a good idea to put them through a short course in the riding school. It
was important that I should get the riding school at the time I wanted
it which was nine o'clock. I am ashamed to say that I had not read
orders that morning otherwise I would have scented danger.
At 8.45 I sent three large Welsh miners up to the riding school to
prevent others from getting there before me. I told them to hold the
school against all comers. This thrilled them; our sentries were only
armed with sticks in those days, so they procured large sticks and took
up a position at the door of the riding school. I wish I had read orders
that day.
At nine o'clock I advanced to the door of the school, and to my horror I
saw a gentleman on a large horse with a red cap and many decorations
being held at bay by my three Welshmen. I nearly beat a strategic
retreat, but it was difficult so I advanced in much fear. He rode up to
me looking purple and said: "Did you put these men here to hold the
riding school?" I saluted and replied meekly: "Yes, sir!" "Why, may I
ask?" "Well, sir," I replied, "I have never had a chance to use the
riding school and every time I come I find it already full." He looked
bitterly at me and said: "Boy, do you ever read orders?" This silenced
me. Then he started to move off but turning round asked me my name, and
then he said: "Never put sentries at the door of a riding school; it
isn't soldiering."
It was all very terrible but Providence looks after fools and I had my
hour in the riding school. When lunch time came I rushed to the mess and
looked at orders. My heart sank. They showed that a staff officer had
arranged to inspect a certain battery's equestrian powers that morning.
The men under a sergeant had arrived, but being impressed by the
formidable appearance of the Welshmen had decided to go somewhere else.
The colonel then arrived and found my sentries. A staff colonel was
nothing in their lives, but I as their "lootenant" was very much so, and
they knew that they would get into trouble if they failed to do what I
had ordered. I was very pleased with them, but knew there would be
trouble for me. I had only been an officer three weeks and it looked
very bad.
At lunch time I sat as far away as possible from the staff officer. My
own colonel, a topping chap, who had left his charming old country house
to help to make us all soldiers sat next to him. Elderly colonels are
sometimes a little deaf and they shout as a rule. I was very worried
until I saw my own colonel looking down at me with a grin. A moment
after, he gave the staff colonel a smack on the back and said: "Timkins,
you funny old top, fancy being kept out of the riding school by one of
my subalterns!" I felt safe after that and looked for promotion.
Of course, I would not recommend that sort of thing to any one. After a
time, I learnt better and discovered that at regular intervals during
the week I had the right to use the riding school. It appeared in
orders. However, I learnt a great lesson, _i.e._, that if you want a
thing badly enough there are always ways of getting it if you are
willing to take risks. However, it is a good idea to know the extent of
the risk.
In this life you must be honest, of course, but there is nothing like a
little wiliness to help out occasionally. My major was the wiliest
person I have ever met, also the best officer. He knew more than most
people did in the brigade because he had been wounded at the Marne,
though slightly, so that in the early days of training he was the only
officer of rank who had seen service.
One day he sent me off to the ordnance stores with about one hundred
men, because he alleged that the "emergency caps" supplied to the men
did not fit. They did fit all right, but the major had hopes. These
emergency caps were made of nasty blue serge and were the variety that
are placed on the side of the head and that are shaped like the boats
you make for children out of a square of paper. They suggest a section
of the bellows of a concertina.
Now the way to get stores from the ordnance depot is to write out a
requisition. It is sent off by the Q.M.S., and returns in a day or two,
because he has not filled out the form correctly. However, after many
weeks the things arrive but half of them may not fit, and there is
trouble and worry. Upon no consideration, do you send your men to the
stores to have the caps and tunics fitted. This is obviously impossible.
However, off I went with my hundred men to Aldershot, eight miles
distant. They were a funny bunch, I will admit. We arrived at the
department where caps were kept. We marched in fours, myself at the
head, and then came into line in front of the building. It had never
occurred before and astonishment was displayed on the faces of the
sergeants and others, who wondered what should happen next. I sought the
officer in charge and the sergeant took me to his office. On the way I
took some shameless steps with the sergeant and made him my friend for
life.
The officer in charge, a ranker captain, was not very pleased, but I
talked a lot and made him regard himself as vital to my earthly
happiness. I painted in vivid colours the smallness of my men's caps;
how they fell off when they doubled, and what confusion ensued in the
ranks as they all stooped to pick them up. He grew more friendly, and
slightly amused, and said he would do what he could. We started to go
out to the men, the sergeant helping me wonderfully, but, alas, we met
an old man with a red cap and of furious mien who stood looking at my
brave soldiers in the distance with much displeasure. He came to me and
gave me blazes and ordered me to get out of it. He disliked intensely
the fact that my major regarded him as a shop keeper, he, the "D.C.O.S."
or something equally dreadful! I explained that the caps did not fit,
and that we were desperate men. He said: "They do fit." "Well, sir, will
you have a look?" We had to go round, in order to avoid a platform from
which stores were loaded into wagons G. S. I jumped this place and
quickly told the sergeant to make the men put their caps on the very tip
of their heads, to change some, to do anything, but to do it quickly.
The men were fools--they took the matter as a joke and commenced
exchanging one anothers' caps, laughing and affecting a certain cunning
which seemed fatal to me. The general, of course, caught them in the
very act, appreciated the situation and roared with laughter. After
that it was not difficult. All of my men were supplied, not with new
emergency caps, but with beautiful field service khaki caps and they
took away with them one hundred extra caps for the men at home. When
this operation had finished the general said: "Now is there anything
else that you want, for I'm damned if I will have you coming here again
in this manner?" It was all wrong, hopelessly wrong, but we were proud
soldiers as we marched back into the barracks at Deep Cut, each man
wearing a perfect cap and carrying another. Of sixteen batteries, we
were the only people who could boast of "caps, service field."
The major, of course, was pleased but if it had not come off I should
have been the person to get _strafed_, and not he.
There are always short cuts, even in the inspection of guns and
carriages.
I sometimes wonder how I have managed to get along out here possessing
so much ignorance of business. It has been comparatively simple. I had
no intention of being clever, even if it were possible, and from the
start I took a perfectly honest line, and placed all my cards on the
table. I found that this was a fairly unusual manner of doing business
and it worked well. I also made the discovery that, instead of being
cunning knaves, the American manufacturers of my experience were honest
gentlemen. In any case, I decided that if they were cunning the heights
of my cunning would never reach theirs, owing to my lack of experience.
I also endeavoured to learn from them a "good approach." This helped. I
just put it up to them. "Here am I out here to get work from you. We
must have it. We've got to _strafe_ the Germans somehow and it is up to
you to help me." And they have, bless them, especially the big men. At
any rate, I can safely say that anything I have wanted I have got.
I think that I realized the situation. Not only had they mostly "bitten
off more than they could chew," but they had not realized the
difficulties they were up against. Of course, one had to use a little
common sense. During my time here in America one has learnt a great
deal, and, indeed, one has met some villains. They were not "Yankee
manufacturers."
Do you remember Lady Deadlock's lover in "Bleak House," and the street
boy's eulogy after his death, "He was very good to me, he was"? That is
how I feel towards the men I have met during my time here. They have
been very good to me, all of them. I suppose that if I had been an
inspector the matter would have been different. Perhaps I have laughed a
little at inspectors, but my job has been child's play compared with
theirs.
The average American, like other folk, enjoys a decent fight, but he
dislikes killing people by machinery; hence the machinery of war has
never been manufactured to any great extent over here. The American is
impatient of delay. He wants to get going. When held up, he sometimes
fails to see the inspector's point of view. He is an optimist, but
optimism in gun and carriage manufacture will often bring some
bitterness of heart, and when an optimist develops bitterness, it's
awful.
XIV
A PREMATURE
BETHLEHEM, U. S. A., November, 1917.
I have grown steadily to love the American people. English people I have
met in this country have helped me so much. Contrasta!!
I went to Cambridge after life in New Zealand, where a spade is called a
spade--and that's all about it; where, if you are strong enough, you
knock a man down if he calls you a liar. At Cambridge, I discovered that
no one had any desire to call anyone else a liar. Lying persons, and
those who told unpleasant truths, were not on your list of acquaintances
and as far as you were concerned they did not exist. "Napoo," as Tommy
says.
But the people one did know and like, one studied and endeavoured to
understand. One also tried to act accordingly so that even if they
behaved in a peculiar fashion one avoided allowing them to even suspect
disapproval.
So our older universities try valiantly to turn out, not necessarily
educated persons, but persons who have a faint idea how to behave
themselves when they are away from home. This does not mean merely the
use of an elegant accent called here with a little amusement "English."
It means that the fellow who takes a superior attitude towards anyone is
merely a stupid bounder. It means also that the fellow who thinks
himself, as a member of the British Nation, to be better or in any way
superior to any other nation is a fool. He may be superior, of course,
but the mere thought of this superiority entering his mind ruins him at
once, and, as I said before, turns him into a bounder.
In other words, "Love your own country intensely and beyond all other
countries, but for Heaven's sake don't let anyone suspect that you
regard yourself as a good specimen of its human production." If,
unfortunately, you discover, not only that you love yourself, but also
that it is owing to you and your like that the British Empire is great,
climb the Woolworth Building, not forgetting to pay your dime, and then
drop gracefully from the highest pinnacle. You will save your nation and
your countrymen much suffering and a good deal of embarrassment.
No one has ever given this advice before, I am quite sure: that probably
accounts for the fact that Britishers _do_ suffer and are embarrassed
when they meet some of their fellow countrymen over here, for it is
quite un-British to be a bounder, and it is quite un-Christian to be a
snob. Which is a strange fact, but true nevertheless: yet, who would
suspect it.
I used to think that an American was a hasty person, constantly talking
about the finest thing on the earth, which he deemed everything American
to be; that his wife was a competent, rather forward person, who
delighted to show her liberty by upsetting our old notions of propriety.
I have often heard people telling the story of the American lady who
thought it funny to blow out some sacred light that had never been
extinguished for centuries--and all that sort of thing. In fact,
anything outrageous done in England or on the continent by a woman is at
once put down to an American. We had some charming specimens of Britons
on the continent in the days of peace.
And yet we sincerely like the American people. We don't mean to run them
down really, but we assume a superior air that must be perfectly awful.
I have been just as guilty. I remember feeling quite faint at St. John's
College, Oxford, where they seemed to have the unpleasant habit of
breakfasting in hall, when I heard two Rhodes' scholars talking. They
were very friendly to the waiters, who hated it, and their accent
disgusted me. They seemed isolated, too. At the moment, having lived for
a year in America, I wonder how on earth one's attitude could have been
such. Frankly, there seems no excuse: it is merely rude and
unpardonable. Still, perfectly nice people have this attitude. I wish
that we could change, because the effect over here is most regrettable.
One would like the Americans to know us at our best, because we are not
really an unpleasant people.
Of course, the sloppy individual seeking a fortune arrives "over here"
and burns incense to the "Yankees," as he calls them, but they are not
deceived. Some of us used to look upon the folk over here as fair game.
All Americans are hospitable, even the very poor, and a stray Englishman
comes in for his share of kindness. But he invariably assumes a superior
attitude, although unconsciously.
The American people have mostly been with us all along in our efforts to
fight the Germans. The well educated people definitely like us, but the
great mass just don't. The Irish element hates us, or poses that way.
_People don't know this._
In England we don't seem to realize the Irish question. We regard the
Irish as a delightful and amusing people. Most of our serious experience
has been with the Irish gentry, really English and Scotch, who through
years have assumed the delightful mannerisms of the people with whom
they have lived. We also shoot and hunt with the real Irishman and find
him delightful and romantic. His wonderful lies and flattery please us,
but we don't for a single instant take him seriously. The great mass of
people here think that we ill-treat the Irish. This is interesting. An
Irishman arrives here and finds wonderful opportunities for expansion,
and glorious opportunities to fight. He compares his present life with
that of his former and the former looks black and horrible. An
Englishman and a Scotchman of the same class feel the same way. The
Irishman having been brought up on "Irish wrongs" blames the English for
his past discomfort. I have heard fairly intelligent people speaking of
Irish wrongs, but when asked in what way the Irish treatment differs
from that meted out to the average Englishman they are unable to answer.
The thing seems a little bit involved.
During this time of war there have been, of course, large numbers of
Englishmen over here on duty. Their attitude varies a little, but on the
whole, it is a little difficult to understand. Lieutenant Jones arrives,
having been badly wounded and is unfit for further service. The folk
here at once give him a wonderful time. They listen to his words and
entertain him very much. So much incense is burnt to him that his head
becomes pardonably swelled. Representing his government and the buyer of
huge supplies he has interviews with great men, who treat him with vast
respect. They ask him to spend week-ends at their houses.
The great captain of industry has risen to his present position by one
of two things--either by brutal efficiency, or by terrific personality,
but mostly the latter. The subaltern finds him charming and, mark you,
very humble. Temporary Lieutenant Smith likes the Americans.
Millionaires and multi-millionaires are often his companions. He is
receiving, possibly, three hundred dollars a month, but he seldom has to
entertain himself. Familiarity breeds contempt, and he feels that he
himself ought really to be a millionaire. His advice is often taken and
a certain contempt for the intelligence of his friends creeps into his
mind. He thinks of after-the-war days and he endeavours to lay plans. He
perhaps lets a few friends know that he wants a job after the war,
though I have not heard of any one seeking a millionaire's daughter.
Now arrives plain Mr. Jones who has not been to the front. American
society tries him out, and, finding him wanting, to his astonishment
drops him. In American society you must have something to recommend you.
You must amuse and interest. The mere fact of your being a
representative of Great Britain won't save you. You must also be a
gentleman and behave accordingly. If you even think that the American
people are rather inferior and a little awful you are done. I know
several British people in America who are not known in polite society,
and who seem to have fallen back upon their Britishness and spend
diverting hours discussing the "damn Yankees." That is, of course, the
whole trouble. People never seem to realize that the tongue is not the
only method of communication. Our feelings can be communicated without
a word spoken. So some of us over here talk fairly and courteously to
the American people, while regarding them as something a little terrible
and quite impossible socially. Our hosts realise this at once and like
children they are fearfully sensitive. It either amuses them or makes
them furious, generally the former.
When we visit France or Spain and endeavour to learn the language of
either country, we regard ourselves as peculiarly clever persons if we
can manage to cultivate the French or Spanish idioms and manners. We
even return to England and affect them a little, in order that people
may see that we are travelled persons. Imitation is the sincerest form
of flattery, I suppose; but never do we imitate the Americans, or even
affect their manners while here. To illustrate. In Bethlehem, and indeed
in other parts of America, it is _de rigeur_ to say that you are pleased
to meet a person when introduced. It is done by the best people. In
England, a person who says he is pleased to meet you is suspected of
having some ulterior motive. It is not done.
I spent a happy day in Washington with some members of the Balfour
mission and I noticed that one fellow, an Oxford Don, invariably said
when introduced to American people: "I'm very pleased to meet you." He
explained that it was the custom of the country and had to be followed.
It is not wonderful that one noticed how well these fellows got on with
the folk here.
Americans have a profound dislike for gossip. They seldom "crab" people.
Of course, a conversation is never so interesting as when someone's
reputation is getting smashed to pieces, but this is not done here. If a
party of British people with their wives (and emphasis is laid on the
wives) get together there are sure to be some interesting happenings.
Each wife will criticise the other wife and generally there will be a
certain amount that is unpleasant. In England we understand this, and
expect it. The picture of people of the same blood squabbling together
in a foreign country is quite diverting and interesting to Americans.
One English woman will criticise another English woman, and will do so
to an American who promptly tells her friends. I have heard some very
interesting tales.
Frankly, my fellow countrymen have shown me many wonderful qualities
amongst our cousins, and I have realized a big thing. The American
people must get to know us and they must get to like us. I wonder if we
shall bother to like them?
XV
"BON FOR YOU: NO BON FOR ME"
I get slightly annoyed with the newspapers and indeed with some of my
friends over here when they pass rude remarks about the King of England.
The people don't seem to understand why we keep a king and all that sort
of thing. They all admit that the British Empire is a successful
organization, but they cannot quite see that an empire must have an
emperor. When one thinks of India without its emperor! Still the point
is that the majority of British citizens of every colour prefer to have
a king and that is all there is about it.
When the news of the Russian revolution broke upon the world, people of
this country commenced to discuss the possibility of similar occurrences
in other European countries. It was said by some that Germany and
Austria-Hungary would soon follow suit, and that even England would give
up her childish, through ornamental practice of having kings in golden
crowns, and noble lords riding in stately carriages. In other words, the
rest of the world, realizing the advantages of the United States form of
government, would sooner or later have revolutions of more or less
ferocity and change into republics. And it is easy to understand this.
A monarchy seems totally opposed to common sense.
It was very interesting to see the remarks in the newspapers of this
country when his Majesty King George of England attended the service in
St. Paul's, London, on America's Day.
They were kindly, of course, as befits the American characteristic of
kindliness. One paper likened the king to a national flag which England
kept as an interesting antique. He was also described as an "Emblem of
Unity," whatever that may mean. One leading New York paper, in saying
that England was doing very well as she is in that she is keeping the
flame of democracy burning, remarked that "George's" sole contribution
to the war was the banishment of wine from his table. I suppose the
writer of this article must be intimately acquainted with the king when
he can call him by his Christian name. Always Americans seem to think
that Great Britain is a democracy in spite of the monarchy. We of Great
Britain know that she is a democracy and a great empire because of the
monarchy. Some day America will realize more fully that the things of
the spirit are greater than the things of the flesh. Then she will
understand why we love our King; and do you know, we do love him quite a
lot.
I am going to try to explain, a difficult task, why a monarchy is for us
the most effective form of government. A nation is, I suppose, a group
of persons bound together for self-preservation. In order to make
self-preservation effective it is essential that there should be unity
and contentment. In England, where there is really a surplus population,
this is difficult. So a government will take into consideration all the
needs of the people over whom it is placed. Nothing must be forgotten,
or sooner or later there will be trouble. With us the task is a
difficult one. With her vast empire it is marvellous how Great Britain
succeeds. She succeeds because she realizes that men will follow the
dictates of their hearts rather than their minds. The world was
astonished when at the hour of her need men of every color came from
every corner of the earth to give if necessary their lives for the
empire because they loved it so dearly. The things of the spirit are
greater than the things of the flesh. Our monarchy is really a thing of
the spirit. Take it away from us and surely you will see the British
Empire crumble and decay. The world would be poorer then. We Britons
have irritating faults; of course we have. Our insular snobbishness must
be very irritating to American people. Still we try to be fair and just
in our muddling way. God knows we have done some rather curious things
at times. They say we were atrocious to the Boers, yet the Boers to-day
are loyal to the empire of which they are now an important part. We
don't force this loyalty; it just grows.