CHAPTER I

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ON THE

KING'S SERVICE

Inward Glimpses of Men at Arms

BY THE REV.

INNES LOGAN, M.A.

CHAPLAIN TO THE FORCES

SEPT. 1914-MAY 1916

HODDER AND STOUGHTON

LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO

MCMXVII

TO MY WIFE

This little book is written as a slight tribute of love and respect

for those with whom the writer had, for over twenty months, the honour

of association.

UNITED FREE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND MANSE, BRAEMAR.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

MUSTERING MEN

PAGE

I. THOSE GAUNT UNLOVELY BUILDINGS 3

II. WHY THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND ENLISTED 7

III. UBIQUE 10

CHAPTER II

A REINFORCEMENTS CAMP

I. THE SUNNY VALLEY 19

II. THE MAN FROM SKYE 22

III. 'YOU CAN HEAR THEM NOW' 26

CHAPTER III

A CLEARING STATION WHEN THERE IS 'NOTHING TO REPORT'

I. FROM PARAPET TO BASE 33

II. 'DO YOU THINK THAT SORT OF THING MATTERS NOW?' 45

III. THE NAME OF JESUS 50

CHAPTER IV

THE AFTERMATH OF LOOS

I. THE FLAVOUR OF VICTORY 57

II. DOUBTS AND FEARS 63

III. OUR SHARE OF THE FIFTY THOUSAND 69

CHAPTER V

DUMBARTON'S DRUMS

I. BACK AGAIN! 79

II. THE FIRST SHOCK OF WAR 81

III. AT THE NOSE OF THE SALIENT 88

CHAPTER VI

WINTER WARFARE

I. THE SHELL AREA 95

II. 'I HATE WAR: THAT IS WHY I AM FIGHTING' 103

III. BILLETS AND CAMPS 106

CHAPTER VII

HOW THE ROYALS HELD THE BLUFF: AN EPISODE OF TRENCH WARFARE

I. WAITING 117

II. THE BLUFF 125

III. 'WE'VE KEEPIT UP THE REPUTATION O' THE AULD MOB, ONYWAY' 128

CHAPTER VIII

THE HISTORIC TRIANGLE 135

MUSTERING MEN

CHAPTER I

MUSTERING MEN

I

_Those gaunt unlovely buildings_

The War Office built Maryhill Barracks, Glasgow, to look exactly like a

gaol, but these gaunt unlovely buildings, packed beyond endurance with

men of the new army, were at least in some way in touch with what was

happening elsewhere. Even in that first month of the war it seemed

callous to be breathing the sweet, clear air of Braemar, or to let one's

eyes linger on the matchless beauty of mountain and glen. The grey spire

of my church rising gracefully among the silver birches and the dark

firs, bosomed deep in purple hills, pointed to some harder way than

that. Stevenson, who wrote part of _Treasure Island_ here, called it

'the wale (pick) of Scotland,' but just because it was so we saw more

clearly the agony of Belgium and the men of our heroic little Regular

Army dying to keep us inviolate.

Up to the 10th of September recruits poured in in such numbers that it

was hard to cope with the situation in the most superficial way. On that

date the standard was raised, and, as though a sluice had been dropped

across a mill dam, the stream stopped suddenly and completely. I suppose

that was the object of the new regulation, but it caused

misunderstanding, and to this day the spontaneous rush of the first

month of the war has never been repeated. Beyond doubt the numbers were

too great to be properly handled. Men slept in the garrison church, in

the riding school, on the floor in over-crowded barrack-rooms, in leaky

tents without bottoms to them. There were no recreation rooms. It rained

a great deal, and once wet a man with no change of clothing or

underclothing remained wet for days in his meagre civilian suit. There

were too few blankets, no braziers, and the cheap black shoes of civil

life were soon in tatters. Everybody became abominably verminous, and

though the food was good enough in its way the cooks were overwhelmed,

and it was often uneatable. Nobody was to blame, and in an astonishingly

short time order began to emerge, but in those early days one enormous

'grouse' went up continually from the new army that was not yet an army,

and those conditions were partly responsible for the fact that when the

standard was lowered again the flow of recruits was so much less than

before. This, the faculty for hearty grousing, in the army whimsical,

humorous, shrewd, sometimes biting, never down-hearted, is evidently an

old national custom, for Chaucer uses the word half a dozen times. But

the aggravated discomfort of men soft from indoor life was really

pitiful.

Before long all recruits except those for the Royal Field Artillery were

sent elsewhere, and the barracks became a great depot for this arm of

the service, with Colonel Forde in command. What marvels were done in

those early days, and how hard pushed the country was, will be realised

when it is understood that for months a body of men numbering never less

than two thousand, and sometimes as many as three times that number,

had only two field guns for training purposes, and that officers had to

be sent out to the Expeditionary Force who had worn a uniform only for

three, four, or five weeks.

II

_Why the First Hundred Thousand Enlisted_

The first hundred thousand had some characteristics of their own

compared with their successors. They contained a large number of men who

do things on the spur of the moment, the born seekers after adventure,

men to whom war had its attractions. Many a man who had never found his

place in life, because his was the restless, roving spirit which could

not settle, or that chafed against ordered conventional ways, found his

happiness at last in August 1914. Alongside those were the men who were

passionately patriotic and saw very clearly and quickly the long issues

involved to the country they loved. The fate of Belgium had a far more

moving influence with the ranks of the new army than the officer class,

I think, quite realised. Indeed, with the later recruits I gathered the

impression that indignation at the German atrocities in Belgium was the

prevailing motive in their enlistment. There can be no question in the

mind of any one who worked intimately among the men of the new armies in

the autumn and winter of 1914 that the invasion of Belgium was the one

shocking stroke that rallied the country as one man, and that nothing

else in the situation, as it was known, would have done this. The people

as a whole did not grasp the imminence of the German menace. Of the

torturing pressure on the thin khaki line that barred the pass to the

sea we knew nothing. Day by day and night by night we were regaled with

stories of 'heavy German losses' and futile tales of the deaths of

German princes; neither our manhood nor our imagination was fully

captured, for of the almost unbelievable heroism of our brothers we were

never told. Perhaps the silence was justified; the enemy might have

learned how near they were to victory, and with a supreme effort have

broken through. At all events, unavoidably or not, the youth of the

country as a whole was never, throughout this winter, really roused to

its best. All the more honour to the first hundred thousand!

III

_Ubique_

After this war is over no soldier can ask 'What does the Christian

Church do for me?' The members of the Church, acting through its

organisation, or more frequently through other organisations of which

its members were the moving spirits, rose to the occasion nobly all over

the country. Glasgow was no exception. It did the Churches, too, much

good, teaching them to work together. Here is an example. The men were

lodged all over the city, two or three hundred in one hall, more than

that in another. In every instance arrangements were made for their

recreation and comfort. In a given district one congregation gave its

hall as a recreation room, another paid all expenses, a third supplied

a church officer for daily cleaning, the members joined in giving

magazines and papers, and in providing tea and coffee; the missionary of

one congregation held services, and all united in giving concerts. The

Y.M.C.A., which does not accept workers unless they are members of the

Christian Church, came on the scene and built a hut, through the

generosity of Mrs. Hunter Craig, in the barrack square.

On this, in the early months of 1915, there followed a revival of

religion among the Maryhill Barracks men, whose centre was the Y.M.C.A.

hut. This revival had the marks in it which we younger men had been told

were the marks of a true revival, but from which many had shrunk because

they were associated in our days with flaming advertisement, noise, and

ostentation.

A wise old Scots minister was once asked, 'How are we to bring about a

revival?' 'It is God who gives revival.' 'But how are we to get Him to

give it?' 'Ask Him,' he said. Perhaps in this case we may say humbly

that our asking was largely in the form of gaining the confidence of the

men, for when we had all become friends the movement began quietly one

night through the action of an agent of the Pocket Testament League, who

was spending the evening with us. The meetings looked prosaic enough to

the eye; there was no band or solo singing or outward excitement, and

the hut was a plain wooden building, but the strain was very intense at

times. Sometimes as many as a hundred in one week would stay behind and

profess conversion, desiring to yield to the profound spiritual impulse

urging them from within to make Christ's mind and spirit their principle

in life. All had been cast loose from their moorings and had been trying

to find their feet in new surroundings. Most of them were just decent

lads who had never thought much about it before. There were others who

at last saw a chance to make a fresh start and grasped thankfully at it.

A few were 'corner-boys,' learning in discipline and comradeship a

lesson they had never dreamed of. I think there was everywhere in the

new army a certain moral uplift arising from the consciousness of a hard

duty undertaken, and it was not difficult to lead this on to a more

personal and spiritual crisis. There was something very lovable about

them. A tall, handsome fellow from a Canadian lumber camp said, with

real distress in his face, 'I've tried and tried, and, God help me, I

can't. It's no use.' His chum tucked his arm through his and declared

with a warmth of affection in his voice, 'I'll look after him, guv'nor.'

Many months afterwards in a Flemish town I saw some of their batteries

go by clattering over the stony streets. The flashlight from an electric

torch lit up the riders flitting from darkness to darkness on either

side of the broad pencil of light. It showed bronzed faces, competent

gestures, stained uniforms, the marks of veterans, men who had been in

action many times with their guns. I am sure that they do their duty not

only to their king but to One Higher, too, in the words of the brave

motto of their corps, '_Ubique quo fas et gloria ducunt_.'

In April orders came to join the Expeditionary Force.

A REINFORCEMENTS CAMP

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