ON SALISBURY PLAIN.
_October 18th, 1914, to January 1st, 1915._
On Sunday the 18th, our men entrained and travelled to Patney, and
from thence marched to Westdown South, Salisbury Plain. There tents
had been prepared and we settled down to life in our new English home.
At first the situation was very pleasant. Around us on all sides
spread the lines of tents. The weather was delightful. A ride over the
mysterious plain was something never to be forgotten. The little
villages around were lovely and quaint. The old town of Salisbury,
with its wonderful Cathedral and memories of old England, threw the
glamour of romance and chivalry over the new soldiers in the new
crusade. But winter drew on, and such a winter it was. The rains
descended, the floods came and the storms beat upon our tents, and the
tents which were old and thin allowed a fine sprinkling of moisture to
fall upon our faces. The green sward was soon trampled into deep and
clinging mud. There was nothing for the men to do. Ammunition was
short, there was little rifle practice. The weather was so bad that a
route march meant a lot of wet soldiers with nowhere to dry their
clothes upon their return. In some places the mud went over my long
rubber boots. The gales of heaven swept over the plain unimpeded.
Tents were blown down. On one particularly gloomy night, I met a
chaplain friend of mine in the big Y.M.C.A. marquee. I said to him,
"For goodness sake let us do something for the men. Let us have a
sing-song." He agreed, and we stood in the middle of the marquee with
our backs to the pole and began to sing a hymn. I do not know what it
was. I started the air and was going on so beautifully that the men
were beginning to be attracted and were coming around us. Suddenly my
friend struck in with a high tenor note. Hardly had the sound gone
forth when, like the fall of the walls of Jericho at the sound of
Joshua's trumpets, a mighty gale struck the building, and with a
ripping sound the whole thing collapsed. In the rain and darkness we
rushed to the assistance of the attendants and extinguished the lamps,
which had been upset, while the men made their way to the counters and
put the cigarettes and other dainties into their pockets, lest they
should get wet. On another occasion, the Paymaster's tent blew (p. 031)
away as he was paying off the battalion. Five shilling notes flew
over the plain like white birds over the sea. The men quickly chased
them and gathered them up, and on finding them stained with mud
thought it unnecessary to return them. On another night the huge
marquee where Harrod's ran the mess for a large number of officers,
blew down just as we were going to dinner, and we had to forage in the
various canteens for tinned salmon and packages of biscuits.
Still, in spite of all, the spirits of our men never failed. One night
when a heavy rain had turned every hollow into a lake, and every gully
into a rushing cataract, I went down to some tents on a lower level
than my own. I waded through water nearly a foot deep and came to a
tent from which I saw a faint light emerging. I looked inside and
there with their backs to the pole stood some stalwart young
Canadians. On an island in the tent, was a pile of blankets, on which
burnt a solitary candle. "Hello, boys, how are you getting on?" "Fine,
Sir, fine," was their ready response. "Well, boys, keep that spirit
up," I said, "and we'll win the war."
At first we had no "wet" canteen where beer could be procured. The
inns in the villages around became sources of great attraction to the
men, and the publicans did their best to make what they could out of
the well-paid Canadian troops. The maintenance of discipline under
such circumstances was difficult. We were a civilian army, and our men
had come over to do a gigantic task. Everyone knew that, when the hour
for performance came, they would be ready, but till that hour came
they were intolerant of restraint.
The English people did not understand us, and many of our men
certainly gave them good reason to be doubtful. Rumour had it at one
time that we were going to be taken out of the mud and quartered in
Exeter. Then the rumour was that the Exeter people said, "If the
Canadians are sent here, we'll all leave the town." I did not mind, I
told the men I would make my billet in the Bishop's Palace.
The C.O. of one of the battalions was tempted to do what David did
with such disastrous results, namely number the people. He called the
roll of his battalion and found that four hundred and fifty men were
absent without leave. But as I have said, we all knew that when the
moment for big things came, every man would be at his post and would
do his bit.
Just before Christmas the 3rd Brigade were moved into huts at Lark
Hill. They were certainly an improvement upon the tents, but they (p. 032)
were draughty and leaky. From my window I could see, on the few
occasions when the weather permitted it, the weird and ancient circles
of Stonehenge.
The calm repose of those huge stones, which had watched unmoved the
passing of human epochs, brought peace to the mind. They called to
memory the lines;--
"Our little systems have their day,
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of Thee,
And Thou, O Lord, art more than they."
In order to give Christmas its religious significance, I asked
permission of the Rector of Amesbury to use his church for a midnight
Eucharist on Christmas Eve. He gladly gave his consent and notice of
the service was sent round to the units of the Brigade. In the thick
fog the men gathered and marched down the road to the village, where
the church windows threw a soft light into the mist that hung over the
ancient burial ground. The church inside was bright and beautiful. The
old arches and pillars and the little side chapels told of days gone
by, when the worship of the holy nuns, who had their convent there,
rose up to God day by day. The altar was vested in white and the
candles shone out bright and fair. The organist had kindly consented
to play the Christmas hymns, in which the men joined heartily. It was
a service never to be forgotten, and as I told the men, in the short
address I gave them, never before perhaps, in the history of that
venerable fane, had it witnessed a more striking assembly. From a
distance of nearly seven thousand miles some of them had come, and
this was to be our last Christmas before we entered the life and death
struggle of the nations. Row after row of men knelt to receive the
Bread of Life, and it was a rare privilege to administer it to them.
The fog was heavier on our return and some of us had great difficulty
in finding our lines.
It seemed sometimes as if we had been forgotten by the War Office, but
this was not the case. We had visits from the King, Lord Roberts and
other high officials. All these were impressed with the physique and
high spirits of our men.
The conditions under which we lived were certainly atrocious, and an
outbreak of meningitis cast a gloom over the camp. It was met bravely
and skilfully by our medical men, of whose self-sacrifice and devotion
no praise is too high. The same is true of their conduct all through
the war.
Our life on the Plain was certainly a puzzle to us. Why were we (p. 033)
kept there? When were we going to leave? Were we not wanted in France?
These were the questions we asked one another. I met an Imperial
officer one day, who had just returned from the front. I asked him
when we were going to train for the trenches. "Why" he said, "what
better training could you have than you are getting here? If you can
stand the life here, you can stand the life in France." I think he was
right. That strange experience was just what we needed to inure us to
hardship, and it left a stamp of resolution and efficiency on the
First Division which it never lost.