The other day I stopped to assist a young lad of the West Kents who had
been badly hit by a piece of shell. He hadn’t long to live, and he knew
it, too. I asked him if there was any message I could take to someone
at home. The poor lad’s eyes filled with tears as he answered, “I ran
away from home and ’listed a year ago. Mother and dad don’t know I’m
here, but you tell them from me I’m not sorry I did it.” When I told
our boys afterwards about that they cried like babies, but, mind you,
that is the spirit that is going to pull England through this war, and
there isn’t a man of us that doesn’t think of that poor boy and his
example every time we go into a fight: _Corporal Sam Haslett_.
The “Kiddies”
The worst part, to my mind, was to see the plight of the poor women
and children. English people at home cannot realize what these poor
creatures suffered. We used to meet them on the road utterly worn out
with walking and carrying their babies and the few small things that
they had. They wept with joy on seeing us. It seemed grand to be a
soldier. No matter how tired we were, it was almost a free fight as to
who carried the “kiddy” and the bundle, and there was always a tin or
two of our “bully” to spare. We made them spare it if there wasn’t: _A
Private of the Lancashire Regiment_.