ON THE MARCH.

Timaru Herald, Volume XIIC, Issue 13834, 20 February 1909, Page 3

ON THE MARCH.

Harold Begbie, in tlie Loudon ' 'Daily Chronicle," mus discourses 011 tlic "wuc songs,as selected by unristopner sioue:—

For a thoughtful person there is something droll in tlie spectacle of a military oandmaster, witn Ins sword at his side, Ins moustaches uptwisted, and lus i)ulred breast hung' with medals, boating the time of some divme music — Wagner, Beethoven, or (Jiiopin— at a Bishop's garden party. Paderewski, with Mowing tresses and voluminous cravat, charging at the head of dragoons, ought not to shock the eye with .sharper incongruity than those tightclothed, thick-lingered warriors, in warlike scarlet, submitting themselves to tlie spiritual and most mystical influence of art. But music is all things to all men. In a cathedral it lifts the spirit to heaven: in a Berlinese all-night restaurant it sets the soul dancing to hell. It comes to heel at the whistle of a "Merry Window" just as it comes to the prayer of Parsifal. . All humanity, savage and civilised, is under the magic of this mystery, this ethereal and beastlike art, this music which confutes the great non-possumus of Christianity, and serves both God and Mammon. THE CLANG OF STRIFE.

And the soldier is the parent of music. Before the pipes of a church organ wafted the soul to regions of devotion, 'warriors cracked the skulls of their enemies to a blatant clangour. The sight of blood, and the touch of a scalp, first awoke in man the realisation of music. Before ' euphony was cacophony. The war-song is older than the love ballad, of a far vaster antiquity than the psalm. The soldier, inbrief, can claim music for liis own. He made it bewitch slaughter long ages before the priest made it exalt resignation. From Plato's point of view, indeed, religious and spiritual music is the decadent weakling of the older and more manful music of war.

But while the soldier, who cannot go to his killing without :i tune in his toes, has made music do some fine things, he has not fared well at the hands of the ballad-monger. The tunes of the sword are nearer to heaven than

the words. One can imagine a squadron of angels marching through the stars to the strains of "La Marseillaise," but the most anthropomorphic and materialistic man in the forces of the Church militant cannot contemplate the suggestion that Cherubim and Seraphim even occasionally cry: "With a tow-row-row-row-row, the British Grenadiers." The poet is less mad than the musician. He cannot forget the facts. Try as he may, he cannot reach nearer to the ecstasy of battle than— His spirits are high, and he little knows care, Whether sipping his claret or charging a square. AVORDS AND MUSIC.

All British regiments, says Sir lan Hamilton, know the tune of "The British Grenadiers," but even Fusilier battalions, who march past to it, do not know the words. A similar judgment is passed upon "The Girl I left behind Me." The fact is that the words are not worth knowing, the tunes so apt to their purpose as to be xmforget table.

Ifc is the object of this little book to provide soldiers with words to their tunes, words which a regiment may sing on the march, words which a vocalist may warble through the congenial smoke pf the canteen, words which a little group of chums may sing softly round a camp fire. The aim of the book is admirable; it is inspired by dislike of music-hall bravado; it seeks to make the literature of fighting a contribution to seemly patriotism. But one fears that the object is not attained.

Where .these-songs are not ' trivial, poor stuff, tliey are too archaic for the modern recruit. One cannot think that soldiers will ever march singing these songs, or listen to them with approval in the canteen. The ballads are interesting, the selection is well made; but the songs of Thomas Atkins are not yet written. "When these ancient ditties arc sung in barracks we shall expect to hear that stokers are singing tno old sea chanteys 111 the Dreadnought. But the worth of the book lies in its introduction by that keen soldier, General Sir lan Hamilton, who knows the value of music on the march. In this inti'oduction one learns a great deal that is interesting about the British soldier. We are told that a modern song called "Fighting with the 7th Royal Fusiliers" produced "such an overwhelming rush of recruits that the authorities could easily, had they so chosen, have raised several additional battalions." But one learns witli gladder interest that the song is now practically extinct, "for the enthusiasm it raised was so overdone that all ranks became uncomfortable at the fuss which was being made about their exploits." Few ballad-mongers realise the sensitiveness of the soldier. IiEIiIMEXTS AND TUNES.

Sir lan Hamilton gives us a musical survey of the British Army: On the whole (he relates;, it may be said that regiments from the North of England are more musical than regiments from the South, and that, North or South, battalions recruited from towns are better songsters than coun-try-fed corps. The Scotch are inore in touch with their old songs than the English . . . they may not be sung on the march, but to deprive a regiment, whether Highland or Lowland, of its pipes would be to rob it of its material soul. Welsh soldiers are said to be extremely musical. A Welsh Militia battalion on Salisbury Plain, in 1899, used to sing all day and most of the night, but whether the songs were war songs or love songs it would be impossible for anyone but a Welshman to say. The Irish regiments, it is interesting to learn, lend the light of their countenance to modern music-liall songs lroin America. They appear to borrow the tune, but fit Mieir own regimental words to the rattle. "\et," says Sir lan Hamilton —

If anyone has the courage to rise and sing "The Minstrel Boy," "Oh, for the words," or " She is far from the land where the young hero sleeps," the spell of the real thing catches hold, and tlie singer will reap his reward. Among English regiments, the Manchester excels at singing on the- inarch, but they have -no recognised regimental tune. The Liverpools sing little, the Dorsets are shy anout singing at all, and the Suffolk regiment " are very stolid, and. have seldom, if ever, been known to break out into song." The Devons love " Widdicombe Fair," and yet seldom, either at concerts or on the line of march, give voice to their affections : The Somersets cherish their old county songs, and twelve of these have been regimentally printed .for the use of the men. Unfortunately, the tunes are mournful, and better suited to camp life in wet weather than for marching. It needs rain, and plenty of it, to turn the thoughts of a Somersetshire soldier towards song. "SING ME A SONG, 0." One gathers from this introduction that a great deal more might be done by commanding officers to encourage singing on the line of march. In every regiment, with keen officers aud a good bandmaster, it should be possible to form a glee party, and these choristers, breaking into song, would set the others singing—even the Suffolks, and perhaps also the Somersets, though the sun be shining. The stiffness and d illness of a British regiment oil the march is eertainlv one of the worst advertisements for rerruiting. A singing regiment Mould capture the country. But the problem still remains of find-

ing ballads which will seize the soldier 's fancy. The tunes are many, but the a great achievement, and one hopes that Sir lan Hamilton, who has a steady courage, as well as a fine enthusiasm, will one day win his laurels. But he would do well, we think, to look altogether away from soldiering for the material of his soldier songs. The cot-ton-spinners of Lancashire sing like larks, but they have no ballad of the loom.