IN PLAYTIME
It was not all work at St. Dunstan's. Sports were encouraged and
fostered in every way; but rowing and tug-of-war were by far the most
popular. Fully sixty per cent. of the men went in for rowing, and some
very skilful and powerful oarsmen were turned out. There were two
regattas each year. The preliminary heats of each regatta were pulled
off on the lake that runs into the grounds of the House, and the finals
took place on the River Thames. Single sculls, pair-oars, and fours were
our strong points. The Bungalow turned out two men who had no superiors
on the river either sighted or sightless. Sergeant Barry, at one time
the world's champion sculler, coached the team during the seasons of
1917 and 1918. So successful were the Canadians that there are now a
number of St. Dunstan's rowing prizes in Canada.
The tug-of-war team, of which I was a member, was quite as successful as
the oarsmen. Indeed, we lost only one point during the whole season. We
treated all comers alike: they were there to be pulled over; and we saw
to it that they came. The following was our war song; we sang it going
to the grounds, and we sang it coming away.
The Canucks are on the rope, on the rope, on the rope;
Their breasts are full of hope, full of hope, full of hope;
They tell the teams they pull against
That they're out to win the cup.
Canadians do your bit, do your bit, show your grit;
Lay back on that rope, legs well braced; never sit.
Make your snow-clad country proud
Of her boys who are on the line.
Chorus--
Take the strain, take the strain;
First a heave, then a pull, then again.
The boys are pulling, the boys are pulling;
Yes, they're pulling with might and main.
Take the strain, take the strain;
First a heave, then a pull, then again.
They'll come over; they'll come over;
For the timber wolves are winning once again.
Not a very elaborate piece of poetry, and sadly deficient in metre and
rhyme; but it certainly did mean much to us when we heard our supporters
singing it. We sang it to the tune of "Over there." Out of justice to my
comrades, I must plead guilty of composing it.
The average weight of the team was only 145lbs., but what the men lacked
in weight was made up in grit. The team was chosen from fifteen
Canadians, all who were at the Bungalow at the time; and seven of the
nine men who comprised the team were "black" blind. Yet this team beat
the pick of five hundred others. I have heard some of the men of the
other teams asking: "Why do they always pull us over? We are heavier,
man for man we are stronger, and we have more sight than they have."
One of the opponents discovered the secret, and thus expressed himself:
"I know what it is; it's the--what they themselves call 'pep'; it's the
vim they put into the game; it's the enthusiasm they have for all sorts
of sport. I was billeted close to some of them on the Somme; they were
always the same whether in or out of the line."
He hit the nail on the head. The Canadians had the vim, the dogged
determination; they would not submit to defeat, even in sport.
My mention of lack of sight among the men might seem superfluous to
those who have not pulled on a tug-of-war team. The advantage of sight
lies in the fact that a man to use his strength to the best advantage
must make a straight pull. If any member of the team is pulling at an
angle, those behind him are wasting their own pull while minimizing his.
For success, all must pull together, and the rope must be kept straight
and taut.
Theatricals did much to add pleasure to our lives. We not only enjoyed
those of outside performers, but we put on several plays, and the boys
took their parts well, and a prompter was very little in evidence. The
sighted are at a loss to understand how a drama, comedy, or sketch can
be enjoyed by the sightless. But the spoken word acts on the inward
eye, and the entire stage is revealed as vividly to the brain as if it
were carried there by sight. One of the annoying things to a sightless
person is to have some sighted friend sit by him at a play, describing
costumes and scenery. The blind have no need of such aids.
Chief among our sources of amusement was the Rag-time Band, which did
much to enliven our idle hours. Any who have been lucky enough to hear
this band have had a rare treat. It was composed entirely of men who had
been "over," and had lost their sight. But this loss of sight had not
lessened their love of music or their power of musical expression, as
many of the boys who were in hospital in London can testify. High-class
singers, theatrical parties, in fact, all the leading theatrical
performers and many minor ones, paid their tribute to the boys by
entertaining them with song and sketch; but no performance had quite the
same popularity as the rag-time discoursed by the "blind boys." And the
remarkable thing about the band is that it is doubtful if any member
had ever, before going to St. Dunstan's, played a more elaborate
instrument than a Jew's-harp or a mouth organ. The side-drummer, who
played the side-drum, bass drum, cymbals, Chinese block, motor-horn,
triangle, and clappers was a boy who had lost both eyes.
I have vivid recollections of the celebration at St. Dunstan's on
Armistice Day, November 11th, 1918; on that day the band excelled
itself, and played as if it meant that its music should be heard in
Germany. This occasion is one that will live long in the memory of those
of us who were at St. Dunstan's when the "scrap of paper" virtually
ending the war was signed. Our Rag-time Band then really came into its
own. Ask London. She will tell you that there was never a more popular
band in the city. The students of St. Dunstan's paraded through the
streets of the great metropolis in full regalia. As an initial step to
our parade, we managed somehow or other to secure a disused old
fire-engine, and on this the band piled. Sir Arthur's battalion lined up
in fours and followed. Through the busiest streets of the city we
marched with, at first, about two hundred and fifty men in the
parade. But before we had finished we extended over more than a quarter
of a mile. A procession of munitioners happened to meet us, and when
they found out who we were they immediately tacked themselves onto our
little line. We marched to Buckingham Palace, and here we were halted by
our leader--a Canadian, by the way. It seems that word had been passed
to their Majesties that the St. Dunstan's men were outside. At any rate,
they both came out, and I doubt if his Majesty ever had such a salute as
was given him on that day. Sergeant-Major George Eades, a Canadian
pioneer, drooped the colours with a flag that could not have measured
more than a foot square; but his Majesty took the salute and answered
it.
[Illustration: Sightless Canadian Four]
Besides the amusements already mentioned, dances were held frequently
and thoroughly enjoyed. Then, as I have said, there was rowing, and
Regent's Park Lake was constantly visited by blind lads and their
friends to enjoy this sport. We had even a four-oared Canadian crew--all
blind, and as they skimmed over the lake, rowing in perfect time, an
observer would have difficulty in detecting that they were sightless.