AT THE HOME BASE
Enlisting—"Good-bye"—Excitement and Drunkenness—Then came Kitchener's Army—The Churches gave of their Best—A Canvas City—Not for Pay, These—What the Churches Did—The Home Church in the Camp—A Powerful Christian Leaven—Theological Students Volunteer—What the Boys Did—Organising Religious Work—Fifty Men Stood Up—The Y.M.C.A. Tents—A Proud Boast—At Work in the Tents—A Typical Service—The Canadian Y.M.C.A.—What the Salvation Army is Doing—The Church Army at Work—Huts of Silence—W.M. Hut Homes and "Glory Rooms"—Hymn 494—Teetotal Soldiers—Lord Kitchener's Message—The Work of the Navy Chaplains—The Sailors' Homes—Work among the Wounded in Hospital—Hospital Stories.
A troop train slowly passing through Winchester Station. Heads out of every window. One great shout by hundreds of eager young lads, "Are we downhearted?" And then, not waiting for those of us on the platform to answer, the emphatic response "No!"
Winchester Station looked strange that morning, early in August 1914. Its dignified quiet had gone. No one would have dreamt that this was the station of an ancient cathedral city. Armed sentries were posted at every point of entrance and departure. With fixed bayonets they guarded the signal-boxes. Their beds were in the waiting-rooms. The whole station was given up to the military.
And this was not the only case. All down the line it was the same, while every few yards by the side of the metals, all the way to Portsmouth and Southampton, soldiers with fixed bayonets were on guard. Here and there Boy Scouts were assisting, and enjoying themselves immensely.
Portsmouth Harbour at that time was closed to ordinary traffic. The few passengers who still ventured to the Isle of Wight, in what should have been the height of the holiday season, had to betake themselves to Southampton, and be thankful if after long waiting they could get across from there.
The Solent was full of troop-ships. We counted over forty at one time waiting to take troops across, while many more were in Southampton Water. The Isle of Wight was an armed camp. At night search-lights played all over it.
What touching farewells there were! Stand on almost any platform and see—that is if you have the assurance to look on at that which is sacred. A mother brings her little ones to say good-bye to their soldier father. An old woman with difficulty slowly comes to the edge of the platform to give her blessing to her soldier son. A wife is locked for a few brief moments in a loving embrace.
The father, or son, or husband brushes the sleeve of his tunic across his eyes, and then, as the train begins to move, says "Good-bye. I'll soon be back!" And as the train steams out those brave lads ask again, "Are we downhearted?" and the mothers and wives and sweethearts, with tears streaming down their faces, strive to answer "No!"
Those were stirring times at Aldershot. The old scenes at the outbreak of the war in South Africa were re-enacted, only on a larger scale. That was mere child's play to this, and every one realised it. Incessant coming and going as troops gathered from all parts of the country. Military bands marching detachments to the station on their way to the front.