CHAPTER VII[ToC]
SOME PERSONALITIES

In writing this short history of the regiment I have carefully abstained from all personalities. These few notes on some of our best known characters are only added to recall pleasant—or other—memories, and the subjects are asked to forgive the liberty taken.

To criticise one’s superiors is both impolitic and impertinent, but there are three who cannot be omitted—two of them live in England and may never see this book, and the third—well, he has expressed his opinion of me quite bluntly more than once already.

At Grammont I received a letter from a very well-known member of the football team thanking me for the medals, in which he said:—“We always liked General Girdwood for his kindly consideration for the men, and I know I am only expressing the opinion of all the boys when I say we would not have changed him for Haig himself.” There is no doubt that was the opinion of the whole Division about our G.O.C.—and, fortunately, we only had the one. Whether he was talking to the men after a good bit of work in the line, or at a formal inspection in the “back area,” one always felt how keenly interested he was in the men. They loved his “Beatty” cap—but not his roasts of beef. He always expressed his appreciation of good work, but apparently disliked the growing of oats on the spare pole of one of the limbers—but the transport know more about that than I do!

The G.O.C. had certainly a brain-wave when he adopted the “Broken Spur” as our Divisional badge. We were all very proud of our “Broken Spur.” An Australian officer, seeing it at Faustine Quarry, asked if it was the badge of the 74th Division. “Well,” he added, “we call you ‘Allenby’s Harriers,’ because you are the only Division we can’t keep up with.” Coming from an Australian that was “some” praise.

I don’t know which was the more popular—the G.O.C. or “Reggie.”[1] But “Reggie” took some knowing, and though it was capital fun watching him strafing others—which he did “full out”—it was quite another thing when he turned his guns on you! He was a tremendous sportsman, and it didn’t seem to matter whether he was hunting sentries or jackal—so long as he was hunting he was quite happy—while the feelings of the sentry and the jackal were also probably similar! He took a tremendous pride in the Brigade—“I take off my hat every time to the 229th”—and I fancy what pleased him far more than defeating Turk or Bosche was our victory over the Scots Guards at Grand Rullecourt.

If we had gone abroad within three months after mobilization nothing would have saved “Black Mick”[2]—if within six months it was about even odds. At nine months all the N.C.O.’s, a good many of the men, and even one or two subalterns might have tried to save him; while after a year, if any one had dared to lay hands on him, he would have been rent in twain by the entire Regiment. And the reason was obvious. Realising what capital material he had to deal with, Mick was determined that, whatever people might think of him, his job was to get the Regiment to the highest state of efficiency in the shortest possible time. The pill certainly was a bit bitter, and it was only when the effects began to be felt that we realised what a thundering good Doctor “Mick” was. Shortly before we went out he admitted that we were as good as any cavalry regiment in the Army, but characteristically added—“but don’t tell the ——!” A very effective combination were the Colonel and Mick, and if we didn’t love them much at the time we realise now how much we owe them.

Subalterns and N.C.O.’s were to Mick as a bone to a puppy—he could chew us as much as he liked to-day, but we were still there for similar treatment on the morrow! But how pleased we were when his big black horse played up one day and knocked his cap off!