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unity, and learned a more catholic charity, the future is indeed | unity, and learned a more catholic charity, the future is indeed | ||
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Latest revision as of 09:21, 18 September 2008
AN EXPERIMENT IN DEMOCRACY
THE unprecedented had occurred. For once a national ideal had
proved stronger than class prejudice. In this matter of the war
all classes were at one---at one not only in sentiment but in
practical resolve. The crowd that surged outside the central recruiting
offices in Great Scotland Yard was the proof of it. All classes
were there, struggling for the privilege of enlisting in the new
citizen Army, conscious of their unity, and determined to give
effect to it in the common life of service. It was an extraordinary
crowd. Workmen were there in cord breeches and subfusc coats;
boys from the East End in the latest fashions from Petticoat Lane;
clerks and shop-assistants in sober black; mechanics in blue serge
and bowler hats; travelers in the garments of prosperity; and
most conspicuously well dressed of all, gentlemen in their oldest
clothes. It was like a section cut out of the nation.
Men and boys of the working class formed the majority. They
were in their element, shouting, singing, cheeking the "coppers"
with as much ribald good humor as if the recruiting office had
been a music-hall. But some of the other classes were far less
at their ease. They had been brought up from earliest youth to
thank God that they were not as other men, to set store by the
innumerable little marks that distinguished them from "the
lower classes." All these they were now sacrificing to an
idea, and they felt horribly embarrassed. Even the gentleman,
who had prided himself on his freedom from `the snobbishness of
the suburbs," felt ill at ease. Of course he had been to
working-men's clubs; but there he had been Mr. Thingumy."
Here he was "mate." He told himself that he did not
mind being "mate," in fact he rather liked it; but he
fervently wished that he looked the part. He felt as self-conscious
as if he had arrived at a dinner party in a Norfolk jacket. A
little later on, when he sat, one of four nude men, in a cubicle
awaiting medical inspection, he did feel that for the moment they
had all been reduced to the common denominator of their sheer
humanity; but embarrassment returned with his clothes and stayed
with him all through the march to the station and the journey
to the depot.
At the depot he fought for the prize of a verminous blanket,
and six foot of floor to lie on. When he awoke the next morning
his clothes were creased and dirty, his collar so filthy that
it had to be discarded, and his chin unshaven. He perceived with
something of a shock that he was no longer conspicuous. He was
no more than the seedy unit of a seedy crowd. In any other circumstances
he would have been disgusted. As it was, he sought the canteen
at the earliest opportunity and toasted the Unity of the Classes
in a pint!
All emerged from the depot clothed exactly alike, and meditated
on the symbolism of clothes. They donned the gray shirt and ready-made
khaki of the new era, and deposited the emblems of class distinction
on a common rag-heap. Even the perfunctory manner of the Q.M.S.
could not rob the occasion of an almost religious solemnity. It
was the formal beginning of a new life, in which men of all classes,
starting with something like equality of opportunity, should gain
what pre-eminence they might by the merit of their inherent manhood
or the seduction of their native tact. Henceforward all fared
alike. All ate the same food, slept on the same floor in similar
blankets, and in their shirts. Even the pajamas no longer divided
them! All took their share in scrubbing floors and washing dixies;
and until the novelty wore off even these menial and dirty jobs
caught a certain glamour from the great ideal which they symbolized.
Gradually all found their level. The plausible were promoted,
found wanting, reduced, and replaced by the men of real grit and
force of character. Mechanics joined the machine-gun section,
clerks became orderlies, signalers, or telephonists. The dirtiest
and most drunken of the old soldiers were relegated to the cookhouse.
Equality of opportunity had been granted, and the inequality of
man had been demonstrated. It was found that the best formula,
after all, was that of St. Paul: "Diversities of gifts, but
the same Spirit." Of course it was not a perfect democracy
because of the existence of the super-class, the officer. He is
really an offense against democracy. He is what he is by Divine
right, whether of property or of family influence. He is above
the democratic law of the promotion of the fittest and the reduction
of the incompetent. His position is, from the point of view of
this article, an anomaly, and is only rendered possible by the
survival in the army of democracy of the ancient religion of the
army of aristocracy.
This ancient religion is called "Military Discipline."
Like other religions, it has its mysteries, its hierarchy, its
dogmas and its ritual. We are only concerned with the last two.
Both relate to the status of the officer. The dogmas define his
position, and the ritual symbolizes it. As in other religions
of authority, the dogmas are not required to square absolutely
with facts, nor is more than a formal acquiescence demanded from
the faithful. For example, it is a dogma that the officer alone
possesses common sense. But it has happened that an individual
officer has been lacking in this gift, whereas the sergeant has
possessed it. In such circumstances an officer may borrow his
sergeant's common sense, and religion is satisfied so long as
only the officer exercises it. An officer may even borrow common
sense from a private provided that it is done through the medium
of an N.C.O. Another dogma is that only officers can think. To
safeguard this dogma from ridicule it is necessary that the men
should be prevented from thinking. Their attention is to be fully
occupied with such mechanical operations as the polishing of their
buttons., in order that the officer may think without fear of
contradiction. In war, however, if all the officers are killed,
the sergeants may think, and if they are killed the corporals
may think, and so on; but this is a relaxation of strict orthodoxy,
a concession to the logic of facts which must only be permitted
in extreme circumstances. The ritual of this religion will be
found in the official manuals. This account of the super-class
may sound a little bitter. It is not intended to be so. Most officers
of the citizen Army have had an education in skepticism, and possess
a sense of humor. They are such good sportsmen that no one minds
performing the ritual for their benefit; and as often as not they
accept it in the spirit in which it is given.
In due course the citizen Army reached the front. Now the front
may be divided into two parts, the trenches and the rest camps.
In the trenches the real white man finally and conclusively comes
to his own. The worm, no matter how exalted his rank, automatically
ceases to count. The explanation of this phenomenon is very simple.
In the moment of crisis the white man is always on the spot, while
the worm is always in his dug-out. The rest camp, on the other
hand, exists for the restoration of the status quo ante.
It is the trench failure's opportunity to reassert himself.
There the officer or N.C.O. who has lost prestige by his devotion
to his dug-out regains it by the repetition of the ritual; and
the private who has done ten men's work in repairing the trenches
under fire is awarded an hour's extra drill for failing to cut
away the left hand smartly. So is the damaged religion of the
Army restored. In the rest camp, too, the shirker among the men
raises again his diminished head, and comes out strong as a grumbler
and, until his mates become unpleasantly reminiscent, a boaster.
On the whole, though, actual experience of war brings the best
men to the fore, and the best qualities of the average man. Officers
and men are welded into a closer comradeship by dangers and discomforts
shared. They learn to trust each other, and to look for the essential
qualities rather than for the accidental graces. One learns to
love men for their great hearts, their pluck, their indomitable
spirits, their irrepressible humor, their readiness to shoulder
a weaker brother's burden in addition to their own. One sees men
as God sees them, apart from externals such as manner and intonation.
A night in a bombing party shows you Jim Smith as a man of splendid
courage. A shortage of rations reveals his wonderful unselfishness.
One danger and discomfort after another you share in common till
you love him as a brother. Out there, if anyone dared to remind
you that Jim was only a fireman while you were a bank clerk, you
would give him one in the eye to go on with. You have learned
to know a man when you see one, and to value him.
When the war is over, and the men of the citizen Army return
to their homes and their civil occupations, will they, I wonder,
remember the things that they have learned? If so, there will
be a new and better England for the children. One would like to
prophesy great things. In those days great talkers and boasters
shall be of no account, for men shall remember that in the hour
of danger they were wanting. In those days there shall be no more
petty strife between class and class, for all shall have learned
that they are one nation, and that they must seek the nation's
good before their own. In those days men shall no longer pride
themselves on their riches, or on the material possessions which
distinguish them from their brethren, for they shall have learned
that it is the qualities of the heart which are of real value.
Men shall be prized for their courage, their honesty, their charity,
their practical ability. In those days there shall be no false
pride, for all have lived hardly, all have done dirty and menial
work, all have wielded pick and spade, and have munted it no dishonor
but rather glory to do so. In those days charity and brotherly
love shall prevail mightily, for all shall have learned mutual
understanding and respect.
Would that it might be so! But perhaps it is more likely that
the lessons will be forgotten, and that men will slip back into
the old grooves. Much depends on the women England. If they carefully
guard the ancient ruts against our return, and if their gentle
fingers press us back into them, we shall acquiesce; but if at
this hour of crisis they too have seen a wider vision of national
unity, and learned a more catholic charity, the future is indeed
radiant with hope.