That section of the public that has felt, while anxiously waiting for
definite news of our forces in France, that the communications from "an
eye-witness present with General Headquarters" are better than nothing,
has probably wondered at the recent paucity of despatches from this
descriptive writer. Is it possible that the following has strayed into
our hands from its proper destination?
A soft wind blew gently from the south-east, and before it the fleecy
clouds passed dreamily above the poplar trees. All was quiet; not even
an old public-school boy was washing his face. Then, gently but firmly,
the "boom, boom" of the guns assailed the ear, telling of battle not far
distant.
One's fountain-pen becomes quickly clogged amid the conditions of
warfare, for the dust blows freely over the plains across which the
troops have marched. For comfort in writing there is nothing like an
indelible pencil, and paper whose surface is slightly rough. The
quantity of ink carried among the stores of a modern army is negligible.
And I believe it is a fact that in the whole of the equipment of the
British Forces in France there is not a single roll-top desk!
Talking of dust, I saw last evening a sight which must have appeared
curious to one not acquainted with war. A young Professor of Mathematics
connected with one of our great Universities passed me with a smut on
his nose. Yet in times of peace he is one of those men who seldom leave
home in the morning without carefully brushing their clothes. It should
be borne in mind by the reader that the conditions of the battlefield of
modern times have little in common with those of life in our University
towns.
On the morning of the 1st our cavalry were busy with their horses, while
the artillery devoted themselves chiefly to their guns. All that day our
infantry stood in the trenches, and the smoke from the enemy's shrapnel
made fantastic shapes against the leaden grey of the Northern sky. While
I sat writing a young officer rushed in. He had kindly returned from the
firing line especially to tell me of a little incident he had witnessed
there. A private, hailing from Rotherhithe, calmly lit a cigarette amid
the hail of bullets, took two or three draws, and then threw it away,
growling, "These 'ere French cigarettes taste like bloomin' German
cartridges." An incident typical of many that occur in a single day.
This brings us to the 2nd. All day long the Germans, from their
entrenched position, have replied to our fire, but without any
noticeable consequences. The prisoners who are brought in appear to be
glad of the rest and change. Out of gratitude one of them offered to
shave the Commander-in-Chief free of charge.
The battle continued on the 3rd. There was a touch of autumn in the air
and the wind had changed slightly. Amid the shrieking of shells and the
hum of bullets the bark of a distant farm dog could be heard distinctly.
And so from day to day the War goes on.
* * * * *
"The entire proceeds of yesterday's magnificent opening concert of
the season of the Sunday Concert Society at the Queen's Hall, are to
be divided equally between the Prince of Wales' Fund and the
National Relief Fund."--_Evening News._
And even if one gets an odd half-penny more than the other, nobody will
really mind.
* * * * *