Farewell by A.W.B.

During the early years of the war (before conscription), the rallying cry for young men to volunteer was a major part of local newspapers. This poem by A.W.B. was published in the Eastbourne Gazette on May 26th 1915.

It is one of the worst poem’s I’ve ever read, but I gives a really good indication of the feeling of the town and the overwhelming pressure for every man to enlist. I think it captures the feelings of the time pretty well.


Farewell

Good-bye, young Lewes laddie,
We grip you by the hands;
We never shall forget you,
While Lewes Castle stands.

You leave your home behind you,
You’ve heard your country call,
And Lewes town will mind you,
Till Lewes Castle fall.

You’ll think of those you’ve left lad,
You won’t forget your home,
We’ll have a welcome ready,
To greet you when you come.

For you’re come home a hero,
To sound of martial drums;
We’ll set the church bells ringing
“The Conquering Hero Comes.”

Your lass is at the gate, lad,
As you march down the lane,
And at the gate she’ll greet you
When you come home again.

Oh, come you back with speed, lad,
Your gong makes us sore,
And come you back a hero
From foreign fields or gore.

We never will forget, lad,
How you went at the call;
We’ll ever mind that debt, lad,
Till Lewes Castle fall.

A.W.B.

The Unnamed III- Pictures from Thiepval Cemetery, Somme.

Here are some more striking photographs taken by my friend Roger Stoakley.

These were taken at the Thiepval cemetery in the shadow of the memorial to the missing.

Roger can be contacted at: rjstoakley@btopenworld.com

Stone Cross War Memorial, Sussex.

Stone Cross War Memorial on the corner of Hailsham Road, adjacent to St Luke's Church, Stone Cross near Eastbourne, East Sussex.

In common with most War Memorials the names bear witness to the fact that many families lost more than one member.


Pictured above is a view of St. Luke's from the cross roads at Stone Cross. In the foreground is the war memorial with the names of local people who lost their life during two world wars. Their names are read out during each Remembrance Sunday service.

St. Luke's Church, which was built in the 1920s, fell into disrepair during the 1970s and re-opened in 1988.

For a details of those metioned on the Memorial please go to:

http://www.roll-of-honour.com/Sussex/StoneCross.html

And for more information on Stone Cross & St Lukes Church.

The Trenches by Frederic Manning.

I love this poem by the Australian Frederic Manning. It gives a real sense of what it must have been like on a cold frosty night on the Western Front:-


Endless lanes sunken in the clay,
Bays, and traverses, fringed with wasted herbage,
Seed-pods of blue scabious, and some lingering blooms;
And the sky, seen as from a well,
Brilliant with frosty stars.
We stumble, cursing, on the slippery duckboards,
Goaded like the damned by some invisible wrath,
A will stronger than weariness, stronger than animal fear,
Implacable and monotonous.

Here a shaft, slanting, and below
A dusty and flickering light from one feeble candle
And prone figures sleeping uneasily,
Murmuring,
And men who cannot sleep,
With faces impassive as masks,
Bright, feverish eyes, and drawn lips,
Sad, pitiless, terrible faces,
Each an incarnate curse.

Here in a bay, a helmeted sentry
Silent and motionless, watching while two sleep,
And he sees before him
With indifferent eyes the blasted and torn land
Peopled with stiff prone forms, stupidly rigid,
As tho' they had not been men.

Dead are the lips where love laughed or sang,
The hands of youth eager to lay hold of life,
Eyes that have laughed to eyes,
And these were begotten,
O love, and lived lightly, and burnt
With the lust of a man's first strength: ere they were rent,
Almost at unawares, savagely; and strewn
In bloody fragments, to be the carrion
Of rats and crows.

And the sentry moves not, searching
Night for menace with weary eyes.


(Frederic Manning was born in Sydney Australia in 1882. He attended Sydney Grammar School and at the age of 14 he went to England. During the First World War he served as a private in the King’s Shropshire Light Infantry Regiment and fought on the Somme and Ancre. After the war he spent most of his time studying and writing. He died in 1935.)

For more information please see: Frederic Manning at Wikipedia &

Frederic Manning at the Australian War Memorial.

A view of the trenches.

This is an excellent extract from the book “ Kitchener's Mob, The Adventures of an American in the British Army” By James Norman Hall, which can be found at Gutenberg.org

It gives a great description of trench life on the Western Front. I especially like the final paragraphs on rations, flies and rats.

“All of the dugouts for privates and N.C.O.s were of equal size and built on the same model, the reason being that the walls and floors, which were made of wood, and the roofs, which were of corrugated iron, were put together in sections at the headquarters of the Royal Engineers, who superintended all the work of trench construction. The material was brought up at night ready to be fitted into excavations. Furthermore, with thousands of men to house within a very limited area, space was a most important consideration. There was no room for indulging individual tastes in dugout architecture. The roofs were covered with from three to four feet of earth, which made them proof against shrapnel or shell splinters. In case of a heavy bombardment with high explosives, the men took shelter in deep and narrow "slip trenches." These were blind alleyways leading off from the traveling trench, with room for from ten to fifteen men in each. At this part of the line there were none of the very deep shell-proof shelters, from fifteen to twenty feet below the surface of the ground, of which I had read. Most of the men seemed to be glad of this. They preferred taking their chances in an open trench during heavy shell fire.

Realists and Romanticists lived side by side in the traveling trench. "My Little Gray Home in the West" was the modest legend over one apartment. The "Ritz Carlton" was next door to "The Rats' Retreat," with "Vermin Villa" next door but one. "The Suicide Club" was the suburban residence of some members of the bombing squad. I remarked that the bombers seemed to take rather a pessimistic view of their profession, whereupon Shorty told me that if there were any men slated for the Order of the Wooden Cross, the bombers were those unfortunate ones. In an assault they were first at the enemy's position. They had dangerous work to do even on the quietest of days. But theirs was a post of honor, and no one of them but was proud of his membership in the Suicide Club.

The officers' quarters were on a much more generous and elaborate scale than those of the men. This I gathered from Shorty's description of them, for I saw only the exteriors as we passed along the trench. Those for platoon and company commanders were built along the traveling trench. The colonel, major, and adjutant lived in a luxurious palace, about fifty yards down a communication trench. Near it was the officers' mess, a café de luxe with glass panels in the door, a cooking stove, a long wooden table, chairs,—everything, in fact, but hot and cold running water.


"You know," said Shorty, "the officers thinks they 'as to rough it, but they got it soft, I'm tellin' you! Wooden bunks to sleep in, batmen to bring 'em 'ot water fer shavin' in the mornin', all the fags they wants,—Blimy, I wonder wot they calls livin' 'igh?"

I agreed that in so far as living quarters are concerned, they were roughing it under very pleasant circumstances. However, they were not always so fortunate, as later experience proved. Here there had been little serious fighting for months and the trenches were at their best. Elsewhere the officers' dugouts were often but little better than those of the men.

The first-line trenches were connected with two lines of support or reserve trenches built in precisely the same fashion, and each heavily wired. The communication trenches which joined them were from seven to eight feet deep and wide enough to permit the convenient passage of incoming and outgoing troops, and the transport of the wounded back to the field dressing stations. From the last reserve line they wound on backward through the fields until troops might leave them well out of range of rifle fire. Under Shorty's guidance I saw the field dressing stations, the dugouts for the reserve ammunition supply and the stores of bombs and hand grenades, battalion and brigade trench headquarters. We wandered from one part of the line to another through trenches, all of which were kept amazingly neat and clean. The walls were stayed with fine-mesh wire to hold the earth in place. The floors were covered with board walks carefully laid over the drains, which ran along the center of the trench and emptied into deep wells, built in recesses in the walls. I felt very much encouraged when I saw the careful provisions for sanitation and drainage. On a fine June morning it seemed probable that living in ditches was not to be so unpleasant as I had imagined it. Shorty listened to my comments with a smile.

"Don't pat yerself on the back yet a w'ile, mate," he said. "They looks right enough now, but wite till you've seen 'em arter a 'eavy rain."

I had this opportunity many times during the summer and autumn. A more wretched existence than that of soldiering in wet weather could hardly be imagined. The walls of the trenches caved in in great masses. The drains filled to overflowing, and the trench walks were covered deep in mud. After a few hours of rain, dry and comfortable trenches became a quagmire, and we were kept busy for days afterward repairing the damage.

As a machine gunner I was particularly interested in the construction of the machine-gun emplacements. The covered battle positions were very solidly built. The roofs were supported with immense logs or steel girders covered over with many layers of sandbags. There were two carefully concealed loopholes looking out to a flank, but none for frontal fire, as this dangerous little weapon best enjoys catching troops in enfilade owing to the rapidity and the narrow cone of its fire. Its own front is protected by the guns on its right and left. At each emplacement there was a range chart giving the ranges to all parts of the enemy's trenches, and to every prominent object both in front of and behind them, within its field of fire. When not in use the gun was kept mounted and ready for action in the battle position.

"But remember this," said Shorty, "you never fires from your battle position except in case of attack. W'en you goes out at night to 'ave a little go at Fritzie, you always tykes yer gun sommers else. If you don't, you'll 'ave Minnie an' Busy Bertha an' all the rest o' the Krupp childern comin' over to see w'ere you live."

This was a wise precaution, as we were soon to learn from experience. Machine guns are objects of special interest to the artillery, and the locality from which they are fired becomes very unhealthy for some little time thereafter.

We stopped for a moment at "The Mud Larks' Hairdressing Parlor," a very important institution if one might judge by its patronage. It was housed in a recess in the wall of the traveling trench, and was open to the sky. There I saw the latest fashion in "oversea" hair cuts. The victims sat on a ration box while the barber mowed great swaths through tangled thatch with a pair of close-cutting clippers. But instead of making a complete job of it, a thick fringe of hair which resembled a misplaced scalping tuft was left for decorative purposes, just above the forehead. The effect was so grotesque that I had to invent an excuse for laughing. It was a lame one, I fear, for Shorty looked at me warningly. When we had gone on a little way he said:—
"Ain't it a proper beauty parlor? But you got to be careful about larfin'. Some o' the blokes thinks that 'edge-row is a regular ornament."

I had supposed that a daily shave was out of the question on the firing-line; but the British Tommy is nothing if not resourceful. Although water is scarce and fuel even more so, the self-respecting soldier easily surmounts difficulties, and the Gloucesters were all nice in matters pertaining to the toilet. Instead of draining their canteens of tea, they saved a few drops for shaving purposes.

"It's a bit sticky," said Shorty, "but it's 'ot, an' not 'arf bad w'en you gets used to it. Now, another thing you don't want to ferget is this: W'en yer movin' up fer yer week in the first line, always bring a bundle o' firewood with you. They ain't so much as a match-stick left in the trenches. Then you wants to be savin' of it. Don't go an' use it all the first d'y or you'll 'ave to do without yer tea the rest o' the week."

I remembered his emphasis upon this point afterward when I saw men risking their lives in order to procure firewood. Without his tea Tommy was a wretched being. I do not remember a day, no matter how serious the fighting, when he did not find both the time and the means for making it.

Shorty was a Ph.D. in every subject in the curriculum, including domestic science. In preparing breakfast he gave me a practical demonstration of the art of conserving a limited resource of fuel, bringing our two canteens to a boil with a very meager handful of sticks; and while doing so he delivered an oral thesis on the best methods of food preparation. For example, there was the item of corned beef—familiarly called "bully." It was the pièce de résistance at every meal with the possible exception of breakfast, when there was usually a strip of bacon. Now, one's appetite for "bully" becomes jaded in the course of a few weeks or months. To use the German expression one doesn't eat it gern. But it is not a question of liking it. One must eat it or go hungry. Therefore, said Shorty, save carefully all of your bacon grease, and instead of eating your "bully" cold out of the tin, mix it with bread crumbs and grated cheese and fry it in the grease. He prepared some in this way, and I thought it a most delectable dish. Another way of stimulating the palate was to boil the beef in a solution of bacon grease and water, and then, while eating it, "kid yerself that it's Irish stew." This second method of taking away the curse did not appeal to me very strongly, and Shorty admitted that he practiced such self-deception with very indifferent success; for after all "bully" was "bully" in whatever form you ate it.

In addition to this staple, the daily rations consisted of bacon, bread, cheese, jam, army biscuits, tea, and sugar. Sometimes they received a tinned meat and vegetable ration, already cooked, and at welcome intervals fresh meat and potatoes were substituted for corned beef. Each man had a very generous allowance of food, a great deal more, I thought, than he could possibly eat. Shorty explained this by saying that allowance was made for the amount which would be consumed by the rats and the blue-bottle flies.

There were, in fact, millions of flies. They settled in great swarms along the walls of the trenches, which were filled to the brim with warm light as soon as the sun had climbed a little way up the sky. Empty tin-lined ammunition boxes were used as cupboards for food. But of what avail were cupboards to a jam-loving and jam-fed British army living in open ditches in the summer time? Flytraps made of empty jam tins were set along the top of the parapet. As soon as one was filled, another was set in its place. But it was an unequal war against an expeditionary force of countless numbers.

"They ain't nothin' you can do," said Shorty. "They steal the jam right off yer bread."

As for the rats, speaking in the light of later experience, I can say that an army corps of pied pipers would not have sufficed to entice away the hordes of them that infested the trenches, living like house pets on our rations. They were great lazy animals, almost as large as cats, and so gorged with food that they could hardly move. They ran over us in the dugouts at night, and filched cheese and crackers right through the heavy waterproofed covering of our haversacks. They squealed and fought among themselves at all hours. I think it possible that they were carrion eaters, but never, to my knowledge, did they attack living men. While they were unpleasant bedfellows, we became so accustomed to them that we were not greatly concerned about our very intimate associations.”

An Appeal for Volunteer Policewomen.

This interesting letter appeared in the British Nursing Journal on 21st April 1917. An appeal for volunteer police women between the ages of 27 and 40 as men were being called up. The training period of three months seems very short, but I suppose that a shortage of police necessitated in quick measures being taken.

POLICE AND PATROL: WORK FOR WOMEN VOLUNTEERS.

To the: Editor of THE BRITISH JOURNAL OF NURSING.

Madam, - I am venturing to ask for permission to appeal once more through your columns for recruits for the work of Policewomen and Patrol-leaders. The depletion of male Police Forces, and the urgent need of combating the evils which sap the vitality of our country are creating a wide demand for women in Police Forces; and I am confident that if Women Volunteers could see the applications for Policewomen, Patrol-leaders and Paid Patrols which reach this School alone, and which, alas, we are too often obliged to refuse for lack of candidates, they would throw to the winds all doubts as to the need for such work, and would offer themselves in much larger numbers.

We want well educated women between 27 and 40, tactful, sympathetic and strong, with experience, initiative and common sense, for the work to be done must, in these initial stages, owe its value largely to the individuality of the workers. We charge no fee for training, which covers a period of three months and comprises police-court attendance, patrolling, report-writing, case-investigation, drill, first aid, etc., and though the cost of maintenance nominally falls on the candidate during the course a salary is sometimes paid her during the third month of it, whilst training grants are available for special cases. Previous experience in Patrol or Social work may also count as part of the course, and so curtail its length.

The salaries of Policewomen, etc., range from 30s. to £2 10s. a week, uniform being usually provided by the Appointment Committee. Volunteers are asked to write for details, stating age, height, experience, etc., to the Director, 814 Queen’s Road, Bristol.

I am yours faithfully,

D. O. G. PETO,
Director.
Bristol Training School for
Women Patrols and Police.
81A, Queen’s Road, Bristol.

Bosham War Memorial, Sussex.

The Bosham War Memorial stands at the northern end of Quay Meadow, which is now in the ownership of the National Trust. If you look closely at the names you can see that some of the families from this small village lost more than one son,

(click on the picture to expand).

The roll of honour is situated in the Church of the Holy Trinity.

A detailed listing of all the soldiers recorded on the Memorial can

be found at

http://www.roll-of-honour.com/Sussex/Bosham.html

'To All Brave Men.'

I like to give all poetry a good chance here at Out of Battle. Anyway this poem from an L.A.J. was republished in the British Nursing Journal on February 19th, 1916. I can’t decided if I like it or not, but I do find it interesting!


TO ALL BRAVE MEN:

They wind along in endless fours,
From every shire from Thames to Dee;
I know that uniformed in brown,
They all go East to fight for me.

More than a year has passed, and still
The air I breathe is fresh and free;
I know above, like tireless hawks,
Soar those who hold that air for me.

Where far away white horses leap,
Where sky and wave in one agree;
I know that there those fearless ride
Who curb these snowy steeds for me.

A sheeted and a shotted load
Slides swiftly to the heaving sea,
I know the ocean holds in trust
Some sailor-man who watched for me.

Rough crosses rise in Flanders, France,
And climb each hill, and dot each lea;
I know they mark the nameless graves
Of those who countered death for me.

But this I know not, when will fade
From Honour’s Roll, and cease to be,
Those gallant gentlemen’s renown,
Who watch, and fight, and die for me!

L. A. J. in the Glasgow Herald.

4th Sussex Bty, RFA special correspondant.

This article in the Eastbourne Gazette from May 1915, gives a small insight to some of the frustration felt by territorial soldiers who were sent to India to replace Indian troops sent to the Western Front. The 4th Sussex RFA came from and was stationed at Eastbourne before the war, and was part of the 44th (Home Counties) Division.

“Sussex RFA in India

A correspondent writing with the 4th Sussex RFA (Territorials) in India writes: “This daily work goes on and we seem to have been here for years. Even the rumours of bringing us back to the front have died out and we seem to have settled in Jullundur for the present at any rate. I hope to make a brief journey to Agra and Dehli and see some of the fine buildings. It is hot (102 degrees in the shade) as I sit and write. I can see sleeping forms stretching about in the rooms beyond, so I think I must finish and have a little siesta.”

(JULLUNDUR, or Jalandhar, a city of British India, giving its name to a district and a division in the Punjab. The city is 260 m. by rail N.W. of Delhi. Pop. (1901), 67,735. It is the headquarters of a brigade in the 3rd division of the northern army.)

44th (Home Counties) Division.

The Sussex Royal Field Artillery was a Territorial Force, already in existence at the outbreak of war. The 6 battery’s from Sussex were part of the 44th (Home Counties) Division and were formed into two brigades of Artillery:

The Artillery of the 1st Home Counties Brigade consisted as :-

1st Sussex Bty. (Territorial Force) on 4th Aug 1914 was at Brighton.
2nd Sussex Bty. (Territorial Force) on 4th Aug 1914 was at Brighton.
3rd Sussex Bty. (Territorial Force) on 4th Aug 1914 was at Hove.

The Artillery of the 2nd Home Counties Brigade consisted as :-

4th Sussex Bty. (Territorial Force) on 4th Aug 1914 was at Eastbourne.
5th Sussex Bty. (Territorial Force) on 4th Aug 1914 was at St. Leonards-on-Sea.
6th Sussex Bty. (Territorial Force) on 4th Aug 1914 was at Bexhill-on-Sea.

The pre-war Division was mainly used to supply garrison troops, filling in the places that appeared as Regular units were brought back to England. Somewhere around 30th October 1914, the majority of the units of the Division were transferred to India to replace Regular Battalions being sent to the Western Front.

The 44th (Home Counties) Division consisted of:

131st Brigade (Surrey Brigade)
1/4th Bn, the Queen's
1/5th Bn, the Queen's (left December 1915)
1/5th Bn, the East Surrey (left December 1917)
1/6th Bn, the East Surrey (left December 1917)

132nd Brigade (Middlesex Brigade)
1/7th Bn, the Middlesex (left August 1914 and moved to Gibraltar)
1/8th Bn, the Middlesex (left August 1914 and moved to Gibraltar)
1/9th Bn, the Middlesex (left November 1917)
1/10th Bn, the Middlesex
1/4th Bn, the Border (joined September 1914)
2/4th Bn, the Border (arrived in India March 1915)
1/4th Bn, the KSLI (joined September 1914; two companies left April 1915, the remainder December 1915)
1/1st Brecknockshire Bn, the South Wales Borderers (joined September 1914, left December 1914)

133rd Brigade (Kent Brigade)
1/4th Bn, the Buffs
1/5th Bn, the Buffs (left December 1915)
1/4th Bn, the Royal West Kents
1/5th Bn, the Royal West Kents (left December 1917)

Divisional Artillery
CCXX (1st Home Counties) Brigade, RFA (left and joined III Corps in Mesopotamia between December 1915 and July 1916) (left again October 1917).
CCXXI (2nd Home Counties) Brigade, RFA (left October 1917)
CCXXII (3rd Home Counties (Cinque Ports)) Brigade, RFA (left May 1916)
4th Home Counties (H) Brigade, RFA (did not move to India; moved to 63rd Division 9 June 1916)
Home Counties (Kent) Heavy Battery (did not move to India; joined XVI HA Brigade in France December 1915)

Engineer Units
1st (Home Counties) Field Coy RE (did not move to India; joined 8th Division February 1915)
2nd (Home Counties) Field Coy RE (did not move to India; joined 5th Division February 1915)
Home Counties Divisional Signal Company (did not move to India; joined 28th Division January 1915)

Field Ambulances
(all left October 1914 and joined 27th Division)
1st (Home Counties) Field Ambulance RAMC
2nd (Home Counties) Field Ambulance RAMC
3rd (Home Counties) Field Ambulance RAMC

Other units
Home Counties Divisional Transport and Supply Column (did not embark for India. Transport became 27th Divisional Train; on 1 January 1916 it transferred to 55th Division).

To all intents and purposes the Division ceased to exist when it reached India.

In 1916 the Division was re-numbered: The 1st Home Counties Brigade became CCXX Brigade and the 2nd Home Counties Brigade became CCXXI Brigade.

In October 1917 the 1st Home Counties Brigade (CCXX) and 2nd Home Counties Bridage (CCXXI) left for Mesopotamia where it joined the 17th Indian Division. It was renumbered as follows:-

1st Sussex Bty became 1064th Bty.
2nd Sussed Bty became 1065th Bty.
3rd Sussex Bty became 1066th Bty.
4th Sussex Bty became 1067th Bty
5th Sussex Bty became 1068th Bty.
6th Sussex Bty became 1069th Bty.

Y.M.C.A.

This article entitled 'Y.M.C.A.' comes from the excellent website http://www.greatwardifferent.com/.

It was originally published in ‘The War Budget’, dated February 10th, 1916. It describes in ‘lovely and free-flowing’ language the wonderful work of the Y.M.C.A.


"Our Warrior’s Camp Comforts in the Role of the Good Samaritan

In the classic story a certain man on the Jerusalem-Jericho road, as our war writers would phrase it, fell among thieves. This may not be literally true of the road from city office to country camp; but the incident is not without its parallel in the moral and physical trials that lie ambushed among the camping grounds of our growing Army.

Laying aside any claim he may have to fellowship with priest and Levite, the Y.M.C.A. worker makes it his business to travel Tommy's way and see that misfortune gets little chance to trip him up.

"Whatever should we do without the Y.M." is a phrase that has been uttered by thousands of soldiers at home and abroad. The war has provided golden opportunities which the Association has made use of in remarkable fashion, and even its most severe, critics of bygone days now acknowledge with wholehearted enthusiasm the splendid work that is being done.

At the end of a hard day's work the open door of a Y.M.C.A. hut draws as if by magnetic power, and for many a man the building stands as a temporary home. Here he can obtain appetising refreshments at the lowest possible price; chocolates, cigarettes, soap, candles, polishes, button-sticks, and camp requisites galore. Writing-paper, envelopes, pen, ink and blotting-paper arc all provided free, and no less than 12 million pieces of stationery are thus given away every month.

Though the camp may be far from a town, Tommy still has his Free Library, for books are lent out and newspapers and magazines are at hand. In addition all kinds of games are provided, such as draughts, dominoes, quoits, chess, and, of course, billiards. A billiard "final" is fought out in deadly earnest, and the fortunate prize- winners retire with beaming faces.

Another evening it is, perhaps, a concert that draws an enthusiastic audience. Sometimes the men themselves provide the programme, and a wide-awake camp leader soon discovers the stars, whether pianist, elocutionist, clog-dancer, or ventriloquist, or local talent may rise to the occasion, and "The Follies" or "The Bonbons" appear in appropriate costumes.

In some of the larger and more important camps concerts are frequent and quite up to professional standard, and the theatrical profession has responded generously to calls on its time. Concert or no concert, a Y.M.C.A. piano is given little rest, and any budding Paderewski can give his comrades a great deal of pleasure.

Occasionally a travel lecture fills the evening hour; or the draught players arrange a tournament. In some camps this, pastime has been revived to a remarkable extent, some of the men playing a very brainy game.

In the village camps the great moment of the evening is that when the cry of "Post" goes up. A great rush and much shouting heralds the arrival of letters. The men crowd round eagerly, and eventually retire pleased or disappointed according to their luck.

From the early morning hour when the Hut floor is swept down, till late at night when the money accounts are balanced up, it is to the Leader an almost unceasing round of duties. Whatever may have been the occupation of the Leader in days gone by, here he has to turn his hand to everything, and for the time being he is Jack of all trades, from scullery maid to parson, errand boy to banker, bar assistant to general manager. Stores have to be ordered, concerts arranged for, the billiard table overhauled, or the pressing need of the moment may be the necessity for washing- up. No one could complain of lack of variety, but neither, can any Y.M.C.A. worker be accused of having a soft job, for the hours of sleep are his only rest hours.

The "Huts" themselves comprise all manner of buildings adapted for the purpose, and in this way a hotel or an old barn, a garage, or a Church Hall or Chapel Schoolroom may be turned to account. But the typical Y.M.C.A. Hut of modern erection is admirably planned for the purpose in view. Lighted by electricity, with staff rooms and kitchen complete, with post-office, bar-counter, stage, piano, and billiard tables, nothing is lacking which would prevent it ministering to Tommy's needs.

As a frankly religious organisation the Y.M.C.A. boldly assumes that man's three- sided nature is not to be sealed in water-tight compartments. . Religion is not thrust down the men's throats, but an endeavour is made to create an atmosphere favourable to the best type of manliness. "Lantern" services are held in many camps on Sunday evenings. The soldiers attend in large numbers and heartily join in well- known hymns.

The average Tommy has a good standard of conduct, and well deserves the efforts made to make his soldier life a little, more bearable. Quick of repartee, cheerful in spirit, and with a genuine appreciation of services rendered, the soldier in training to- day is a man worthy of the remarkable efforts being made on his behalf. When the war comes to an end the Y.M.C.A. will be able to claim that during the long dreary months of training and warfare they helped to keep the men fit and well and happy. No wonder the soldiers say, "Whatever should we do without the Y.M.?"

Charles H. Cornwall "