REMINISCENCES

Southland Times, Issue 20963, 21 December 1929, Page 13

REMINISCENCES

THE BITTERNESS OF WAR

(By

65144.)

Quite recently I saw the picture “Dawn” and was forcibly reminded of Edith Cavell’s last message, “There must be no bitterness.” There should be no bitterness but I am afraid that there is a little at least and I know that there was a certain amount during the days of the war. It rose and fell but was always there. I remember a padre speaking on the text, “Thou shalt not kill,” and he said that that command related to killing with bitterness arid hatred and a soldier went to war for the sake of his country and fought without bitterness or malice. He was not altogether right. I had no personal animosity against the Germans and never shot at a man for the sake of doing so but I felt bitter enough against them. That bitterness dated from my training in Brocton camp and I am certain that it was felt by all who trained there. The German prison camp alongside our camp was filled with strong healthy Germans and they availed themselves of every opportunity to revile us and sneer at us as fools. No doubt many of them had walked across at convenient intervals to escape from what they had been asked to face but there was no good reason why they should have called us fools because we were going out to fight for our country. In France it was different for we were opposed to brave men who did not sneer at us but met us in open combat when all was fair and equal between us but the result of their countrymen’s action in Brocton was in our minds and showed occasionally. The fact that snipers used expanding bullets made us feel bitter and enfilading fire roused a suppressed fury in us, but the Germans could not be blamed for that and we should have enfiladed them if they had pushed into our line to give us an opportunity.

The popular opinion during the war was that the Germans were all barbarians and brutes with very little courage, but the facts of the war gave the lie to that. It must be admitted that there were barbaric brutes, in the German army but there are such in every army. The fact that the Germans always fought in close order did not prove want of courage but only a difference in training. The Germans attacked in a solid mass and so exposed thousands of men to certain death for we could not miss them with our machine guns but we always went in for lone fighting and a man kept as much to himself as possible to avoid giving a machine gunner anything worth shooting at. I feel certain that an order to go over in massed formation 1 would have led to a point blank refusal on the part of British troops on the grounds that it was inviting certain annihilation. From a soldier’s point of view it required courage to attack in massed formation and as the Germans attacked in that way they must have had courage. The matter is a problem for a psychologist and I had it briefly explained to me as a psychological study not very long ago. It has been found that English soldiers fight best-with the rifle, Scotch soldiers prefer the bayonet and Irish soldiers are inclined to club their rifles when they get to close quarters. This is believed to be traceable back to the days when Englishmen relied on long bows, Scotsmen used the claymore and Irishmen used a club. Englishmen were also well trained in individual fighting in the tilt yard, Scotsmen fought man to man amongst the hilLs and the heather and tradition has it that individual combats were popular at the fairs in Ireland. On the other hand castles were very popular on the continent and when they were attacked the attackers had to attack in massed formation and force they way over the walls by force of numbers. The castles of the old Germans may have had something to do with the Germans' prediliction for deep dug outs and pill bokes. To return to the bitterness engendered by war I cannot do better than describe an incident which occurred early one morning before Rosignal Wood. We had been severely shelled for some days and our nerves were ragged and our ranks depleted. About dawn one morning our batteries commenced to shell the German line. We did not know the reason for the bombardment, but the Germans obviously felt certain that it was the signal for an attack for they sent up flares all along the line. We were standing on the firestep when the shelling commenced and we remained there to watch the effect of it. It ceased as suddenly as it had commenced and as soon as it ceased we started over the top. The O.C. succeeded in stopping us and I have often wondered why we started to advance without orders that morning. The shelling we had received had made us bitter with a personal kind of animosity and, without thinking about it, we wanted to go over and have our revenge. The fact that the bombardment was similar to that which usually preceded an attack probably had something to do with the desire to attack.

I never saw any animosity shown towards German prisoners but I frequently saw our men hand cigarettes to them and even light the cigarette when the smoker was badly wounded. The heavy shelling had a different effect on different people and some took no notice while others cursed the German gunners after every shell, and described in graphic terms just what they would do to the gunner behind the gun if they caught him. Those outbursts served as a safety valve for pent up feeling and were never in earest.

I never heard a soldier make any outburst about the man who had wounded him and I have tied up more wounds with field dressings than I care to remember. There was never much anxiety about the final result of a wound but there, was always considerable anxiety as to whether or not it would prove a “Blighty.” An American soldier was badly wounded in the bay below us at Rosignal Wood and he was brought up to me to tie up, for I was supposed to know a little about dressing wounds. His left arm was badly smashed near the shoulder and he had lost a great deal of blood. His right wrist was broken and he was wounded in one thigh. He was weak from loss of blood and asked for water. I gave him what was left in my water bottle and he said, "Do you think I’ll die?” “Die be hanged,” I replied; “I wish I had your luck. You’ll be back in New York for Christmas.” He laughed weakly and said, "I guess that will be great,” and seemed-quite contended. I have often wondered what happened to him for I thought from the look of his smashed arm that he would probably lose it.