THE BRITISH WARRIOR

Dominion, Volume 8, Issue 2501, 30 June 1915, Page 8

THE BRITISH WARRIOR

AN AMERICAN VIEW

JOHN BULL AT THE FRONT

ARMY SUCH AS THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN

The American Press in April published the following article sent by its correspondent at tiie British front, llrl William G. Shepherd:— Headquarters of the British Army, Northern France. This is not Tommy Atkins: it's John Bull.

The minute von begin to nib elbows with the English Army you make this discoverv.

Tommy Atkins, the professional English soldiar, is here aplenty; he dots tho iinglish Army. John Bull is the everyday English citizen, and he seems'to be round here in hundreds of thousands. Tommy Atkins is the soldier that Kipling 6ings about. John Bull lias never been sung about. He' 6 the John Bull who believes his home is his castle; in fact, it is that belief that has brought him here. He's the John Bull who pays his taxes, who reads newspapers, and talks politics, who has a garden, a wife and children, and who travels daily in peace times between his home and his office.

Take any one of your younger neighbours—a lawyer, a. street-car conductor, a real estate man, a clerk; quiet fellows who stay home on summer evenings and squirt the lawn or weed the garden —and I'll go out on . the streets of this Headquarters town and find his counterpart for you within five minutes. Ho's carrying a gun or wearing khaki. Or I'll find him for you lying under a wooden cross in one of the field cemeteries near by, his part of tho job that he came out here to do well arid nobly finished. It was his duty to show that he believed not. only that an Englishman's home is his castle, but also that a Belgian's honfe and a Frenchman's home and every home in all civilisation is a sacred shelter that nmst be untouched by enemies.

There's a thrill about being with tha English Amy that no Amoricnn can miss. These hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of men are volunteers; ererv man Jack of them sat do to < and thought it all out for himself before he went to the recruiting officer and asked for a place in the Arniv. To-day, in the English Army he's his own man's man. He's responsible to hia superiors, for he's a soldier; but, primarily, he's responsible to himself and to that castle of his back home and to every jeopardised castle-home in evencorner of the earth. He's worked out his duty for himself as a man works out his own religion or the other great problems of his life, and the answer to his problem is that here ho is in khaki, a full-fledged soldier. In Dead and Serious Earnest. Don't believe those stories that he's always singing "Tipperary" and that he s always ready for a fight or a frolic. •There's no frolic about it and very little music. His • frolic and his music are awaiting him at his eastie somewhere in the Empire, if he ever sees it again. He came out here to fight and he"s in dead and serious earnest. Ho wasn't always singing "Tipperary" while ha was doing his day's duty in peace times or while he was travelling to and' from work; no more does ho do it now. This is a serious job, just like his peace-time duty; the frolic and the music may come after the job is done. The thrill that an American gets rubbing elbows with this volunteer British Army comes with the knowledgo that there are only two Great Powers in the world that have the voluntary military system—Great Britain and the United States. 1

Through all the long winter hack in the British Isles I saw men in silk hats, in derbies, in long coats, in short coats, in hunting boots, in street shoes, drilling and marching and countermarching; their faces were always set determinedly. Now I see these same men here, in khaki and caps. They are here because they sre forced to ba here; forced by something within themselves. They are hero not only because they wanted to bo here, but, also because they were determined to be here. That's the English Army of to-day at the front.

I saw jrart of the Army at church this morning. The parson knew his hearers. He talked to them just as he would have talked back in any little old stono church in any corner of tha British Isles on any Sun Jay morning. He didn't mention war nor the nearness of eternity. I heard a salvo of heavy artillery while he was speaking, but he continued unmoved, telling how hard it may be sometimes to live a Christian life. His text was about Thomas, the disciple who would not believe Christ had risen until he had seen for himself the print of the nails. "To-day," he said, "when vre doubt, there is no print of the nails for us to see. Christ appeared in person to that fortunate Thomas and carried him over the torrent of doubt. But we must bridge the chasm between count and belief by faith, and we must square our lives to our beliefs." Tommy Atkins Absenti That was the ton© of his sermon. He was an earnest person. His huge tan shoes were disclosed beneath his gown; the collar of his chaplain's coat showed above it. He wore a watch .on his wrist, and lie consulted it from tima to time. A lieutenant of artillery sat at the organ; on his military coat collar was the artillery emblem of a bursting shell. The audience was in khaki, except for a score of nurses in blue. Tommy Atkins, bless his heart, wasn'.t there. This was an audience of English citizens, whom you might have found in any church in England on this bright Sunday morning, come over here to France to do their duty, and the parson was talking to them as simply, a parson can talk who's trying to help foIKS along in tho solution of their problems of life and death. It was the samo way at the football game this afternoon. The distant cannon rumbled then, also. I talked to two artists from tho Chelsea- Arts Club, who had been in the batt-los of Ypres and who were as'hardened veterans of war as Napoleon ever knew. I talked to a butcher from the West End of London. I talked to a carpenter. I saw a Cambridge man and a horco farrier playing football side by side. This crowd wasn't made up of Tommy Atkins, the professional soldier: it was John Bull, on the job. Tho world ha-s never before seen another army liko this English one; men who can bo counted almost in millions; cach man his own man's man; each man doing his duty because something within him had forced him to do it; each mail playing to the grand stand that lies within himself and to the little gallon* in bis castle hack home.—Exchan/».

It is proposed in South Africa that Gorman South-West Africa shall be divided up according to tho following agricultural zones, and named as follows:—(1) The southern zone, extend' inpr from the Oranec River to Rehaboth to bo renamed Botlialand, in honour of tho Premier. (2) Tho central zone, extending from Rohahoth. to Omaruru, to be called Pamaraland. (3) The northern zona, extending from Omaruru to the Portuguese border, to. be teamed Am ha land.