For nearly a month we alternated between hope and fear. The effect of the bright Swiss sunshine would at times render us optimistic, and then the fall of night would once more see us plunged into the depths of a helpless pessimism. However, the time came when the little English colony struggled through the difficulties of railway transport, and arrived once more in the region of authentic information. The journey home, which occupied three days, was full of interest, for France was throbbing with 'la guerre' and 'la gloire'; train after train with troops bound for the Front, swept by us; while at Lyons we encountered an ambulance train full of wounded, and another of German prisoners. My party had the advantage of travelling with the wife and son of a Cabinet Minister, and through Sir E. Grey's kind solicitude for his colleague's people, the best possible accommodation was provided for us, but even that powerful interest was not always sufficient to prevent delay and discomfort. On reaching Creil, the junction for Belgium, we found the station full of English troops in their retreat from Mons, and many were the stirring stories gathered from our retiring, but not disheartened men. The spirit of the French troops much impressed us; unaccompanied, my ladies went among them with confidence, and on every hand were treated with the consideration of gentlemen. I remarked on this to a French gentleman who was travelling with us, and he said with warranted pride, 'But they are gentlemen, monsieur.' Some of the wounded French took the greatest interest in describing to us the circumstances under which they had been hit,—some, as the manner of soldiers is, displayed the bullet or piece of shrapnel which had laid them low.
Nearly all the troop trains going to the Front were decorated with flowers and evergreens, whilst the stations and villages were alive with enthusiastic people assembled to cheer their men onward to their glorious and dangerous task.
It was with thankful hearts and very travel-stained persons that we finally reached home, heartily agreeing after our exciting experiences that a little goes a long way.
I had at the earliest moment possible volunteered my services to the Army Chaplains Department, but was informed that there was no prospect at that time of my being called upon; accordingly I joined my Territorial Battalion, under Colonel Park, and was awaiting a summons to service, here, there, or anywhere, when, as I have described, the call came. I have often wondered why the War Office always springs upon one with such alarming suddenness; possibly it is the way of the Army; it is certainly disconcerting, although it is educational, for it teaches one to be always ready and alert for any emergency.
And now the order had come, and there was hurrying to and fro; a rapid dash home; a putting together of kit which would be required in the unknown life about to be entered upon. A last night at home; and then the reporting of oneself at the War Office; the signing of a contract for twelve months' service; a medical examination as to physical fitness; an hour or two's shopping at Harrods (where one developed a tendency to think of everything not wanted, and to forget what was really useful); and finally Waterloo Station, that scene of many farewells. 'Good-bye' has so many significations. It may be uttered at the parting for a couple of hours; it may be uttered, and often is, in these days as the final word on earth to much loved ones. Oh, these partings! how they pull a man's heart to pieces; and yet, with that remarkable insularity which characterizes our race,—or should I say races—it is one of the things seldom or never mentioned among men on service; and yet I suppose it is always uppermost in a man's mind. Again and and again I have lit upon men in out of the way corners, reading a well worn letter, or perchance gazing at a photograph, every facial lineament of which was already well stamped upon the mind of the gazer. It is one of the mental attitudes which go to form a spirit of comradeship; the feeling that it is all part of the game, and we are most of us tarred with the same brush.
I had received my orders at the War Office, to join the Seventh Division then mobilizing at Lyndhurst.
The Seventh Division! that meant very little to me, and indeed to the public generally at that time, but what it signified to the nation will be more fully appreciated when the history of this war is written.
It may be interesting to give particulars of the composition of that, which I believe is the first Division ever to march out of an English camp fully equipped.
Under the command of Major-General T. Capper, C.B., D.S.O.,[1] now Sir Thomson Capper, K.C.M.G., C.B., D.S.O., it represented the very flower of our Army, possessing a Staff of most capable officers.