There is something about the
British Army that inspires one with confidence. It is a pity that
those people who sit at home in Great Britain and shrug their
shoulders over the daily papers cannot see their army at the front.
It is not a roast beef stolidity. It is rather the steadiness of calm
eyes and good nerves, of physically fit bodies and clean minds. I felt
it when I saw Kitchener's army of clear-eyed boys drilling in Hyde
Park. I got it from the quiet young officer, still in his twenties,
who sat beside me in the car, and who, having been in the war from the
beginning, handling a machine gun all through the battle of Ypres,
when his regiment, the Grenadier Guards, suffered so horribly, was
willing to talk about everything but what he had done.
We went first to Bethune. The roads as we approached the front were
crowded, but there was no disorder. There were motor bicycles and
side-cars carrying dispatch riders and scouts, travelling kitchens,
great lorries, small light cars for supplies needed in a hurry--cars
which make greater speed than the motor vans--omnibuses full of
troops, and steam tractors or caterpillar engines for hauling heavy
guns.
The day was sunny and cold. The rain of the day before had turned to
snow in the night, and the fields were dazzling.
"In the east," said the officer with me, "where there is always snow
in the winter, the Germans have sent out to their troops white helmet
covers and white smocks to cover the uniforms.
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