Did you ever try to write War stories? I am not alluding to Press
telegrams from Athens, Amsterdam or Copenhagen, but legitimate magazine
fiction. Once I was reasonably competent and could rake in my modest
share of War profits. But recently Clibbers, of the International
Fiction Syndicate, approached me and said, "Old man, do me some War
stuff. Anything you like, but it must have a novel climax."
"Not in a War story," I protested.
"Can you deliver the goods?" said Clibbers sternly.
After that what could I do but alter the stories I had in stock.
For example there was my fine story, "Retrieved." The innocent convict
(would that I had the happy innocence of the convict of fiction!)
emerges from Portmoor. In a few well-chosen words the genial old prison
governor (to avoid libel actions I hasten to say that no allusion is
made to any living person) advises the released man to make a new
career. The convict marches to the recruiting office and enlists. In a
couple of paragraphs he is at the Front; on the second page he saves the
Colonel's life, captures a German trench on page three, and in less time
than it takes to do it gains the V.C., discovers the villain dying
repentant with a full confession in his left puttee, and embraces the
girl who chanced to be Red-Crossing in the rear of the German
position--presumably having arrived there by aeroplane. This seemed to
me both probable and credible in a magazine. Still a novel climax was
needed. After the few well-chosen words from the prison governor I took
the convict to the nearest public-house, let him discover that the new
restrictions were in force, and brought the story to a novel conclusion
by making him say with oaths to the recruiting officer that he would be
jiggered if ever he formed fours for such a rotten old country.
I thought that, at any rate, I had provided one surprise for my readers.
Then I turned to my psychological study, entitled "The Funk." There
wasn't much story in this, but a good deal about a man's sensations when
in danger. I could picture the horror of it from personal experience,
for my rear rank man has nearly brained me a dozen times when the
specials have bayonet drill (I also have nearly brained--but I am
wandering from the subject). Well, the Funk at the critical moment ran
away, but, being muddled by German gas clouds, ran straight into the
German lines. He thought that people were trying to intercept his
flight. In panic he cut them down. At the last moment he cut the CROWN
PRINCE'S smile in twain. (In fiction, mark you, it is quite allowable to
put the CROWN PRINCE into the firing line). Then came glory, the D.C.M.
and a portrait of some one else with the Funk's name attached in _The
Daily Snap_. However, novelty was needed. I concluded by leaving the
Funk hiding in a dug-out when the British charged and eating the
regiment's last pot of strawberry jam.
I turned to another romance, entitled "Secret Service," and found to my
joy that this needed very little alteration. The hero chanced to be in
Germany at the outset of the war. He was imprisoned at Ruhleben,
Potsdam, Dantzic, Frankfort and Wilhelmshaven. He escaped from these
places by swimming the Rhine (thrice), the Danube, the Meuse, the Elbe,
the Vistula, the Bug, the Volga, the Kiel Canal and Lake Geneva. He
chloroformed, sandbagged, choked and gagged sentinels throughout the
length and breadth of Germany. From under a railway carriage seat he
overheard a conversation between ENVER BEY and BERNHARDI. Concealed
beneath a pew at a Lutheran church he heard COUNT ZEP. and VON TIRP.
exchanging deadly secrets. Finally he emerged from a grandfather's clock
as the KAISER was handing the CROWN PRINCE some immensely important
documents, snatched them, stole an aeroplane, bombed a Zeppelin or two
on his homeward way, and landed exhausted at Lord KITCHENER'S feet. Here
came the change. Instead of opening the parcel to discover the plans of
the German staff, the WAR SECRETARY found in his hand this document:--
"Sausage Prices in Berlin: Pork Sausage, 3 marks 80 pf.; Horse Sausage,
3 marks 45 pf.; Dog Sausage, 2 marks 95 pf. Gott mit uns.--WILHELM."
I sent the three romances to Clibbers and waited his reply with anxiety.
It came promptly and as follows:--"Are you mad?--CLIBBERS."
Instantly I sent him the first versions of these magnificent fictions.
He phoned me at once, "That's the kind of novelty I want. Send me some
more."
You will see "Retrieved," "The Funk," and "Secret Service" in the
magazines shortly. Don't trouble if the titles differ. After all, there
are only three genuine War story plots.
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