I have been telling about the determination I had to be revenged for my brother’s death. That was my great object, and I kept it in mind before anything else--and I think I carried it out. Apart from any motive, it is the British soldier’s duty to do everything he can to settle the enemy, especially the Germans, and I am glad that I did my bit in this respect.
Now listen to what has really happened. After all that fighting and suffering with the grand old “Die-Hards” I got my own turn, after many wonderful escapes. A shell burst near me and the fragments peppered me on the right hand here and about this side of the body, and bowled me out for the time being. I was sent home, and here I am in London again, getting well and expecting the call to come at any time to go back to the front. When it comes I shall be ready to obey.
Look at this postcard. It is written, as you see, by a British soldier who is a prisoner of war in Germany, and it tells the glad news that my brother, who, I was told, was killed months ago by a bursting shell, is not dead, but is alive and well, although he is a prisoner of war.
[The winter of the war was marked by an abnormal rainfall and storms of uncommon severity: also by the extraordinary development of trench warfare. The rain and storms, the frost and snow, made it impossible to carry out the greater operations of campaigning, with the result that both sides dug themselves in and fought from rival trenches which in many cases were separated by only a few yards. This story deals with life in the trenches, at La Bassée, and it gives a wonderful understanding of the privations that have been uncomplainingly borne by British soldiers. The teller is Private G. Townsend, 2nd Battalion East Lancashire Regiment, who has had more than six years’ service with the colours. These long-service men have compelled the attention of even the Germans who despised the “contemptible little army,” for they have admitted that the seasoned British private soldier is the equal of a German non-commissioned officer.]
When the rebellion broke out in South Africa we--the old “Lily Whites”--were the only imperial regiment kept in that country. We were sitting still and stiff for twenty days, till General Botha got his own troops ready. During that time we were guarding Cape Town, and it took us all we knew to hold in, because the big war was on, and we were about seven thousand miles away from the seat of it. We had to wait till General Botha was ready, and that was not for more than a month after the British and the Germans met in Belgium.