War as a Game
It has been said that war is a game at which kings would not play if
their subjects were wise, and the German nation was certainly not wise
when it allowed its Emperor to make war against the world. Germans,
however, do not think of war as a game at all, but as a most serious,
even moral thing, and they are indignant with our soldiers for applying
to its grim experiences the common terms of sport, and especially of
football.
It is this sporting spirit of our soldiers that enables them to fight
gamely and to die gamely. Disraeli (Lord Beaconsfield) said of the
House of Commons that it was "dull with some great moments." The same
may be said of war, and our men forgive its dangers and dullness for
the sake of its great moments.
In one engagement the Royal Highlanders jumped out of the trenches
and charged "as if they were kicking off in a Cup-tie final." They
commenced to shout, "On the ball, Highlanders!" and "Mark your men!"
They continued yelling to one another until they had driven the Germans
back. Who can say that "Mark your men!" did not have a stimulating
effect upon the Highlanders?
"Dodging shells and bullets," wrote Sapper Anderson, R.E., "is far more
exciting than dodging footballers."
A subaltern wrote: "I adore war. It is like a big picnic; I have
never been so well or so happy. We are enjoying all the benefits of a
Continental holiday. It has done me a world of good coming out here."
A private of the 3rd Worcester Regiment wrote: "In the trenches the
British are excelling themselves as men of stamina, for, believe
me, it is killing work; perfect murder, in fact. Yet they hardly
ever complain. Six men and an officer had to go into hospital with
frostbite, and my feet have not got the circulation back yet. Never
mind, we must keep up our reputation as British soldiers, and stick
it. The snow has gone again, and it is up to your neck in mud in the
trenches. I have had one or two pack ponies to look after, but I have
thrown up the job, as it was too tame. I prefer being with the company
in the firing line, as I felt lost being with the transport and no
shells flying over it. It makes you long for your chums after being
with them all the time. We play football with German helmets, which
are all over the place."
A young officer who had been fighting ever since the beginning of the
war was ordered a month's leave for the sake of his health. "I've got
a month," he said to a correspondent, "but I rather fancy I shall be
back in a week. It's fine to be at home again--and--and--all that.
But when you've once been in the thick of the game it holds you like
a magnet. I'm only a few miles away from the hot stuff now, but I am
already beginning to feel the pull of that magnet. I'm off to bed.
Funny sensation going upstairs! We've been diving into bed for weeks
and weeks--rabbit holes for cots and straw (if you are lucky) for
counterpanes, and the only chambermaids we've had to knock us up in the
morning have been the 12 lb. shells. Good-night!"
Some of our men were defending a café at the battle of Mons. In the
café there was an automatic piano, and when they first saw the enemy
coming one soldier said to another: "Put a penny in the slot. Jack, and
give them some music to dance to." So every time there was a German
attack after that the "band" struck up. They fought, eye-witnesses
declared, as though it was a new and delightful kind of game they had
discovered.
Lieutenant C.A.E. Chudleigh, who is serving with the Indian Force, says
in a letter: "One usually spends most of one's slack hours in terrific
efforts to dig oneself out of several layers of grime, and it is a job,
too, with nothing but scrubbing soap and cold water out of a ditch.
It sounds awful to you I expect, but it isn't really as bad as it
sounds. For one thing we are getting so used to it, and if approached
in the true holiday spirit it really becomes quite a sort of picnic.
No rotting! I really have thoroughly enjoyed the last few weeks since
we have been here. I don't think I have had so many jolly good laughs
in my life. It is a funny thing that, on looking back, I think I have
spent most of my life in search of excitements and interesting scenes
and people, and now I have found them in profusion. It is as good as a
cinematograph."
Speaking of dispatch-riding in the war, a motor-cyclist said to a
reporter, "I've never really lived till I came to the war. We have to
rough it at times, but the fun we have is simply gorgeous. Yesterday a
shell (he laughed much when he said this) came down about fifty yards
from me, but I got through with my dispatches without a scratch. This
is splendid work for the nut who wants an outlet for his high spirits."
And our Indian troops get equal enjoyment from the game. A dusky
warrior being asked how he liked being in action replied, "Sahib, all
wars are beautiful, but this one is heavenly."
At the beginning of winter at the front, games were arranged for
leisure days and evenings. There were to be inter-trench and inter-army
football matches. A Battle Hunt Club was formed, and a pack of
foxhounds brought over from England. A phonograph company sent songs,
which, with the aid of field telephones, could be "turned on" to any
trench at any time.
We suspect that it is chiefly young soldiers and new arrivals at the
front who think of war as a game. The game must seem to be played out
when winter days have to be passed in cold wet trenches, when frost
bites, when wounds are inflicted, when food and other supplies are
delayed. Many poor soldiers must echo the sentiment of one of their
number who wrote at the end of a letter, "I must admit that I shall
not be sorry when peace comes. A little of the game of war goes a long
way. At first it is interesting, but the horror and foolishness of it I
shall never get over."
The following extract from a letter of a young officer to his parents
suggests that the pleasures of war, depending as they do on excitement,
are, to say the least, fleeting. "People at home, and even other corps
out here, do not realize what the infantry have to go through. Such
things as many nights out in the open, rain or no rain, long marches
over roads which have almost become bogs, perhaps no food all day, not
because the A.S. Corps don't bring it up, but because you have a lot
too much to do to eat it, and when you haven't got anything to do, you
are too exhausted to eat it.... We manage to keep our spirits up and
are quite cheery; one feels very down when one loses a pal, but we feel
it is impossible to turn aside the wheels of fate. So we leave them to
their rest behind us, forget about them and cheer up."
Another officer wrote: "If there is such a thing as hell on earth this
must surely be it. I have been in the firing-line for four days; in the
trenches for three, and just behind in support to-day, which isn't much
better. They shell us nearly all day, and you have to creep into the
farthest corner of the trench expecting the infernal things to burst on
you. At present we are holding back thousands compared to our hundreds.
They attacked yesterday and to-day in masses, but were driven back. I
haven't washed or had my boots off since I got here, and am mud almost
from head to foot, including hair."