The British soldier

by E. J. Hardy

"Dodging shells and bullets," wrote Sapper Anderson, R.E., "is far more exciting than dodging footballers."

A subaltern wrote: "I adore war. It is like a big picnic; I have never been so well or so happy. We are enjoying all the benefits of a Continental holiday. It has done me a world of good coming out here."

A private of the 3rd Worcester Regiment wrote: "In the trenches the British are excelling themselves as men of stamina, for, believe me, it is killing work; perfect murder, in fact. Yet they hardly ever complain. Six men and an officer had to go into hospital with frostbite, and my feet have not got the circulation back yet. Never mind, we must keep up our reputation as British soldiers, and stick it. The snow has gone again, and it is up to your neck in mud in the trenches. I have had one or two pack ponies to look after, but I have thrown up the job, as it was too tame. I prefer being with the company in the firing line, as I felt lost being with the transport and no shells flying over it. It makes you long for your chums after being with them all the time. We play football with German helmets, which are all over the place."

A young officer who had been fighting ever since the beginning of the war was ordered a month's leave for the sake of his health. "I've got a month," he said to a correspondent, "but I rather fancy I shall be back in a week. It's fine to be at home again—and—and—all that. But when you've once been in the thick of the game it holds you like a magnet. I'm only a few miles away from the hot stuff now, but I am already beginning to feel the pull of that magnet. I'm off to bed. Funny sensation going upstairs! We've been diving into bed for weeks and weeks—rabbit holes for cots and straw (if you are lucky) for counterpanes, and the only chambermaids we've had to knock us up in the morning have been the 12 lb. shells. Good-night!"

Some of our men were defending a café at the battle of Mons. In the café there was an automatic piano, and when they first saw the enemy coming one soldier said to another: "Put a penny in the slot. Jack, and give them some music to dance to." So every time there was a German attack after that the "band" struck up. They fought, eye-witnesses declared, as though it was a new and delightful kind of game they had discovered.

Lieutenant C.A.E. Chudleigh, who is serving with the Indian Force, says in a letter: "One usually spends most of one's slack hours in terrific efforts to dig oneself out of several layers of grime, and it is a job, too, with nothing but scrubbing soap and cold water out of a ditch. It sounds awful to you I expect, but it isn't really as bad as it sounds. For one thing we are getting so used to it, and if approached in the true holiday spirit it really becomes quite a sort of picnic. No rotting! I really have thoroughly enjoyed the last few weeks since we have been here. I don't think I have had so many jolly good laughs in my life. It is a funny thing that, on looking back, I think I have spent most of my life in search of excitements and interesting scenes and people, and now I have found them in profusion. It is as good as a cinematograph."

Speaking of dispatch-riding in the war, a motor-cyclist said to a reporter, "I've never really lived till I came to the war. We have to rough it at times, but the fun we have is simply gorgeous. Yesterday a shell (he laughed much when he said this) came down about fifty yards from me, but I got through with my dispatches without a scratch. This is splendid work for the nut who wants an outlet for his high spirits."

And our Indian troops get equal enjoyment from the game. A dusky warrior being asked how he liked being in action replied, "Sahib, all wars are beautiful, but this one is heavenly."

At the beginning of winter at the front, games were arranged for leisure days and evenings. There were to be inter-trench and inter-army football matches. A Battle Hunt Club was formed, and a pack of foxhounds brought over from England. A phonograph company sent songs, which, with the aid of field telephones, could be "turned on" to any trench at any time.