Tender-Hearted Because Brave
In his farewell advice to the British troops sent to France, Lord
Kitchener told them to be "invariably courteous, considerate and kind,"
and this they certainly were.
First of all they were kind to each other. Here is a tit-bit from a
private soldier's letter: "One of our chaps got a letter from home to
say that his wife had given birth to twins, and just at the time when
he had cause to be proud of being a father twice over, a German bullet
knocked him out. That was their way of adding to the congratulations
that everybody showered on him. It was hard lines, and there was not
one of us who would not rather have gone in his place."
Another soldier told with much sympathy that his chum immediately after
writing to his mother, "I have got through without a scratch so far"
was killed by a bullet. "I could have cried," he said, "when I saw the
letter."
In letters from the front many cases are recorded of men who have lost
their regiments, but who would not accept shelter or food from the
French peasantry for fear of getting them into trouble with the Germans.
We are told that the only thing that put our men out and made their
faces sad was the instances they saw of German savagery to the civilian
population. A man of the Army Service Corps wrote: "It was a pitiful
sight to see the people fleeing from their homes carrying all they
could save. Our soldiers were very kind to them, and gave them whatever
they could spare--and sometimes more than that. I saw one young woman
trying to reach some fruit from a tree which was a good way out of her
reach. I went over and gave her some pears which had been given to me.
She ate them rather hurriedly, but before doing so gave me a kiss on
both cheeks."
It was the tender hearts of the British soldiers, as well as their
coolness and courage, that made the old women and little children take
to them as they marched through France. "Cheer up, mother," one soldier
shouted, and another covered a shivering old woman with his coat. A
French woman's clothes had been taken by the Germans, so a Highlander
tore his kilt and gave her part of it for a covering.
The children took hold of the hands of the brave Allies, or tried to
get a ride on their shoulders.
A British sergeant went into a French farm house that had been shelled
by the Germans. He found that all the family had been killed "except
a little girl of about seven years, and she was just conscious. Both
her legs had been blown away near the knees, and one of her arms
was missing from below the elbow. The rain was coming down into the
wreckage, and I took off my greatcoat and wrapped the poor, moaning
child in it. I sat down on the floor to hold her on my knee, and she
just opened her eyes and gave me a grateful look. Then she moved her
sound arm, and the next thing I found she had lifted something to my
head, and it slipped over my shoulders. Her arm dropped. She was dead.
She had given me her rosary. I thought I had a heart of stone, but I
cried like a child that night, and I wasn't the only one."
And our soldiers were most thoughtful about those belonging to
them whom they had left at home. A sergeant thus wrote of a brawny
Yorkshireman who had lost his regiment: "His chief grievance was that
he had not been able to write and tell his wife where he was and how he
was getting on. 'Tha' sees, lad,' he remarked in perfect seriousness,
'th' missus knows that now and then I drink one or two more glasses
than's good for me, and she'll be gettin' anxious.' A few days before
he had been in a terrifically hot engagement, yet the only thing that
worried him was the fear that the 'missus' might be anxious about what
he called the 'teetotal lay'!"
Private F.W. Dobson, 2nd Coldstream Guards, wrote this to his wife:
"It is with the greatest pleasure that I write this letter, as it is
our wedding anniversary--September 30th. I only hope we shall spend the
next one together. You will know by the time you receive this letter
that I have been recommended for the V.C.--an honour I never thought
would come my way. In fact, I do not yet realise that it is possible. I
only took my chance, and did my duty to save my comrades. It was really
nothing, but I shall never forget the congratulations and praise I
received from our officers, my comrades, and a Brigadier-General."
A sergeant of the 18th Hussars ended a letter to his wife with these
"home-sick" words: "Oh for a cup of tea with you. Your worst cup of tea
would come in very nice now."
Private O'Dwer, of the Irish Guards, said in a letter from the front to
his wife: "It was a great relief to hear from you. I was just having
my tea during a lull when I got your letter, and didn't I enjoy my tea
much better. On Tuesday last I escaped by a miracle from a bomb thrown
from an aeroplane. It did no damage, only made a very large hole in the
ground just where we were digging trenches."
Scrawled on the back of this letter which appeared in _The Evening
News_, was the following:
"Darling,--I am now lying in a forest with my leg shot off and don't
know when the ambulance will turn up. It's awful. We were completely
cut up. I hope to see you again. Love to baby and all.--Jack."
A King's Royal Rifleman wrote to his wife that the framed photograph of
herself and of their children, which was in his breast pocket, stopped
a bullet. "Last night in the trenches I dreamt I was back home again
and was playing with little Gracie and telling her some stories of
the fighting. Tell her I will bring her something, if it is only the
Kaiser."
Private G. Tomkins, of the Royal Sussex Regiment, wrote this to his
sister: "We have a saying out here, 'Don't dream of home.' When a
man has a particularly vivid dream of home he knows that he will be
killed in his next fight. There was a man of ours that awoke the other
night from a beautiful dream. He thought he was back at home on the
conclusion of peace, and he had a great reception from his wife and two
children. The two little ones were crawling all over him, and laughing
with delight. They were all happy, and the thing was so vivid that he
had to tell us all about it. It seemed to please him. Sure enough his
number was up, for that afternoon he was struck in the throat with a
bullet, and as he died the only words he uttered were: 'Oh, my God, I
shall never see my children again.'"
In the trenches on the Aisne after a hard fight, a wounded Seaforth
Highlander found one of the Gloucester with an unfinished letter in his
hand. It was written to his wife and little girl. It spoke hopefully of
the future, and said: "Tell Annie I will be home in time to make her
Christmas tree." He never got further, for a German shell had laid him
out.
An officer of the Bedfords, while in the trenches, was opening a parcel
and a letter from his wife, and in the excitement of the moment the
poor fellow forgot to take cover and he was shot through the heart.
A pathetic incident also occurred in the case of a private. He was shot
in the chest and the bullet also passed through a corresponding spot in
a photograph of his wife, which he carried with him.
A private in the Northumberland Fusiliers wrote: "I came across a
young chap sitting with his back against a tree--dead, and around him
in a circle he had placed all his letters and photographs, as much as
to say: 'Please post these to the people concerned, as I am dying.'
Another chap had in his hand the photograph of his wife and child."
Talking one evening at a camp fire, a soldier remarked: "I've got four
little nippers. George, the eldest, is a proper little chap. He sent me
a postcard out here of a black cat and wrote on the back of it 'Please
stroke the cat every night for luck.' I never forget to do that before
I go to sleep."
Our soldiers certainly have domestic affections. At a parade service
near the trenches they were singing away in fine style:
"Can a woman's tender care
Cease toward the child she bare?"
The singers broke down and the lines had to be left out.
The following was sent by Private Ingram, 2nd Welsh Regiment, to cheer
up his mother and encourage his brother:
"As you say, the Germans do want 'boiling,' and we are all trying our
best to do it, too. I am glad to hear Arthur [a brother] has joined
the Army. Do not worry, for it is all for the best, and remember that
a soldier's death is a glorious one. To die fighting for my country is
the greatest honour I could have, and I am glad Arthur thinks so too."
In romance and even in history it is the lover who shines in war, who
achieves, who conquers, whose deeds of daring save situations at the
psychological moment and help to win battles and wars.
When the Guards were leaving London for the war, a girl leaning on the
arm of her soldier lover said, "Keep your pecker up, Dick." "'Taint
me," he replied, "as needs keep my pecker up, but German Bill." Women
have much to do with keeping up or keeping down a soldier's "pecker."
"Thy voice is heard through rolling drums
That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes
And gives the battle to his hands."
In a letter from the front, a private of the Leicestershire Regiment
wrote: "There was a chap of the Berkshires who, like many more of us,
had 'listed after a row with his girl. At the crossing of the Aisne he
got hit, and had just breath enough to tell me the name of the girl and
ask me to write to her. 'Tell her,' he said, 'I'm sorry we had that
row, but it was for the best, for if we hadn't had it I should not have
been able to do my bit for my country. It seems awfully hard that I can
never see her again to explain things to her, but I'm sure she will
think better of me now than if I had been one of the stay-at-homes.
Good-bye, old chap; there'll be no more cold nights in the trenches for
me, anyhow.'"
Sergeant E.W. Turner, West Kent Regiment, wrote to his sweetheart: "The
bullet that wounded me at Mons went into one breast pocket and came out
of the other, and in its course passed through your photo."
A man said that when hit by a splinter of shell he believed half his
face had gone, but was now sure that when the bruises had gone from his
eyes his girl would recognise him.
A R.F. Artillery gunner wrote: "I harnessed up, and after a mad gallop
of 2,000 yards or so we came into our first action. We opened fire
immediately. It was just like our practice camp, except that I think
everybody realised that we were firing at targets composed of flesh and
blood instead of canvas, but having to concentrate our minds on the
working of the guns it soon passed off."
Yes, our soldiers did realise that the enemy had feelings like
themselves. After a battle a gunner wrote: "Their dead lay so thick
at one point in front of our trenches that we couldn't get our guns
across, because we were squeamish about riding over their dead in case
there should be wounded men mixed up with them."
In many letters we read of our soldiers giving food when they had not
much for themselves to wounded Germans.
A British officer who was being moved off on a stretcher with a
shattered arm, noticed a German being helped in with a wounded leg. The
officer at once got off the stretcher, saying, "Put that man on here.
He is hit in the leg and I am hit in the arm and able to walk."
A Somersetshire Light Infantryman saw a wounded German in the river
Aisne. He dived in and was bringing him out when a German shell burst
and killed them both.
An Army Chaplain saw an English wounded soldier lying next a German
wounded prisoner who was shot in both arms; the Englishman was holding
a cigarette whilst the German smoked it.
One German gave a gold ring and another his helmet as souvenirs to two
British soldiers who had given them water and bandaged their wounds.
The German prisoners got quite fond of our soldiers. One of them
escaped, but returned next day with eleven others whom he had persuaded
to desert.
In a lane through a wood at Soissons a correspondent met two British
infantrymen helping a wounded German towards the place where they hoped
to find an ambulance. The German had been badly hit in the upper part
of the body and again in the thigh. He was in agony and kept protesting
under his breath that he could go no farther. His friendly enemies
almost carried him between them, and they were talking to him after
this fashion: "Come on naow, ol' pal. You ain't goin' to give up naow.
Almos' there, we are. Jus' be'ind them there trees over there. 'Ere,
take a drink o' water an' you'll feel better. Come, ol' man, be a sport
naow."
The following is from the letter of a corporal of the Highland Light
Infantry: "In the retreat from Mons an artilleryman, slightly wounded,
asked a German for water, and was refused. On the Aisne last week the
artilleryman recognised the same German among a party of wounded, whose
cries for water couldn't be attended to quick enough. The recognition
was mutual, and the German stopped his crying, thinking he was sure
to be paid back in his own coin. The artilleryman took out his water
bottle and handed it to the German without a word. You never saw
anybody look so shamefaced as that German."
Private Cooley, of the 2nd Connaught Rangers, told this story. Cooley,
with a comrade, was left in charge of a German officer and eleven
German privates, who had been found wounded in a cave. "They asked us,
in broken English, for biscuits and water. We only had eleven biscuits
and half a bottle of water left, and this we divided among them as best
we could. At daybreak the Germans' shells fell all round the cave, and
part of the roof fell in, while shrapnel came through the opening. The
German officer wanted us to put out a white flag; but you can guess
what reply I made to that. Three of the poor devils were suffering
from terrible wounds, and one died at four o'clock in the afternoon.
About six o'clock it began to rain, and we managed to collect enough
rain-water to moisten their mouths. We could not help pitying them,
although they were Germans. About eight o'clock we recognised the voice
of the officer who had brought us up, and we were not sorry. It was the
worst twenty-six hours I have ever spent. There was a bearer party with
him, and they took the men into hospital."
A wounded Dublin Fusilier lay for a time among German wounded and
found that one of them was in danger of bleeding to death. The bandage
the Fusilier had to use for his own wound was the only one available.
Without the slightest hesitation he handed it over to the German, whose
life was saved by the application in time of that antiseptic bandage.
Unfortunately that act of self-sacrifice cost the Fusilier his life,
for he developed blood poisoning through the wound not being bandaged
at once, and was buried a few days later. When the German who had
profited by that lad's sacrifice heard of it he cried like a baby, and
for a while they had to put him under restraint for fear he should take
his own life.
A private of the Coldstream Guards said that they heard a German who
was lying on the ground between the lines calling out, "Comrade,
comrade; Englander, Englander!" When night came two of our men went and
brought him in. He had five wounds.
An officer of the Yorkshire Light Infantry wrote: "There is none of
that insensate hatred that one hears about, out here. We are out to
kill, and kill we do, at any and every opportunity. But, when all is
done and the battle is over, the splendid universal 'soldier spirit'
comes over all the men. To give you some idea of what I mean, the other
night four German snipers were shot on our wire. The next night our men
went out and brought one in who was near and get-at-able and buried
him. They did it with just the same reverence and sadness as they do to
our own dear fellows. I went to look at the grave the next morning, and
one of the most uncouth-looking men in my company had placed a cross at
the head of the grave, and had written on it:
'Here lies a German,
We don't know his name,
He died bravely fighting
For his Fatherland.'
And under that, 'got mitt uns' (_sic_), that being the highest effort
of all the men at German. Not bad for a bloodthirsty Briton, eh? Really
that shows the spirit."
The Germans have made several discoveries about the British soldier,
and know now that he has a kind heart. An officer in the Prussian
Guards put his arms round the neck of a British officer and said,
"Mercy, officer!"
Brave men are kind to dumb animals, and our soldiers were this. A
veterinary officer wrote: 'Our horses have stood the tough marches with
remarkable freedom from lameness and sore backs, which is testimony
to the very great consideration and kindness which the troopers and
drivers show to their dumb friends. I have particularly noticed, since
riding with patrols, how anxious the men have been after a heavy day in
the saddle to feed their horses and give them a rough rub down before
taking a bite or a drink for themselves. They always dismount and feed
them on all occasions with hay and wheat found on the farms and in
stacks in the fields, also with clover.'
"A man of the 17th Lancers, who had lost his horse near Binche in
August last, had a curious adventure. In a fight with a patrol of
Uhlans he recognised his old mount ridden by a German. The animal
recognised him and broke away from the enemy's ranks, carrying the
German rider with him. After the new master was put out of action there
was a joyful scene between the old master and the lost horse."
Writing to his father a trooper in the Royal Horse Guards speaks in
this way of his charger: "Dolly goes very well. She doesn't always
get corn, so is a bit thin. Thanks for remembering my best friend. I
always pinch the smallest thing for her, if it be only a muddy crust.
She greatly enjoyed the sugar you sent for her."
Trooper S. Stanley, Royal Scots Greys, wrote thus: "I owe my own life
and that of perhaps a whole army to my old horse. I was on outpost duty
at a lonely spot, and though I could not hear or see anything my horse
kept neighing and betraying signs of restlessness. I got down and came
on a German crouching in the long grass. He had a sword bayonet, and
evidently meant to get me unawares, and then the post would have been
rushed. I didn't wait to ask his intentions, but let him have a ticket
for another country. His yells brought his mates down, but I got away,
and the row alarmed the guard and spoiled their attempt at surprising
us. You bet the old nag had a special feed that night."