E-text prepared by Suzanne Lybarger, Richard J. Shiffer, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) from
images generously made available by the Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries (http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive: Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/oneyoungman00willuoft
ONE YOUNG MAN
Published in 1917 by Hodder & Stoughton Ltd.
_The simple and true story of a clerk who
enlisted in 1914, who fought on the Western
Front for nearly two years, was severely
wounded at the Battle of the Somme, and
is now on his way back to his desk_
Edited by
SIR ERNEST HODDER-WILLIAMS, C.V.O.,
Author of
"The Life of Sir George Williams."
Printed for private circulation
Printed in Great Britain by
C. F. Roworth Ltd., 88 Fetter Lane, London, E.C.4
TO THE GREATLY BELOVED MEMORY
OF
ONE YOUNG MAN
WHO FOUNDED THE Y.M.C.A.
MY UNCLE
SIR GEORGE WILLIAMS
FOREWORD
I am glad that this very personal little book is to be re-published,
if only for private circulation, for it rings as true to-day as it did
yesterday.
It tells the story of one young man in the Great War, but, in fact, it
reveals no less the personality of the writer who knit the young man's
story together.
The young man continues--the writer has passed on.
My brother is revealed here, not as the famous publisher, but as a man
whose sympathy was so quick and passionate that he literally lived the
suffering and trials of others.
It is this living sympathy, given so freely, that lies like a wreath
of everlasting flowers on his memory now.
It is no longer a secret that the real name of the "Sydney Baxter" of
this story is Reginald Davis; and those of us who know him and have
watched every step of his progress, from his first small job of the
"pen and ledger" to the Secretaryship of a great Company, are
astonished at the understanding and accuracy of this portrayal of a
young man's inner self and outer deeds.
It is true that Sir Ernest Hodder-Williams did little more than
comment on the diary written by Davis himself. But how well he
explains it; how well he reads into its touching cheerfulness and its
splendid sorrow the eternal truth that only by suffering and obedience
can the purposes of God and man be fulfilled.
Davis has won his spurs. He bears the marks of his service in the
Great War with honour and with never a complaint. His old chief and
chronicler was proud of him then. He would be proud of him to-day.
R. PERCY HODDER-WILLIAMS.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES ONE YOUNG MAN 3
CHAPTER II
ONE YOUNG MAN JOINS THE ARMY 15
CHAPTER III
ONE YOUNG MAN IN CAMP 21
CHAPTER IV
ONE YOUNG MAN ON ACTIVE SERVICE 31
CHAPTER V
ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 41
CHAPTER VI
ONE YOUNG MAN RECEIVES A LETTER 57
CHAPTER VII
ONE YOUNG MAN IN THE SALIENT 65
CHAPTER VIII
ONE YOUNG MAN'S SUNDAY 71
CHAPTER IX
ONE YOUNG MAN ON TREK 79
CHAPTER X
ONE YOUNG MAN ANSWERS QUESTIONS 91
CHAPTER XI
ONE YOUNG MAN'S LEAVE 99
CHAPTER XII
ONE YOUNG MAN AGAIN IN THE TRENCHES 105
CHAPTER XIII
ONE YOUNG MAN GETS A "BLIGHTY" 119
Introduces One Young Man
ONE YOUNG MAN
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES ONE YOUNG MAN
The boys in the office were, I fancy, a bit prejudiced against him
before he arrived. It wasn't his fault, for he was a stranger to them
all, but it got about that the dear old "chief" had decided to engage
a real good Sunday-school boy. Someone had heard him say, or, more
likely, thought it would be funny to imagine him saying, that the
advent of such a boy might "improve the general tone" of the place.
That, you'll admit, was pretty rough on Sydney Baxter--the boy in
question. Now Sydney Baxter is not his real name, but this I can vouch
is his true story. For the most part it is told exactly in his own
words. You'll admit its truth when you have read it, for there isn't a
line in it which will stretch your imagination a hair's breadth. It's
the plain unvarnished tale of an average young man who joined the
army because he considered it his duty--who fought for many months.
That's why I am trying to record it; for if I tell it truly I shall
have written the story of many thousands--I shall have written a page
of the nation's history.
And so I need not warn you at the beginning that this book does _not_
end with a V.C. and cheering throngs. It may possibly end with wedding
bells, but you will agree there's nothing out of the common about
that--and a good job too.
I think on the whole I will keep Sydney Baxter's real name to myself.
For one thing he is still in the army; for another he is expected back
at the same office when he is discharged from hospital. It's rather
beginning at the wrong end to mention the hospital at this stage, but,
as I've done so, I'd better explain that after going unscathed through
Ypres and Hill 60, and all the trench warfare that followed, Sydney
Baxter was wounded in nine places at the first battle of the Somme on
that ever-glorious and terrible first of July. He is, as I write,
waiting for a glass eye; he has a silver plate where part of his
frontal bone used to be; is minus one whole finger, and the best part
of a second. He is deep scarred from his eyelid to his hair. I can
tell you he looks as if he had been through it. Well, he has.
He was nicknamed "Gig-lamps" in the office. He wore large spectacles
and his face was unhealthily lacking in traces of the open air. He was
in demeanour a very typical son of religious parents--well brought up,
shielded, shepherded, a little spoiled, a little soft perhaps, and
maybe a trifle self-consciously righteous. A good boy, a home boy. No
need for me to pile on the adjectives--you know exactly the kind of
chap he was. One more thing, however, and very important--he had a
sense of humour and he was uniformly good tempered and willing. That
is why, in a short time, the prejudice of the office gave way to open
approval. "Young Baxter may be a 'pi' youth, but he's quick at his
job, and nothing's too much trouble for him," said his boss. And
against their previous judgment the boys liked him. He could see a
joke. He was a good sort.
Curiously enough it was the Y.M.C.A. that first introduced Sydney
Baxter to what, for want of a better term, we will call the sporting
side of life. There's a fine sporting side to every real Englishman's
life--don't let there be any mistake about that. "He is a sportsman"
is not, as a few excellent people seem to believe, a term of reproach.
It is one of the highest honours conferred on an officer by the men he
commands. And in the ranks "a good sport" is often another way of
spelling "a hero."
It was, as I say, at the Y.M.C.A. that this one young man was first
taken out of himself and his quiet home surroundings, first became
interested in the convivialities of life. In those days, to be quite
frank about it, a certain settled staidness of demeanour, a decided
aloofness from the outside world, marked many religious households. A
book of unexceptional moral tone, and probably containing what was
known as "definite teaching," was the main relaxation after working
hours--that, and an occasional meeting and some secretarial work for a
religious or charitable society. Companions, if any, were very
carefully chosen by the parents. Well, war has changed all that--it
has even chosen our very bed-fellows for us. And no questions to be
asked, either.
It is often assumed by those who know no better that such a home as
Sydney Baxter's produces either prigs or profligates. As a matter of
fact, one of the reasons of this book is to prove that out of such a
home may come, I believe often does come, the best type of
Englishman--a Christian sportsman, a man who fights all the better for
his country because he has been taught from childhood to fear God and
hate iniquity.
But it was well for Sydney Baxter that he prepared for the chances and
quick changes of his military life by learning how to make the best of
his hitherto hidden gift of companionship.
This is how it came about. He writes:
"One afternoon in early autumn a card was put into the hands
of every young man in our office, inviting us to a tea and
social evening at the Y.M.C.A. Headquarters. The chaps said
to me, 'Of course _you_ are going, Baxter?' and I answered,
'Why not?' They, however, seemed to be of the opinion that
the tea was, more or less, a bait to a prayer-meeting or
something of that kind. However, several went, expecting,
and preparing themselves for, the worst. We were welcomed by
a group of gentlemen who seemed to be possessors of smiles
of permanency; they conducted us to a large room already
well filled with others like ourselves, whom we incorrectly
judged to be members, as they seemed to be quite at home. In
every corner of the room were lounge chairs and on the
tables games of all description. Here and there small groups
were being entertained by the members, and, judging by the
unrestrained merriment, they were proving themselves very
capable hosts.
"We were told to make ourselves absolutely at home; and
although we entered with zest into all that was going on, I
don't think really that we quite lost the feeling that a
prayer-meeting was bound to follow. Much to our surprise no
one came up and spoke to us about our souls; indeed our
hosts led the way into all the fun that was going, and none
of them had the milk-and-bun expression of countenance that
we had conjured up in our mind's eye. You can see what our
conception of Y.M.C.A. members was. We imagined them a
narrow-minded set of some mild kind of religious fanatics."
I promised a veracious chronicle, and I am quoting Sydney Baxter word
for word. I am inclined to believe that here he is expressing his
companions' anxieties rather than his own.
"The tea gong sounded and our hosts led the way to another
large room, and upon the tables was a sumptuous spread.
Being young men we did full justice to it, and throughout
the whole of tea time this same atmosphere of sociability
surrounded us.
"After tea we were escorted to the lecture room, and,
although it is too long ago to remember who the speakers
were, and what the subjects, I do know it was most
enjoyable. At the conclusion we were given a hearty welcome
to come and use the rooms every evening for reading,
writing, or social intercourse and games. The following
morning in the office we all agreed that we had had a most
enjoyable evening, and that we had badly misjudged the
Y.M.C.A. A few of us took advantage of the invitation and
went again, and received the same warm welcome and had
another enjoyable evening. Shortly afterwards three of us
joined the Association. Until this time I had no idea of the
magnitude of the Association's work; my idea was that little
existed outside of the Headquarters and the smaller branches
over the country. This was some eight years ago. Now every
one knows the Y.M.C.A. I soon got into the stream and found
I was in the midst of a large number of football, cricket,
swimming, and rowing enthusiasts. The teams that the
Association clubs put into the field and on the river were
very strong. The sports side of the Y.M.C.A. was indeed a
revelation."
So it was that Sydney Baxter's evenings and week-ends were often spent
with his fellows in various Y.M.C.A. organisations. He was anxious to
get on, and the Association classes helped him, too, in his business
education. Ambitious of advancement in the office, he had noted that
his schooling was lacking in certain essentials if he was to be fit
when the opportunity arrived. He rose quickly in the business and was
soon doing responsible work. He was one of those fellows who get ready
for the time when their chance may come. It always does come to such
as Sydney Baxter.
The Association tackled the holiday problem for this young man too.
This is how he describes his first visit to one of the Y.M.C.A.
hotels. He calls them hotels himself, and I am not surprised, for such
they really are. A "home," though a beautiful word, does not, somehow,
in this connection convey the proper idea of these Y.M.C.A. holiday
resorts. "A home from home"--well you know!
"I went down entirely on my own. I was at that time a very
reserved chap, and I had misgivings as to the probability of
making chums. I shared my room with a young Frenchman, who
fortunately could speak English quite well, and thus we were
saved embarrassing silence and aloofness.
"Tea gong sounded, and as we made our way into the passage
we were literally carried along in the stream of young men,
newcomers in their lounge suits, the others mostly in
flannels. On we swept, down the stairs into the large
dining-hall. Sit where you please, act as if you had been
here all your life and treat everyone as an old pal, seemed
to be the order of the day, and in that atmosphere it was
impossible to feel anything but quite at home. Before tea
was over we new arrivals were infected with the same spirit
of joviality, and were ready for the first 'rag.'
"I was shown the house and grounds by an old boarder. In
addition to the lounge, writing and smoking-rooms, there was
a dark-room for developing, a fully rigged 'gym,' and
billiard-room; and so, in inclement weather, every amusement
was at hand. In the grounds were tennis courts and croquet
lawns.
"Every week drives were arranged to the beauty-spots and
historical places round about, but I appreciated most the
facilities offered by a temporary membership of the boating
club for the absurdly small sum of 3_s._ 6_d._ per week. For
this one could have a skiff or, if a party, a large boat,
any day for any length of time, bathing costume and fishing
tackle thrown in. I took full advantage of this, and most
mornings and afternoons were spent on the water. We used to
pull over to the obsolete battleships that lay in the
stretch of water between us and the mainland. Here we would
tether up and turn the gangway into a diving platform. Happy
indeed were these days spent with companions who were in
every sense of the word sportsmen and gentlemen."
Sportsmen and gentlemen--a new designation, perhaps, to some who have
judged these Y.M.C.A. members by hearsay only. It's Sydney Baxter's
not mine. And he ought to know well what the words mean after two
years in a line regiment at the front.
One Young Man Joins the Army