someone not shaving, and being in the rear rank while the front rank was
being inspected, and in the front rank while the rear rank was being
inspected. It was by such brilliance of strategy as this that I was able
to do the Bosch out of that little dinner he meant to have in Paris. It
was owing to the same, and to my being overheard to remark that I could
run the blessed War by myself better than this, that I was given a pen
and a piece of blotting-paper and told to carry on. After which, of
course, the wretched Bosch never even got as far as Calais.
Truly a remarkable man! But hear the crisis of my career.
This letter is written in England. If you would only read your morning
paper properly, you would know why. Looking down the Births Column to
see if anybody you know has been born, you would have noticed that We,
Henry, are the father of a son, a tall, good-looking fellow, who weighs
eight, eighteen or eighty pounds (I could not be sure which) and is a
man of few words, obviously the strong silent sort.
On hearing the news we at once reported our achievement to the Staff and
asked what we were to do about it. We were informed that, as far as we
were concerned, the War stood adjourned for eight days. Later, as we
stood in the street trying to think it all out and to remodel our
demeanour so as to suggest the responsibility and respectability of a
father, we were asked severely why we were standing idle, and told that,
unless we were seen forthwith moving off for England at the double,
action would be taken. So home, where we were very respectfully saluted
by the New Draft. A strange but nice woman who had the parade in hand
invited us to come a little closer, but this we refused to do, giving as
our reason that we were beginning as we meant to go on and that undue
familiarity is bad for discipline. We then addressed a few kind words to
the Lady in the Case, who appeared to take it all very much as a matter
of course, and with her discussed future dispositions. The Army and the
Bar were negatived at once; it was suggested (not by us) that we have
already in our small family an example sufficiently fortunate of both.
He will be a sailor or a financier. There is something about sailors; it
is always a pleasure and a pride to take one of them out to dinner in a
public place, especially if he's your own. On the other hand the
financier alternative is suggested with a view to the possibility (as
things tend) that it may be he who has to take us out to dinner.
Yours ever, HENRY.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Mistress._ "WELL, JANE, WHAT SORT OF NEWS HAVE YOU FROM
YOUR YOUNG MAN AT THE FRONT?"
_Jane._ "FATAL, MUM."
_Mistress._ "DEAR, DEAR! I'M VERY SORRY----"
_Jane._ "YES, MUM. 'E'S BROKE IT OFF, MUM."]
* * * * *
"The fall of rain during February in Exeter amounted to 5.39
inches. During the same month 80 hours 58 mins. of sunshine were
recorded, being an average of 2 hours 42 mins. per day. The
chief tradesmen of the district are responsible for this
gratifying result."
_Express and Echo (Exeter)._
They seem to be easily satisfied down in the West. If London tradesmen
take to purveying the weather we shall want a little less rain and a
good deal more sunshine.
* * * * *