Chapter XXVII: Tender-Hearted Because Brave

In his farewell advice to the British troops sent to France, Lord Kitchener told them to be "invariably courteous, considerate and kind," and this they certainly were.

First of all they were kind to each other. Here is a tit-bit from a private soldier's letter: "One of our chaps got a letter from home to say that his wife had given birth to twins, and just at the time when he had cause to be proud of being a father twice over, a German bullet knocked him out. That was their way of adding to the congratulations that everybody showered on him. It was hard lines, and there was not one of us who would not rather have gone in his place."

Another soldier told with much sympathy that his chum immediately after writing to his mother, "I have got through without a scratch so far" was killed by a bullet. "I could have cried," he said, "when I saw the letter."

In letters from the front many cases are recorded of men who have lost their regiments, but who would not accept shelter or food from the French peasantry for fear of getting them into trouble with the Germans.

We are told that the only thing that put our men out and made their faces sad was the instances they saw of German savagery to the civilian population. A man of the Army Service Corps wrote: "It was a pitiful sight to see the people fleeing from their homes carrying all they could save. Our soldiers were very kind to them, and gave them whatever they could spare--and sometimes more than that. I saw one young woman trying to reach some fruit from a tree which was a good way out of her reach. I went over and gave her some pears which had been given to me. She ate them rather hurriedly, but before doing so gave me a kiss on both cheeks."

It was the tender hearts of the British soldiers, as well as their coolness and courage, that made the old women and little children take to them as they marched through France. "Cheer up, mother," one soldier shouted, and another covered a shivering old woman with his coat. A French woman's clothes had been taken by the Germans, so a Highlander tore his kilt and gave her part of it for a covering.

The children took hold of the hands of the brave Allies, or tried to get a ride on their shoulders.

A British sergeant went into a French farm house that had been shelled by the Germans. He found that all the family had been killed "except a little girl of about seven years, and she was just conscious. Both her legs had been blown away near the knees, and one of her arms was missing from below the elbow. The rain was coming down into the wreckage, and I took off my greatcoat and wrapped the poor, moaning child in it. I sat down on the floor to hold her on my knee, and she just opened her eyes and gave me a grateful look. Then she moved her sound arm, and the next thing I found she had lifted something to my head, and it slipped over my shoulders. Her arm dropped. She was dead. She had given me her rosary. I thought I had a heart of stone, but I cried like a child that night, and I wasn't the only one."

And our soldiers were most thoughtful about those belonging to them whom they had left at home. A sergeant thus wrote of a brawny Yorkshireman who had lost his regiment: "His chief grievance was that he had not been able to write and tell his wife where he was and how he was getting on. 'Tha' sees, lad,' he remarked in perfect seriousness, 'th' missus knows that now and then I drink one or two more glasses than's good for me, and she'll be gettin' anxious.' A few days before he had been in a terrifically hot engagement, yet the only thing that worried him was the fear that the 'missus' might be anxious about what he called the 'teetotal lay'!"

Private F.W. Dobson, 2nd Coldstream Guards, wrote this to his wife:

"It is with the greatest pleasure that I write this letter, as it is our wedding anniversary--September 30th. I only hope we shall spend the next one together. You will know by the time you receive this letter that I have been recommended for the V.C.--an honour I never thought would come my way. In fact, I do not yet realise that it is possible. I only took my chance, and did my duty to save my comrades. It was really nothing, but I shall never forget the congratulations and praise I received from our officers, my comrades, and a Brigadier-General."

A sergeant of the 18th Hussars ended a letter to his wife with these "home-sick" words: "Oh for a cup of tea with you. Your worst cup of tea would come in very nice now."

Private O'Dwer, of the Irish Guards, said in a letter from the front to his wife: "It was a great relief to hear from you. I was just having my tea during a lull when I got your letter, and didn't I enjoy my tea much better. On Tuesday last I escaped by a miracle from a bomb thrown from an aeroplane. It did no damage, only made a very large hole in the ground just where we were digging trenches."

Scrawled on the back of this letter which appeared in _The Evening News_, was the following:

"Darling,--I am now lying in a forest with my leg shot off and don't know when the ambulance will turn up. It's awful. We were completely cut up. I hope to see you again. Love to baby and all.--Jack."

A King's Royal Rifleman wrote to his wife that the framed photograph of herself and of their children, which was in his breast pocket, stopped a bullet. "Last night in the trenches I dreamt I was back home again and was playing with little Gracie and telling her some stories of the fighting. Tell her I will bring her something, if it is only the Kaiser."

Private G. Tomkins, of the Royal Sussex Regiment, wrote this to his sister: "We have a saying out here, 'Don't dream of home.' When a man has a particularly vivid dream of home he knows that he will be killed in his next fight. There was a man of ours that awoke the other night from a beautiful dream. He thought he was back at home on the conclusion of peace, and he had a great reception from his wife and two children. The two little ones were crawling all over him, and laughing with delight. They were all happy, and the thing was so vivid that he had to tell us all about it. It seemed to please him. Sure enough his number was up, for that afternoon he was struck in the throat with a bullet, and as he died the only words he uttered were: 'Oh, my God, I shall never see my children again.'"

In the trenches on the Aisne after a hard fight, a wounded Seaforth Highlander found one of the Gloucester with an unfinished letter in his hand. It was written to his wife and little girl. It spoke hopefully of the future, and said: "Tell Annie I will be home in time to make her Christmas tree." He never got further, for a German shell had laid him out.

An officer of the Bedfords, while in the trenches, was opening a parcel and a letter from his wife, and in the excitement of the moment the poor fellow forgot to take cover and he was shot through the heart.

A pathetic incident also occurred in the case of a private. He was shot in the chest and the bullet also passed through a corresponding spot in a photograph of his wife, which he carried with him.

A private in the Northumberland Fusiliers wrote: "I came across a young chap sitting with his back against a tree--dead, and around him in a circle he had placed all his letters and photographs, as much as to say: 'Please post these to the people concerned, as I am dying.' Another chap had in his hand the photograph of his wife and child."

Talking one evening at a camp fire, a soldier remarked: "I've got four little nippers. George, the eldest, is a proper little chap. He sent me a postcard out here of a black cat and wrote on the back of it 'Please stroke the cat every night for luck.' I never forget to do that before I go to sleep."

Our soldiers certainly have domestic affections. At a parade service near the trenches they were singing away in fine style:

"Can a woman's tender care Cease toward the child she bare?"

The singers broke down and the lines had to be left out.

The following was sent by Private Ingram, 2nd Welsh Regiment, to cheer up his mother and encourage his brother:

"As you say, the Germans do want 'boiling,' and we are all trying our best to do it, too. I am glad to hear Arthur [a brother] has joined the Army. Do not worry, for it is all for the best, and remember that a soldier's death is a glorious one. To die fighting for my country is the greatest honour I could have, and I am glad Arthur thinks so too."

In romance and even in history it is the lover who shines in war, who achieves, who conquers, whose deeds of daring save situations at the psychological moment and help to win battles and wars.

When the Guards were leaving London for the war, a girl leaning on the arm of her soldier lover said, "Keep your pecker up, Dick." "'Taint me," he replied, "as needs keep my pecker up, but German Bill." Women have much to do with keeping up or keeping down a soldier's "pecker."

"Thy voice is heard through rolling drums
That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes
And gives the battle to his hands."

In a letter from the front, a private of the Leicestershire Regiment wrote: "There was a chap of the Berkshires who, like many more of us, had 'listed after a row with his girl. At the crossing of the Aisne he got hit, and had just breath enough to tell me the name of the girl and ask me to write to her. 'Tell her,' he said, 'I'm sorry we had that row, but it was for the best, for if we hadn't had it I should not have been able to do my bit for my country. It seems awfully hard that I can never see her again to explain things to her, but I'm sure she will think better of me now than if I had been one of the stay-at-homes. Good-bye, old chap; there'll be no more cold nights in the trenches for me, anyhow.'"

Sergeant E.W. Turner, West Kent Regiment, wrote to his sweetheart: "The bullet that wounded me at Mons went into one breast pocket and came out of the other, and in its course passed through your photo."

A man said that when hit by a splinter of shell he believed half his face had gone, but was now sure that when the bruises had gone from his eyes his girl would recognise him.

A R.F. Artillery gunner wrote: "I harnessed up, and after a mad gallop of 2,000 yards or so we came into our first action. We opened fire immediately. It was just like our practice camp, except that I think everybody realised that we were firing at targets composed of flesh and blood instead of canvas, but having to concentrate our minds on the working of the guns it soon passed off."

Yes, our soldiers did realise that the enemy had feelings like themselves. After a battle a gunner wrote: "Their dead lay so thick at one point in front of our trenches that we couldn't get our guns across, because we were squeamish about riding over their dead in case there should be wounded men mixed up with them."

In many letters we read of our soldiers giving food when they had not much for themselves to wounded Germans.

A British officer who was being moved off on a stretcher with a shattered arm, noticed a German being helped in with a wounded leg. The officer at once got off the stretcher, saying, "Put that man on here. He is hit in the leg and I am hit in the arm and able to walk."

A Somersetshire Light Infantryman saw a wounded German in the river Aisne. He dived in and was bringing him out when a German shell burst and killed them both.

An Army Chaplain saw an English wounded soldier lying next a German wounded prisoner who was shot in both arms; the Englishman was holding a cigarette whilst the German smoked it.

One German gave a gold ring and another his helmet as souvenirs to two British soldiers who had given them water and bandaged their wounds.

The German prisoners got quite fond of our soldiers. One of them escaped, but returned next day with eleven others whom he had persuaded to desert.

In a lane through a wood at Soissons a correspondent met two British infantrymen helping a wounded German towards the place where they hoped to find an ambulance. The German had been badly hit in the upper part of the body and again in the thigh. He was in agony and kept protesting under his breath that he could go no farther. His friendly enemies almost carried him between them, and they were talking to him after this fashion: "Come on naow, ol' pal. You ain't goin' to give up naow. Almos' there, we are. Jus' be'ind them there trees over there. 'Ere, take a drink o' water an' you'll feel better. Come, ol' man, be a sport naow."

The following is from the letter of a corporal of the Highland Light Infantry: "In the retreat from Mons an artilleryman, slightly wounded, asked a German for water, and was refused. On the Aisne last week the artilleryman recognised the same German among a party of wounded, whose cries for water couldn't be attended to quick enough. The recognition was mutual, and the German stopped his crying, thinking he was sure to be paid back in his own coin. The artilleryman took out his water bottle and handed it to the German without a word. You never saw anybody look so shamefaced as that German."

Private Cooley, of the 2nd Connaught Rangers, told this story. Cooley, with a comrade, was left in charge of a German officer and eleven German privates, who had been found wounded in a cave. "They asked us, in broken English, for biscuits and water. We only had eleven biscuits and half a bottle of water left, and this we divided among them as best we could. At daybreak the Germans' shells fell all round the cave, and part of the roof fell in, while shrapnel came through the opening. The German officer wanted us to put out a white flag; but you can guess what reply I made to that. Three of the poor devils were suffering from terrible wounds, and one died at four o'clock in the afternoon. About six o'clock it began to rain, and we managed to collect enough rain-water to moisten their mouths. We could not help pitying them, although they were Germans. About eight o'clock we recognised the voice of the officer who had brought us up, and we were not sorry. It was the worst twenty-six hours I have ever spent. There was a bearer party with him, and they took the men into hospital."

A wounded Dublin Fusilier lay for a time among German wounded and found that one of them was in danger of bleeding to death. The bandage the Fusilier had to use for his own wound was the only one available. Without the slightest hesitation he handed it over to the German, whose life was saved by the application in time of that antiseptic bandage. Unfortunately that act of self-sacrifice cost the Fusilier his life, for he developed blood poisoning through the wound not being bandaged at once, and was buried a few days later. When the German who had profited by that lad's sacrifice heard of it he cried like a baby, and for a while they had to put him under restraint for fear he should take his own life.

A private of the Coldstream Guards said that they heard a German who was lying on the ground between the lines calling out, "Comrade, comrade; Englander, Englander!" When night came two of our men went and brought him in. He had five wounds.

An officer of the Yorkshire Light Infantry wrote: "There is none of that insensate hatred that one hears about, out here. We are out to kill, and kill we do, at any and every opportunity. But, when all is done and the battle is over, the splendid universal 'soldier spirit' comes over all the men. To give you some idea of what I mean, the other night four German snipers were shot on our wire. The next night our men went out and brought one in who was near and get-at-able and buried him. They did it with just the same reverence and sadness as they do to our own dear fellows. I went to look at the grave the next morning, and one of the most uncouth-looking men in my company had placed a cross at the head of the grave, and had written on it:

'Here lies a German, We don't know his name, He died bravely fighting For his Fatherland.'

And under that, 'got mitt uns' (_sic_), that being the highest effort of all the men at German. Not bad for a bloodthirsty Briton, eh? Really that shows the spirit."

The Germans have made several discoveries about the British soldier, and know now that he has a kind heart. An officer in the Prussian Guards put his arms round the neck of a British officer and said, "Mercy, officer!"

Brave men are kind to dumb animals, and our soldiers were this. A veterinary officer wrote: 'Our horses have stood the tough marches with remarkable freedom from lameness and sore backs, which is testimony to the very great consideration and kindness which the troopers and drivers show to their dumb friends. I have particularly noticed, since riding with patrols, how anxious the men have been after a heavy day in the saddle to feed their horses and give them a rough rub down before taking a bite or a drink for themselves. They always dismount and feed them on all occasions with hay and wheat found on the farms and in stacks in the fields, also with clover.'

"A man of the 17th Lancers, who had lost his horse near Binche in August last, had a curious adventure. In a fight with a patrol of Uhlans he recognised his old mount ridden by a German. The animal recognised him and broke away from the enemy's ranks, carrying the German rider with him. After the new master was put out of action there was a joyful scene between the old master and the lost horse."

Writing to his father a trooper in the Royal Horse Guards speaks in this way of his charger: "Dolly goes very well. She doesn't always get corn, so is a bit thin. Thanks for remembering my best friend. I always pinch the smallest thing for her, if it be only a muddy crust. She greatly enjoyed the sugar you sent for her."

Trooper S. Stanley, Royal Scots Greys, wrote thus: "I owe my own life and that of perhaps a whole army to my old horse. I was on outpost duty at a lonely spot, and though I could not hear or see anything my horse kept neighing and betraying signs of restlessness. I got down and came on a German crouching in the long grass. He had a sword bayonet, and evidently meant to get me unawares, and then the post would have been rushed. I didn't wait to ask his intentions, but let him have a ticket for another country. His yells brought his mates down, but I got away, and the row alarmed the guard and spoiled their attempt at surprising us. You bet the old nag had a special feed that night."