Many of the Scottish Regiments are designated by the name of the clan whose tartan they wear; or are otherwise closely identified with proud tradition: Argyll and Sutherlands, Seaforths, Black Watch, Gordons. The parade becomes colorful not only in name and battle-flags, but in dress. During the war all the various regiments were greatly augmented. Some of them had several battalions in France, all bearing the same name, but further designated by number. And each regiment maintained a training battalion in England.
And now the real diversity begins — after leaving the British Isles, having said nothing of the various auxiliary, vital, but not so glamorous organizations, such as the Royal Engineers and the various Pioneer battalions and service corps, and not mentioning the display of artillery. This diversity is first simply the stamp of a different environment — the English Colonials; but it is further a diversity of race, color, creed, tradition and spirit. Pathans, Sikhs, Gurkhas joined men from Newfoundland and the Union of South Africa. There were African natives and Fijians, men from New Zealand and Australia. They came up and over from the farthest islet of that Empire on which the sun never sets. And it seemed to me they were all British. The fiercest Sikh sergeant had about him an unmistakable British stamp. It was a treat to watch these fellows, and other native Indians. They were natural-born fighting men, and they seemed to take more pride in their work than any of the others. No matter what one of them happened to be doing, on the approach of an officer he would spring to attention — and I mean spring, and to the perfect position of attention — and execute the salute as though he himself were being honored. Seeing them, a man thought two or three times about that colossus which was Britain at war.
Much of this variety was lost sight of, unless we scan the makeup of brigade or division, or remember the various special and service organizations. But the more populous colonies contributed and maintained their own army corps, as the Anzacs and Canadians. Of the Anzacs (Australian-New Zealand Army Corps), my impression is that there was a decided difference between the men of these two neighboring colonies. It seemed to me a quite obvious difference; yet, one that is by no means easy to define. In my case, it may have been due to the initial impression made by particular individuals; though I can’t see that this has anything to do with it, for my first contact with the Australians leaves me with nothing more — nor less — than a very agreeable memory of a lot of good fellows who gave us something to eat at a time when we needed it very badly. Among the New Zealanders I was always fancying that I could recognize something of the Midlands or of Perth; they seemed closer to the British Isles than did the Australians, despite the fact that in their ranks was to be found now and then the strong close-knit figure of the Maori, a diverse element to which I remember noticing nothing similar or comparable among the Australians. This impression was heightened by the difference in uniforms; though in this connection I must say that I am not specifically familiar with the uniform of the corps and of the various branches of its service, and it may be that I am contrasting the Australian supply service or artillery with the New Zealand infantry. Anyway, for me, the uniform of the Australians was dark and was not cut on the rigid and severe lines dear to the heart of the old British drill-sergeant. And if it had been so cut I doubt if it would have been worn so. It ran more to loose-fitting careless comfort and was topped by a somewhat soft broad-brimmed hat turned up on one side against the crown. I remember the New Zealanders for a uniform of cut, color and material more like our own.
Whatever be the truth of the matter, the men from these neighboring islands are in my mind differentiated by their uniforms and general appearance in a manner which somehow agrees with differences in temperament and personal characteristics. I fancied that in civilian dress I could distinguish between them. Most Canadians will wonder why I am coming at this so gently. They will tell you in a minute that there was a difference — a hell of a difference. Whenever the average Canadian thought of the corps, he thought of the Aussies. He accepted the New Zealander as a quiet, efficient soldier; he knew him; he understood him as a man not unlike himself despite the fact that he lived in a land where September is spring and apparently spent most of his time shearing sheep. But the Aussie was an anomaly, or something worse. What he thought of the Canadian, I don’t know. But they didn’t get along. Either of them, I think, would have been glad to have the other on the flank in battle; but back of the lines they were antagonistic. Frequently, when they encountered each other there, there was trouble. I never had much personal experience of this, but the stories told at first hand were numerous. Even if some diplomat smoothed things over and blended antagonism into a semblance of conviviality, it was not enough; the evening, more likely than not, would bring disturbance to the quiet of Madame’s respectable
Of all the colonials, the Canadians most closely resembled the soldiers of the United States, though there were among them a great many who were English or born of English parents. Except for this element the two were much alike in physique, carriage and physical characteristics, as well as in temperament, habit of mind and other qualities which determine the response to discipline, and which, therefore, should decide the methods of training. But of the Canadians, as of all the colonials, it must be remembered that they were, first of all, British. Even those far-flung possessions, and near-possessions, of the Empire which were inhabited by peoples of alien race found something in the British character (not in the British bayonet) to which they quickly and whole-heartedly responded. I am not well informed in the various particulars, but I do know that this response was something upon which the Germans had not counted. They had, in fact, counted upon something quite to the contrary. Their contempt (hardly real contempt) for the British army sprang not only from its small numbers and its deprecated fighting qualities, but from the belief of the German High Command that Britain would not always be free to use it on the Continent. Much of its effectiveness would be dissipated in scattered efforts to keep order in the various colonies and dependencies. It didn’t happen that way. The dependencies, generally, not only didn’t require the presence of English troops; but they and the colonies proceeded at once to take care of the Marshall Islands and other German possessions in the South Seas. Southwest Africa ceased to be German Southwest Africa without appreciably hampering England in its Continental activities; and German insurrectionary intrigue in British South Africa didn’t prevent this colony from sending troops to France.
I think it is something more than a fancy with me that the bearded Sikh sergeant had a good deal about him that was decidedly and staunchly British. There is a great significance in the fact that a Colonial three generations removed from the British Isles frequently refers to England as “back home.” This feeling of close kinship throughout the Empire is but a large expression of a peculiar sense of solidity in England itself. An understanding of this sense of solidity is necessary to an understanding of the Englishman and to an appreciation of the British Army and its methods of training.
Someone has said that an Englishman’s house is his castle. This is commonly taken — and was so intended, I believe — as expressing his love of home and his disposition to shut himself up within it. It is a just observation, but to the uninformed outsider it reveals very little of the Englishman or his home; for the castle is England; it does not exist for and by itself. Aside from its comfort and privacy (and the absence of heat) it is filled first of all with the consciousness that there are thousands of others like it, all sharing in the vast and powerful accumulation of English tradition and in the intimate necessity for importing tea and in maintaining contact with a cousin in Jamaica and an uncle in New Zealand, in Hampstead Heath and Hyde Park and in the Horse Guards at Whitehall. This is what I mean by solidity. It is closely related to another characteristic commonly called English stolidity. The Englishman is stolid because England is solid and has proven herself so throughout so many generations that she has acquired a quality of inevitability. She has grown up, emotionally, and the homeward bound Londoner accepts with equal unconcern the cries of alarm on the part of some excitable individual and the figure of Nelson atop his monument in Trafalgar Square. The one is quite effectually canceled by the other, and the Englishman, who doesn’t love war and excitement, goes on his way home. It takes a lot to disturb him, and when he finally is disturbed he fights that he may be undisturbed again. He resents being disturbed and is likely to do a lot of grumbling about the failure of the government or the opposition to protect him forever in the peaceable enjoyment of his tea and port, beef and plum-pudding, and England’s inexorable schedule of holidays. But these things must be protected, and he accepts the necessity. There is nothing of
