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WELSH SOLDIERS. A

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WELSH SOLDIERS. A THE OLD TYPE AND THE NEW. A Among Best Fighting Men in Europe. -0- v F By T. J. WILLIAMS. There is something cathedral-like ..about a great railway terminus. The vast sweeing arches overhead, the noble spaciousness, the sense of might and movement, the rails marking the pathway to the beyond, the passengers with their ritual of leavetaking--all combine to produce impressions almost religious in appeal and intensity. This quality of spiritual suggestion it was that led G. F. Watts to ask permission from philistine railway directors to adorn the walls of Euston Station with allegorical paintings. Not long ago I was hurrying through one of the great railway termini in London, these ideas and impressions fermenting in my mind, when I en- countered a body of troops preparing to entrain for the front. The metal mblem" and letters on their shoulders quickened my interest, for I saw they were of a Welsh regiment. As I drew abreast of them my attention was drawn to a soldier unmistakably Welsh in face and physique. He was a direct descendant of "the short, dark Iberian who undid his corded bale." The ruddy hue of the open air was on his cheek; his eyes sparkled health; ibis carriage was erect an3 martial; vigorous swing marked his step. I neard him singing quietly to himself in a soft tenor: "Gymru anwyl, gwlad y delyn, Swynol yw dy enw di. I hailed him in Welsh, and aftor & preliminary start of surprise, he on- swered in the throaty speech of the North, with a pleasant smile, and a friendly wave of the hand. Then he passed on. I hurried down some step#, and boarded an east-bound train for I the City. But my mind was in the troop-train with the lad who was bound for the Front, a song of Wales on his lips, and a Celtic trill in his heart. Since then I have met many other WTelsh soldiers, many who have been in the trenches, many more who are going there, and a conclusion I arrived at last August that the Welshman would I prove himself the equal of any fighting man) in Europe has been amply con- I firmed. THE OLD REGULARS. I The men who have fought and come home again are built on coarser lines than those who volunteered at the out- break of war, and are now eating their hearts out with impatience because the order to go to the Front is slow in coming. Speaking broadly, the men who went out with the Expeditionary Force, or the first draft of reserves, .we men with the natural fighting tem- perament, the type of the old Regulars, of whom there are now—alas!—few left. To them a 'scrap' of one kind or another is an imperative necessity, and life without it would hold no savour. Whether it was a fight (as Jief as not with a bosom pal) in the long bar of a public-house, at a street- corner, or in some secluded, grassy arena on the mountain-side, they were hound to find a vent for their natural pugnacity. The ultimatum to Germany had on them the effect of a bugle on an old war-horse, and thev rushed to obey the mobilisation order, or went for the nearest recruiting office at the double. How many of them now Tie "in some -corner of a foreign field"? Some I knew. There was Twm Jacko-ff I take leave to call him that. How many times have I seen Twm's long arms and bony fists descending on some luckless opponent with the sicken- ing regularity of flails, his fiery looks bobbinr up and down like a knight's plume in an ancient tournament, a queer, sickly grin distorting his gnarled countenance, full-flavoured oaths and ,taunts falling from his lips as he sparred round his enemy! Twm went out to fight the Germans, and after three weeks -of stolid endurance in the trenches his Celtic enthusiasm got the better of his caution. He invited the best German in the opposing trench to a good okl-fashioned fight with the fists, and "see who'll cry 'Holt' first." Bv way of emphasising his challenge he put his head above the parapet—and dropped, back with a bullet in his brain. Stormy and tempestuous as your soul was. Twin, degrilding as were your drinking bouts, there was far mere human stuff in you than in many people who gave you a wide herth on the street, and held up hands of pious horror at your frailties. I hope that the sun shines kindly, and the winds blow softly, about your grave in Flanders. For you died that Wale6 might still be ATales "Cymru anwyl, gwlad y delyn Swynol yv, dy enw di." LiE LOST WATCH. Then there is "the B lackguard." He and I Mere at .school together; and it is unnecessary to la bour the explana- tion how he came to receive that name. The Blackguard had an inordinate aversion to soap and water, and it was something of a strain .on the olfactory nerves to sit at a. desk too near him. That is, when he was at school, for the Blackguard "mitched." One day an attendance officer,6 keeping a tight' grip on the Blackguard's muffler, took him to the truant school at Quaker's Yard. He would return home at intervals, well-dressed, and looking indecently clean, and a bit cowed, the object of our boyish awe, commingled with re- spectful admiration. There would follow a few weeks of regular attendance alt school, then the primitive, lawless soul would surge up again. There would be figlits T rd, how he could fight!— cheeking of teachers, more mitching, and another spell at Quaker's Yard. The Blackguard went to the war, and so did 19,647 other boys from re- formatories and industrial schools. Three of them have won the Victoria Cross; 25 have the Distinguished Con- duct Medal; 20 have been mentioned in despatches, and three have obtained commissions. The Blackguard is back, but he is not one of the three who be- came officers. He has no mark of dis- tinction except the track of a piece of shrapnel that entered somewhere near the thigh, and emerged somewhere near the knee. But. the Blackguard is very cheerful, and his one regret is that in crawling bacjfc to the dressing station he was compelled to drop his haver- sack, for the haversack contained a watch he took from a German whom he slew in hand-to-hand combat. From another source I learned that he had displayed the most amazing bravery and contempt of death, rushing out from the trench several times, despite a hail of bullets, and bringing stricken com- rades back to safety. The Black- guard says he wants to go back to get another watch. One miner who is in- valided home carried with him to Flanders his great love of pigeons, for he remarked, "Bachan, dyna le am g'lomenod. 'Dos dim mynydde 'nad" The absence of mountains in Flanders makes it a great place for pigann fly- ing: that was his dominant impression. KITCHENER'S MEN. I These a,re the Welshmen who might I have taken part in any of Britain's little wars against troublesome hill tribes in India, but there are others, vastly outnumbering them, who have taken to soldiering because they are convinced there is something in the national life worth defending to the uttermost, "Cymru anwyl, gwlad y delyn Swynol yw dy enw di." Love of country, the most potent in- fluence in the world, transcending sex attraction, eclipsing family love,- not yielding second even to the will to ] live, has drawn them to the colours as the magnetic pole draws the needle. What is patriotism? Fools affect to despise it, chauvinists manage to de- grade it, philosophers make laughable attempts to define it. But it is there, the surest, firmest instinct in the soul of man. Patriotism braces a man to make the most trying renunciation of all, the severing, of oneself from wife and child. It induces a man to dis- card what he thinks to be the most firmly-established of his rational opin- ions. Patriotism induced my friend X, a brilliant young barrister, one of the most refined and sensitive of men, to apply for a commission. The bare idea of killing another human being tortures his soul. He gentleness, his scrupul- osity about other people's feelings, his native politeness are the talk of all his friends. Just after he joined, one of the wittiest of them remarked, 'Ah! So X has got a commission. I can hear him telling his men, 'Will yu please form fours. A week ago I met in a railway carriage a young fellow-townsman, now a sergeant-major in the Army Service Corps. An exceptionally skilled miner, he is sacrificing about 14 a week for the sake of his country, "Well, mun," he said, "I've had nine months of i't j (military training). If they keep me in this country another nine months I'm not coming home again." "Why?" 1 I asked unthinkingly. "It's the kiddies," re rejoined. "I've got four of 'em now, and I can't stand 'em clinging about me when leave is up." I DEMOCRACY AND MILITARISM. Ti iere wei-e"two other Kitchener's men, ox-miners, in the carriage, and they joined in the conversation. One, a short red-faced man in the late thirties, with a merry twinkle in his eye, said, "Well, if I'm bowled over, I'm bowled over, and that's an end of it. Many a better man than me has been killed. "If they finish me in the first couple of weeks," rejoined the other, "I shan't complain. I've had a t rippin' time this last eight months, and if I come through the war there 'ont be no more 'underground' for me, I can tell you." Then they fell to talking about inocluation and vaccina- tion. "You aint bound to have it done, see," was the explanation for my benefit, "but you don't feel like siandin' by like a damn fool while all the other fellers is going through it: you feels a bit of a coward, see, like as if you was afraid of pain." "Never mind, Jim," ejaculated the red-faced man, "it's all over now, and you can tell 'em as you aint no chocolate soldier now." "But," he added as an after-thought, "i't do pull a man down awful, no matter how strong he be." Inoculation is not the only feature of military life that comes ill to the miner-soldier. The absolute self- surrender required of the soldier makes the freedom-loving, individualistic Welshman restive, and I hear many tales of companies going on strike during morning drill, and refusing to resume until some grievance or other is rectified. The miners also do not take kindly to being bossed by young second-lieutenants, the sons of local grocers and drapers, whose only claim to leadership is, in many cases, the fact that their fathers have bank balances. But 'grousing' and unmili- tary strikes notwithstanding, these tough wiry little men will acquit them- selves on the battlefield as well as any goosestepping guards who ever came out of Potsdam. For our Bantams, too, know that thrill of patriotism which Ceiriog has put into words for them. "Cymru anwyl, gwlad y delyn, Swynol yw dy enw di." Last week I was on a. platform at the Great Western Railway Station at Cardiff late at night, when the plat- form suddenly became live with soldiers, carrying their rifles and haversacks. Every soldier, almost, had his escort. Mother, wife, sweetheart, sister, grey- headed old fathers were there with the men to bid them 'Good-bye,' for it was plainly the last leavetaking. A train drew alongside, and the soldiers clattered into the carriage, relieved -themselves of rifle and kit, and then crowded round the doors, talking to the little family groups who were bidding them what for many would be the last f arewell. A FAREWELL SCENE. Women raised handkerchiefs fur- tively to their eyes, grown men cast down their eyes affecting a deep inter- est in the carriage wheel. At places I heard a forced, mirthless laugh. "God bless ye' boy; ye've always been a good son to me," said a grey-haired mother. "Look after yerself, kid, and doo.n' forget to drop us a card," said one of 'the boys' who was there speeding a pal. A son of Anak, whose command- ing stature seemed heightened and em- phasised by his khaki uniform hugged and kissed a little anaemic wife, and fondled a weak baby, as though he could never tear himself from their sides. Then shrill whistles sounded, guards shouted 'Stand clear/ and the train moved out. Every window was filled with cheering soldiers. The people left behind cheered and waved hats and handkerchiefs. Some of the women cried with no further attempt at concealment. Men swallowed lumpa in their throat, and walked briskly away. The last to go was a woman in widow's weeds, who leaned heavily on the arm of a schoolboy, and wept as Rachel must have wept. I --An hour later I boarded a train, and immediately fell to talking with bo'sun of a ship just in port from Newport News. He was in intelligent man that bo'sun,. and he had been everywhere and seen everything. He talked of German submarines, of his pals on the Leyland liner "Armenian," of .the weaknesses and strength of the Ar- merican nation, of the unreliability of Dadoes, of the queer adventures that- befall men in the ports of the Seven Sea&, of the selfishness of the rich people of Great Britain, of the national penalties that follow a declining birth- rate, of the patriotism of the young men of Australia, of his ability at forty-nine, after nearly forty years of roughing it, to work side by side on a ship with any lad of twenty-five. I listened, for there is nothing richer than a seaman's talk. But there would recur at intervals, like a chorus in a Greek play, the thought of that freight of soldiers hurrying in another direc- tion. to fight, to die if necessary for their country- "Cymru anwyl, gwlad y delyn, Swynol yw dy enw di.

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