‘I imagine the Russians are really top-dog. You see, they are primitive, and educated to the knife. Like all semi-civilised peoples, the Russians can stand the most awful punishment. The Bulgarians are also good. Still, it is a fact that the Irish can beat them. In that little scrap between some Irishmen and Bulgarians during the retirement in Macedonia, the Irishmen won. The Irish, like the Scots, are fiery, almost mad, in action. Once they are roused, nothing will stop them.’
‘What was your experience, Ginger?’ I asked, switching the discussion back to its original point.
‘The five minutes before going over were worse than the whole day’s fighting. We had too much time to think, and my imagination was running riot. I didn’t feel like a soldier. I felt like a lamb going to the slaughter. What really impressed me was how men could live in such a barrage. Worse, the thousands of bullets which were whistling, cracking, and splashing over and against the parapet seemed to whisper death was near. Of course, I had forgotten that it takes about a thousand rounds to secure one dead man. However, it is wonderful what example and training will do. I believe that, no matter how funky a man may feel, if he has been to a good school he immediately thinks, “What will they say in school if I make a bad show?” Training is also useful. Months of discipline tell. But the greatest asset is the bearing of the officer and the N.C.O. Fortunately, we had a splendid company commander. He could mask his feelings. While I believe the man was suffering just as we were suffering, he walked down the line smiling, cheering, and inspiring. When the time came to go, he was first over, and we followed like deer.
‘Once we were over, I seemed to be too excited to suffer from nervous troubles. The noise, the shouting, the running, and the sight of the Huns bolting, somehow, carried us along. The plight of the enemy also raised the sporting instinct, and we followed as if out shooting hares. Again, I did feel a true hate of the Hun. Belgium and Serbia seemed to flash through my brain, with the result that I was out for results. One Hun fired at me point-blank, but missed. I shoved my bayonet into him. To me it was the most awful physical sensation. I felt sick, but I withdrew automatically, as if I had been at bayonet-drill. There was no more time to moralise, for I was fighting for my life. It isn’t a healthy business. I believe we, as a nation, abhor it; none the less I feel, without bragging, that, once at close quarters, we can always beat the Hun.’
‘Yes, Ginger; and the war has proved that we are not the decadent nation many thought we were,’ I remarked.
‘By no means, John. Trafalgar, Waterloo, Inkermann, and Tel-el-kebir are mere skirmishes compared to Ypres, Loos, and Cambrai. Nelson’s or Wellington’s men never endured the sufferings of the men to-day. It is really wonderful how this city-bred, over-civilised nation has stuck it out. But another war of this kind would send the world insane. It’s the noise—the awful noise—that is playing the devil with the nerves of all.’
What Ginger said about the noise was true. Noise is the worst feature of war, and in military hospitals you find patients reverting again and again to this theme. And seldom do our men profess a liking for war. The experiences of Billy, Nobby, and Ginger are characteristic of thousands. They carry on out of a sense of duty, a love of country, and an innate conviction that the only way to end this horrible scourge is to punish its authors and apostles. The world will never be clean and joyful until we absolutely crush the horrible mentality of the ruling German. The sword is not a good investment. He who lives by it, perishes by it. And it does seem awful that this bloodshed, misery, madness, and sorrow should have been thrust on a happy world by men whose real aim is power, wealth, loot, and lust. This war ought to end war. Ordeal by battle may suit our pagan philosophers. But there is no doubt that once we have settled this matter with Germany, the nations of the earth will refuse to resort to arms again. To ensure this honourable aim, Germany ought to compel her kings, princes, ambassadors, and statesmen to serve as privates in the present war.
The noise—the terrible noise—would convince them of the madness of it all.