Part 30

The following letter must not be forgotten. It was found at the side of a dead French cavalry officer: "There are two other men lying near me, and I do not think there is much hope for them either. One is an officer of a Scottish regiment, and the other is a private in the Uhlans. They were struck down after me, and when I came to myself, I found them bending over me, rendering first aid. The Britisher was pouring water down my throat from his flask, while the German was endeavouring to staunch my wound with an anti-septic preparation served out to them by their medical corps. The Highlander had one of his legs shattered, and the German had several pieces of shrapnel buried in his side. In spite of their own suffering they were trying to help me, and when I was fully conscious again, the German gave us a morphia injection and took one himself. His medical corps had also provided him with the injection and the needle, together with printed instructions for its use. After the injection, feeling wonderfully at ease, we spoke of the lives we had lived before the war. We all spoke English, and we talked of the women we had left at home. Both the German and the Britisher had only been married a year. I wondered, and I suppose the others did, why we had fought each other at all...." (Daily Citizen, December 21, 1914. Quoted in Edward Carpenter's "The Healing of Nations," p. 261.)

MORE CHRISTMAS INCIDENTS.

Let us take one or two more of the Christmas experiences as quoted by Mr. Edward Carpenter, in his book, "The Healing of Nations": "Last night (Christmas Eve) was the weirdest stunt I have ever seen. All day the Germans had been sniping industriously, with some success, but after sunset they started singing, and we replied with carols. Then they shouted, 'Happy Christmas!' to us, and some of us replied in German. It was a topping moonlight night, and we carried on long conversations, and kept singing to each other and cheering. Later they asked us to send one man out to the middle, between the trenches, with a cake, and they would give us a bottle of wine. Hunt went out, and five of them came out and gave him the wine, cigarettes and cigars. After that you could hear them for a long time calling from half-way, 'Englishman, kom hier.' So one or two more of our chaps went out and exchanged cigarettes, etc., and they all seemed decent fellows."

Again. "We had quite a sing-song last night (Christmas Eve). The Germans gave a song, and then our chaps gave them one in return. A German that could speak English, and some others, came right up to our trenches, and we gave them cigarettes and papers to read, as they never get any news, and then we let them walk back to their own trenches. Then our chaps went over to their trenches, and they let them come back all right. About five o'clock on Christmas Eve one of them shouted across and told us that if we did not fire on them they would not open fire on us, and so the officers agreed. About twenty of them came up all at once and started chatting away to our chaps like old chums, and neither side attempted to shoot." Another soldier relates how his comrades and the Saxons opposed to them sang and shouted to each other through the night. He goes on, "When daylight came, two of our fellows, at the invitation of the enemy, left the trenches, met half-way and drank together. That completed it. They said they would not fire, if we did not; so after that we strolled about talking to each other."

On Christmas morning, elsewhere. "We mixed together, played mouth-organs and took part in dances. My word! The Germans can't half sing part songs! We exchanged addresses and souvenirs, and when the time came we shook hands and saluted each other, returning to our trenches. I went up into the trenches on Christmas night. One wouldn't have thought there was a war going on. All day our soldiers and the Germans were talking and singing half-way between the opposing trenches. The space was filled with English and Germans handing one another cigars. At night we sang carols." Another records how souvenirs and food were exchanged, and how jollification and football were indulged in with the Germans. But "next day we got an order that all communication and friendly intercourse must cease." The Germans had said frankly they were tired of the war, the English soldiers wished to be their friends, but far away were a few elderly men who wanted the fighting to go on.

Into what depths the need of exacerbating hate may lead one is shown by the following extract from a telegram headed, "British Headquarters, France," which I take from the Daily News of December 23, 1915:

No doubt the Bosches will have plenty of Christmas trees, as they did last year, but, without attaching too much credence to the reports of an increasing difficulty in maintaining their rations. I think it is quite safe to say that they will fare very much more frugally than our own men. But may not their own consciousness of the fact result in an outburst of "strafing?" The principle that the next best thing to not getting well served yourself is to spoil the other fellow's enjoyment is a good sound Hunnish axiom. There will certainly be no amenities nor anything in the nature of a truce so far as the British are concerned. All ranks are bidden to remember that war is war and that the Germans invariably have some sinister motive in all they do, especially under the guise of a gush of friendly sentiment.--Reuter.

The last sentences must surely, in any generous heart (if the moral destruction of war has left us such), produce a feeling of acute shame. In all the multitude of truces that occurred at Christmas, 1914, I have not seen a single case of German treachery reported. What is it that is feared in the truce? "In some places," said a German officer, "we have had to change our men several times. They get too damn friendly." "If we don't take care," said an English officer that Christmas, "there will be a permanent peace without generals or c.o.'s having a say in the matter." Is that thought really more terrible than the thought of unnumbered shattered bodies and hopeless hearts?

How ineffectual so far are all European attempts at democracy! Carlyle's satire about the thirty men of Dumdrudge called out, they know not why, to kill thirty men from a Dumdrudge elsewhere is not referred to in these days; but it still expresses the essential absurdity of wars.

Here is an extract from the Labour Leader of August 19, 1915:

My friend must not be identified. But here is an incident he told me I can safely relate. During the unauthorised Christmas truce of eight months ago so chummy did a British officer and a Saxon officer become that the Saxon officer gave his enemy "an invitation to visit him in Germany at the end of the war," and "stay as long as you like," he added. The British officer is still carrying the address in his pocket in the hope that one day he may be able to accept the invitation.

The Labour Leader is much disliked by the orthodox of England, as is the Vorwaerts by the orthodox of Germany. It seems to me that both may be rendering a fine service to the cause of humanity, and one may surely say this without implying complete agreement with the opinions or the policy of either.

WOUNDED ENEMIES.

Writing home to his mother in Somerset, a member of the R.A.M.C. says: "You will find inside a German button for a souvenir. It was given me by a wounded German prisoner. After he had had his wound dressed, he pointed to his buttons and made signs for me to cut one off. He hardly knew how to thank us after he had finished his tea, and his eyes gleamed with gratitude as he looked around at us." (Daily News, August 26, 1915.)

From a private letter: "The following is first hand, and of interest. Dr. S. lectures on first aid to C.'s squad. During the course of a lecture on the heart he referred to a visit paid to the local hospital. In the hospital was a man who had been a prisoner in Germany. Dr. S. asked the man about his treatment. In the course of the talk the man said that if he had his choice he would prefer to be in a German hospital! Dr. S. smiled when he related this. 'This is not the kind of statement,' he said, 'that is published in the newspapers!'"

There comes into my mind the photograph of a British prisoner in a German camp. The boy's mother was delighted to see him looking so well. The photograph was the more striking as the lad was wounded in the stomach at the time he was taken prisoner.

From a private letter: "My nephew was in the Canadians and was wounded in the spine in a recent advance.... He was brought back to London, where I saw him, and he died in hospital shortly after. He told me himself all about it. He lay for several hours after being wounded, unable of course to move. When the ambulance came up, the stretcher bearers were Germans--prisoners of war. They saw he was cold and took off their own coats and wrapped him up. All the while they were under fire from the British guns. One of them was wounded in the arm by shrapnel as they were carrying him, but he kept his hold. He called to his mate to let down the stretcher, but till it was on the ground, he never flinched. My nephew knew what this meant, and as he thought of what had been done for him by an 'enemy' his face lighted up, as he said, 'That man is a hero!' And he added, 'We don't feel hard towards them at the front.'"

Again, a wounded soldier who had been prisoner in Germany says: "I could not have been better treated, and I know ninety companions who say the same. But this is not the sort of story the newspapers want." People very generally do not like to hear good of an enemy. In war-time this very human objection may become an important cause of continued strife. (cf., p. 108.)

In the following, Philip Gibbs tells of a German doctor who tended friend and foe alike. "A number of Germans ... --about 250 of them--stayed in the dug-outs, without food and water, while our shells made a fury above them and smashed up the ground. They had a German doctor there, a giant of a man with a great heart, who had put his first-aid dressing station in the second line trench, and attended to the wounds of the men until our bombardment intensified so that no man could live there.

"He took the wounded down to a dug-out--those who had not been carried back--and stayed there expecting death. But then, as he told me to-day, at about eleven o'clock this morning the shells ceased to scream and roar above-ground, and after a sudden silence he heard the noise of British troops. He went up to the entrance of his dug-out and said to some English soldiers who came up with fixed bayonets, 'My friends, I surrender.' Afterwards he helped to tend our own wounded, and did very good work for us under the fire of his own guns, which had now turned upon this position." (Daily Chronicle, July 5, 1916.)

It must be easy to tell bad stories of every furious fight, but the right spirit is surely that shown by Mr. Gibbs in another despatch (Daily Chronicle, July 7, 1916): "The enemy behaved well, I am told, to our wounded men at some parts of the line, and helped them over the parapets. This makes us loth to tell other stories not so good."

Again, on July 21, 1916: "It was the turn of the stretcher-bearers, and they worked with great courage. And here one must pay a tribute to the enemy. 'We had white men against us,' said one of the officers, 'and they let us get in our wounded without hindrance as soon as the fight was over.'"

"'This war!' said a German doctor, 'We go on killing each other to no purpose.'" (Daily Chronicle, July 5, 1916.)

And on this side:

The wife of a petty officer described to me the arrival of the first batch of wounded. It happened that these were chiefly Germans. "I thought I wouldn't care so long as I didn't see our poor boys carried up," she said, "but when I saw them, Germans or not, I couldn't help crying." I gathered that the sight of the sufferers swept away every feeling but sympathy amongst the onlookers. She told me of the funerals to the little churchyard outside the barracks, and of the "loneliness" of the dead Germans. She had wept by those nameless graves, thinking of those that belonged to these strangers.--Louie Bennett in the Labour Leader.

I remember a Cockney boy of fifteen telling me how at Southend he had gone for fun to see wounded Germans brought ashore. But the fun died out in his heart at the reality, and he ran away.

The little incident I will next mention has special charm because of the beautiful spirit shown by every one concerned. A wounded German, Albert Dill, lay in hospital here. He was asked by a visitor if there was anything that he specially wished for. He answered. "Flowers for the dear English nurse, more than anything else." The flowers were sent and his letter of gratitude is touching. There were far more than he expected, he said, and his joy was the greater. "The pleasure of the nurses and the doctors too was great when they saw this rich gift of flowers (diese reiche Blumenspende).... This day will often remind me of the good and self-sacrificing nursing that I have had here in this hospital." And the "dear English nurse" writes: "The flowers you sent at the request of Albert Dill were indeed most beautiful.... I have been nursing the German patients for a considerable time, and their gratitude has always been most marked. We sincerely hope that while carrying out our duties we have been able to relieve their sufferings, and have perhaps helped them to bear the misfortunes of war a little more patiently." This little incident is surely the greatest of victories, for it is a victory of the spirit.

Nurse Kathleen Cambridge, who was near Mons at the time of the British retreat, spoke as follows of some of her experiences (Daily News, January 8, 1916):