Military history pages.

Building an Army

THE ROMANTIC RISE OF A TERRITORIAL FORCE

By Frederic W. Walker

II

How "Territorials" Work - and Play

The whole plan of service in the Territorial Force has been "tightened" as compared with the Volunteer Force. When a young man desires to work as a Volunteer he no longer "enrols" himself but has to "enlist." He signs a Regular like document with pains and penalties set forth. He is no longer a Volunteer but a soldier enlisted for four years, yet should he wish to leave he can do so by giving three months' notice and paying £5, if the authorities deem that he ought so to do.

Let us follow our prospective recruit to the drill hall. His bench mate is perhaps a "Terror" and "introduces" him to his corps, and in due course parades in the hall to begin in 'cruity drill. This consists of 40 parades in the infantry (ten afterwards) and a course of musketry. He is measured for his clothing and, perhaps may not escape the hoary-headed joke of being sent to the sergeant-instructor to be measured for a sentry box! Two suits of khaki are supplied to him with a service dress cap and a great coat, a "swagger dress" for walking out being optional according to the desire of each corps. He looks like a Regular in his smart kit, but the letter "T" on the shoulder - strap classifies the man easily. Curiously enough, no official provision is made for the supply of boots, and yet these articles are half the battle to an infantryman. Woe betide the unfortunate Territorial Tommy who attempts big work in a pair of cheap, thin shoes. He is soon shoeless and under treatment for sore foot.

Once a year the battalion goes under canvas for fifteen days' training, and here it is that the regular finds out whether the preliminary work of the year have been well carried out. If it has been the battalion settles down inside a week. If it has not it is still floundering when the second week is commenced. The generals know, and down in the fatal report go serious words of praise or reproof. The time for training is limited a fact which may be gathered from the statement that a "Terror" costs £8 whilst a regular costs £80 per annum. The leaders seek to instruct individually and then in small tactical work, but lucky is the battalion which goes to Salisbury Plain for camp, as there the higher work is given and the training is at its best. The fortnight is all too short for real results but it for real results but it is instructive, and at the end the men return to work straightbacked, healthy and bronzed.

Nothing, perhaps, is so interesting to the men as night operations. As the moon rises over Wiltshire's famous West Down a column will steal out and make a march on El Barrow. Ghost-like, it moves across the grass, ever and anon throwing a black shadow against the sky. Moving by the compass, the column tramps steadily onward, the rough grass swishing under the foot and the silence of this massed humanity striking the senses as uncanny.

"Halt!" The word is whispered. "Fix bayonets!" Then as a pale grey streak steals into the sky, there is a rush, a rousing cheer, and a thousand men are launched at the trenches. Vivid lines of fire cut into the gloom of dawning day as hundreds of drab figures charge until the bugles blare their warning note over the din, sounding the stand fast. This is realistic and good training, and the lesson of discipline comes easily under the curb of silent night work. Interesting too, are the big field days with the Regulars, such as Sir Ian Hamilton prepared. As many as 30,000 have taken part in these, and Sir Ian, who has done much for the force, says it must sink or swim on its merits.

But the training is not all work and no pay, for the men draw their daily shilling in camp. Every regiment has its camp amusements, from the old practice of dressing up men in blankets to represent prehistoric beasts to the elaborate pageant which Sergeant Duncan Tovey evolved for the London Scottish last year at West Down. Nor is the camp without its natural humour, and the old stories are retold as now ones happen. "Are you a Cameronian ?" asked an officer of a Scot who joined a London battalion to be attached for drill. "No, sir," replied the man from Glasgow, "I'm a Presbyterian."

A good story is told of Sir Evelyn Wood, who, hearing that the dinners of a certain corps were not quite nice, went one day to personally inquire. He met a man coming from the field - kitchen carrying a steaming pannikin. "Let me taste that, my man," said the General peremptorily, scenting bad soup. He took a good swig. "Why," he exclaimed, "it's no better than dirty water!" "Yes, sor," answered the man, who was Irish; "that's just what it is." And he emptied it out and took in his cleaned can for the real article. Yet the corps do their own cooking in the field, and do it well, despite this incident.

There is a little railway station set in the wilds of Salisbury Plain that will one day be an historic spot. It is called Ludgershall. If ever the Territorial Force mobilises for war this junction will concentrate men from all parts for the Plain. In the training season it affords an idea of what its platform will be like in wartime, for trainloads of men from Lancashire and elsewhere run phantom-like into the siding in the dark, men detrain and march into the black, shrouded wilds of the Wiltshire desert.

An amusing tale is told of a northern battalion the night before it entrained for home. The officer commanding feared that a neighbouring corps would raid his lines in parting mischief; but, not wishing to spread his fears, he took hold of the sentry at midnight and enjoined upon him that for that particular night he was to rouse him (the colonel) in his tent if anything, small or big, happened which was out of the usual run of things. The man seemingly understood, and at 2 a.m. the flap of the colonel's tent was shaken. Jumping up, he demanded the news. "What's happened?" "Nothing, sir, nothing - just a small thing," replied the sentry; "the sergeant - major has come back sober!"

With a Machine Gun (The 2nd V.B. Fusilliers)

Field artillery is being created for the force, but last year the too enthusiastic friends of the scheme attracted national scepticism to this branch by describing it as "almost equal to the Regulars." This at a time when only 150 guns out of 800 needed had been issued, and when the men had had little else than riding drill. The gun is the old 15-pounder cast from the Regular service and made up (i.e. converted) into a quick-firer. Lord Roberts has denounced both the gun as obsolete and the spare time training of auxiliary gunners as a waste of energy. So grim an onslaught shook the confidence of everybody; but the authorities hope to overcome all difficulties by utilising the undoubtedly superior qualities of intelligence found amongst the men of the Territorial Field Artillery. On all hands it is hoped that the issue of the guns will be rapid and not like the issue of a certain Maxim to a London corps, who were advised that the gun was about to be sent. In three weeks' time the expectant corps received a spanner, and for a whole year this nut tightener was the only part which came to hand, and the machine-gun section paraded fifty times with it. It is interesting to record that the married non-commissioned officers receive separation allowance when in camp, but this boon is withheld from the private, because the cost of it would be £50,000.

The engineer service is also attractive one, with balloons and field telegraphs; whilst officers, like Colonel Kearns, the City of London's Sergeant-at-Arms, are turning their energies into the creation of efficient transport and supply services

A Scene at Aldershot
(1st London Division, Army Service Corps)

Last, but not least, the Yeomanry are to be the "eyes and ears" of the battle line. No need is there to tell of the high state of efficiency existing in this branch, save that, like other mounted branches, they are not provided with horses for the war, the actual shortage in the whole force being still enormous. This is one of the serious problems; for an army, however good, is immobile and useless without horseflesh. The Yeomanry are a special class of men, and not of the kind who formed the second contingent for the South African War. These latter were not Yeomen at all, but merely a street collection of anybody who wanted five shillings a day.

The real Yeoman is fond of telling a war story against this hotch-potch contingent. Two of them were sent out scouting against De Wet one day. The raider captured them, but let both depart. The next day he again took them whilst they were "scouting," and again released both. As they had not reported their dual capture they were sent out for a third time, and again taken. De Wet, fond of a joke, sent them in under escort with a sarcastic note requesting the commander to keep these scouts in camp as he was tired of capturing them.

The war story of the force is a fine one. Seventy thousand volunteered to go, and over 30,000 were sent, and thus the Volunteers' first battle honours were won and will appear on the newly-given colours with a scroll bearing the words, "South Africa". The King himself will, it is said, soon review the Territorial Force. The effects of these Royal inspections, of course, are almost marvellous - as witness the King's famous Volunteer Review at Edinburgh.

Chapter III