THE ARMY AND THE HEARTH.

Press, Volume LII, Issue 15773, 14 December 1916, Page 9

THE ARMY AND THE HEARTH.

JOYOUS SURPRISES FOR

THE DOMESTICATED MAN*.

(By a British Gunner.) Men who know not the Army shudder not so much at the thought of battle and sudden death as at the prospect of severe discomfort and harsh discipline. The domesticated man nearing the forties cannot contemplate barrack life without shrinking. Particularly if he is imaginative he conjures up ugly visions of mental and physical suffering; he sees himself a resigned martyr surrounded by grinning tormentors, and he could weep in sheer self-pity. Within thc last few weeks thousands of married men between thirty-five and forty have left the family hearth for the parade ground, and in thc slow and painful process ot" being fashioned into soldiers they have come to realise that a military life has its attractions as well as its discomforts, that there is in discipline and joy in action. For the first few days the domesticated recruit lives on letters and grumbles. He is suffering from suburban sickness. Ho misses familiar faces and familiar ways. A creature of habits, ho wriggles like an eel cast up on tho sand, tie turns from strango faccs and shuns strange voices. He is obsessed by a number in a street and he hates being a number in a depot. Ho seeks quiet corners and writes numerous letters home —long letters fiilled with heart aches and body pains. Never before did he realise how much he loved his wife and his home, never beforo did he appreciate the cosy security of his select suburb. The men about him seem half-wild creatures with hard faccs and repulsive manners, the men above him are as soulless tyrants endowed with despotic power. Orders arc insults and the camp is a gaol. With a long face and an untidy uniform the domesticated recruit stumbles through his drill and fidgets over his meals, his ono joy inventing incredible tortures for the Kaiser and the lancecorporal, whom by some freak of prejudice he. associates in his resentment. Everybody Should pity tho domesticated recruit in his first few days of Army inoculation. Afterwards he desires no man's pity. How and when thc change comes he does not know, j Perhaps it comes when ho makes his ; first chum, or it may bo when he joins in his first barrack-room chorus. Certainly once the ohange "begins it develops quickly. In less than a fortnight a man who had shrunk from his messmates would cheerfully fight any- | one who differed from his assertion that "our chaps are tho best fellows in tho Army." And the pride ho puts into tho "we"! He is feeling the joy of comradeship and the freedom of active manhood. Quaint indeed are the friendships formed Among soldiers where temperament is everything and class distinction is not at all. In my depot, for instance, an rejoined as a gunner, "pals" with'a corporal who was his former servant, a professional 'musician chums with a bricklayer, and my own particular friend was a carter at Smithfield Market. An Army life is the real elixir of youth. The renewal of youth is seen not only in clear, ruddy complexions and shapely figures, but also in tho irresponsible buoyancy of the mind. The men whom I have learned .to know and love aro just big, strong, healthy schoolboys in khaki. They play boys' games and bovs' pranks; they have boys' virtues and boys' faults. 1 have seen domesticated men within two years of forty boasting of their prowess at leapfrog as they never boasted over commercial exploits. I have seen a successful accountant chuckle with gratified joy becauso ho could scmi-dislocate his thumb, and I- have seen a barrister on the point of tears because he could not tie a reef-knot. It is in this atmosphere that the domesticated man loses liis suburban soul. To-day I was chatting with ono of these men as wo were polishing our buttons, and in a shame-faced sort of way ho confessed that tho old life was losing its attractions. "You sec," _ lie remarked apologetically, "my job was rather monotonous. 1 was in an ofnee all day and had very little freedom. Everv day was the samo. I had not been' away by myself for fiftwn years. And I had no opportunity of meeting

interesting men outside my own business. Here it is different. We have regular hours, of course. We must be 'on*timo to parade, and we must obey our officers, but it is easier doing a liard tlnnc when a thousand other men are doing it and it is easier taking orders from an officcr than from a superior in tho offico, and there is never any fear of losing your job. And then there is the freedom. When we break off for the day I can do practically as I please. There "is no one else to consider, and I am surrounded by scores of men, highly educated men, men who have travelled ; and seen things, and men who have worked at interesting trades. I don t know how I shall go back to the old ! life. I miss my home and family ties, mv soft bed, my slipper? and my armchair, hut if I went back I should in about two days hanker for the jokes and laughter of tho men here, and I ! should miss tho songs at night and the , chatty smoke in. bed just before going to sleep." , » * • • That man put into words the thoughts of thousands of his kind. They are feeing the fascination of real comradeship i-robably for tho first tinio in thoir - fives. Let it not bo thought there is any disloyalty to tho home life. _ Never have .I seen tho love of man for his mate as I have seen it here in camp. ™ wives who writ© letters to their soldier husbands could see how the eagerly awaited those letters, how their faces 1 lit up when their names wero called at ' the post office,, and how they read the \ letters with sacred fervour, those wives ' would make their letter-writing a labour L of love. A man's wife is generally spoken of as "mother" among soldiers. To say "I've had a parcel from mother 1 is to excite envy in a khaki crowd. The r parcels mav be trifling things as parcels " go; it is the gift and the thought be- ? hind the gift that matter. A good hue--1 band makes a good soldier, and a good J soldier makes a good husband. r "That's all right, but I could not en- ■ dure the insults of drill sergeants," may > arguo the domesticated man who has r not yet joined up. 5 Oh, yes, you could, my dear man. • You could endure them much more > easily than you now endure tho rebukes 5 of your employer or manager. The 1 drill sergeant does not swear at you 5 because you are you. He swears at r you because you are number 'five in the 5 front rank, and a stupid number five at p that. Should you meet him in the canT teen he will have forgotten he has 5 sworn at vou, and should you prove a man of education and intelligence, lie will show a proper respect for your ability; but on the parade ground he will expect you to show respect f° r his • cwn particular gifts. And, remember, a good drill sergeant is worthy of anybody's and everybody's respect. So I say to all you domesticated men who are looking with fear and trembling to the day when you are informed that your King and country need you, do not be dismayed by foolish prejudices and imaginary fears. Bring an open mind ana a cheerful face to the g Army. One cheerful man is worth a u company of long-faced grousers in; a o training depot. I have not been m the y Armv a month, but I have learned to ;. lovethe life. As I am writing now a 6 sale is blowing from tho moors- driving

the rain pash against the windows. But inside the hut all is geniality ana warmth. A group of men are gathered round tho stove telling stories; in the corner a chubby-faced man is fingering a concertina; an Irish corporal croons softly to himself as he sews on a button; a man opposite me is -writing to his wife. We heed not the wind nor the rain, for are we not merry comrades doing our duty by ourselves and the mothers who bor© us?