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TRENCH PICTURES 
 from FRANCE 
 
 By MAJOR WILLIAM REDMOND, M. P 
 
 (KILLED IN ACTION) 
 
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 MAJOR W. REDMOND AT 54 (FEB., IQI5) 
 
TRENCH PICTURES 
 FROM FRANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 MAJOR WILLIAM REDMOND 
 
 M.P. 
 
 Killed in action, June, IQIJ 
 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 E. M. SMITH-DAMPIER 
 
 "Your cause is one, Dark Rosaleen, 
 Where I know not wrong from right; 
 But I know the eyes of a fairy queen, 
 And the heart of a gallant knight!" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1918, 
 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 BY MRS. WILLIAM REDMOND 
 
 The articles which make up the bulk of 
 this book were contributed to the Daily 
 Chronicle under a pseudonym. I have 
 read with real pleasure the Introduction 
 written by Miss Smith-Dampier, which 
 shows a sympathetic understanding of 
 my husband's nature and brings out viv- 
 idly his personality. I am grateful to 
 Miss Smith-Dampier for her sympathetic 
 work, and to the Editor of the Daily 
 Chronicle for the interest he has shown 
 in arranging for the publication of my 
 husband's sketches in book form. 
 
 Eleanor Redmond. 
 
 Glenbrook, Delgany, Co. Wicklow, Irelan». 
 July 12, 1917. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In Memoriam io 
 
 Introduction .... 13 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. A Garden Trench . . 35 
 
 II. To Charing Cross via the 
 
 Red Cross ... 45 
 
 III. As They Fought, so they 
 
 Died . . . .61 
 
 IV. The Taking of Ginchy . 69 
 
 V. The Camp-Fire Prayer . 81 
 
 VI. How the Colonel came 
 
 Back .... 89 
 
 VII. In the Darkened Church . 99 
 
 VIII. The Frozen Front Line . in 
 
 IX. Religion and the War . 121 
 
 X. The Square of Empire . 133 
 
 XI. In "No Man's Land" . . 143 
 XII. "Jack," the Pet Dog . .151 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 Major Redmond's Last Speech . 163 
 vii 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Major W. Redmond at 54 (Feb. 1915). 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mr.W. Redmond at 25 (1886) . . 16 
 
 Major William Redmond at 54 (Feb. 
 1915) 164 
 
 IX 
 
5n fflematiam 
 
 353.361. 
 
 Oh, Michael stood on the walls of heaven 
 And watched the souls come in, 
 
 For the hosts of God were up once more 
 To harry the hosts of sin. 
 
 Michael he took the moon for a shield, 
 And a brand of the burning levin, 
 
 And flew to earth through the reek of blood 
 That hid the stars in heaven. 
 
 Michael went down by Weeping Well 
 
 To rest him at eventide, 
 And he saw there a maiden fair, 
 
 And a dead man lay beside. 
 
 Oh, he looked on her with the piercing eye 
 
 That's pure from spot of sin, 
 And saw right well the hound of hell 
 
 That gnawed her heart within. 
 
 And like a cup that's lifted up 
 
 With royal wine a-brim, 
 Michael, that looked upon the dead, 
 
 Beheld the heart of him. 
 
 "Look up, thou daughter of earth, look up, 
 
 Great grace is thine, I wis! 
 Lovers hast thou had many a one, 
 
 But never a one like this. 
 x 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 "Oh, well he knew thy deadly sin 
 
 As well he knew thy worth, 
 For he looked on thee with the eyes of heaven 
 
 And not with the eyes of earth. 
 
 "Daughter of earth, now look thou forth, 
 
 And see where the souls of men 
 Go forth on the night like the wild marsh-fires 
 
 That flicker above the fen. 
 
 "And see where the souls of men rise up 
 
 Like stars in heaven to shine! 
 A jewel set on Our Lady's brow 
 
 Is the soul whose iove is thine. 
 
 "And lo, the reek of flame and blood, 
 Where, like sparks from the nether pit, 
 
 The eyes of the ravening hounds of hell 
 Drive by on the blast with it! 
 
 "Take heed, take heed lest thy foot go down 
 
 Behind the hounds of hell!" 
 Michael he seized his shining shield, 
 
 And turned him from Weeping Well. 
 
 He turned his face to the reeling hosts, 
 
 And brandished the burning levin, 
 For the quick fought on while the dead looked down 
 
 And watched from the walls of heaven! 
 
 E. M. Smith-Dampier. 
 
 XI 
 
TRENCH PICTURES 
 FROM FRANCE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 WILLIE REDMOND 
 
 A witty, joyous partisan in the most bitter 
 of political controversies, who yet made no 
 personal enemies ; a man of middle age who left 
 home >and career to train as a soldier; a 
 Catholic who, foreseeing death, embraced it in 
 the hope that his blood would bring healing to 
 his own country — such was the man whose loss 
 has caused a public grief so general and sincere 
 as to surprise even those who loved him best. 
 Other Members of Parliament before Willie 
 Redmond — some ten or eleven — had died for 
 their country in the war, yet not one of these 
 deaths was felt as deeply as his in both Houses. 
 "If Willie could come back," said his widow 
 to me, "he would be so surprised, he would 
 wonder what all the fuss was about." It is 
 13 
 
14 INTRODUCTION 
 
 in these words that we find the key to the 
 secret. The single eye — utter unselfconscious- 
 ness — this is what makes Willie Redmond 
 a typical figure. A thousand men bleed and 
 die; only by a rare combination of qualities 
 does an individual stand out as their spiritual 
 representative, summing up in one hero-figure 
 their finest valour, their most unselfish aims. 
 And this romantic, impetuous Irishman com- 
 bined them all. 
 
 William Hoey Kearney Redmond was born 
 in 1861 at Wexford. To those who believe 
 that the pre-natal influence of "that kindly 
 nurse," a particular countryside, may colour 
 a life to its end, it will seem fitting that he 
 should come of a city long associated with his 
 forefathers. The statue of his grand-uncle, 
 John Edward, who in 1859 represented Wex- 
 ford as Liberal member, stands in Redmond 
 Place, with these words on its pedestal : "My 
 heart is with the City of Wexford. Nothing 
 can extinguish that love but the cold soil of the 
 grave." 
 
 It was at Parnell's invitation that John 
 Redmond entered the House of Commons in 
 1 88 1. William, at that time lieutenant in the 
 City of Wexford Battalion of the Royal Irish 
 
INTRODUCTION 15 
 
 Regiment, resigned his commission in order 
 to take part in the Land League movement, 
 and his twenty-first birthday was spent in 
 Kilmainham Gaol. 
 
 At the time when "The Invincibles" were 
 undergoing trial for the Phoenix Park mur- 
 ders, the Redmond brothers were sent by Par- 
 nell to Australia, commissioned to raise funds 
 for the Nationalist cause. It was no easy 
 time for such an errand, yet the journey re- 
 sulted in the addition of £15,000 to the party 
 funds. It was during this expedition that he 
 met and married Miss Dalton, daughter of a 
 prominent Australian magistrate. 
 
 William Redmond was nominated as Par- 
 nellite candidate for Wexford in 1883, when 
 he beat "The O'Conor Don," a descendant of 
 kings, by three to one. He sat till 1885, when 
 he was returned for County Fermanagh. In 
 September 1888, during Balfour's Secretary- 
 ship, he was sentenced under the Crimes Act 
 to three months' imprisonment without hard 
 labour, for inciting to resistance of the sheriff's 
 authority during an eviction at Coolroe. (This, 
 by the by, was a period when political prisoners 
 shared the ordinary severities of prison-life.) 
 "I undoubtedly," said he, "cheered those men 
 when they were defending their homes against 
 
16 INTRODUCTION 
 
 unjust eviction, and I shall continue to cheer 
 every man who does so." 
 
 Here we have no mere political war-cry, but 
 an expression of human sympathy. This man 
 worked outwards to his political principles 
 from the fundamentals of human nature. 
 Better than most, he could have stood the 
 sardonic test proposed in Sartor Resartus, of 
 appearing without conventional trappings be- 
 fore a naked House of Commons ! 
 
 When the great "split" rent his party in 
 1890, William Redmond stood by Parnell. His 
 action made him the object of much partisan 
 hatred, which he took in a thoroughly sport- 
 ing spirit. Two years later he won East Clare 
 for the Parnellites, and represented that con- 
 stituency until his death. 
 
 In those days, now remote, there was a 
 certain caste prejudice against the Irish mem- 
 bers. Thackeray had set the fashion of con- 
 sidering them "no gentlemen," and Punch and 
 the Times followed his lead. But those who 
 saw Willie Redmond, whatever their prejudice,, , 
 never failed to recognise that here was an 
 Irish member who was not merely a gentle- 
 man, but one whose charming courtesy and 
 dare-devil wit recalled the most picturesque 
 traditions of the eighteenth oentury. His gifts, 
 
MR. W. REDMOND AT 2$ (l886) 
 
INTRODUCTION 17 
 
 at this period, were considered to be less those 
 of the orator than the improvisatore. Outside 
 the House he could move an audience at his 
 will. In S. Stephen's, however, he was con- 
 tent to be overshadowed by his brother, the 
 leader of the Nationalist Party. His own spe- 
 cialty was the pricking of bubbles — the art 
 of happy interruption. 
 
 "For many years," says a personal remin- 
 iscence, "Willie was the jester of the House, 
 and the smoking-room was always chuckling 
 over his latest mot." Yet he was popular even 
 with those who felt the edge of his wicked 
 wit. "He had" — so runs Mr. Asquith's trib- 
 ute — "a certain genius of imagination and 
 sympathy which enabled him always to under- 
 stand the scruples and differences of honest 
 opponents." To this Colonel Lockwood bears 
 witness in quoting Willie Redmond's own 
 words: "You go in what you believe to be 
 the straight path, and I in mine. In the end 
 we shall meet." This fine chivalry — the spirit 
 which led Earl Percy to take the dead Douglas 
 by the hand — is echoed in the saying of his 
 great opponent, Sir Edward Carson: "I had 
 no bitter word with him." 
 
 When war broke out in 19 14, it troubled 
 no heart more deeply than Willie Redmond's. 
 
18 INTRODUCTION 
 
 For a long time, says Mrs. Redmond, he re- 
 fused so much as to look at a newspaper. "If 
 I'm too old to fight," he said, "at least I will 
 not sit comfortably in an arm-chair and read 
 what other men are doing and suffering." It 
 was the first Zeppelin raid on England which 
 finally made him take action; if women and 
 children were killed, he would remain a non- 
 combatant no longer. That same winter he 
 joined the Royal Irish Division, raised, chiefly 
 by John Redmond and Devlin, among the 
 Catholics of the West and South. To one of 
 his political principles, the donning of the 
 British uniform was a moral effort; but his 
 keen vision pierced through to the fundamen- 
 tals of the struggle, and his heart warmed to 
 the larger patriotism. 
 
 "There may be a few," were his own words, 
 "who think that Germany would not injure 
 Ireland, and might even benefit her. I hope 
 the Clare people will rely on no such rash state- 
 ments. If the Germans come here . . . they 
 will be our masters, and we at their mercy. 
 What that mercy is likely to be, judge by the 
 mercy shown to Belgium. I am far too old 
 to be a soldier, but I mean to do my best, for 
 whatever life remains in me, to show that 
 Ireland at least is true to her treaties, and not 
 
INTRODUCTION 19 
 
 in any way ungrateful to her friends through- 
 out the world." Again : "No Irishman worth 
 his salt would be beholden for any favour to 
 the men who have ruined Belgium." 
 
 Here is an object-lesson for those who be- 
 lieve that love of Humanity which man hath 
 not seen is necessarily inconsistent with love 
 of the country that he hath seen. 
 
 "How can man die better, 
 Than facing fearful odds, 
 For the ashes of his fathers, 
 And the temples of his gods?" 
 
 This is a question to which the superior per- 
 son who deals in windy generalities has hither- 
 to supplied no effective answer. Because love 
 for his own land lay warm at the heart's core 
 of William Redmond, he was able to perceive 
 that in this war his country's cause was also 
 the world's. If a man loves his mother, is he 
 more likely or less to fight for the help of 
 women in general? This is a point which it 
 seems unnecessary to labour. 
 
 His decision came as a surprise, not only to 
 the world at large, but to those who knew him 
 best. "It was not till this epoch in his career," 
 says T. P. O'Connor, "that people — even his 
 most intimate friends — began to realise Willie 
 
20 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Redmond. Even then this entry into the Army 
 seemed rather a passing fancy, a transient en- 
 thusiasm, than real business." 
 
 It soon became apparent that the business 
 was very real. At the Fermoy training-camp 
 he underwent all the discipline of drill and 
 route-marching which one would imagine 
 peculiarly irksome to a man no longer young, 
 a man not in the best of health, a man who had 
 for many years led a sedentary existence. 
 
 "At Fermoy" — I quote by permission from 
 Captain Stephen Gwynn's article in the 
 Freeman's Journal of June 19 — "the 6th Royal 
 Irish and the Connaught Rangers lay together 
 in the new barracks for many months. That 
 made us a joint mess of some seventy officers, 
 and, among the older men, he and I were 
 almost the only Nationalists. It was a society 
 in which he felt strange, and at the mess he 
 was quiet, reserved, and rather shy. It amused 
 me to find how impossible it was for any of 
 the subalterns to imagine this gentlest of gen- 
 tlemen as a turbulent leader of revolt. Some- 
 times I tried to draw him into one of those 
 moods of reminiscence which made him the 
 best company in the House of Commons smok- 
 ing-room, but I never succeeded. . . . All that 
 his brother officers knew in earlier days was 
 
INTRODUCTION 21 
 
 that they loved him. . . . Quite literally; I 
 never heard any one say that he was liked. 
 The other was always the word. The only 
 thing I ever heard said in his dispraise was 
 that he could not bring himself to be hard 
 enough with the men. I dare say that, as a 
 soldier, he had that fault. He lacked the years 
 or decades that should have fitted him at all 
 points for his proper vocation. But a soldier 
 he was by nature; and it is a happy thing to 
 think ,that he enjoyed for its own sake the life 
 into which he came thus out of due time. . . . 
 He was made for the simple life of disciplined 
 obedience and utter loyalty which is the sol- 
 dier's ideal." 
 
 No wonder if those to whom Willie Red- 
 mond had been the jester of the House, the 
 "Peter Pan of the Irish party," were amazed at 
 this new avatar! The Joculator Domini, the 
 Lord's merry-man, when the red day dawned, 
 threw off his motley and went before the 
 knights to the battle. When at this time he was 
 invited to a critical debate in the House, or to 
 some political meeting, he always replied that 
 he could not, even for one day, leave his serious 
 business of training as a soldier. When later 
 on he did make a public appearance, his older 
 looks and more serious demeanour were very 
 
22 INTRODUCTION 
 
 noticeable. T. P. O'Connor, for instance, gives 
 us this glimpse of him : 
 
 "One day we were told on the quiet that the 
 Irish Brigade was going to have a field-day, 
 with the King and Queen present. ... I re- 
 member of all that day one incident in par- 
 ticular. . . . The battalions were marching 
 past, and suddenly I saw Willie Redmond 
 marching in front of his own. When I looked 
 at the grizzled hair of this middle-aged man, 
 but a few months before a quiet politician, 
 marching with a blithe step and a look of de- 
 termination in his set face, I realised what 
 was the heroic spirit behind the man I had 
 known without fathoming for so many years. 
 
 "For the first time I saw in his face that 
 curious transformation which had come with 
 the war. Though he was cheerful and equable, 
 the boyishness, the light-hearted spirit, had 
 gone. He was almost unnaturally serious, and 
 often I thought I saw in his expression some- 
 thing of that presentiment which tells the sol- 
 dier he is going to fall. The grizzled hair, 
 the somewhat thinned face, the alert form, 
 made him an ideal soldier-figure. . . . 
 
 "Every time afterward that I saw Willie 
 Redmond the impression he made on me was 
 exactly the same. Here was a man who felt 
 
INTRODUCTION 23 
 
 he would die, who nevertheless never swerved 
 for a moment from the determination to face 
 death. On the few occasions when he made 
 his appearance in the House, every one felt 
 towards him that curious mixed sensation of 
 wonder and sympathy. . . . That quietly set, 
 rather saddened face . . . revealed the man 
 possessed by an ideal; and all the forces of 
 the world might beat for ever in vain against a 
 resolve so great and stern." 
 
 Others who knew him are agreed that Willie 
 Redmond foresaw his death. More than that : 
 he may be said to have sought it. He refused 
 to be content with any sort of post, however 
 honourable, which kept him behind the firing- 
 line. Not only was he determined to share 
 danger with his men, not only did his religion 
 lift him above all fear of the end, but he was 
 convinced that his blood would prove a sacra- 
 ment of unity to his own countrymen, and lift 
 up their hearts to a higher plane. 
 
 He went to the front in the winter of 1915 ; 
 was promoted to Major's rank, and mentioned 
 in despatches by Sir Douglas Haig. At this 
 time he began the series of articles here repub- 
 lished, which were contributed anonymously 
 to the Daily Chronicle. Two vivid pictures of 
 
M INTRODUCTION 
 
 Major Redmond in France have been painted 
 for us by Stephen Gwynn : 
 
 "In France, regimental officers see little of 
 one another outside their own battalions, and 
 I have only two clear recollections of him in 
 six months. One is our first meeting abroad. 
 The Rangers were coming out from a very hot 
 time in front of the Hohenzollern Redoubt, 
 and the Royal Irish, as usual, were replacing 
 us. Marching up along the paved road to 
 Bethune, we met them. He was on foot, for 
 he never would ride during a march, and at 
 sight of me he came along the flank of his 
 company with both hands outstretched and his 
 face shining. Such a visage of welcome is 
 not often met, and it even struck the men. 
 'Dear oh, but the Captain seemed glad to see 
 you!' said one of my sergeants as he passed 
 on. That was his gift — the power of radiating 
 sympathy and affection. 
 
 "The second occasion was not a chance meet- 
 ing. News of the Easter Week rising reached 
 us just as the Brigade was going into the 
 trenches. ... It seemed to me that after what 
 had happened Irish members were wanted at 
 home, and I went to consult Redmond. His 
 company was in front line, and I found him 
 in the deep head-quarters dugout. He was 
 
INTRODUCTION 25 
 
 sitting with the usual papers in front of him — 
 returns to be rendered, reports to be sent in. 
 We went on deck to talk, for it was a fine night 
 in May. 'Anyhow,' I said, 'you are not fit 
 to go on with this.' 'No,' he said, 'I know I 
 am not fit.' Then I upbraided him, because 
 he had been put to other work out of the 
 trenches, and had given it up. But that, he 
 said, was only a subaltern's job, and a half- 
 time one. He agreed with me, however, about 
 going home, and we parted on the under- 
 standing that both should apply for leave. But 
 he never did so. He could not bring himself 
 to leave his post with his company till he 
 actually broke down in health, which happened 
 soon after. When he went back to France, 
 a post was given him on the Divisional Staff." 
 
 On March 16, 191 6, he appeared in the 
 House to speak on Army Estimates. "One 
 effect of the war on Major Redmond," says 
 the parliamentary correspondent of the Daily 
 Chronicle, "was to make him an orator. . . . 
 Willie's interruptions were witty and apposite, 
 but his set speeches seldom hit the mark. The 
 war, stirring him to the depths of his being, 
 unsealed the fount of his eloquence." 
 
 A most moving speech, this, in its matter, 
 appealing — how strange there should be need 
 
26 INTRODUCTION 
 
 for it ! — for a consideration of the war from a 
 human, not an official standpoint. In its man- 
 ner, it has the direct simplicity of his articles 
 from the trenches. A taste of its quality is 
 to be found in such words as these : 
 
 "I am happy to say that I am going back 
 to the front almost immediately. . . . Nothing 
 in the world can depress the spirits of the men 
 that I have seen at the front. I do not believe 
 there were ever enough Germans born into the 
 world to depress them. If it were possible to 
 depress them at all, it can only be done by 
 pursuing a course of embittered controversy in 
 this country as to the right way and wrong 
 way of conducting affairs at the front. . . . 
 All I ask is, that there shall be a truce to carp- 
 ing and criticism, and that when we get a 
 copy of a newspaper out there — and it's not 
 very regularly we get them — that may be an 
 advantage or a disadvantage; it all depends 
 on the newspaper — we shall not be obliged to 
 read ungenerous and bitter attacks on the pub- 
 lic men of all parties, who, I suppose, all pres- 
 ent will believe are trying to do their best. 
 ... If things go pretty well, and the men 
 are comfortable, they say 'Cheer oh !' If things 
 go badly, and the snow falls, and the rain 
 comes through the roof of a billet in an im- 
 
INTRODUCTION 27 
 
 possible sort of cowhouse, they say 'Cheer 
 oh !' still more. All we want out there is that 
 you should adopt the same tone, and say 'Cheer 
 oh!' to us." 
 
 In December (i.e. 19 16) he spoke again, 
 describing how Orange and Green fought to- 
 gether in brotherhood on the Somme, and urg- 
 ing them to meet on the floor of the proposed 
 Irish Convention. Charles Lamb, that lover 
 of all mankind, declared that he could never 
 hate any one whom he had actually seen. 
 Whether such a sentiment is common in Ire- 
 land, it is not for an English pen to conjec- 
 ture; that its spirit was in one Irishman is 
 obvious from the whole tone of the speech. It 
 was echoed by Father Donelly in Westminster 
 Cathedral : "Would to God that the whole of 
 Ireland were in Flanders to-day! Then there 
 would be peace." 
 
 "These men," said Major Redmond, "who 
 in times of political heat may have been un- 
 reasonable in their antagonism, and even in 
 their physical opposition to one another, have 
 recognised in the face of the enemy that they 
 are brother Irishmen. . . . All you want is to 
 get them together. They came together in 
 the trenches, and they were friends ; get them 
 together on the floor of an Assembly, or where 
 
28 INTRODUCTION 
 
 you will, in Ireland, and it is the opinion of 
 all of us that a similar result will occur. . . . 
 Let them — that is, the Ulstermen — agree to 
 give up their historical memories of events like 
 the Boyne and all the rest. While we will 
 never forget those who have suffered for our 
 country, we will also give up any celebration 
 that might be irritating, and we will begin 
 and build up out of this war a new and better 
 country, with Protestants and Catholics work- 
 ing side by side — a country based on the recog- 
 nition of Irishmen." 
 
 Are words like these to go down the wind 
 in vain ? 
 
 Major Redmond's last appearance before 
 Parliament was on March 7, 191 7, when he 
 seconded T. P. O'Connor's motion for im- 
 mediate Home Rule. It is impossible to read 
 his speech without being moved; what, then, 
 must have been its effect as delivered by him 
 whom the House "dearly loved," the war-worn 
 figure, speaking without notes, absorbed utterly 
 in his theme? "Men," says one eyewitness, 
 "listened to the orator spell-bound." "You 
 could hear," relates T. P. O'Connor, "the 
 heavy breathing of men around you, and I was 
 told by one who was in the gallery that men 
 around him sobbed and wept unabashed." This 
 
INTRODUCTION 29 
 
 memorable utterance — his dying speech, as it 
 may be called, and profession of faith — is 
 given verbatim in the Appendix. 
 
 The end was at hand. When the Great 
 Push came on, in June 1917, he was in per- 
 manent quarters in the little village of Lcecre, 
 near the parish church, and close to a convent 
 where a field hospital was established — where 
 also the nuns provided baths and good food for 
 the forces. Patrick Sarsfield fell not far off, 
 exclaiming with his last breath, "Would that 
 this blood had been shed for Ireland!" Here 
 Willie Redmond entertained, not only the Irish 
 Army chaplains, but officers of the Ulster Divi- 
 sion. For the account of these last days we 
 cannot do better than quote the words of Fath- 
 er Edmond Kelly, Chaplain to the Forces, in 
 a letter to Monsignor Ryan : 
 
 "During the three nights previous to the 
 battle, he and I slept in the cellar under the 
 chapel at the Hospice, and I can assure you 
 that he felt absolutely miserable at the idea of 
 being left behind. He had used every influence 
 with the General to get over the top with the 
 men, and ne had little hope of succeeding. He 
 spoke in the most feeling manner of what 
 awaited the poor fellows, and longed to share 
 their suffering and their fate. However, he 
 
30 INTRODUCTION 
 
 was not to be denied, and to his extreme 
 delight was given leave to charge with his old 
 battalion of the Royal Irish Regiment. He 
 put on his equipment in Father O'Connell's 
 room, and was simply bubbling over with joy. 
 While fastening the belts over his shoulders, 
 he was laughing with good humour. 'Won't 
 it be glorious to breast the sand-bags. with old 
 George Robey' — a private nickname he had 
 for a great friend of his — 'and all the boys?' 
 He went up to the trenches accompanied by 
 his servant Organ. When the men saw him, 
 they sent up a cheer. 'Sir,' said Organ, 'this 
 cheering is not good for you!' 'I'm afraid, 
 Organ,' answered the Major, 'that you have 
 got shell-shock already.' 
 
 "At ten minutes past three on the morning 
 of the 7th, the mines went up, and before the 
 burning earth had time to fall, Major William 
 Redmond, M.P. and founder of the Irish Divi- 
 sion, was over the top — the first man in the 
 division to face what to us looked something 
 like an overflow of hell itself. You can form 
 no true idea of the diabolic beauty and fury 
 of the whole scene — the flashes and thunder 
 of a thousand guns, the smell of poisonous gas, 
 the morning light stifled at its birth by the 
 smoke of battle, the cheering of our front bat- 
 
INTRODUCTION 31 
 
 talions. The poor Major fell wounded in the 
 leg and wrist, and, strangely enough, he was 
 found lying on the field by the stretcher-bear- 
 ers of the Ulster Division. They brought him 
 to their Aid Post, and thence to the Field Am- 
 bulance, and there he died. He received every 
 possible kindness from these Ulster soldiers. 
 In fact, an Englishman attached to the Ulster 
 Division expressed some surprise at the ex- 
 treme care which was taken of the poor Major, 
 though no Irish soldier expected anything else, 
 for after all, the Ulster men are Irish too. 
 
 "His body was laid out in the convent chapel, 
 before the altar where you used to say Mass 
 last Christmas, and he was buried quietly on 
 the evening of June 8, near the grotto in the 
 nuns' garden. May God have mercy on his 
 soul! No purer-hearted man, no braver sol- 
 dier, ever died on the battlefield. He was abso- 
 lutely convinced that he was dying for Ire- 
 land. ... In my humble opinion, Willie Red- 
 mond deserves the admiration of every man 
 capable of admiring sanctity in a Catholic, 
 valour in a soldier, and the most unselfish love 
 of country in a patriot." 
 
 The wisdom of those dark ages which, 
 around hearth-fire or hunter's fire, by ice-grey 
 sea or in illimitable forests, embodied itself 
 
32 INTRODUCTION 
 
 in the folk-lore of Northern Europe, has told 
 us by a thousand stories of shape-changing or 
 transformation that human blood poured out 
 is the sure magical means of delivering the 
 human captive doomed to wear the beast's like- 
 ness. This truth, then, before the advent even 
 of Christianity, was bred in the very bones 
 of our race. Here, in this book, we see how 
 the Dark Rosaleen found a lover who poured 
 out his life to win healing for her soul. Sigurd 
 the Dragon-slayer — King Arthur — Joan of 
 Arc — the procession of heroes emerges from 
 darkness, passing from hand to hand the flam- 
 ing sword of the Spirit. The generations come 
 and go; in no generation is the torch-bearer 
 lacking. The heart of our own generation, 
 purged by pity and terror, recognises that, last 
 in the order of time, but not least in the order 
 of heroic succession, it has seen such a torch- 
 bearer in the person of Willie Redmond. 
 
A GARDEN TRENCH 
 
A GARDEN TRENCH 
 
 (August 17, 1916) 
 
 There is a certain trench on the Western 
 front well known and much traversed by 
 our troops. It is one of the oldest trenches, 
 and was once in the possession of the en- 
 emy in the days when the enemy held that 
 particular part of France. 
 
 Trenches are much alike, and there is 
 as a rule nothing in the world to distin- 
 guish one from the other, save here and 
 there at junctions and corners, boards 
 which bear names just as names appear 
 at street corners. And it is the practice 
 to give the trenches the names of well- 
 known streets at home. There are Eng- 
 
 35 
 
36 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 lish, Scotch, Irish, and Welsh names ; and 
 most of the best known London street- 
 names figure in the list. 
 
 When a subaltern is told on a wet and 
 miserable night to take out a working 
 party, and when he is informed that his 
 destination is "Shaftesbury Avenue," or 
 Piccadilly, or Regent Street, it does not 
 improve his temper. He trudges off, feel- 
 ing keenly no doubt the strong contrast 
 between his muddy surroundings in the 
 trench, and the London thoroughfare 
 which calls before his mind prospects, 
 very likely dim and distant, of leave which 
 may or may not come. 
 
 The trench of which I am thinking and 
 writing had no alluring London name, but 
 it is nevertheless well known, and its name, 
 which need not be mentioned, is quite fa- 
 miliar to thousands of troops. A long 
 and weary trench it is, representing long 
 and weary labour. Many of the men who 
 dug it are now at rest for ever, but their 
 
A GARDEN TRENCH 37 
 
 work remains and will remain till the ar- 
 rival of that day when labour shall be 
 employed in filling and not in digging 
 trenches. And what a task that will be! 
 And how long a time will have to pass be- 
 fore the war-stricken fields of France and 
 Belgium recover from the frightful man- 
 gling which shot and shell and tramping 
 feet have caused ! 
 
 . In winter time the trench in my mind's 
 eye is dark, damp, forbidding, and gloomy. 
 A veritable lane of agony, where weary 
 feet fall and where no single bright spot 
 refdeems the dullness or catches the eye. 
 That is in winter. 
 
 In summer the trench is transformed. 
 Along the top at each side there are real 
 flower-bedSj running almost the full length 
 of the way. Not indeed flower-beds planted 
 by the hands of gardeners, but flower- 
 beds far more beautiful than ever planted 
 by human hands — flower-beds which are 
 the handiwork of Nature unaided. 
 
38 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 Poppies red and cornflowers blue spread 
 along in marvellous profusion. Daisies 
 white and yellow, and long sprays of 
 graceful grass, with here and there scraps 
 of waving corn, the wild product of some 
 long-ago sowing, before the land was 
 ploughed with shot and shell. The ears 
 of corn blend with the red poppies in far 
 more graceful arrangement than ever was 
 designed by even the most skilful florist 
 hand. 
 
 It is a bare, level plain where this gar- 
 den trench, as I call it, stretches; and the 
 wind sweeping along has carried the wild 
 flower seeds far and wide, and they have 
 rooted in the loosely turned soil along the 
 trench top. A more wonderful contrast 
 it would be hard to imagine than that af- 
 forded by the wonderful profusion of wild 
 flowers peering down and the dark depths 
 below. 
 
 On the Western front, at certain parts, 
 the land where two great armies contend is 
 
A GARDEN TRENCH 89 
 
 more or less on a dead level. Viewed 
 from above the whole country seems one 
 bare bleak plain. No trees, no hedges, no 
 fences — nothing save here and there the 
 wire entanglements before some redoubt 
 or specially guarded trench. And, most 
 remarkable of all, there is no sign of hu- 
 man life. Yet beneath the surface of the 
 earth are thousands and thousands of 
 men, on the alert, and leading an ordered 
 and disciplined existence. 
 
 In winter time this stretch of bleak 
 country, for the possession of which two 
 great armies contend, is forbidding in all 
 its aspects — a waste of trampled mud. In 
 summer it is ablaze with wild flowers. 
 The hum of bee and the song of bird are 
 in the air, and but for the thick unhealthy 
 clouds of smoke which follow the bursting 
 shells that drop ever and anon with a 
 mighty crash, the spectator might imagine 
 he was contemplating some scene of wild 
 land untrodden by man. There is nothing 
 
40 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 more striking than the difference between 
 the fighting area of the West in summer 
 and in winter, and this change has its ef- 
 fect upon the combatants. 
 
 The mass of wild flowers everywhere is 
 remarkable. As the soldiers pass their 
 weary way to and fro along the trenches, 
 the blossoms along each side wave and nod 
 as though encouraging them. And the 
 wounded, as they are carried along on the 
 stretchers through the trench, pass, one 
 might say, along an avenue of flowers, 
 and have their minds carried back to the 
 fields and pleasant places of their native 
 land. 
 
 Now and again a gust of wind will blow 
 the petals of the flaming poppies down, 
 and they lie at the bottom, looking against 
 the brown clay like bright red drops of 
 blood. Whilst human beings day and 
 night slaughter each other, Nature 
 marches her course unruffled. The flow- 
 ers bloom, the birds sing through the very 
 
A GARDEN TRENCH 41 
 
 smoke of battle, and even the trenches, the 
 very paths to destruction, are lavishly dec- 
 orated by Nature's hand and made beauti- 
 ful, as though in mockery of the waste 
 and horror created by war-waging man. 
 
 And here and there, amidst the tangle 
 of wild flowers on the plains that have 
 been fought over, have been planted thou- 
 sands of the little rude wooden crosses 
 which roughly mark the last resting- 
 places of the fallen. In winter these little 
 memorials seem grim and lonely. Not so 
 under the summer sun, for then they are 
 garlanded and bedecked by Nature with a 
 lavish hand. 
 
 The writer came the other day upon the 
 roughly made cross of wood which marked 
 the grave of a French infantryman. His 
 name and regiment were rudely carved on 
 the cross, with the date of his death, and 
 beneath were the words, in French, "Dead 
 on the Field of Honour." 
 
42 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 Those who were dear to this soldier may 
 never have an opportunity of standing by 
 his grave or tending it. They need not 
 grieve, however, for Nature has done all 
 that could be required or wished for. A 
 quilt of wild-flowers covers this humble 
 resting-place, and red poppies and blue 
 cornflowers nestle around the little cross, 
 and with every breath of wind nod and 
 point to the words, "Dead on the Field of 
 Honour!" 
 
 So it is. Whilst man makes the earth 
 hideous and lacerates it with shot and 
 shell, Nature gently covers up the ravages 
 of war and makes even the grave and the 
 trench very often beautiful. All of which 
 but goes to prove, as one of our chaplains 
 said, that there is after all a Power higher 
 and mightier than the power of the "All 
 Highest War Lord." 
 
II 
 
 TO CHARING CROSS VIA THE RED 
 CROSS 
 
II 
 
 TO CHARING CROSS VIA THE RED 
 CROSS 
 
 (September n, 1916) 
 
 Whatever criticisms or complaints may 
 be heard from time to time as to other 
 departments connected with the war, it is 
 true to say that there is general agreement 
 as to the very excellent way in which the 
 R.A.M.C. have conducted their most ur- 
 gent and important work. 
 
 As a matter of fact, there is very little 
 complaining at all on the part of the sol- 
 dier abroad — certainly in France. Hard- 
 ships and trials of all kinds are encoun- 
 tered and borne with splendid fortitude. 
 This fine spirit is very largely the result of 
 the comforting feeling which the soldier 
 45 
 
46 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 has, that should wounds or sickness be his 
 lot he is able to count on the very best of 
 care. Directly a man in the field is strick- 
 en dawn, he receives the most prompt and 
 skilful and careful treatment. 
 
 How many of the crowds who in sym- 
 pathy assemble at Charing Cross and other 
 stations to watch the arrival of the 
 wounded from the front, realise the speed 
 and skill with which the wounded men 
 have been conveyed home? 
 
 The organisation of the Army Medical 
 Corps, aided by the Red Cross and the 
 many other kindred associations, is simply 
 a marvel of devoted labour and scientific 
 arrangement. In many cases little more 
 than twenty- four hours elapse from the 
 time a man is wounded in the front line to 
 the time when he finds himself, cleansed 
 and comfortable and safe, in the bed of 
 some London hospital. 
 
 Let those who contribute to Red Cross 
 work, and particularly to motor ambulance 
 
TO CHARING CROSS VIA RED CROSS 47 
 
 funds, feel quite sure that they get full 
 value for their money in the help and com- 
 fort they have brought to those who need 
 help and comfort most — the men who have 
 shed their blood at the front in defence of ' 
 the Line. 
 
 The writer has seen the work of the 
 R.A.M.C. right from the trench to the hos- 
 pital. It is a very wonderful chain which 
 links the trench with London, and every 
 link is as nearly perfect as possible. Begin 
 at the trench. A man is wounded on the 
 fire step. With little delay his wound is 
 treated with first-aid appliances, either by 
 his nearest comrade or by the stretcher- 
 bearers — devoted men who are ever at 
 their posts and ready under all circum- 
 stances. The little "first-aid" packet 
 which every soldier carries is taken from 
 the wounded soldier's pocket. His clothes 
 are cut to expose the wound, which is at 
 once roughly dressed. 
 
 If the man can walk he is brought to the 
 
48 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 trench dressing station, or if he cannot 
 walk he is carried on a stretcher. At the 
 dressing station the battalion doctor treats 
 the wound, and the man is taken down 
 from the trenches to the nearest field am- 
 bulance, where his wound is again dealt 
 with. 
 
 If the soldier can be moved with safety 
 a Red Cross motor hurries him to the 
 nearest field hospital. If the wound is of 
 a sufficiently serious nature to claim pro- 
 longed treatment, he is, as soon as possible, 
 placed in an ambulance train with com- 
 fortable fittings and skilled nurses. The 
 train is timed to meet the ambulance ship 
 at the port of embarkation, and the 
 wounded man is carefully carried on 
 board, and in due course arrives at Char- 
 ing Cross or whatever the station may be, 
 and so on to one of the many hospitals 
 now available. 
 
 In many cases, as I say, the transfer 
 from the grimy trench and the sound of 
 
TO CHARING CROSS VIA RED CROSS 49 
 
 the guns, to the comfort and peace of the 
 home hospital, is all carried out in very 
 little more than the twenty-four hours of 1 
 the day and the night. 
 
 So it is that thousands of men are con- 
 veyed home every week. It all represents 
 a most wonderful and efficient and never- 
 resting organisation of devoted men and 
 women, commencing with the stretcher- 
 bearers on the field, and ending only with 
 the doctors and nurses in the home hos- 
 pital. 
 
 Probably in the world's history no such 
 perfect arrangements have ever been made 
 for the care of the wounded and the sick. 
 This, of course, refers particularly to the 
 wounded from France and Belgium. 
 
 Happy, indeed, would be the stricken on 
 the more distant fronts could they be con- 
 veyed home with the same celerity. To 
 the members of the R.A.M.C. of all ranks 
 in this war, too much praise cannot be 
 given. From the most highly placed doc- 
 
50 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 tors to the youngest stretcher-bearers, 
 they deserve the warmest thanks of the 
 Army and the country. Be it remembered 
 also that these men do their duty at the 
 very front in large numbers, and that 
 many of the field ambulances are under 
 constant fire. 
 
 The work of the R.A.M.C. is performed 
 under circumstances of difficulty and dan- 
 ger little dreamt of by many people at 
 home. The rudest kind of shelter in the 
 trench, or amidst ruined walls, is often all 
 the protection the surgeon and his assist- 
 ants have, and very often indeed they 
 have to tend the wounded on the open field 
 itself. 
 
 Every one of the wounded men we see 
 arriving at Charing Cross has reached 
 home via the Red Cross service; that is 
 to say, from the moment he leaves the 
 trench till he arrives in London, he has 
 passed through the hands of a devoted 
 and heroic band of men and women — doc- 
 
TO CHARING CROSS VIA RED CROSS SI 
 
 tors, nurses, and attendants — who have 
 ceaselessly tended him on stretcher, on 
 hospital bed, on motor-car, on train, and 
 on barge and boat. 
 
 The cases which cannot at once be dealt 
 with by transfer to the home hospitals are 
 treated in the stationary hospitals some- 
 what back from the line ; and these estab- 
 lishments have been instituted and 
 equipped with a thoroughness and up-to- 
 date scientific arrangement which would 
 do credit to any hospitals in the whole 
 world. 
 
 The writer recently visited two of these 
 places in the north of France, one having 
 for its headquarters an old chateau, and 
 the other a large school. Nothing could 
 have been better than these hospitals, no- 
 where could the comfort of the wounded 
 be more closely studied, and nowhere could 
 more skilful surgery or more trained and 
 careful nursing be found. 
 
 To visit one of these establishments, as 
 
52 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 Mr. Asquith did not so long ago, one might 
 have thought that they were the result of 
 years of thought and labour on the spot. 
 But, on the contrary, the hospitals have 
 just sprung into existence with the neces- 
 sities of the war. 
 
 Everything, literally everything, had to 
 be done, to fashion and shape unlikely 
 places into suitable hospital accommoda- 
 tion. Swiftly and well has the work been 
 done under the skill and energy of the 
 R.A.M.C. Everything is as perfect as 
 work and tireless energy and skill can 
 achieve. Wards spotlessly clean, filled 
 with rows and rows of beds also spotlessly 
 clean ; operating rooms, with the latest ap- 
 pliances of science ; baths and stores, kitch- 
 ens and playgrounds, even; and gardens 
 filled with flowers, where the convalescent 
 may take the air, and gradually draw back 
 the strength of which cruel wounds have 
 robbed them. 
 
 These mushroom hospitals behind the 
 
TO CHARING CROSS VIA RED CROSS 53 
 
 fighting line are indeed a continual source 
 of wonder to those who see them, and who 
 take the trouble to reflect on all that has 
 had to be done quickly, and in the face of 
 all sorts of difficulties. 
 
 And all the time the movement and 
 change in these havens of mercy and rest 
 go on. Hundreds of new patients arrive, 
 and hundreds leave by boat or barge or 
 train or car constantly, either for the coast 
 or back to the line. And as each particu- 
 lar patient comes, he is dealt with sepa- 
 rately and carefully. His clothes are 
 taken and cleansed and labelled! till he 
 needs them. His rifle and his equipment 
 are similarly dealt with; and when he is 
 ready for transfer or discharge, his be- 
 longings are ready to his hand, bright, 
 clean, and complete in every way. 
 
 Nothing that is needed for the recovery 
 and comfort of the wounded soldier is 
 overlooked, and — it will interest the tax- 
 payer to learn — economy is practised 
 
54i TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 where possible and consistent with effi- 
 ciency. All improvements and light labour 
 about these places are done as far as pos- 
 sible by convalescents who are able for 
 work, and who indeed are glad to be of 
 use to those of their comrades who are 
 not so far recovered as themselves. 
 
 The colonel of the R.A.M.C. at the head 
 of one of these splendid hospitals, who 
 was so good as to spare a little time in 
 showing me round, noticed that I very 
 much admired the really beautiful flowers 
 in the grounds. "Oh!" said he, "don't 
 think we employ gardeners. Those flower 
 beds were made by one of the convales- 
 cents. There he is. He was a gardener 
 to the Duke of — = — before he joined the 
 New Army." 
 
 And so, according to their trades, the 
 convalescent men help the hospitals and 
 do something to make them better for 
 those who may come after them. The 
 napkin rings and salt cellars on the offi- 
 
TO CHARING CROSS VIA RED CROSS 55 
 
 cers' mess table were fashioned by a sol- 
 dier tinsmith out of old biscuit boxes ! 
 
 As in the trenches, so also in these hos- 
 pitals; when he is able, Tommy does his 
 little bit to help things along. Long rows 
 of tents stretching away on either side of 
 the chateau I found to be equipped with 
 beds, in the warm weather of summer 
 forming the coolest and most comfortable 
 hospital wards imaginable. 
 
 Every conceivable ailment I found pro- 
 vided for. For the teeth a dental depart- 
 ment with everything necessary, and a 
 large staff and specialists. The same pro- 
 vision and care for the eye — eye special- 
 ists, with their assistants, testing the eyes 
 of the men and supplying suitable glasses 
 where required. Everything is thought 
 of, everything is done for the men, and it 
 has all come about so suddenly that the 
 completeness of the arrangements is mar- 
 vellous. 
 
 To speak personally, the writer of these 
 
56 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 lines visited this particular hospital for a 
 little eye trouble of his own. He had the 
 attention and examination, as any Tommy 
 might, of an eye specialist from Harley 
 Street. And this within an hour or so of 
 the front line. It just illustrates the way 
 in which things are done and the way in 
 which the medical men of the country 
 have come to do their bit, leaving home 
 and comfort, ay, and good practices, too, 
 behind them. 
 
 From the school which I have men- 
 tioned as one of the hospitals visited, all 
 the pupils had gone, but the members of 
 the Order of Teaching Brothers had re- 
 mained. Venerable old Frenchmen, they 
 glided with noiseless steps here and there 
 about the corridors, and smiled as they 
 passed the doctors and nurses, seeming 
 quite glad that their monastery should be 
 used for so beautiful a purpose as shelter- 
 ing the stricken in war. 
 
 In one of the wards I noticed all the 
 
TO CHARING CROSS VIA RED CROSS 57 
 
 suffering had head injuries, and some of 
 them did indeed seem dreadfully wounded. 
 It made one's heart feel heavy — the sight 
 of so many men in the springtime of youth 
 suffering so much. Yet coming away one 
 felt glad at heart also to see the care taken 
 of our wounded : the wards were so beau- 
 tifully kept, with flowers here and there, 
 and the glare of the August sunshine was 
 carefully shaded from the pale faces in 
 the beds. 
 
 Who can estimate how much has been 
 done by the women who have crossed the 
 seas and come to nurse the soldiers ? Who 
 can ever properly repay them? One can 
 only say now and always, "Hats off to the 
 brave nurses in this war, and God bless 
 them!" That is, at any rate, how the 
 writer of these lines felt after visiting 
 these hospitals — situated, be it remem- 
 bered, within an easy drive of the firing 
 trenches. 
 
 As we left the building a number of 
 
58 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FKANCE 
 
 newly arrived wounded men were being 
 received in the corridor. There they lay, 
 with eyes closed, very quietly, on the 
 stretchers. One felt glad to know, and 
 every helper of the Red Cross should feel 
 glad to know, that these poor victims of 
 the war will, at any rate, receive all the 
 aid that skill and devoted care can give 
 them in these hospitals, which are an ever- 
 lasting tribute to the R.A.M.C. 
 
 As we drove away back towards the 
 front the bell in the old school chapel be- 
 gan gently to clang out the Angelus, call- 
 ing the aged monks to prayer, and it was 
 a very pleasant sound, and soothing and 
 appropriate too. 
 
Ill 
 
 AS THEY FOUGHT, SO THEY DIED 
 
Ill 
 
 AS THEY FOUGHT, SO THEY DIED 
 
 (September 13, 1916) 
 
 It is in a cemetery in France, one of those 
 
 cemeteries which have sprung up during 
 
 the war, and where the graves are all 
 
 quite new. All around, the little crosses 
 
 bear the names of men belonging to many 
 
 British regiments; with here and there 
 
 French names, under which are inscribed 
 
 the words "Mort pour La France." 
 
 Two graves lie open, waiting to receive 
 
 the dead; close by, a group of officers 
 
 stand, and the men who have made the 
 
 graves are in the background leaning on 
 
 their spades. A little way off, an old man 
 
 and some women are busy saving a field of 
 61 
 
62 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 corn, and the whirring noise of a reaping 
 machine sounds drowsily on the air. 
 
 From a greater distance comes the dull 
 roar of guns, and overhead an aeroplane 
 circles like some giant bird. The group of 
 officers by the grave side includes two 
 chaplains, one Church of England and one 
 a Catholic priest. They have come to bury 
 two young officers, both Irish, but of dif- 
 ferent Churches. 
 
 Presently a little procession arrives: a 
 motor wagon, looking strangely incongru- 
 ous in the cemetery, and behind it a little 
 company of the men belonging to the regi- 
 ment of the dead officers. They stand 
 around the opened earth like statues, their 
 faces set in an expression of pain. The 
 eyes of some are filled with tears, for they 
 knew well and loved their young leaders 
 — young, indeed, they were : merely boys. 
 
 Reverently the remains are lifted to the 
 grave ; there are no coffins here. The bod- 
 ies, swathed in the ordinary brown Army 
 
AS THEY FOUGHT, SO THEY DIED 63 
 
 blankets, are lowered into the grave side 
 by side, shoulder to shoulder, just as in life 
 the boys had lain in their rude shelter in 
 the trenches for many days and many 
 nights. The chaplains read the burial 
 services of their respective Churches. 
 "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Some soil 
 of France is shovelled into the graves, and 
 soon the little group of mourners melts 
 away. 
 
 As the men of the dead officers' regi- 
 ment march off, they gaze up reverently 
 as they pass by the great Crucifix in the 
 centre of the cemetery. It is to them not 
 only a symbol of the hope of salvation, but 
 a symbol of the glory and majesty of a 
 death suffered for the sake of others. 
 And so the soldiers pass along, more rec- 
 onciled to the loss of their two young lead- 
 ers, for they certainly did suffer death 
 bravely and most willingly for the sake of 
 others — for the sake of those at home in 
 the country they loved. 
 
64 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 One of these gallant young officers was 
 twenty-two, the other but twenty-one. 
 They left Ireland with hearts overflowing 
 with the joy of life, and with that glorious 
 spirit of youth which fills the world with 
 a seemingly never-fading beauty and hap- 
 piness. One boy left his University, and 
 the other the threshold of a great profes- 
 sion, and they went to the trenches of 
 France, where they met death absolutely 
 without fear. 
 
 And every month thousands of all ranks 
 are dying thus. In the cemetery where the 
 writer stood by the graves of these two 
 boys he counted in one tiny corner alone, 
 eleven white crosses newly erected. Each 
 of these crosses bore the name of a young 
 Irish officer, and in only one instance was 
 the recorded age more than twenty-five 
 years. 
 
 These young men came from the North 
 of Ireland and from the South, with the 
 famous Irish regiments — the Connaught 
 
AS THEY FOUGHT, SO THEY DIED 65 
 
 Rangers, the Dublin Fusiliers, the Irish 
 Rifles, the Munsters, the Leinsters, the 
 Inniskillings, or the Royal Irish. They 
 professed different creeds; they held dif- 
 ferent views on politics and public affairs ; 
 but they were knitted and welded into one 
 by a common cause. They fought side by 
 side for their country, they died side by 
 side, and in this little French cemetery, 
 with the great cross, they lie side by side 
 in their last long sleep. 
 
 And so to-day do Irishmen rest in all 
 the fields in the long-stretched battle lines 
 of Europe. Would that all those who still 
 may harbour bitterness and rancour 
 against any of their own countrymen in 
 Ireland might stand for even one moment 
 and read the cross inscriptions in the cem- 
 eteries of France! Those inscriptions 
 which tell of the glorious and eternal 
 union of brave Protestant and Catholic, 
 and Northern and Southern Irish hearts 1 
 
IV 
 THE TAKING OF GINCHY 
 
IV 
 THE TAKING OF GINCHY 
 
 {September 19, 1916) 
 
 Irish Regiments which took part in the 
 capture of Guillemont behaved with the 
 greatest dash and gallantry, and took no 
 small share in the success gained that day. 
 — Sir Douglas Haig's report, September 8. 
 
 The fine work of Irish troops from Con- 
 naught, Leinster, and Munster, already 
 mentioned in connection with the capture 
 of Guillemont, was carried on yesterday 
 by the same troops in the attack on Gin- 
 chy. — Sir Douglas Haig's report, Septem- 
 ber 10. 
 
 The Germans surrendered very freely, 
 
 and in very few instances waited for the 
 
 69 
 
70 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 bayonets of the Irish. When able, the 
 enemy made good his retreat, but when 
 this was not possible he surrendered and 
 threw down his arms. In some cases, 
 however, treachery was attempted. 
 
 I met a Munster Fusilier who in the 
 confusion of the battle had got separated 
 from his battalion. He was resting by 
 the road waiting to find some one who 
 could direct him to his headquarters. He 
 was covered with mud, but full of genuine 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 I asked if his battalion had made many 
 prisoners. He replied "Yes"; but added 
 that once or twice the Germans had tried 
 treacherous tricks. One party advanced 
 as if to surrender, shouting "Kamerad! 
 Kamerad !" and when about twenty yards 
 off opened fire. I asked the Munster man 
 what then took place, and he replied, "We 
 knocked them over till further orders." 
 
 In almost every case, however, the Ger- 
 mans came in freely and willingly. There 
 
THE TAKING OF GINCHY 71 
 
 could be no mistaking their relief when 
 their surrender was accepted, or their de- 
 lighted surprise at being treated decently. 
 They presented — even the officers — a woe- 
 begone appearance; and it transpired that 
 for three days it had been impossible to 
 supply them with rations or water, so ter- 
 rific had been the British artillery fire. 
 
 All the prisoners asked at once, some 
 in English and others by gesture, for wa- 
 ter, which was of course supplied to them. 
 Those who were wounded were most 
 kindly looked after by the surgeons, and 
 also by the chaplains of all denominations. 
 
 An Irish Catholic priest was very eager- 
 ly surrounded by some of the prisoners 
 — Bavarians — and they were more than 
 pleased when wounded to receive the chap- 
 lain's ministrations. Some of the Germans 
 spoke a little English, and the chaplain had 
 some slight knowledge of German, so that 
 conversation was possible. 
 
 One prisoner said: "We do not want 
 
72 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 war — it is the war of the rich man, and 
 the poor always suffer." 
 
 Another man, who was wounded, 
 begged the chaplain to write to his mother 
 in Germany to let her know he was safe. 
 The prisoners were utilised to carry the 
 stretchers with our wounded, and they 
 seemed quite willing to help in this work. 
 
 Nearly all the Irish possessed some 
 trophies of the fight, and it was a common 
 sight to see even the wounded on the 
 stretchers clutching in their hands Gei- 
 man helmets, electric torches, and bits of 
 enemy equipment. 
 
 At the advanced dressing station the 
 scene was wonderful. Prisoners and our 
 wounded came in in streams, and it was 
 terrible to see the suffering of the men. 
 But suffering was borne most bravely, and 
 the uppermost sentiment seemed to be one 
 of intense pride that the Irish regiments 
 had done the work allotted to them. 
 
 Many of our wounded were just boys, 
 
THE TAKING OF GINCHY 73 
 
 and it was extraordinary how they bore 
 pain which must have been intense. Very 
 few murmurings were heard. One young 
 man said to the chaplain, "Oh, Father, it 
 is hard to die so far from home in the 
 wilds of France !" Certainly the fair land 
 of France just here did seem wild — the 
 trees all torn and riven with shot and the 
 earth on every side ploughed with huge 
 shell holes. 
 
 The prisoners seemed very anxious to 
 know where they were to be sent, and one 
 or two asked if there were any chance of 
 their being sent to England, where they 
 were very anxious to go. It is hard to 
 judge men who are prisoners and dis- 
 hevelled and without equipment, but it was 
 very noticeable that the Germans were by 
 no means as smart as our own men. The 
 grey uniform is not attractive, and in most 
 cases it appeared ill-fitting and gave an 
 awkward appearance to the prisoners. 
 
 Physically, these prisoners were mostly 
 
74 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 imposing, but here and there very miser- 
 able specimens of humanity were observed, 
 and naturally they all wore a very dejected 
 expression. Whenever an officer passed 
 they sprang to attention with an almost 
 startled look, as though they were afraid. 
 
 The Irishmen, while clearly immensely 
 pleased with themselves, showed no undue 
 exultation, and their demeanour towards 
 their captives was good-humoured and 
 even kind. It was pleasant to see how 
 tenderly they helped the wounded Ger- 
 mans along; and down the road from the 
 dressing station, it was a common sight to 
 see our men helping along prisoners just 
 as kindly as if they were their own com- 
 rades. 
 
 The losses in the Irish battalions were 
 naturally heavy, but by no means very 
 great in view of the work that had been 
 done. Some very valuable officers fell, 
 notably Colonel Lennox Cuningham, who 
 was killed leading his battalion very gal- 
 
THE TAKING OF GINCHY 75 
 
 lantly in the attack. He was buried close 
 by in a little churchyard behind the lines, 
 amidst every possible manifestation of 
 grief and respect. 
 
 Other gallant officers fell similarly, in- 
 cluding Major Naylor, of the Royal Irish 
 Regiment. 
 
 Alike before, during, and after the at- 
 tack on Guillemont the British guns were 
 incessantly in action. The artillery is 
 wonderful, and the common comment on 
 it all is one of high compliment to the 
 munition workers at home, without whose 
 labour the men at the front would be in- 
 deed powerless. In this battle of Guille- 
 mont it should be borne in mind that the 
 Irish regiments were opposed by picked 
 German troops — Brandenburgers. 
 
 A few days after the attack on Guille- 
 mont, the whole Irish Division, compris- 
 ing battalions of all the famous Irish regi- 
 ments, entered the line and joined in an 
 advance which was attended with success, 
 
76 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 but also with considerable losses. The 
 Irish troops have certainly borne a fair 
 share in the fighting on the Somme. First 
 the Ulster Division, and subsequently an- 
 other division brilliantly capturing Guille- 
 mont; and then, within four or five days, 
 Ginchy — a specially fine achievement. 
 
 At 3.45 on September 9 the latter divi- 
 sion advanced upon Ginchy. The regi- 
 ments comprising it had had a hard and 
 trying time for many months in the 
 trenches farther north, and had had little 
 or no rest. Nevertheless, the men went 
 to work with positive enthusiasm, and, in 
 spite of a terrible barrage by enemy artil- 
 lery and rifle and machine-gun fire, they 
 carried all before them. 
 
 Three of the Irish regiments — from 
 Leinster, Connaught, and Munster — had 
 only a few days before won Guillemont; 
 but, nevertheless, even these battalions ad- 
 vanced with much spirit and dash. 
 
 Several previous efforts had been made 
 
THE TAKING OF GINCHY 77 
 
 to capture Ginchy, but it was "reserved" 
 for this division to accomplish that very- 
 important achievement. The losses were 
 high, for the work was of a very difficult 
 nature, but the result of capturing Ginchy 
 will have far-reaching effects upon the 
 whole campaign; and this is not the only 
 or the main compensation for losses sus- 
 tained. 
 
 It is not too much to say that the whole 
 Army on the Somme has expressed warm 
 admiration for the action of the Irish 
 troops ; and the capture of Ginchy, coming 
 hot-foot on the taking of Guillemont, has 
 put, it is safe to say, an entirely new com- 
 plexion on the whole position in this part 
 of the line on the Somme. 
 
 A captured German officer declared that 
 his people had believed that Ginchy could 
 not be taken. "But," he added, "you at- 
 tacked us with devils, not men — no one 
 could withstand them." 
 
 A notable feature of the charge on 
 
78 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 Ginchy was that the Irishmen sang Irish 
 patriotic songs, one battalion to the other, 
 as they charged, and the effect created was 
 most inspiring. 
 
V 
 THE CAMP-FIRE PRAYER 
 
THE CAMP-FIRE PRAYER 
 
 (September 26, 1916) 
 
 The men were encamped, or, rather, 
 bivouacked, on the bare side of a hill. 
 They had no cover, no tents, and simply 
 lay upon the ground with such small shel- 
 ter as their waterproof sheets afforded 
 them. 
 
 It was a bleak and desolate scene, re- 
 lieved only here and there by the bright 
 sparkle of little fires around which the 
 Irish soldiers clustered. 
 
 Bleak and desolate as the prospect was, 
 the spirits of the men were high and buoy- 
 ant. Some of them sang, others were busy 
 
 in cleaning their rifles and equipment. 
 81 
 
82 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 Bursts of laughter rang out in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 It was really wonderful, passing 
 through the many groups, to notice the en- 
 tire absence of anything like depression. 
 Yet these men who lay about upon the 
 bare earth had but newly arrived after a 
 long and weary march over a bad road, 
 and during a perfectly terrible downpour 
 of rain. 
 
 Everybody knew that the next day was 
 to be the day of battle — the day for which 
 for nearly two years the new battalions 
 had trained, ever since they first came to- 
 gether on the banks of the Blackwater 
 away in Ireland. 
 
 It really and truly seemed as if it were 
 the very prospect of the struggle on the 
 morrow which kept these damp and travel- 
 stained fellows in good heart ! 
 
 Yet each man knew, deep in his heart, 
 that, by the next night, many of them 
 would have gone for ever. 
 
THE CAMP-FIRE PRAYER 83 
 
 At one side of the hill where the men 
 lay, a fife-and-drum band was playing 
 well-known Irish airs, and they were lis- 
 tened to with keen appreciation and re- 
 warded by cheers. 
 
 There was no uncertainty in the minds 
 of the men as to the result of the attack 
 which they were about to make. "It's all 
 right; we shall have Guillemont to-mor- 
 row." That is what they said, and they 
 said it with a conviction which was im- 
 pressive, and yet without boasting or ar- 
 rogance. 
 
 At the same time, these men, so gay 
 and light-hearted, are filled with the deep- 
 est and purest feelings of religion. The 
 majority of these Irish soldiers are Roman 
 Catholics, and even those who cannot 
 agree with the doctrines of that creed, 
 never fail to admire the devotion and 
 steadfastness with which the Irishmen ad- 
 here to their faith under all circumstances. 
 
 On the particular night to which the 
 
84 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 writer refers, just as the camp-fires were 
 dying down and the men were preparing 
 to wrap themselves in their coats for the 
 rest which they might be able to snatch, 
 an officer came over the side of the hill 
 and down to the centre of the camp. 
 
 It was the Catholic chaplain — a devoted 
 priest who had been with the Irish troops 
 in Ireland, in England, and in France, and 
 whose never-ceasing work is keenly appre- 
 ciated by all ranks. In a moment he was 
 surrounded by the men. They came to 
 him without orders — they came gladly 
 and willingly — and they hailed his visit 
 with manifest delight. He spoke to them 
 in the simple, homely language which they 
 liked. 
 
 He spoke of the sacrifice which they had 
 made, in freely and promptly leaving their 
 homes to fight for a cause which was the 
 cause of religion, freedom and civilisation. 
 
 He reminded them that in this struggle 
 they were most certainly defending the 
 
THE CAMP-FIRE PRAYER 85 
 
 homes and the relations and friends they 
 had left behind them in Ireland. It was a 
 simple, yet most moving address, and 
 deeply affected the soldiers. 
 
 When the chaplain had finished his ad- 
 dress he signed to the men to kneel, and 
 administered to them the General Absolu- 
 tion given in times of emergency. The 
 vast majority of the men present knelt, 
 and those of other faith stood by in atti- 
 tudes of reverent respect. The chaplain 
 then asked the men to recite with him the 
 Rosary. 
 
 It was most wonderful, the effect pro- 
 duced as hundreds and hundreds of voices, 
 repeated the prayers and recited the 
 words "Pray for us now and at the hour 
 of our death. Amen." 
 
VI 
 HOW THE COLONEL CAME BACK 
 
VI 
 HOW THE COLONEL CAME BACK 
 
 {October 6, 1916) 
 
 The; field kitchens had gone up the long 
 dark road in the direction where the divi- 
 sion had been engaged in action. It was 
 a very successful action, and all the news 
 which trickled back was very cheering. 
 
 True, there had been many, many 
 losses, both in officers and men, but even 
 these, saddening as they were, were al- 
 most forgotten for the time in the exulta- 
 tion felt at what had been achieved. 
 
 The division had gone through most 
 gloriously. The position to be assaulted 
 had already, in the course of the long 
 drawn-out battle, been assaulted six times, 
 but without success. 
 
 8g 
 
90 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 For two years the Germans had been 
 entrenched there, and they had, as well 
 they know how, made the position very 
 strong. Barbed-wire entanglements of the 
 most intricate kind ; machine-gun emplace- 
 ments where the guns, by cunningly con- 
 trived lifts, could disappear during bom- 
 bardment and reappear at once after- 
 wards. Everything that could be con- 
 trived to ward off attacks had been con- 
 trived, and quite openly the enemy boasted 
 that the place was impregnable. 
 
 Now, however, the joyful news came 
 that in the seventh attack the "old Irish 
 Division" had won through. 
 
 The following day the victorious bat- 
 talions worked hard "consolidating" the 
 ground won and digging themselves in to 
 resist counter-attacks. When night came 
 they would be relieved by fresh troops; 
 and so when night did come, and it came 
 loweringly, with angry, black clouds 
 sweeping across the moon, the field kitch-' 
 
HOW THE COLONEL CAME BACK 91 
 
 ens were sent up the long dark road down 
 which the men would march from the bat- 
 tlefield. 
 
 Midway along the road some of the bat- 
 talions would bivouac for the night at each 
 side. So the transport officers hurried off 
 the field kitchens to meet them and to pre- 
 pare hot soup, tea, and everything possible 
 for the weary soldiers who for two days 
 and two nights had been fighting and ad- 
 vancing with only such food as they might 
 carry in their haversacks. 
 
 This long, dark road was intermittently 
 shelled; but had it been shelled on every 
 yard of it the transport men would will- 
 ingly have gone up it to meet their battle- 
 worn comrades. 
 
 The great majority of the wounded had 
 been picked up and dealt with; but after 
 an action, wounded men are encountered 
 singly and in little groups — men who have 
 been sheltering in shell-holes and unable 
 
92 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 for the time to reach assistance or make 
 their plight known. 
 
 From these returning sufferers much 
 information is gleaned by the men of the 
 transport as they pass along. Comrades 
 are inquired for and officers asked after. 
 Sometimes the answer is "Dead," some- 
 times "Wounded," and sometimes it is 
 hard to get definite news. 
 
 On the night to which the writer refers 
 the transport men of a certain battalion 
 asked many questions of the men they 
 met coming down from the front. Nearly 
 all the questions included inquiries as to 
 the colonel. "How is the old CO.? Is 
 he all right?" Particularly anxiously did 
 the colonel's groom ask this question. 
 
 At last there is the steady noise of 
 marching feet. The battalion has arrived, 
 and all is stir about the kitchens. 
 
 The colonel's servant meets a man of 
 his own company, very tired, very muddy, 
 and very careworn-looking. "Hullo, Pat ! 
 
HOW THE COLONEL CAME BACK 93 
 
 Glad to see you, old man! Is the CO. 
 come ?" 
 
 Pat stops suddenly, and looks up a little 
 startled and surprised. 
 
 "The CO.? Yes, ah, yes! The CO. 
 has come!" And heartily rejoiced at the 
 news, the colonel's servant hurries off to 
 the cook sergeant for the hot tea he has 
 arranged to be ready for his master. 
 
 Even the most weary and worn-out sol- 
 diers let their tongues wag when they come 
 to the field kitchens and know that some 
 hot food is at hand. 
 
 It is strange to-night, though, how silent 
 the men are. They sink to the ground- 
 slowly, they seem even indifferent to the 
 greetings of the transport men — they even 
 ignore the kitchens ! 
 
 The colonel's servant comes hurrying 
 along with a steaming cup in his hand. 
 He stops near the shelter he has put up 
 for his master behind the wagon. There 
 is an officer standing close by. "Very glad 
 
94 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 to see you safe, captain! Is the colonel 
 here, sir?" 
 
 The officer looks up, his face haggard. 
 Pointing to the shelter, he replies to the 
 servant in a low voice, "Yes, oh, yes, the 
 colonel is here." Very eagerly the servant 
 goes towards the rude shelter, saying, 
 "Colonel, indeed I am glad you are back. 
 I have your tea, sir ; or perhaps you would 
 like a little soup; or else maybe " 
 
 The officer interrupts him, and, laying 
 his hand upon his shoulder, says : "Don't 
 you understand, man? — the colonel " 
 
 The two men stare at each other. In a 
 flash the servant now understands ! Very 
 tenderly they raise the covering from the 
 body, and by the light of an electric torch 
 they look at the calm, dead face. 
 
 Yes, the colonel is here. He might, in- 
 deed, be sleeping, so peaceful he seems, his 
 hands clasped across his breast, over the 
 mud-stained and blood-stained uniform. A 
 long, cruel gash spreads over one cheek — 
 
HOW THE COLONEL CAME BACK 95 
 
 not disfiguring but rather, indeed, enno- 
 bling the more the face which the men had 
 always thought looked noble. 
 
 When the morning dawned they carried 
 him, mourning and with respect, to the 
 graveyard in the little ruined town near 
 by. 
 
 And thus it was the colonel came back 
 with his battalion. 
 
VII 
 IN THE DARKENED CHURCH 
 
VII 
 IN THE DARKENED CHURCH 
 
 (January 29, 1917) 
 
 It is true, alas ! that in the war zone — that 
 is to say, close by the very front — there is 
 little to be seen that is other than sadden- 
 ing, pitiful, and wounding to the feelings 
 of those who cling to the civilisation of the 
 Christian era. The ruined homes, the 
 wasted fields, the evidences of destruction 
 and rapine upon all sides, may well make 
 men almost despair of humanity. 
 
 The "pomp and glory" of modern war 
 are trivial things compared to the devas- 
 tation of the invaded land and the misery 
 of its wretched inhabitants. Glory there 
 is, indeed, for those who, with their bodies, 
 their hearts and souls, defend the Right; 
 99 
 
100 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 but of glory there is assuredly none attach- 
 ing to the work of the German hordes who 
 ruthlessly laid waste the poor little land of 
 Belgium, and enslaved a people whose 
 chief characteristics were fear of God and 
 love of industry. 
 
 And yet in the very welter of ruin and 
 devastation, and amidst all the havoc 
 wrought by men in their most brutal mood, 
 one comes here and there across little 
 scenes which, at a stroke, seem to restore 
 one's faith in mankind, and one's trust 
 that the Power which, from nothing, made 
 the world beautiful, will yet stay the fren- 
 zied work of the man whose god seems to 
 be the dripping sword alone. 
 
 At a certain point at the front there is 
 a village where the troops come from time 
 to time to rest, and the church there is 
 crowded each evening with the soldiers. 
 Lights of a brilliant kind are not allowed 
 in this village as it is so near the line, and 
 it is urgent at night to give no sign which 
 
IN THE DARKENED CHURCH 101 
 
 might make the place a target for the 
 long-range guns of the enemy. Therefore 
 the church is never lighted in the evening, 
 and it is by the flames of a few candles 
 alone on the altar of Our Lady of Dolores 
 that the Rosary is recited. 
 
 It is a strange scene in this church at 
 night. Entering it, all is dark save for 
 the few flickering candles on the altar be- 
 fore Which the priest kneels to say the 
 prayers. It is only when the men join in, 
 that one becomes aware that the church is 
 really full ; and it is solemn and appealing 
 — beyond words to describe — when up 
 from the darkness rises the great chorus 
 of hundreds of voices in prayer. The 
 darkness seems to add impressiveness to 
 the prayers, whilst from the outside are 
 heard the rumble and roar of the guns 
 which, not so very far away, are dealing 
 out death and agony to the comrades of 
 the men who are praying. Sometimes the 
 church is momentarily illumined by the 
 
102 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 flashes of the guns, and the windows are 
 lighted up as though by lightning. 
 
 The writer of these lines has seen many 
 an impressive spectacle of large congrega- 
 tions at prayer in great and spacious 
 churches in many lands, but nothing more 
 truly touching, impressive, and moving 
 has he ever witnessed than the darkened 
 church behind the lines, thronged with 
 troops fervently invoking the intercession 
 of the Mother of God under almost the 
 very shadow of the wings of the Angel of 
 Death. 
 
 In France and Belgium the Catholic 
 troops are fortunate in having at hand so 
 many churches of their own faith, and 
 this makes it easier for the devoted chap- 
 lains to get their flocks together. For so 
 many days the battalions are in the 
 trenches, and for so many days in the com- 
 parative safety of the camps in the little 
 villages somewhere back from the firing 
 line. 
 
IN THE DARKENED CHURCH 108 
 
 The day and night before a battalion 
 goes to the trenches, the chaplains are busy 
 in the churches, for the men throng to 
 confession ; and it is a wonderful and most 
 faith-inspiring sight to see them in hun- 
 dreds approaching the altar before march- 
 ing off to danger, and in many cases to 
 death itself. 
 
 When the turn in the trenches is over, 
 and the men resume their Rosary in the 
 darkened church in the evenings, there are 
 always some absent ones who were there 
 the week before. For this very reason 
 perhaps — because of the comrades who 
 will never kneel by their side again, the 
 men pray all the more fervently, and with 
 ever-increasing earnestness say, "May the 
 souls of the Faithful departed through 
 the mercy of God rest in peace!" 
 
 Whilst some of the chaplains attend the 
 men who are resting in the back villages, 
 others follow the men into the line, and 
 there, in some ruined house close by, or in 
 
104 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 a shelter or dug-out in the trench itself, 
 they are always at hand to minister to the 
 suffering and the dying. Who can meas- 
 ure the consolation they bring, or who can 
 describe the comfort and happiness of the 
 soldier whose eyes, before they close for 
 ever, rest upon the face of the priest of his 
 own faith? If the priest in peace is the 
 ever-sought comforter of the afflicted and 
 dying, how much more so is the priest in 
 time of war and in the battle line ! 
 ' The writer has met at the front many 
 chaplains, and the dominant feeling of one 
 and all is thankfulness that they were able 
 to go out with the men and share their lot. 
 Of all the actors in the great tragedy 
 of the war none stand out more heroically 
 than the chaplains, none fill a greater place 
 in what has come to be called the theatre 
 of war. No wonder so many of them have 
 received decorations, and no wonder the 
 men highly value the presence and the con- 
 solation and the encouragement of the 
 
IN THE DARKENED CHURCH 105 
 
 "Padre," as the officers call all the minis- 
 ters of religion. 
 
 To the Catholic soldiers, however, the 
 priest remains "Father," and it is good 
 to see them smile as he approaches, and 
 to hear the sound ring of the old faith in 
 their voices as they reply to his salutation 
 and address him always as "Father." 
 Mass has been said in the very trenches, 
 and the writer has attended Mass in many 
 a ruined church and many a shell-wrecked 
 shelter. And ever and always the men 
 are the same — devoted and earnest, and 
 the more wretched their surroundings, the 
 more eager they are. 
 
 Nothing is more noticeable than the way 
 the Catholic soldier holds by his beads. 
 In the change and chance and turmoil of 
 active service many things get lost, but 
 the Rosary beads seem to be always treas- 
 ured, and every soldier at Mass seems to 
 have them. Prayer books are often miss- 
 ing, but the Rosary, as a rule, never is. 
 
106 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 The writer has seen men who were 
 killed in the line. Their little personal be- 
 longings are carefully collected by com- 
 rades and safely kept to be sent home; but 
 the Rosary, when found in the pocket, is 
 often, usually indeed, reverently placed 
 round the dead man's neck before he is 
 wrapped in his blanket for burial. "I put 
 his beads about his neck, sir," is the report 
 often given by the stretcher-bearer to the 
 chaplain or other officer, as a man is given 
 to the grave. How many Catholic soldiers 
 lie in their lonely graves to-day in the war 
 zone with their beads about their necks! 
 How very, very many! And so, indeed, 
 one feels sure, would they wish to be 
 buried. 
 
 In all the horrid welter of war, beyond 
 all doubt the steady and simple faith of 
 the Catholic soldier supplies at least one 
 bright spot that shines and cheers amidst 
 the ruin and devastation all about. And 
 
IN THE DARKENED CHURCH 107 
 
 of all the symbols of his faith the soldier's 
 Rosary is foremost. 
 
 The fortitude the men seem to draw 
 from their faith is great and marked. The 
 man who has been with. his chaplain and 
 who has prepared himself by the Sacra- 
 ments is ready for any fate, and shows it 
 in his very demeanour. Often the writer 
 has heard officers declare their pleasure at 
 the devotion of the men to their religion, 
 and frequently these officers have been of 
 other religions themselves. A high Gen- 
 eral Officer once declared that good chap- 
 lains are as necessary as good Command- 
 ing Officers. The good chaplains are un- 
 doubtedly at the front to-day, and they 
 are the first to bear testimony to the good- 
 ness of the men. 
 
 Both Catholic priests and Catholic sol- 
 diers are playing a brave part in the war 
 to-day, and their record, when it comes to 
 be set down, will be one of which the 
 Catholic world may be most justly proud. 
 
108 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 What the priest does for the Catholic, 
 other ministers do for the men of other 
 creeds. The "Padres" of all denomina- 
 tions may be truly called the prop and 
 comfort of the Army at the front. 
 
VIII 
 THE FROZEN FRONT LINE 
 
VIII 
 THE FROZEN FRONT LINE 
 
 {February 17, 1917) 
 
 As people hurry along to gain the com- 
 fort of home fires, do they ever cast even 
 a single thought towards those who in this 
 winter have no home save the trench, 
 where they are exposed under the starlit 
 sky to the full biting force of twenty or 
 twenty-five degrees of frost? 
 
 If the severe cold has been felt in Lon- 
 don, where there is at least some measure 
 of shelter and warmth for most people, 
 what must be the experience of those who 
 have to face the rigours of this unusual 
 weather in the open air, not by day alone, 
 but through the night as well? 
 
 Each season presents its special diffi- 
 iii 
 
112 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 culties to the men who hold the line. In 
 summer the flies are a veritable plague, 
 and the mud in rainy weather is an ever- 
 lasting source of inconvenience, to say the 
 least. It is, however, in the depth of win- 
 ter that the test of endurance is most 
 stringently applied to the men at the front. 
 To say they stand the test well is to under- 
 state the case. Nothing could be more mag- 
 nificent than the glorious way in which 
 our troops face, endure, and triumph over 
 the severity of winter conditions. 
 
 Imagine a body of men marching 
 through the snow up to the trenches when 
 a frost of twenty-five degrees prevails. 
 Everything they pass is frozen hard. The 
 village street is deserted, save for the 
 troops engaged on work. The few re- 
 maining villagers stay indoors cowering 
 over their stoves, and only move to the 
 windows to look out at the men who march 
 past on their way to the line. It is so cold 
 out of doors that it is almost impossible 
 
THE FROZEN FRONT LINE 113 
 
 to bear the sting of the wind upon one's 
 face. But the boys who are for the 
 trenches swing along, doggedly it may be, 
 but cheerily withal. 
 
 On they go. Past the church upon 
 which the snow lies thick, past the grave- 
 yard, where all the mounds are covered 
 with spotless palls of white, and where the 
 little memorial crosses glitter with the 
 frost and ice; on past the village street, 
 on and out into the open country march 
 the boys who are for the line. Their 
 pipers are at their head, but it is almost 
 impossible to play, so intense is the cold. 
 On and on they march through the coun- 
 tryside, and now at length they reach the 
 cross-road near which is the entrance to 
 the long communication trench leading to 
 the front line. 
 
 Into this trench the men go, and in sin- 
 gle file trudge along to their destination — 
 the very front. As they enter the trench 
 and disappear it has an uncanny effect. If 
 
114 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 is as though the snow had swallowed them 
 up. For the rest of their journey they are 
 shadowed mostly by the trench. 
 
 When you who read these lines turn to 
 a warm bed at night, let your mind travel 
 to the line, and picture if you can the men 
 who are defending you in your home — the 
 men who through the long hours of the 
 night, in the frost and snow, stand, under 
 the blazing stars, on the fire-step, peering 
 with never-flagging attention out over the 
 sandbags towards the enemy. 
 
 In some trenches the dug-outs are very 
 few, and the merest shelters of sandbag 
 and board and iron sheet are all the pro- 
 tection the men have. At night, even 
 where there are dug-outs, the alert watch 
 over the parapet must be kept up from the 
 fire-step. Vigilance can never be relaxed. 
 Every sign, every move, every shadow in 
 No Man's Land must be regarded closely. 
 One never knows when an attack may 
 come — nothing can be left to chance. 
 
THE FROZEN FRONT LINE 115 
 
 And so from dusk till daylight the fire- 
 step is manned with ever-ready sentries. 
 Think of what that means all night long, 
 with anything from twenty to thirty de- 
 grees of frost; or in pelting, blinding snow, 
 rain, or sleet ! 
 
 It takes men to hold the long line under 
 these winter conditions ; and the amazing 
 thing is that these particular men, in very 
 many cases never were inured to hardships 
 before. 
 
 Men who worked in offices, men who 
 knew the good comforts of home life, men 
 who were always protected from cold and 
 damp — men of all sorts who had but little 
 experience of rough conditions — these are 
 the men who, new to soldiering as they are, 
 hold the long line this bitter winter. A 
 marvellous and wonderful achievement 
 when one realises it all, and remembers 
 that the Army is a new Army almost from 
 top to bottom. 
 
116 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 And if the men are marvellous, the offi- 
 cers indeed are no less. 
 
 Little more than schoolboys, thousands 
 of them— just boys, with all the spirit and 
 joy of life of youth — straight, many of 
 them, from schools and homes of luxury 
 even. And there they are to-night, pa- 
 trolling the frozen trenches, heartening 
 their men, and proving, in spite of cold 
 and snow and mud and hardship, that 
 there is in their veins blood which will 
 keep on "telling" all the time. 
 
 War is a hard and cruel school, but 
 harder and more cruel surely in the winter 
 time. For some, time past the portion of 
 the Western front with which the writer 
 is familiar has been covered with a mantle 
 of pure white snow. Snow on the huts, 
 snow on the guns, snow on the wagons, 
 snow everywhere, on friend and on enemy 
 alike. And through the snow it all goes 
 on — the raid, the bombing, the artillery 
 duel, and all the ugly turmoil of war. 
 
THE FROZEN FRONT LINE 117 
 
 It is of the men, however — the glorious 
 men who in all the hard bitterness of re- 
 cent weather hold the frozen line by night 
 and day — we should think as the wind 
 blows and drives those who stay at home 
 to the side of their comfortable fires. 
 There is one consoling thought the people 
 at home may have — so far the men who 
 hold the line have been as well fed as, and 
 better probably than, any army ever in the 
 field. That they shall continue to be, 
 should be the very first care of every one 
 in the homeland. Whatever grumbling 
 there may be at economies at home, should 
 cease for ever at the mere thought of what 
 is being done by the men in the Frozen 
 Front Line. 
 
IX 
 RELIGION AND THE WAR 
 
IX 
 RELIGION AND THE WAR 
 
 (February 26, 1917) 
 
 With all the evil that has followed in its 
 train it is good to find at least one bene- 
 ficial result from the war. It has led to 
 the revival of religion in a most remark- 
 able way. 
 
 As to this, practically every one is 
 agreed, and it is apparent in a hundred 
 directions. Perhaps this revival is most 
 marked of all in France, and there it is 
 attributable in no little degree to the 
 splendid record of the French priests in 
 the Army. 
 
 To many people it seemed a wrong thing 
 
 that the ministers of the Prince of Peace 
 
 should be called upon to take up arms, and 
 121 
 
122 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 play a part in the terrible work of blood- 
 shed and slaughter which has converted so 
 large a portion of Europe into a veritable 
 shambles. What seemed wrong, and what 
 from some points of view was wrong no 
 doubt, has in the result turned out a bless- 
 ing. 
 
 The spectacle of thousands of priests 
 marching and fighting for the country and 
 the flag has touched deeply the heart of 
 France, and many and many a man who 
 was, perhaps, ready enough to proclaim 
 himself an anti-Cleric will never so de- 
 scribe himself any more. The bravery dis- 
 played by the French priests in battle 
 (2,000 have been killed) has been only 
 equalled by their devotion to their holy 
 office. 
 
 Few things are more appealing than the 
 sight of the soldier-priest turning to ad- 
 minister the last consolations of religion to 
 his fallen comrades round about. And 
 this has been witnessed on every battlefield 
 
RELIGION AND THE WAR 123 
 
 of France. It has its natural effect upon 
 the impressionable French character, and 
 that effect will remain long after the last 
 shot of the war has been fired. 
 
 To those who have been brought to 
 France by the war, the manifestations of 
 religion everywhere displayed have come 
 more or less as a surprise, especially to 
 those who had been led to believe from 
 the action of many successive French 
 Governments that the Church was more 
 or less a thing of the past in France. 
 
 It is hard, of course, to judge of the 
 real depth or intensity of religious feeling, 
 but all one can say is, that if this can be 
 judged by noticing the attendance at 
 church, then the religion of France is to- 
 day very true and very sincere. 
 
 For over a year the writer of these lines 
 has been with the British Army in France, 
 and has been billeted in scores of villages 
 and small towns. Everywhere the way in 
 which the civil population thronged the 
 
124 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 churches on Sundays and holidays was 
 very noticeable, and in the larger towns 
 more noticeable still. 
 
 It may be that the attacks which the 
 enemy have made on holy places have 
 caused a revulsion of feeling in France. 
 The ruins of Rheims Cathedral, Ypres, 
 and so many other churches in the land 
 have stricken the population with remorse 
 and sorrow. 
 
 Certain it is, be the real reason what 
 it may, there has been a great revival in 
 the devoutness of the French people since 
 war broke out. Of course the cynical 
 will say, "The devil was sick, the devil 
 a saint would be," etc., but the change 
 goes deeper than this. 
 
 The Faith has ever been firmly and 
 deeply planted in the French heart, and 
 it needed but the tribulation of suffering 
 and war to make the people see clearly 
 the value of that which is, after all, in 
 the time of trouble the only real bulwark 
 
RELIGION AND THE WAR 125 
 
 and consolation for humanity. And so 
 it has been, that through the smoke of 
 battle the light of Faith has flamed out 
 once more brightly throughout France, 
 and the faces of the people are gladly 
 turned towards it. 
 
 The writer has seen more deep and rev- 
 erent devotion displayed by worshippers 
 inside the walls of semi-ruined churches 
 which had their stained-glass windows 
 shattered, than ever he has seen before. 
 Probably more fervent prayers have been 
 poured out before broken crosses and shell- 
 torn statues of our Saviour in France and 
 Belgium than were ever offered in peace 
 time before the most beautiful shrines in 
 the whole world; 
 
 By accident or design — one must decide 
 according to the measure of one's charity 
 — the Germans have destroyed many 
 churches and shrines and convents in the 
 war. They present a sad spectacle indeed, 
 but it would seem that in proportion to the 
 
126 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 ruin thus caused, the Faith has taken ref- 
 uge more and more in the hearts of the 
 people, with the result that, in the opinion 
 of most men, Religion has been perhaps 
 the one thing in all the world, so far, 
 strengthened and built up afresh amidst 
 the horrible ravages of war. That there 
 has been a similar result all over the world, 
 and away from the actual scene of war, 
 is the testimony of unbiassed observers. 
 
 The fact is that the ruin and carnage 
 have been so stupendous, the sacrifices 
 have been so great, the horrors have been 
 so widespread, and have so penetrated into 
 almost every family circle, that almost ev- 
 ery human being in the world has been af- 
 fected and has turned to look for hope and 
 comfort beyond the grave. Miserable in- 
 deed is the man or woman who is not as- 
 sured that that hope and comfort is so to 
 be found; for, in sooth, this war has made 
 this transitory world but a sorry place. 
 
 The writer of these impressions has 
 
RELIGION AND THE WAR 127 
 
 been with a section of the British Army 
 in the field, which numbers very many 
 Catholic soldiers in its ranks. The con- 
 duct of these men has undoubtedly had a 
 good effect upon the population, wherever 
 they have been stationed. The majority 
 of the soldiers are of Irish nationality, 
 though of English and Scottish and Over- 
 seas Catholic soldiers there are also not a 
 few. The simple and yet deep faith ex- 
 hibited by these men upon all occasions 
 made a wonderful impression on the 
 French and Belgian peoples. 
 
 It is not at the very best a happy thing 
 to have one's country occupied by foreign 
 troops, even though they come to defend 
 your soil from the invader. Masses of 
 men overrunning villages and towns, and 
 eager for some sort of relaxation from the 
 rigour and hardship of trench life, are apt 
 to give trouble, even though well behaved 
 and well disposed in every way. 
 
 It is always a source of anxiety to the 
 
128 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 higher command to secure that nothing, 
 even by inadvertence, shall be done by the 
 troops to cause annoyance to the inhabit- 
 ants of occupied territory. The outstand- 
 ing feature of the British occupation of 
 France and Belgium has been the fine and 
 chivalrous spirit displayed by the men. 
 They have put themselves on a footing of 
 the best and kindest sort with the people, 
 and complaints of any kind as to their be- 
 haviour are few and far between. 
 
 But, in addition to the relief of the peo- 
 ple in finding the troops kind and consid- 
 erate, imagine the good impression created 
 when the French people find that large 
 numbers of the men are devoted to their 
 own religion and most earnest in their 
 practice of it. 
 
 When Irish regiments are billeted in a 
 village, the church, large enough for the 
 villagers, becomes at once too small. It is 
 thronged by the soldiers, and the cure finds 
 his congregation enormous, and has, in 
 
RELIGION AND THE WAR 129 
 
 conjunction with the Army chaplains, to 
 arrange for many services on Suriday. 
 
 The General commanding a division 
 composed for the most part of Irish Cath- 
 olic soldiers, informed the present writer 
 that his division never left an area with- 
 out the local authorities, and notably the 
 cure, coming to him to express their ap- 
 preciation of the good behaviour of the 
 troops, and their admiration for their 
 earnest devotion to their religion. 
 
 There is no doubt that the scourge of 
 war has purified the hearts of many peo- 
 ple, and the advent of large numbers of 
 Catholic troops into France has probably 
 helped to bring back to some Frenchmen 
 an appreciation of something which they 
 at one time seemed almost to have lost. 
 Thus in one way, and a way of no little 
 importance, the war has wrought a change 
 for the better in France. 
 
X 
 THE SQUARE OF EMPIRE 
 
X 
 
 THE SQUARE OF EMPIRE 
 
 (April 14, 1917) 
 
 There is a fair-sized French town some 
 distance from the firing line which is much 
 frequented by British officers. They go 
 there to visit the field cashier and to draw 
 money to pay the men; they go there to 
 buy stores at the Expeditionary Force can- 
 teen; and sometimes, when duty permits, 
 they visit the town to spend an hour at 
 the officers' club or to take tea at the offi- 
 cers' tea rooms in the Grande Place, where 
 the town hall is on one side, and the church 
 on the other. 
 
 The Grande Place, or the Square as the 
 men call it, is the great meeting-place for 
 visitors to the town. In the centre, the 
 133 
 
134 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 mess carts which have come in for sup- 
 plies wait drawn up in a line whilst the 
 shopping is being done; and in and out of 
 the stores on each side officers of many 
 different units are encountered, busy upon 
 all the little errands which are entrusted 
 to them by comrades who are not lucky 
 enough to be able to enjoy a few hours' 
 relaxation from the monotony of trench 
 and camp, in the town. The officers' tea 
 room is a favourite rendezvous. 
 
 And a cheery spot it is, bedecked with 
 the flags of the Allied nations. All the 
 appointments of the place are good — clean 
 cloths upon the little tea tables, little 
 bunches of flowers here and there, and 
 altogether an air of brightness and com- 
 fort about, very grateful indeed to eyes 
 weary of the drab dismalness of trench 
 and hut. 
 
 In the hours of the afternoon the tea 
 room is crowded with officers from vari- 
 ous units, and it is of interest to observe 
 
THE SQUARE OF EMPIRE 135 
 
 that they represent very often branches of 
 the Army in the field from almost every 
 corner of the Empire. 
 
 This fact was specially noticeable one 
 afternoon when the writer visited the tea 
 room with a friend. At a table in one 
 corner sat a grey-headed major, wearing 
 a Canadian badge, eating pastry with all 
 the earnestness and attention which a 
 small schoolboy might have bestowed upon 
 that operation. 
 
 In another corner a party of Australian 
 officers were appreciating the tea, and talk- 
 ing of the times when they were wont to 
 brew their own tea in billy-cans on a cer- 
 tain sheep-run in sunny New South Wales. 
 Not far away some other officers sat — 
 Scottish clearly — alike by their tongues 
 and by their bare strong knees. 
 
 And so all through the room, officers — 
 English, Irish, Scottish, and Welsh, and 
 Overseas — were seated, representing al- 
 most all parts of the world-wide Empire of 
 
136 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 Britain, and constituting, so to speak, an 
 informal but very cheery Imperial mili- 
 tary conference at tea. 
 
 In the square outside the tea room the 
 representation of the Empire was even 
 more complete. The town the writer 
 speaks of is a centre where converged from 
 time to time officers and men from several 
 divisions, and so there is an opportunity 
 almost any afternoon of encountering men 
 from every part, even the most distant, of 
 the Empire. 
 
 One evening, just before dusk, the 
 writer was passing through the square, 
 which was covered with snow. A party of 
 tall soldiers were engaged making a pas- 
 sage through, shovelling the snow away. 
 They were Australians. Questioned as to 
 whether they felt the cold very severely, 
 one great, tall fellow replied: "My word! I 
 should say so ! But it is all new and inter- 
 esting to me, for I have never seen snow 
 before! I come, you see, from Queens- 
 
THE SQUARE OF EMPIRE 1S7 
 
 land, and the north of that!" Indeed, it 
 seemed there were men in this snow-clear- 
 ing party from Tasmania and all over Aus- 
 tralia, from Brisbane to Perth and from 
 the Northern Territory to Adelaide. 
 
 Passing to another portion of the 
 square, some New Zealand troops were to 
 be seen marching along from the railway 
 station. They too, like their Australian 
 comrades,, were fine upstanding fellows, 
 and they made nothing of the bitter cold 
 and biting wind. There is something free 
 and dashing in the gait and appearance of 
 these Australians and New Zealanders 
 which seems to attract the French. Cer- 
 tain it is that wherever these great Over- 
 seas fellows go, with their broad-brimmed 
 soft hats jauntily set upon their heads, 
 they invariably are the object of much 
 friendly attention from the French popu- 
 lation of the towns and villages through 
 which they pass. 
 
 There is nothing more remarkable than 
 
138 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 the way in which these men, reared and 
 brought up in hot and sunny lands, have 
 settled down to the life at the front, where 
 for quite a considerable time almost Arctic 
 conditions have prevailed. To the Cana- 
 dians — and they were also to be met with 
 in the same square — the wintry conditions 
 were no inconvenience ; indeed, the prevail- 7 
 ing weather reminded them of home. 
 
 Men from a South African brigade were 
 also to be seen going by, and it was a not 
 unusual sight to see the little groups up 
 and down the square composed of Austra- 
 lians, Canadians, New Zealanders, and 
 Africans, all together, chatting over that 
 favourite topic, the probable duration of 
 the war, and comparing notes as to their 
 various and widely sundered homes. 
 
 Sometimes one encountered Indian 
 troops in the square, but latterly Indian 
 troops are not stationed in this district; 
 and mingling with all these splendid troops 
 from the most remote portions of the Em- 
 
THE SQUARE OF EMPIRE 139 
 
 pire one met representatives from units 
 brought together from John o' Groat's to 
 Land's End: Welshmen and Scotsmen, 
 too, and Englishmen from every city and 
 shire. 
 
 Just as the companion of the writer of 
 these lines was remarking that we had in 
 one brief hour met with troops represent- 
 ing the whole Imperial Army save Ireland, 
 a couple of men passed, and, as if to com- 
 plete the picture, they turned out to be, as 
 their shamrock badges clearly indicated, 
 Munster Fusiliers. Very tired they 
 seemed, carrying their full equipment, and 
 probably returning from leave, for they 
 came from the direction of the railway sta- 
 tion. Presently a G.S. wagon came along 
 bearing on its side the Ulster badge of 
 the Red Hand. The Munster soldiers 
 hailed the wagon as it passed. "Can you 
 give us a lift along the road?" Promptly 
 the answer came, "Righto ! In ye get, my 
 shamrock boys !" 
 
140 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 And so, as if to emphasise the United 
 Imperial experience encountered in the 
 square, the spectacle was witnessed of 
 these men of the North and South pro- 
 ceeding on their way in brotherhood, and 
 exchanging as they went that special kind 
 of cigarette dear to the soldier's heart and 
 rejoicing in the doubtful description of 
 "Gasper!" 
 
 A truly wonderful place, this old square 
 in the French town, where one may meet 
 men from all over the world-wide Empire, 
 and where Australian and Canadian, 
 South African and New Zealander, mingle 
 with the men of the homelands, all bound 
 together by a common sentiment and all 
 having in view a common object. 
 
XI 
 IN "NO MAN'S LAND' 
 
XI 
 IN "NO MAN'S LAND" 
 
 (.April i, 1916) 
 
 Sunday morning. The mist rose lazily 
 from around the trench as the dawn broke. 
 For more than a week the weather had 
 been vile. Snow and sleet, rain and fog. 
 The men in the trench had been "fed up" 
 with it. Their clothes were damp through 
 and through, and they found it next to im- 
 possible to keep their rifles free from rust. 
 They had given up all efforts to keep even 
 a little of the mud off. It lapped itself 
 about them everywhere — and they were 
 "fed up" with it. 
 
 But with the dawning of Sunday there 
 was a change. The fog disappeared. The 
 sky, lowering and dark for so long, turned 
 143 
 
144 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 into an expanse of purest blue. A lark, 
 rising from God knows where on that dis- 
 mal war-seared plain, rose high over the 
 trench and sang, and sang, and sang 
 blithely. The screaming of the shells, the 
 roar of the guns seemed silenced by the 
 song. The men looked up and listened, 
 pausing in their work, pausing even in tak- 
 ing their hasty meal. It was a wonderful 
 song. The trench-stained men were trans- 
 ported by it. They were no longer amidst 
 ruin and misery and war. The song 
 brought them back to their homes, and 
 they stood in the pleasant fields of Ire- 
 land, and listened as they had so often 
 done to the skylark on high. 
 
 For a long time no word was spoken; 
 it seemed as though the men feared that 
 even a whisper might stay the song. So 
 they just looked at the tiny hovering speck 
 in the blue sky, and listened. Then sud- 
 denly the bird sank down to the rough, 
 shell-ploughed earth, as if satisfied with 
 
IN "NO MAN'S LAND" 145 
 
 having sung its Sunday message over the 
 trench. 
 
 Then Murphy spoke. A big rough fel- 
 low to look at, but "with a heart in him," 
 as is sometimes said. "Faith, that's a 
 great little bird." The other men said, 
 "Aye, so it is," and went about their work. 
 Later on a man who had been looking into 
 the little periscope on his bayonet turned, 
 and b^id excitedly, "The spring is here — 
 -the grass is growing out there like any- 
 thing!" And they all peeped over the 
 parapet. 
 
 It was true. In the bleak and rough 
 stretch of ground, called "No Man's 
 Land," between their own wire entangle- 
 ments and the enemy's, the grass, in spite 
 of all, was springing "fresh and green." 
 It sprang up around old bully-beef tins 
 and old jam tins. It sprang up and nestled 
 around an old broken bayonet, and grew 
 about, as though it meant to cover it, an 
 empty shell-case. The men suddenly 
 
146 [TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 seemed to realise that, in spite of all the 
 death and desolation and the ruined walls 
 of the town near by, there was new life 
 and hope in the air and all about, a life 
 that even great guns could never destroy 
 — the life of God. 
 
 It was wonderful and pathetic, too, how 
 these Irishmen were cheered by the simple 
 discovery that spring had come and the 
 grass was sprouting. A few forlorn trees 
 behind the trench, their topmost branches 
 broken and jagged by shot, were also bud- 
 ding, "in spite," as Private Kelly said, "of 
 even the divil himself!" The snow, the 
 rain, the damp clothes, the mud — every- 
 thing miserable seemed to be forgotten in 
 the trench that Sunday morning, and the 
 men whistled and said, as they looked up 
 into the blue overhead, "Glory be to God ! 
 It's a grand spring day !" 
 
 Later on some enemy battle-planes 
 winged their way high over the line, ac- 
 companied by the little white puffs of 
 
IN "NO MAN'S LAND" 14*7 
 
 smoke from the shells which were fired at 
 them, and which hung in the blue sky like 
 little balls of wool. Enemy aeroplanes 
 were common sights enough — the men did 
 not trouble to look at them as much as they 
 had looked at the skylark. Spring had 
 come to the trench, and with it renewed 
 hope and courage and heart to everybody. 
 The change was wonderful, and surely 
 never were the budding of a tree and the 
 springing of grass so welcomed as in that 
 desolate place. The men hummed Army 
 popular songs as they rested on the fire-step 
 or busied themselves at the never-ending 
 work of improving their trench. From the 
 far side of the traverse came the sizzling 
 sound of frying, and a jolly voice chanted 
 
 I see you there, Isabel! 
 I see you there very well. 
 I am frying baoon, Isabel, 
 As you can tell — very well — 
 By the smell — Isabel! 
 
 The growing of the grass on "No Man's 
 Land" cheered every one up, and the men 
 
148 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 said to each other with meaning, "Some 
 day it won't be always 'No Man's Land' !" 
 Later that Sunday the priest came to the 
 trench, and the Irishmen stood around 
 bareheaded as he spoke to them and asked 
 them to pray for dead comrades, and to 
 prepare themselves to die, if die they must. 
 And then he gave them Absolution. The 
 men very earnestly listened, and repeated 
 in many Irish accents, both North and 
 South, the prayer the good priest said. 
 It was a rough surrounding from which to 
 worship the Almighty, but overhead the 
 blue vault of heaven was finer than any 
 cathedral dome; and what choir could 
 touch the lark which, hovering high be- 
 tween heaven and earth, sang while the 
 men prayed? 
 
XII 
 
 "JACK," THE PET DOG 
 
XII 
 
 "JACK," THE PET DOG 
 
 When he exactly arrived, or from where, 
 nobody seemed to know. We were all 
 agreed, however, that he was a very 
 smart-looking little fox-terrier — well bred 
 and well marked. He had probably be- 
 longed to some officer and had got lost. 
 The battalion first made his acquaintance 
 one morning as the men were drawn up 
 in column of fours waiting to march off 
 to the next village to new billets. Jack — 
 as he was promptly christened — trotted 
 out of an estaminet, and, seeing the bat- 
 talion drawn up, sat down on his tail and 
 calmly surveyed what was going on in the 
 street. 
 The men took a fancy to Jack at once, 
 151 
 
152 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 and whistled and shouted at him. The dog 
 got up and gravely strolled along as though 
 he had made up his mind to inspect the 
 men. He went to the front of the column 
 and looked at the colonel, and surveyed 
 the band. He went to the rear of the 
 column and made the acquaintance of the 
 second-in-command, and then, as if he had 
 thoroughly made up his mind, he attached 
 himself to "B" Company. This choice he 
 probably made because Company-Ser- 
 geant-Major of B Company had stooped 
 down, and, patting him, cheerfully said, 
 "Hello, Jack, and how are you to-day?" 
 Of course nobody really knew the little 
 dog's name, but when Sergeant Brady 
 called him Jack, Jack he remained until he 
 finally disappeared in the mist and smoke 
 of one terrible day on the Somme. 
 
 From the date of his arrival Jack never 
 left the battalion, nor, indeed, B Company. 
 After a while he was provided with a col- 
 lar, bright green in colour. If ever there 
 
"JACK," THE PET DOG 153 
 
 was a pure-bred English fox-terrier, Jack 
 undoubtedly was one; but having joined, 
 so to speak, an Irish battalion, he gra- 
 ciously submitted to the green collar, 
 though, indeed, "it was as often as not cov- 
 ered with the mud through which he cheer- 
 fully trotted as his company marched 
 along. The company sergeant-major and 
 the little dog became fast friends ; though 
 Jack, being probably an old soldier, thor- 
 oughly understood the advantage of being 
 on good terms also with the company quar- 
 termaster, whose store he promptly made 
 the acquaintance of in every village where 
 the battalion found billets. 
 
 It was extraordinary how the presence 
 of this little animal cheered up the men. 
 He never missed a parade, and even early 
 on the cold and bitter mornings Jack was 
 always present, always cheery and "merry 
 and bright," as the men used to remark. 
 Wherever Jack was met with it might be 
 assumed that the company sergeant-major 
 
154 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 was not far off. Just as we read in the 
 Cricket on the Hearth, that whenever peo- 
 ple met the carrier's dog, Boxer, on the 
 road, they always looked out for John Pe- 
 reybingle himself; so, whenever any one 
 saw Jack trotting round the street of a 
 village, somewhere in France, it became a 
 certainty that Sergeant Brady was close 
 at hand. Just too as Boxer used to drop 
 into houses along the road, so Jack did the 
 same, always with an air, however, of 
 friendly politeness, as of one who should 
 say to the inmates, "There are a lot of 
 Irish soldiers coming along, but you need 
 not mind them ; they are good fellows all, 
 and you should come out and hear the 
 pipes !" 
 
 Sometimes the battalion returned to the 
 same villages, and then Jack was hailed as 
 an old friend by lots of the inhabitants. 
 In marching through the streets of some 
 considerable town, Jack and his green col- 
 lar gained quite as much attention as the 
 
"JACK," THE PET DOG 155 
 
 stately regimental sergeant-major, or even 
 the colonel himself at the head of the bat- 
 talion, and many were the exclamations of 
 interest and admiration showered upon 
 him, particularly by the children, as he 
 trotted along. The little chap never 
 seemed to tire, even on the longest march, 
 and he always found time to get off the 
 road and scamper through the fields at 
 each side with a businesslike air, as much 
 as to say, "If there is a rabbit to be had, 
 it might come in handy." 
 
 Once, when the battalion was drawn up 
 ready to march out of the village, Jack was 
 not to be found, and it is no exaggeration 
 to say that there was consternation in the 
 company. When the captain came out to 
 inspect his men prior to marching off, it 
 was with a real note of trouble in his voice 
 that the sergeant, after announcing "all 
 present," declared that Jack was not to be 
 discovered. Then the captain exhibited 
 signs of trouble too, and ordered a search 
 
156 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 to be made in the billets. Later on, after 
 he had been released from an old stable, 
 the door of which had been inadvertently- 
 closed upon him, Master Jack was received 
 with acclamation; and, having jumped 
 upon the sergeant by way of explaining his 
 absence and apologising for it, he scam- 
 pered off according to custom to have a 
 word with the colonel, see the band, and 
 then back, so that the s'econd-in-command 
 in the rear might know that, as far as he, 
 Jack, was concerned, everything was all 
 right! 
 
 The battalion's days of billeting in 
 French villages and walking along country 
 roads soon came to an end, and the grim 
 life in the trenches commenced. Jack went 
 to the trenches too — always with B Com- 
 pany; and though clearly puzzled by the 
 absence of landscape, the little dog still 
 kept "merry and bright" and followed the 
 sergeant everywhere. Once he got — how, 
 nobody could tell exactly — over the top, 
 
"JACK," THE PET DOG 157 
 
 and was discovered sitting on a sandbag 
 calmly surveying No Man's Land. He was 
 hurriedly pulled down, and not a moment 
 too soon, for several rifle bullets came 
 thudding unpleasantly close to where he 
 had been. 
 
 The rats were his special and particular 
 interest, and from one end of the trench to 
 the other he declared war on them, and 
 many a one he brought in triumph to lay 
 at the feet of his friend the sergeant. The 
 writer of these lines (for, be it under- 
 stood, this is a true narrative) once asked 
 the sergeant whether he kept Jack with 
 him in his dug-out at night. "Lord bless 
 you, sir ! No, sir ! Jack has a dug-out of 
 his own! I'll show you, sir." With a 
 smile the sergeant walked along the trench 
 till he came to a great niche or indentation 
 in the side, where rifle ammunition was 
 stored. Two of the boxes had been re- 
 moved in the centre, and in the hole thus 
 made, with some sandbags underneath, 
 
158 TRENCH PICTURES FROM FRANCE 
 
 Jack was discovered comfortably curled 
 up : A quaint and curious picture, making 
 one long for a Kodak ; the little dog, with 
 his brown eyes peering out from a bed 
 banked all round with boxes of cartridges ! 
 that was his sleeping place by night. 
 
 When the sergeant went for a little rest, 
 Jack, so to speak, bid him good-night and 
 trotted along to his own little nest amidst 
 the explosives ! Every morning, however, 
 at "stand-to" Jack was on duty, and usu- 
 ally accompanied the officer who superin- 
 tended the serving out of tots of rum to 
 the men. 
 
 As to meals, Jack bestowed his company 
 impartially. One day he had breakfast 
 with one platoon and the next day with 
 another, but wherever he went he never 
 lacked offers of hospitality, and the men 
 laughed as they noticed that life in the 
 trenches made their little pet fat. The day 
 finally arrived when the battalion marched 
 to the Somme and took part in an advance. 
 
"JACK," THE PET DOG 159 
 
 Jack was with them to the end; but, like 
 so many of his friends amongst the men, 
 he never returned out of the smoke and 
 turmoil of that terrible day. He was after 
 all, it is true, only a wee little animal, but 
 nevertheless he truly "did his bit," and 
 cheered the men many a day in trench and 
 along the weary road of march. Jack is 
 gone, but there are some men still left who 
 remember him, and any of them would 
 think little or nothing of settling a Hun; 
 but not a single one of them would ever 
 agree that a pet dog should be put to death. 
 That is their tribute to the memory of 
 little Jack! 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 MAJOR REDMOND'S LAST 
 SPEECH 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 MAJOR REDMOND'S LAST SPEECH IN 
 THE HOUSE OF COMMONS 
 
 {March 7, 1917) 
 
 I have been asked to second the motion which 
 has just been so ably spoken to by my hon. 
 friend. I promise that, in seconding the mo- 
 tion, I will be extremely brief, and I do not 
 know that I would have taken the opportunity 
 of saying even a few words here this afternoon 
 were it not that I feel I can give some expres- 
 sion to the great volume of opinion which is 
 held by those of my countrymen who are doing 
 their best in the field. 
 
 Whatever may have taken place, nothing can 
 alter this fact, that when war was declared 
 large numbers of the Irish people responded 
 to the appeal made to them. They responded 
 readily, and, as I venture to think, gallantly. 
 They responded for many reasons. In the 
 first place, on the broad issue of the war, there 
 163 
 
164 APPENDIX 
 
 could be no doubt — there can still be no doubt 
 — the great, generous heart of the Irish race 
 beats in sympathy with the Allies' cause, and 
 no matter what may have happened, no matter 
 what still may happen in the future, nothing 
 can alter my firm conviction that, apart from 
 everything else, the great heart of Ireland, 
 North and South as well, beats in strong sym- 
 pathy with the gallant efforts which are being 
 made by the French nation to-day to free 
 their soil from the invader. 
 
 Nothing can change my conviction that the 
 overwhelming majority of the Irish people 
 have been outraged in all their dearest feelings 
 by what has taken place in Belgium, and I ven- 
 ture to say that the Irish people who did re- 
 spond, responded also — and this brings me to 
 the subject of my brief remarks this afternoon 
 — because they were led to believe that a new 
 and a better and brighter chapter was about to 
 open in the relations of Great Britain and Ire- 
 land. 
 
 I ask you, Mr. Speaker, and I ask the mem- 
 bers of this house, irrespective of parties, to 
 realise, if they possibly can, the feelings of 
 men who went out, impelled by that motive, 
 when they hear vague rumours from time to 
 time that tfceir response to the appeal of this 
 
MAJOR WILLIAM REDMOND AT 54 (FEB., I915) 
 
MAJOR REDMOND'S LAST SPEECH 165 
 
 country has been more or less in vain, and that 
 what they hope for is not, after all, to be 
 accomplished. 
 
 A man who, in the trying circumstances 
 which surround life abroad, has those feelings, 
 is surely to be considered and commiserated. 
 And I know that if anything could tend to- 
 wards strengthening the resolve which is still 
 strong in the Irish troops to do their duty, 
 it would be the feeling that a better and a 
 newer chapter with Great Britain was about 
 to be opened, and that their country was about 
 to be trusted with the rights and freedom of 
 self-government. 
 
 My hon. friend who has just resumed his 
 seat spoke with all his wonted eloquence of 
 many sad things in the past. It is easy enough, 
 God knows, to talk about the past. In regard 
 to Ireland it is not always pleasant. The past 
 is a thing which can be enlarged upon for any 
 length of time, but I venture to think, at this 
 time of day, with very little profit. I do not 
 believe that there is a single member of any 
 party in this house who is prepared to get up 
 and say that in the past the government and 
 treatment of Ireland by Great Britain have 
 been what they should have been. 
 
 Mistakes — dark, black, and bitter mistakes 
 
166 APPENDIX 
 
 — have been made. A people denied justice, 
 a people with many admitted grievances, the 
 redress of which has been long delayed ; on our 
 side, perhaps, in the conflict, and in the bitter- 
 ness of contest, there may have been things 
 said and done, offensive if you will, irritating 
 if you will, to the people of this country ; but 
 what I want to ask, in all simplicity, is this, 
 whether, in face of the tremendous conflict 
 which is now raging, whether, in view of the 
 fact that, apart from every other consideration, 
 the Irish people, South as well as North, are 
 upon the side of the Allies and against the 
 German pretension to-day, it is not possible 
 from this war to make a new start; whether 
 it is not possible on your side, and on ours as 
 well, to let the dead past bury its dead, and to 
 commence a brighter and a newer and a friend- 
 lier era between the two countries ? 
 
 Why cannot we do it ? Is there an English- 
 man representing any party who does not 
 yearn for a better future between Ireland and 
 Great Britain? There is no Irishman who is 
 not anxious for it also. Why cannot there be 
 a settlement? Why must it be that, when 
 British soldiers and Irish soldiers are suffering 
 and dying side by side, this eternal old quarrel 
 should go on ? 
 
MAJOR REDMOND'S LAST SPEECH 167 
 
 It is not, after all, an English and an Irish 
 question. It is not, after all, a question merely 
 affecting the Empire. It is a question affecting 
 the whole world. There is not a corner of the 
 civilised world to-day where the Irish question 
 does not exercise influence, and you see in the 
 public press every morning the efforts which 
 are being made by our enemies to exploit the 
 position of Ireland. 
 
 Canada everybody is proud of. Australia 
 has done her part splendidly in this struggle. 
 Why cannot you listen to them? Canada five 
 times in her Parliament has begged you to deal 
 with the Irish question on broad and free lines, 
 and Australia has done the same. In God's 
 name, why cannot you do it ? I do not believe 
 there is an Englishman in Europe who would 
 not this very night agree to a full and free 
 measure of Home Rule if the Irish people 
 themselves would demand it. 
 
 What stands in the way of a settlement? 
 The attitude of a section of our countrymen 
 in the North of Ireland! If you ask an Eng- 
 lishman, be he Liberal or Conservative, why 
 Home Rule is not granted, the reply will be, 
 "Home Rule we are ready to grant — every 
 journal in England says so — if only you and 
 your countrymen, North and South, can agree 
 
168 APPENDIX 
 
 about it." If there ought to be an oblivion of 
 the past between Great Britain and Ireland gen- 
 erally, may I ask in God's name the First Lord 
 of the Admiralty why there cannot be a similar 
 oblivion of the past between the warring sec- 
 tions in Ireland? 
 
 Are we to ever go on the lines of the old 
 struggle of the Stuarts and the Battle of the 
 Boyne? All my life I have taken as strong 
 and as strenuous a part on the Nationalist 
 side as my poor abilities would allow. I may 
 have been as bitter and as strong in the heated 
 atmosphere of party contests against my coun- 
 trymen in the North as ever they have been 
 against me, but I believe in my soul and heart 
 here to-day that I represent the instinct and 
 the desire of the whole Irish Catholic race 
 when I say that there is nothing that they more 
 passionately desire and long for than that there 
 should be an end of this old struggle between 
 the North and the South. 
 
 The followers of the right hon. gentleman 
 the First Lord of the Admiralty should shake 
 hands with the rest of their countrymen. I 
 appeal to the right hon. gentleman here in the 
 name of men against whom no finger of scorn 
 can be pointed ; in the name of men who are 
 doing their duty; in the name of men who 
 
MAJOR REDMOND'S LAST SPEECH 169 
 
 have died ; in the name of men who may die, 
 and who at this very moment may be dying, 
 to rise to the demands of the situation. I ask 
 him to meet his Nationalist fellow-countrymen 
 and accept the offer which they make to him 
 and his followers, and on the basis of that self- 
 government which has made, and which alone 
 has made, the Empire as strong as it is to-day, 
 come to some arrangement for the better gov- 
 ernment of Ireland in the future. 
 
 What stands in the way? We read in our 
 history books of the Battle of the Boyne. The 
 friends of the right hon. gentleman espoused 
 the cause of William hundreds of years ago. 
 Our people passionately adhere to the cause 
 of the fallen Stuarts. Is the sentiment en- 
 gendered at that time to go on for ever? In 
 the face of a war which is threatening civilisa- 
 tion, which is destroying all that mankind has 
 built up in the Christian era, in the face of all 
 that, are we still to continue in Ireland our 
 conflicts and our arguments and disputes about 
 the merits of the Stuarts, about the Battle of 
 the Boyne and the rest ? 
 
 Why does the right hon. gentleman opposite 
 not meet us half-way? I want to know what 
 is the reason. It surely cannot be that the 
 right hon. gentleman and his friends believe 
 
170 APPENDIX 
 
 that under a system of self-government they 
 would have anything to fear. Nothing im- 
 pressed me more than the opinion I heard ex- 
 pressed by a high-placed Roman Catholic offi- 
 cer who is in service with the Ulster Brigade, 
 than when he told me of his experience there, 
 and when he said that although he was the 
 only one of the Catholic religion in that divi- 
 sion it had dawned upon him that they cer- 
 tainly were Irishmen and were not Englishmen 
 or Scotsmen. 
 
 The right hon. gentleman knows perfectly 
 well that it would not take so very much to 
 bring his friends and our friends together, and 
 I ask him why the attempt is not made. I ask 
 him whether the circumstances of the time do 
 not warrant that such an attempt should be 
 made? I ask him whether he does not know 
 in his inmost heart that it would bring to the 
 common enemy more dismay and consterna- 
 tion than the destruction of a hundred of their 
 submarines if they knew that England, Scot- 
 land, and Ireland were really united, not merely 
 within the confines of the shores of these isl- 
 ands, but united in every part of the world 
 where the Irish people are to be found ? 
 
 The right hon. gentleman may ask for guar- 
 antees or safeguards in an Irish Parliament. 
 
MAJOR REDMOND'S LAST SPEECH 171 
 
 My own opinion is that those he represents de- 
 sire in their hearts no guarantees or safe- 
 guards. I believe that they know that they 
 can trust their countrymen in the South. Does 
 anybody believe that the southern Irish heart 
 is capable of anything which would be other 
 than upright and just and fair to the people 
 of the North in the legislative chamber? Does 
 anybody think them capable of such baseness ? 
 What is it that stands in the way of Ireland 
 taking her place as a self-governing part of 
 this Empire? 
 
 Ireland is the only portion of the Empire 
 now fighting which is not self-governing. The 
 Australians whom I meet from time to time 
 point to their government being free; the Ca- 
 nadians and the New Zealanders do the same, 
 and we Irishmen are the only units in France 
 to-day taking our part in the war who are 
 obliged to admit that the country we come 
 from is denied those privileges which has made 
 the Empire the strong organisation which it 
 is to-day. 
 
 If safeguards are necessary — I speak only 
 for myself, and I do not speak for anybody 
 else on these benches, because I have been 
 away from this house so long that I have 
 almost lost touch with things — as far as my 
 
172 APPENDIX 
 
 own personal opinion goes, there is nothing 
 I would not do, and there is no length to 
 which I would not go, in order to meet the 
 real objections or to secure the real confidence, 
 friendship, and affection of my countrymen in 
 the North of Ireland. 
 
 For my own part, I would gladly, if it would 
 ease the situation, agree to an arrangement 
 whereby it might be possible for His Majesty 
 the King, if he so desired, to call in some one 
 at the starting of a new Irish government, a 
 gentleman representing the portion of the 
 country and the section of the community 
 which the First Lord represents, and if a repre- 
 sentative of that kind were placed with his 
 hand upon the helm of the first Irish Parlia- 
 ment, I — at any rate, as far as I am concerned 
 — would give him the loyal and the strong 
 support which I have given to every leader I 
 have supported in this house. 
 
 After all, these are times of sacrifice, and 
 every man is called upon to make some sacri- 
 fices. Men and women and children alike have 
 to do something in these days, and is it too 
 much to appeal to the right hon. gentleman 
 and his friends to sacrifice some part of their 
 position in order to lead the majority of their 
 countrymen and to bring about that which the 
 
MAJOR REDMOND'S LAST SPEECH 173 
 
 whole English-speaking world desires, namely, 
 a real reconciliation of Ireland? 
 
 I apologise for having detained the house 
 so long, but this is a matter upon which I feel 
 strongly, and I feel all the more strongly about 
 it because I know that I am trying altogether 
 too feebly, but as strongly as I can, to repre- 
 sent what I know to be the wishes nearest to 
 the hearts of tens of thousands of Irishmen 
 who went with me and their colleagues to 
 France, many of whom will never return, all 
 of whom are suffering the privations and the 
 hardship and the risk and the wellnigh intol- 
 erable circumstances of life in France. 
 
 I want to speak for these men, and if they 
 could all speak with one voice and with one 
 accord they would say to this house, to men 
 in every part of it, to Conservatives, Liberals, 
 and Labour men, to their Nationalist country- 
 men and to their countrymen from the North 
 of Ireland, in the name of God we here who 
 are about to die, perhaps, ask you to do that 
 which largely induced us to leave our homes ; 
 to do that which our fathers and mothers 
 taught us to long for; to do that which is all 
 we desire, make our country happy and con- 
 tented, and enable us when we meet the Ca- 
 nadians and the Australians and the New Zea- 
 
174 APPENDIX 
 
 landers, side by side in the commpn cause and 
 the common field, to say to them, "Our coun- 
 try, just as yours, has self-government within 
 the Empire." 
 
 I know that there is a great softening of 
 feeling with regard to Ireland. I know there 
 is not the same bitterness which there used to 
 be. I know that men of all parties recognise 
 that there is an Irish question. How well I 
 remember, when I came in here as a boy nearly 
 thirty-four years ago, that people used to say, 
 "Oh, the curse of Ireland is the agitator, and 
 but for the agitator Ireland would be at rest 
 and peace." 
 
 Never, surely, was there a greater fallacy 
 than that. It is not the agitator that makes 
 the agitation in Ireland or anywhere else; it 
 is the unrest amongst the people, and their 
 discontent, which make the agitators. For 
 thirty-four years I have been begging the peo- 
 ple of this country here to prepare for the 
 danger which now confronts them, by trusting 
 Ireland. 
 
 For many years my own father on this very 
 bench preached the same thing, and pleaded 
 the same cause, and if nothing is done, when 
 we are all dead and gone, and the whole per- 
 sonnel of this house is changed, when a new 
 
MAJOR REDMOND'S LAST SPEECH 175 
 
 generation arises to which all that is now hap- 
 pening will be but a mere matter of history, 
 there will then be still the Irish question, which 
 is simply the result of attempting to govern 
 a high-spirited people against their consent, 
 and without reference to their individual and 
 instinctive feelings. 
 
 Therefore it is that at the risk of wearying 
 the house I have made these remarks, and I do 
 appeal with all the strength of my soul to the 
 Government, to its Leader, and to the First 
 Lord of the Admiralty, to seize the opportunity 
 which has now arisen. It cannot be beyond 
 the wit of men to reconcile the differences of 
 the past. In view of the extraordinary neces- 
 sities of the time, it surely ought to be the duty 
 of Ulstermen and Nationalists alike to meet 
 each other, and to bring about in Ireland a 
 state of affairs which will rejoice the Empire, 
 and which will bring satisfaction from one end 
 of the United States of America and the 
 English-speaking world to the other. 
 
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