CHAPTERIV

chapteriv

ididnotfindanyself-consciouspatriotismamongtherankandfileofthenewarmy.theworditselfmeantnothingtothem.unlikethefrenchsoldier,towhompatriotismisareligionandwhohasthenameoffranceonhislipsatthemomentofperil,ourmenweresilentaboutthereasonsfortheircomingoutandthecauseforwhichtheyriskedtheirlives.itwasnotforimperialpower.anyillusionto“theempire”leftthemstone—coldunlesstheyconfuseditwiththeempiremusichall,whentheirheartswarmedtothename.itwasnotbecausetheyhatedgermans,becauseafterafewturnsinthetrenchesmanyofthemhadafellow-feelingforthepoordevilsovertheway,andtotheendofthewartreatedanyprisonerstheytook(afterthekillinginhotblood)likepetmonkeysortamebears.butforstringentregulationstheywouldhavefraternizedwiththeenemyattheslightestexcuse,anddidsointhewinterof1914,tothegreatscandalofg.h.q.“what'spatriotism?”askedaboyofme,inypres,andtherewashardscorninhisvoice.yettheloveoftheoldcountrywasdeepdownintherootsoftheirhearts,and,aswithaboywhocamefromthevillagewhereilivedforatime,thenameofsomesuchplaceheldallthemeaningoflifetomanyofthem.thesimplemindsofcountryboysclungfasttothat,wentbackinwakingdreamstodwellinacottageparlorwheretheirparentssat,andanoldclockticked,andadogsleptwithitsheadonitspaws.thesmellofthefieldsandthebarns,thefriendshipoffamiliartrees,theheritagethatwasintheirbloodfromoldyeomanancestry,touchedthemwiththespiritofengland,anditwasbecauseofthattheyfought.

thelondonladwasmoreself-conscious,hadamoreglibwayofexpressinghisconvictions,butevenhehidhispurposeinthewarunderacoveringofironyandcynicaljests.itwasthespiritoftheoldcityandtheprideofitwhichhelpedhimtosuffer,andinhisdaydreamswastheclangingof'busesfromcharingcrosstothebank,thelightsoftheembankmentreflectedinthedarkriver,thebackyardwherehehadkepthisbicycle,orthesuburbangardenwherehehadwateredhismother'splants...london!goodoldlondon!...hisheartachedforitsometimeswhen,assentry,hestaredacrosstheparapettothebarbedwireinnoman'sland.

onenight,strollingoutsidemyownbilletandwanderingdownthelaneaway,iheardthesoundofsingingcomingfromabigbrickbarnontheroadside.istoodcloseundertheblankwallatthebackofthebuilding,andlistened.themenweresinging“auldlangsyne”totheaccompanimentofaconcertinaandamouth-organ.theyweretakingparts,andtheoldtune—sostrangetohearoutinavillageoffrance,inthewarzone—soundedverywell,withdeep-throatedharmonies.presentlytheconcertinachangeditstune,andthemenofthenewarmysang“godsavetheking.”ihearditsungathousandtimesormoreonroyalfestivalsandtours,butlisteningtoitthenfromthatdarkoldbarninflanders,whereanumberof“k.'smen”layonthestrawanightortwoawayfromtheordealofadvancedtrenches,inwhichtheyhadtotaketheirturn,ihearditwithmoreemotionthaneverbefore.inthatanthem,chantedbytheseboysinthedarkness,wasthespiritofengland.ifihadbeenking,likethatharrywhowanderedroundthecampofagincourt,wherehismenlaysleeping,ishouldhavebeengladtostandandlistenoutsidethatbarnandhearthosewords:

sendhimvictorious,happyandglorious.

asthechiefofthebritishtribes,thefifthgeorgereceivedhistributefromthosewarriorboyswhohadcomeouttofightfortheflagthatmeanttothemsomeoldvillageonthesussexdowns,whereamotherandasweetheartwaited,orsometowninthemidlandswherethewallswereplacardedwithposterswhichmadethegermansgibe,oroldlondon,wherethe'buseswentclangingdownthestrand.

asiwentbackupthelaneadarkfigureloomedout,andiheardtheclickofarifle-bolt.itwasoneofk.'smen,standingsentryoutsidethecamp.

“whogoesthere?”

itwasacockneyvoice.

“friends.”

“pass,friends.all'swell.”

yes,allwaswellthen,asfarashumancourageandthespiritofasplendidyouthfulnesscountedinthatwarofhighexplosivesanddestructivechemistry.thefightinginfrontoftheseladsofthenewarmydecidedthefateoftheworld,anditwasthevalorofthoseyoungsoldierswho,inalittlewhile,wereflungintohell-firesandkilledingreatnumbers,whichmadeallthingsdifferentinthephilosophyofmodernlife.thatconcertinainthebarnwasplayingthemusicofanepicwhichwillmakethosewhosangitseemlikeheroesofmythologytothefutureracewhichwillreadofthisdeath-leineurope.yetitwasacockney,perhapsfromclaphamjunctionorpeckhamrye,whosaid,likeavoiceoffate,“all'swell.”