Relief of Mafeking How it Was Accomplished by Mahon's Flying Column; with an Account of Some Earlier Episodes in the Boer War of 1899-1900

Filson Young

Description

The proprietors of the Manchester Guardian have kindly allowed me to make use of their copyright in the letters written by me to that newspaper during the first half of the year. The substance of the letters has been reproduced in the hope that home-staying folk may find in them something of the atmosphere that surrounds the collision of armed forces. It is a strange and rude atmosphere; yet it pleases me at this moment to remember not so much the strangeness and rudeness as the kindness and good-fellowship that made a dreadful business tolerable and the memory of it pleasant. Many friends of these brave days I may not see again, but if their eyes should ever light on this page I would have them know that it contains a greeting.

Sujets

• Histoire
• Reino Unido
• United Kingdom
• Great Britain
• Royaume-Uni

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819903109
• Langue: English

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PREFACE
The proprietors of the Manchester Guardian have kindly allowed me to make use of their copyright in theletters written by me to that newspaper during the first half ofthe year. The substance of the letters has been reproduced in thehope that home-staying folk may find in them something of theatmosphere that surrounds the collision of armed forces. It is astrange and rude atmosphere; yet it pleases me at this moment toremember not so much the strangeness and rudeness as the kindnessand good-fellowship that made a dreadful business tolerable and thememory of it pleasant. Many friends of these brave days I may notsee again, but if their eyes should ever light on this page I wouldhave them know that it contains a greeting.
FILSON YOUNG
LONDON, July 31st, 1900
PART I
ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR
I
HOW THE RESERVES CAME UP
From a seat in the paymaster's office of the depôtbarracks at Bury one afternoon in November, 1899, I could lookeither into the barrack yard or out along the Bolton Road. Afour-wheeler clove its way through the crowd surrounding the gates,and the sentries presented arms to it. It contained my friend, thepaymaster, who presently came upstairs carrying a bag in which wereseveral hundred pounds sterling – the real sinews of war. This wasthe man whose business it was to call up the Reservists, and he hada very simple way of doing it. He had several books containinglarge forms divided by perforation into four parts. The first was acounterfoil on which was written the Reservist's name and the dateof posting the order; the second was a railway warrant requestingthe railway company to furnish him with a ticket available by themost direct route from his place of residence to the depôt; thethird was the order requiring him to present himself at thebarracks on or before a certain date; and the fourth was amoney-order for three shillings, officially called an advance, butvirtually a present from a considerate Government. On the 11th ofthe month the paymaster at Bury had signed about six hundred ofthese notices, and had seen them posted; on Sunday and Monday theyhad begun to fall like bombs on the breakfast tables of prosperouscivilians all over the country; and soon the pieces of blue paperhad made a sad disturbance in several hundreds of cottage homes,and added several hundred men to the strength of the 2nd Battalionof the Lancashire Fusiliers. The business of the pay office, or atleast my friend's part of it – a few subalterns rushing up in ahurry to get money for their various companies; eighty pounds forA, a hundred pounds for D, and so on – was soon over, and then hetold me something of how the Reserve system works.
All the men in the Reserve have put in at leastseven years' service. They go into the Reserve first for a term offive years at sixpence a day, and then (if they wish) for a term offour years at fourpence a day. Of course when the Reserves arecalled out they receive the same pay as regular soldiers, and theirwives have separation allowances. As everyone knows, this was thefirst time that any considerable number of the Reserves had beencalled up, and the system has worked admirably. About 98 per cent,in some districts presented themselves, the small remainder beingeither ill or in gaol. A small proportion of those who came up wererejected by the doctor, but on the whole the men were tough andfit. In this district they were allowed eight days in which tosettle their affairs and present themselves at the depôt, but mostof them did not come until the last minute, and several not untilafter the last minute of the time allowed by the order.
The crowd outside the barrack gates was composedchiefly of women and loafers, but every now and then it opened toadmit a handful of reluctant-looking men, who had probably stayedoutside until their money was exhausted. And many of them werehanging about outside the gates having nothing to do and no moneyto spend, but deferring to the last moment the final step ofself-submission to the iron hand of discipline. For once theReservist was inside the barrack yard he could have no moreliberty, probably, for many a long month – unless, indeed, hegained an endless liberty on the battlefield. The scene through theopposite window looking on to the barrack yard was very differentfrom the rather sombre picture without. The yard was gay with thewonderful red that has done so much to make the army popular. Formovement there were a few squads of Militia recruits being drilledby the trumpet-voiced sergeants; and for music there was the ringof a hundred rifle-butts striking the ground together, the trampand click of many feet, and the clatter of the colonel's horse ashe rode across the yard.
But the most interesting people were the Reservistsand their friends, who dotted the yard in many-coloured groups.Here was a party of girls and women taking a farewell of someengaging blade whose course of gallantry had been suddenlyinterrupted. There was a father standing with his wife and smallfamily grouped round him, no one saying very much, but everyonefeeling a good deal. And another group would be laughing andsinging, not quite recovered from the means they had taken to drownregrets.
Sitting in the window, one could trace theReservist's progress from his entrance at the gate to hisdisappearance into quarters. The square was filled with littleprocessions containing six or eight men each; first from theorderly-room to the hospital, in all kinds of civilian raiment:black, grey, brown, green, blue, drab – anything but red; hatless,capless, black-hatted, cloth-capped, shabby, spruce, dirty, soiled,clean, pretty clean, white-faced, red-faced, unkempt, well-groomed,hungry, well-fed, thin, fat – every class between clerks andtramps; every condition between prosperity and destitution. Aprocession was also constantly flowing from the hospital to thequartermaster's stores – the same procession, with one militarytouch; for this time the men did not straggle, but were marchedsingle file in charge of a sergeant. The next procession was fromthe stores to the men's quarters; but now each man had a greatbundle under his arms containing his entire kit wrapped up in anovercoat.
The quartermaster, not without pardonable pride,took me over the stores in which the men's kits are prepared. Therewere hundreds of racks containing bundles so cunningly rolled thatyou could see at a glance what was in each. And beside each bundlewas a valise already packed with everything that a campaigner couldneed; indeed, when I read the printed list showing what was in eachmy heart warmed with the same joy that I felt when I first read Robinson Crusoe . Government, who is rigorous and unyieldingas a disciplinarian to her soldiers, is a mother to them in herprovision for their wants. Each bag contained a knife, fork, spoon,tin canteen, shaving brush, soap, razor, boot brushes, clothesbrush, hair brush, pipeclay, button polisher, cleaning paste, and adozen other things just as interesting and as useful. Out ofcuriosity I opened a housewife, and my heart was touched with thealmost feminine consideration that it indicated; for there,cunningly folded up, were skeins of wool and cotton in manydifferent shades, as well as half a dozen sizes of needles. Surelythe War Office is human, and not the strange machine that some ofus esteem it, for how else could it provide that Tommy shall nothave to darn his socks with scarlet, nor his tunic with grey, norhis trousers with white wool? As the men came into the stores eachone received his share of these excellent things, and thequartermaster's sergeants displayed quite a genius in estimatingand fitting the various proportions of the men. And the men's eyesbrightened at the sight of the glorious new red cloth; I believethat, although they wore it for a few days only, it did much toreconcile them with the inconvenience and hardship that some ofthem endured in rejoining. Khaki uniforms were served outlater.
All round the barrack square the men stood in groupsas I have described, and in one corner were clusters of men arrayedin their new garments. One could read pretty easily in their facesthe story of the last few days. One saw several men who hadevidently risen in the world since they had left the army. They hadan air of sleekness and delicacy that made them seem out of place.Others had evidently been going down in the social scale, and woretheir new clothes like fine feathers. Some were evidently glad atthe prospect of action and excitement, and fell back into theregimental routine as a man sits down in a comfortable chair. Toothers, not a few, all this hustle was an act in a domestictragedy. Sometimes it was a comedy, as in the case of one man whohad built up a "nice little butchering business," snatching hisprofits from the niggard hand of competition; and now he must goforth to kill men, leaving his rival master in the field ofdomestic butchery. But the comedies were few, or else I did notcome across them, for it was the serious side of this business thatimpressed me the most. Men caught away from new-found family joys,not for personal advancement or glory, but to take their places asunits in the huge war-machine that is fed with human bodies. It isso easy to speak and think of "losses" when we count them by thehundred; it is so hard and bitter to think of one death and allthat it means when one stands and speaks to a soldier. I found oneman standing apart by himself – a young man, with a good, clean,hardy face – and there were tears in his eyes. As I was passing heasked me what time it was, and in a few minutes he told me hisstory. He had been married two years; he had one little child; hehad left his wife dying of pneumonia. That was all; but I think onecan hardly realise how much it meant. I should like some civilianswho do their soldiering in an armchair, and who really seem to likea war for the spice with which it flavours their newspaper, to haveseen that m