at your beautiful old Church, the holy shrine of Shakespeare’s rest,
battered into ruins by the bombs and shells of the remorseless German
foe!--your houses shattered--your gardens laid waste--your streets
broken up by the machines of war, and you yourselves turned forth
as homeless wanderers without hope or refuge!--your little children
murdered before your eyes! This is what France has had to endure, and
it is your happy fortune to be spared these terrible calamities only
because brave men are fighting for you and giving their lives for you
that you shall never know such desolation! And not only your own brave
men but the brave men of France are fighting, for _you_ as well as
for themselves! France and Britain are friends and brothers-in-arms;
and in the great and terrible struggle they fight as one soul! We,
who are protected in our island home by the magnificent heroism
and self-sacrifice of such splendid men, can do but little to show
our grateful love and admiration towards France for her unmatched
endurance, resolution, fortitude, and courage; but such little as it is
and must be, let us do it with a full and generous heart! Let us take
pride and joy in helping to rebuild the ruined towns and villages,--let
us try to comfort the brave people by giving homes to the homeless, and
restoring in some measure their lost peace and prosperity. Every pound
that can be spared goes to alleviate some trouble. No money brings
such divine interest as that which we spend in helping those in need.
Therefore let us not grudge our offerings to the heroic martyr of the
nations! She is pierced with many swords,--she is scourged and crowned
with thorns,--but her invincible faith and honour and patriotism
will bring her through the darkness to the light of a triumphant and
glorious Day! _Her_ cause is Ours; _Our_ cause is _Hers_! Now is the
time when we, who are not in the stress of battle, can cheer and help
her by proofs of love and sympathy in her sorrows. Most earnestly do I
hope, and most ardently do I pray that the noble, ever-living spirit
of the Master Poet of the world whose name and memory make this town
honourable, may so influence your hearts that you will give freely all
and more than you can spare, in generous tenderness, and with that
“quality of mercy” which brings blessing beyond all wealth, and reward
beyond all fame!
(_The above Appeal was spoken in French on the stage of the Shakespeare
Memorial Theatre, Stratford-on-Avon, by Monsieur Combet de Larenne as
follows_:)
MES CHERS AMIS,--Nous nous réunissons aujourd’hui en l’honneur de la
France, la France, ce beau pays, ce pays aimé, à cette heure ravagé,
désolé par le plus cruel ennemi qui ait jamais déshonoré la guerre.
On m’a demandé de m’adresser à vous, mes amis, à vous qui foulez la
terre de Shakespeare, en faveur de ceux qui foulent celle aujourd’hui
dévastée de Victor Hugo, et je considére comme un honneur, comme un
privilége, et an même temps comme un devoir de plaider auprès de vous
cette grande cause.
Je vous demande de vous recueillir, de considérer votre situation
propre, de jeter un coup d’œil sur votre confort, vous, habitants
de cette ville paisible, qui n’avez jamais connu les horreurs de
l’invasion, de la destruction causées par le plus féroce des ennemis!
Je vous demande de diriger votre pensée vers d’autres villes, vers
d’autres villages, autrefois joyeux et prospères aujourd’hui ruinés,
désolés, au des milliers de malheureux innocents ont été chassés de
leur foyer et contraints de subir des misères plus terribles que toutes
celles que vous pouvez imaginer!
Rappelez-vous aussi avec quel héroisme ils ont enduré leurs
souffrances, avec quel courage, avec quelle force d’âme! Sans se
plaindre, ils ont, pour le salut de leur patrie, refoulé dans le plus
profond de leur être leurs chagrins et leurs angoisses, et quand
l’Histoire parlera, le splendide et inébranlable patriotisme de la
France, brillant d’une lumière étincelante, sera pour toutes les
nations un noble et impérissable exemple!
Pensez, mes chers amis, un instant seulement aux angoisses qui vous
étreindraient le cœur si vous deviez considérer votre vieille et belle
église, le sanctuaire vénéré au repose Shakespeare, réduits en cendres
par les bombes et par les obus de l’impitoyable ennemi allemand! vos
maisons abattues, vos jardins dévastés, vos rues détruites par le fer
et par le feu, et si vous deviez vous trouver vous-mêmes errants,
hagards, sans espérance, sans refuge! vos petits enfants massacrés sous
vos yeux!
Ces sant ces terribles supplices que la France endure! Vous avez
la bonne fortune d’échapper à ces épouvantables calamités grâce au
dévouement des braves qui combattent et qui donnent leur ire pour vous,
et c’est a eux que vous devrez de ne jamais connaître une si abominable
désolation! Ce ne sont pas seulement les enfants de l’Angleterre qui
se battent pour vous: ce sont aussi les enfants de la France; ils sont
frères dans la grande et terrible lutte actuelle; ils n’ont qu’une âme!
Nous qui sommes protégés dans notre île par le magnifique héroisme
et par le dévouement d’hommes aussi splendidement grands, donnous une
preuve de notre amour reconnaissant et de notre admiration pour la
France, pour son incomparable ténacité, pour sa résolution indomptable,
pour sa grandeur d’âme et pour son courage, et si peu que nous
puissions les uns et les autres faire pour elle, faisons--le avec tout
notre cœur, avec toute notre générosité! Sayons fiers et joyeux d’aider
à reconstruire les villes détruites, les villages anéantis; essayons de
donner un peu de confort aux malheureux éprouvés, en leur procurant un
abri, en leur rendant un peu de la paix et de la prospérité perdues!
Chaque obole allégera une part de souffrance! Nul placement ne peut
rapporter d’intérêt plus divinement profitable que celui consacré à
secourir les malheureux dans le besoin!
Donc, donnans san hésiter à l’héroique nation martyre! Elle est
meurtrie de coups de lance, elle est flagellée et couronnée d’épines,
mais sa foi invincible, son honneur et son patriotisme la conduitent à
travers les ténèbres vers la lumière éblouissante d’un jour de gloire
et de triomphe. Sa cause est la nôtre; notre cause est la sienne. Le
moment est venu au nous qui ne sommes pas dans la fournaise de la
lutte, nous pouvons venir en aide à la noble nation et lui donner les
preuves de notre amour et de la profonde sympathie que nous ressentous
pour elle.
J’espère ardement que le noble et vivant esprit du génial poète dont
le nom et la mémoire illustrent cette ville, inspirera vos cœurs et
que vous donnerez à l’œuvre française ce que vous pourrez, tout ce
que vous pourrez, presque plus que vous ne pourrez, dans un élan de
tendresse généreuse et avec cette qualité de miséricorde dont parle
notre grand Shakespeare, cette qualité de miséricorde qui apporte une
bénédiction supérieure à toute richesse, une récompense supérieure à
toute renommée!
GLORY OF THE WORCESTERS
(_Written by request in aid of the Homes for Disabled Worcestershire
Soldiers and Sailors_)
A TRIBUTE TO A FAMOUS REGIMENT
“You have deserved nobly of your country.”
_Shakespeare._
Far down the long annals of past history we must look for the
beginnings of the brave breed of Worcestershire men--the outcome of
that ancient heroic blood which nourishes the flower of chivalry and
strengthens the spirit to perform imperishable deeds of valour. Between
a band of tenacious Britons holding the summits of the Malvern Hills,
and a military guard and outpost of Roman warriors at Worcester itself,
was seemingly produced that special type of Englishman who, ever since
those far-away days, has been famous for courage and conquest. The
native fighting force of the Gael, and the trained skill and prowess
of the Roman are mingled in his being, and they make him, almost
unconsciously to himself, a hero from his youth. Something of the salt
of ocean, as well as of the salt of the earth, is in him, bracing his
energies and hardening his muscle and, indeed, if we grope farther back
in the dark recesses of time, we shall find geology suggesting that
Worcestershire was once a sea, and the hills of Malvern, islands, and
that the projecting bluffs on each side of the gaps in the opposite
range were capes standing out from what some imaginative folk called
the “Severn Straits,” so that we may be permitted to fancy the earliest
progenitors of the Worcestershire breed were, perhaps, bold mariners,
sailing round a veritable archipelago of islands, and skilfully
steering their primitive craft into harbours sheltered by the very
headlands which confront us to-day; or they might have been hunters,
chasing the innumerable wild beasts which at one period infested the
formerly dense “Forest of Malvern”--a forest that even in the Middle
Ages stretched from the plains to the very tops of the hills. Be this
as it may, our redoubtable men of Worcestershire must have been born
and bred from strong beginnings; they come of a stock which knows no
fear, no hesitation, no failure. The “Firm” fighters whom we delight
to honour are the product of centuries of heroism. Heroism comes so
naturally to them that they think little or nothing of it. Their pride
is in each other--not in themselves individually; what is said of one
man, must be said for the whole Regiment. Their spirit is expressed in
Shakespeare’s lines,--
“In this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry!”
And though they have performed prodigies of valour in bygone great
battles, as in the terrific “World War,” they make no boast of their
proved mettle, nor have they called upon the country they so nobly
serve for special consideration. It is with difficulty, and only by
piecing dry and desultory bits of history together, that we are at all
able to read their Golden Chronicle, or to realise the nature and worth
of their splendid services, splendidly performed in defence of “This
dear, dear land, this land of such dear souls--This England!”
* * * * *
We do not know with any certainty the character or military
qualifications of their first Colonel, Thomas Farrington, who raised
the Regiment in 1694, but we do know many of their brilliant exploits
since that far-off day, especially in India, such as the carrying
of the Delhi Gate and the storming and capture of Bangalore, which
helped to bring about the vanquishment of that notable rebel, Tippoo
Sahib; and though the overladen pages of historians find little space
for special mention of special companies of soldiers, the Duke of
Wellington’s praise of the Regiment after Badajos has not slipped
notice, nor is it likely to be forgotten:--
“It is the best Regiment in this Army, has an admirable internal system
and excellent non-commissioned officers.”
But the laurels of the past, thickly showered as they were on the
“Worcesters,” are little to compare with those of the present, when
valour is put to its utmost test, and when war weapons contrary to
all international usage, more deadly and treacherous than ever were
known before, are employed by the most inhuman and dishonourable of
foes. We have only to recall the dramatic scenario of the village of
Gheluvelt during the battle of Ypres, when the Worcesters literally
saved the day. No page of romance was ever more thrilling! The Germans
had carried the village, but the Welsh, true sons of “Gallant Little
Wales,” remained, firing, holding their ground and refusing to admit
any sort of defeat. Even when they had been given the order to retreat,
they hung on with the grim tenacity of their Celtic ancestors, and it
depended on the merest chance as to whether any company of men could
advance to their assistance under the deadly fire of shrapnel which
covered and cut them off from the rest of their line. But rescue was
forthcoming--a mere handful of Worcesters--six hundred of them, were
stationed but a mile off Gheluvelt. Their commanding officer gave the
order--“Advance without delay and deliver counter-attack.”
“Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die!”
They responded, and rushed for about half a mile under the battering
rain of shrapnel, going for two hundred yards without cover.
“Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Ran the Six Hundred!”
Shrapnel showered thick and hot in front of them, and on their
right flanks the Bavarians poured bullets upon them from rifles and
machine guns. In crossing the two hundred yards without “cover” they
had one hundred casualties. But what did death or danger matter to
the Worcesters? What have they ever cared for shots that have sped
their brave souls to Heaven? They pressed on, up on the left of the
splendidly stubborn Welsh, and opened fire with so much success that
the foe was forced to retreat. The effect of their action was such
that the position was entirely changed--the Germans fell back and
the British line was reinstated. In Sir John French’s despatch it is
written:--
“The recapture of the village of Gheluvelt at such a time was fraught
with momentous consequences. If any one unit can be singled out for
special praise it is the Worcesters.”
Quite recently, a British General, whose name, for some occult reason
or other, was withheld from the public by the newspaper reporter,
gave an enthusiastic account of the fine deeds of the Worcestershire
Regiment on the Somme.
“The Worcesters have a wonderful record,” he said. “They have seen some
of the hardest fighting of this war, and they have won new honours for
a fine regiment, which already boasts some of the most glorious records
on our military history.”
We shall do well to think of, and to long remember, some of this
“hardest fighting.” For example, when they made their wonderful stand
against the Prussian Guards, with the Wiltshires. Some of the incidents
in that fight have never been recorded, and yet, to those who witnessed
them they make the glory of the Worcesters still more glorious. Listen
to the stirring account of the stirring action!
“The battalions had been fighting incessantly for weeks, with little or
no rest. They had taken trenches from which the enemy had to be flung
out. The subsequent German attack or counter-attack was delivered by
a force of picked troops, made up of Prussian Guards and other crack
regiments. There were at least ten thousand of these crack troops.
They were supported by magnificent artillery and had been trained for
an attack over this ground for days before they were sent against the
Worcesters. Judging by the ordinary standard of things, the weary
Worcesters’ battalions ought to have been crushed and finished under
such an avalanche; but they withstood the fiercest attacks for two days
and nights. They captured many prisoners, as many as themselves, and
the German killed and wounded were twice as numerous as they. There was
one great mound of dead before the trench, after the last attack was
driven off, the Germans being simply mown down by the machine guns of
the Worcesters.”
“Firm” has ever been the character of the Regiment, as well as its
motto. On five several occasions they have held their ground and
carried strong positions held by superior enemy forces. They have come
triumphantly through every ordeal--shell-fire, machine-gun fire, liquid
fire, and poison gas, without shrinking or complaint--and on several
occasions the foe himself has been moved to praise of their splendid
heroism. Here is another story:--
“On one occasion a battalion of the Worcesters was advancing under
great difficulties against a strongly fortified village. The artillery
fire and infantry defence was stronger even than they expected. For a
moment the battalion seemed to pause. The officer in command sprang
forward with the shout, ‘Firm! Firm! Give them Worcester Sauce!’ The
men responded with a cheer and laughter--they swept forward, rushing
the position and fighting their way to the rear of the surprised and
baffled foe.”
Think of the time when a little band of these splendid lads were cut
off by a sudden descent of the enemy in force! They were holding a bit
of trench, which was powdered to ruins by shell-fire, and they were
half-buried under the wreckage; but they dug themselves out again, and
fought with such resolved fury that not all the forces of the foe
could overwhelm or overawe them. _They held their ground for three
days_--though every man who wasn’t killed was wounded. When they were
at last relieved they were cheered wildly by the troops who watched
their limping march down to billets for rest, heroes all, without a
single exception!
Such is the “way” of the Worcesters--such has always been their way
from their beginning. Unflinching valour, duty, and love of country
beyond all love of life, has made them and still makes them what they
are. They, and all their brave and noble kind, have fought and are
still fighting for us that we may dwell in our homes in peace. It
must now be our pride, as well as our honour, to prove our gratitude
to them, not only by words but deeds. Many of them will return to us,
broken men, deprived of health, strength, and all ability to work
for their living--crippled, blind, disfigured--suffering too from
what we may call mind-hurt beyond remedy. That is to say, the awful,
ineffaceable impression of ghastly sights and sounds, so inhuman, as
to shame humanity. What shall we do for our self-sacrificing defenders
when they come home? How shall we assuage their sufferings and seek to
make them forget the terrors they have confronted for our sakes?
In matters of this kind, many people incline to the old conventional,
rather worn-out business of a “War Memorial,” which conveniently and
with all official publicity and importance, writes the names of living
subscribers as well as those of the heroic dead, but it is more than
likely that the whole face of the Empire will be strewn with such “War
Memorials” in so great a number that in a short time no passer-by
will pause to look at them. And a monument of cold stone cannot come
into comparison with the expressed warmth or loving hearts; so that
the best and kindest “Memorial” to the gallant “Worcesters” who have
passed away “in the stern and grim life-battle, in the morning of their
day”--should be of a nature to care and to provide for the “Worcesters”
who have come alive out of the Valley of the Shadow, and who remain
with us to witness our recognition of their services. Such a “Memorial”
is proposed by the Mayor of Worcester, and I, for one, do most heartily
wish that his lead could be followed in every County and Town of
Imperial Britain. For what a fine scheme it is! Could anything be more
practically humane and sympathetic than the idea that small, pretty
cottages or bungalows should be erected to provide permanent homes,
rent free, not only for the life-disabled men of the Worcestershire
Regiment, but also for Worcestershire Sailors and Soldiers in other
units, similarly disabled, who have “borne the burden and heat of the
day,” and who are entitled to the country’s heart-whole gratitude. I
can imagine no more beautiful “Memorial” to these brave fellows than
the free gift of charming little houses to live in, fragrant little
gardens to tend, and a fair and peaceful prospect to look upon for the
rest of their days. Nothing better, nothing kinder could be advised
for the permanently injured and maimed, the sad and battered wrecks of
once strong and comely men--no more comforting reparation scheme could
possibly be thought of--and it is good to know that much has already
been done, and is being done, to forward its success. The Mayor of
Worcester himself has given the site for building, and one individual
has offered five tons of lime to assist operations. Then come the
Pharmacists of Worcester, who are willing to supply free all drugs and
medicaments needed by the dwellers on this “Pleasaunce of Peace”--while
the “Old Comrades” of the County Regiment have incorporated an effort
of their own with the general plan, which has the approval of the local
military authorities. Subscriptions are beginning to flow in; and when
it is fully realised how welcome and warm “a Home-coming” can, by these
means, be given to the heroes who have sacrificed their own homes to
fight for us, surely every one will be eager and anxious to contribute
to so worthy a cause. For say what we will, there is a truth in the
familiar song,--
“Be it ever so humble,
There’s no place like home!”
And it is within our power to give our broken Worcestershire men that
blessed abode of simple tranquillity and content, which, if they had
not fought for us they might have earned for themselves. They will have
their pensions from the Government of course, but we doubt whether
those pensions will be as adequate as they might expect. Anyhow, we
of the British People, who have been defended by their valour, cannot
do too much for them, and if the Mayor of Worcester’s scheme were
copied and carried out all through the British Isles it would lift a
considerable burden of anxiety from the State. If any “County” must
have a special “War Memorial” to coldly chronicle names of the dead
rather than hearts of the living, there is nothing in our “Happy Homes”
work to prevent the erection of “marble or the gilded monument,” but
to the eyes of thinkers, philosophers, and all teachers and helpers
of mankind, a little village of clustering cottages on the lovely site
which the Mayor has freely given, commanding as it does an outlook over
picturesque country--cottages with tiny gardens easy to till, plant,
and care for, where in summer the dear old-fashioned flowers which are
a liberal education in themselves, may bring their beauty and sweetness
into lives that have been blackened by shot and shell--will offer a far
greater and more impressive testimony of memory and gratitude.
I, who am privileged to write this brief token of honour and admiration
for men whose fine character and splendid courage have been chronicled
by infinitely worthier pens than mine, now plead this noble cause, as
worthy of the strongest and most loving support of every man, woman and
child in the historic county of Worcestershire, and I want the spirit
of a fine and active enthusiasm to “catch on” and spread like a prairie
fire, not only through Worcestershire, but even farther afield. Why
should not every county have its own soldiers’ and sailors’ settlement?
It’s own well-organised, picturesque haven and “Pleasaunce of Peace”?
It is impossible that any of us should sit down in satisfied comfort at
the close of the war and do nothing for the men who have done so much
for our defence. A new “Garden City” would hardly be spacious enough
to provide them with their well-earned ease--and shall we hesitate to
build them villages? Villages so artistically and prettily planned, so
dainty and restful that the wandering stranger in future years shall
pause, enchanted, to ask what influences have been at work to create
such little Edens on earth. And he will be told:--
“These are the homes of heroes!--here dwell men who faced death for
duty’s sake and Britain’s honour--and Britain has given them what she
can to prove her gratitude, and to make their remaining lives sweet.”
For, of every man that has fought for us in this terrific
World-Struggle for nobler freedom and higher ideals, it can be said
with Shakespeare,--
“The blood that he hath lost, he dropp’d it for his country,
And what is left, to lose it by his country,
Were to us all that do’t and suffer it
A brand to the end of the world!”
EYES OF THE SEA
(_Written by special request of the Directors for the British and
Foreign Sailors’ Society_)
A TRIBUTE TO THE GRAND FLEET AND ADMIRAL BEATTY
“Then said David to the Philistine, ‘Thou comest to me with a sword
and a spear and with a shield, but I come to thee in the name of
the Lord of Hosts.... This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine
hand!’”
We all know that in Bible history there was a certain Goliath of Gath.
His height was six cubits and a span,--that is to say, about ten feet.
He had a helmet of brass, and he wore a coat of mail weighing five
thousand shekels of brass,--about a hundred and fifty-six pounds. He
had brass on his legs, and brass between his shoulders, and his spear’s
head weighed six hundred shekels of iron. Taking him altogether he was
a fine prototype of the Hun, who is similarly a monster of Brass, Iron,
and Brag. And then DAVID, “ruddy and of a fair countenance,” drew near
to this Brazen Being, and smote him with a stone in the middle of his
forehead, so that he “fell with his face to earth.”