I.
The worst of being in a cadet school is the number of inspections you have. Inspectors for trench warfare, gas, bayonet-fighting, administration, general training, &c., &c., keep popping in. Each man believes that his branch is It, and should you fail to come up to his requirements, then there’s a bad report, a thousand curses, and lots of trouble. All the same, this is absolutely necessary, and keeps specialists and instructors up to the scratch. The greatest defect is this: these people frequently ask for suggestions, but generally fail to back them up. This, I imagine, is due to the apathy of a higher authority, or the obtrusion of the inspector’s own point of view. We often talked about this, and our view was that all cadet-school instructors ought to form a corporate body, and demand ‘the goods.’ By the way, it was whispered that one real good W.O. man was named Browne. He, it is said, invariably endeavoured to get the schools whatever they wanted.
Good old Browne!
We always liked the visits from the younger men of the staff. They were so bright, so business-like, and they did take an interest in all we were doing. Many gave us valuable tips, which were much appreciated. Indeed, were it not for these smarter men, military training would be in a muddle. They are being allowed fair scope; but if the powers that be would only sack all the old foozlers who are tottering round the various districts and home commands, life would indeed be brighter, and training would be pushed along by the younger men, who at present cannot get full play for all their splendid ideas. We of the New Army belong to the New School. We are willing to learn from a duke or a pauper, but the teacher must have BRAINS. We are not concerned about seniority or foolish traditions. We are out to win this war in the speediest manner possible.
I also think it is a great pity that we never saw real generals. We longed for a lecture from Robertson, French, Haig, Allenby, Birdwood, and all the other good fellows who have done so well. We never had one. Of course, such men are doing bigger things at the Front; but some are at home, and others frequently cross the Channel. We would have pawned our shirts to go and hear them, for we do admire them. Certainly we got their ideas in the form of pamphlets. But what’s a pamphlet compared to the living man? A mere shadow, and not at all impressive. I am writing this, of course, for a definite purpose. The W.O. will see these lines long before John Brown’s book is published, and something, I know, will be done. They always do things in the army when they see them in PRINT.
After all, what is the use of sending old dug-out generals to talk to cadet schools? Some are nice old gentlemen who have done well in Ashanti or on the Frontier—in the past. Others, again, are petty-minded old fools, who simply upset the instructors and give the cadets a thin time. They may be jolly good disciplinarians, and all that sort of thing; but we got our discipline from the best source (a Guards sergeant-major); and when we saw a general, we did expect him to talk sensibly about the war, and not about clean buttons, pipeclay, hair-cuts, and the proper way to stand to attention.
Brass bands and pipeclay never win a war.
Still, some of these ancient mandarins gave us fun. For example, old General Pom-Pom, who was in a bath-chair in August 1914, suddenly found himself elevated to an active job. His great stunt was the carrying of a drill-book in his hand. This was his authority, and Heaven help the man who deviated from the official path! Unless an officer was prepared to slay the Boche according to the text-book, he declared we should lose the ruddy war. He was kept on. Not that the Higher Command had any great belief in him, but no doubt because they imagined he would frighten the life out of the ‘undisciplined’ stuff who were carrying swords and sporting pips, especially one pip; for one pip was the sign of all that is reckless, careless, inefficient, &c., according to General Pom-Pom.