TOPICS OF THE DAY.
"ALL FOR OLD ENGLAND ! "
T N the Platonic Heaven where all the patterns of all that is on earth, great and small, material and immaterial, concrete and abstract., are laid up—the Heaven of ideas— there must exist the personified idea of England. May we not imagine the noble creature looking down upon her sons militant below, at Beaumont Hamel or Beaucourt, and holding grave discourse with her sisters of the Empyrean ?—Nothing can persuade us that the Platonic Heaven is a patent museum or a lumber-room.—And may we not also suppose her asked by some sweet enthusiast at her side if these soldiers are not gods and heroes rather than mere men ? Then would the ideal England reply in the words of her own Shakespeare :— "Sister, they are mortal,
But by immortal Providence they're mine."
Truly even in this war there has been nothing more splendid in courage and in patriotism, as there has been nothing more satisfactory from the businesslike view of the campaign, than the events of the past week. When the men of the New Army "stormed Beaumont Hamel," as Sir Douglas Haig worded it, happily reverting to the phraseology of the Cromwellian age, they showed themselves not merely the finest soldiers in the, world, but the best of patriots. As one of them, standing in the muddy road, said to the correspondent of the Times : "It was all for old England ! " One sees no longer. One is there oneself, and before one the man in his mud-stained uniform with his trench helmet on the back of his head, heavy with his armour and spent with changing blows, yet with the glorious exaltation of victory, and victory for such a land and such a cause, burning in his heart. And yet when in that moment of exaltation he lets us hear the secret, the inner mystery that sanctifies him, it is in the very homeliest of words. Some day perhaps a poet-analyst, for he must be both, will arise to tell us how it comes about that "old England" has always marked the highest emotional point for our race. He who feels towards his country as a lover or a son would hardly be expected to use such a qualification, and yet for some strange reason " old " remains alike for trivial endearments and for the keenest aspirations of patriotism the final word. We have "old thing" at one end of the scale and "the old country" at the other. When this endearing attribute first came in we cannot say, but it certainly goes back to the seventeenth century. For example, in the anonymous tract of 1710 on Cotzsiderations on Peace and War, recently quoted by us, the author—Captain George St. Lo, as we believe—uses "old England" as if it were a conventional phrase of long standing.
We must not, however, wander any longer in these meandering paths of eulogy even for the British soldier. Spirits may be finely touched to such fine issues, but after all it is the best way, and the British way, not to dwell too much upon them, or at any rate not to speak too openly of them. Let us keep our eyes firmly set upon our object and try to furnish some account of how we are faring, so that we may know where to push and press our hardest, where to find the line of least resistance, where to avoid the ridge of most opposition. Divesting ourselves for the moment of all sentimental considerations, and looking at it from the General Staff point of view, we find Sir Douglas Haig's battle on the Somme something much better than a victory fit for an epic—it is a practical achievement worthy of the gratitude of a serious people. In the first place, it is no sporadic outburst of Berserker rage, but part of a well-considered scheme which falls neatlyinto its proper place and helps on the attainment of the great and essential object of the campaign—an object commensurate with the sacrifices made to obtain it.
The strong places of the Ancre proved too strong for us to take in the first rush at the beginning of July. Then Sir Douglas showed his gift of generalship, and his wellordered, well-balanced mind. He did not fling his troops in a blind fury against the great underground citadel which had checked his advance. If he had done so he would no doubt have taken that citadel, but at what a price ! He would have ruined his army for "a feather to put in his cap." Instead he waited. He left the secret bastions of the Ancre "for later on "—i.e., till he could put out his hand and take them and their troglodyte warriors in his net without undue sacrifices. With the instinct of a man of business he wrote of his July loss even though it made his August balance-sheet look rather poor. He knew that later on Beaumont Hamel and Beaucourt would appear in the credit column, and into that column they have come this week. If the British public are wise they will realize what a good omen for the future is Sir Douglas Haig's honest system of military bookkeeping. His profit and loss account is a genuine document, and one upon which they can dare to found high hopes for the future.
Equally reassuring is the splendid record of prisoners taken —some six thousand in the three days' fighting. The prisoners, and this is an admirable sign, are surrendering more and more easily. We accept the warning of the war correspondent of the Times and freely admit that this symptom may be " local," but we cannot help thinking that the locality is very wide. In the last resort we believe that Germans of all sorts, Guards, Bavarians, Prussians, and Wiirttembergers, come in so readily owing to a fact upon which the German Imperial Staff have been wont to pride themselves—a fact which we here have often regarded with a kind of wistful, almost envious air. The Germans have trusted to their vast underground defences—deep casements in which their men could sit secure in the worst bombardment—while our men had to be content with a shallow and insecure lodgment in the mud. But the Germans in turning their men into chalky Nibelungs appear largely to have ruined their moral. If you keep men too much underground they lose mental tone as they lose physical mobility. The Germans made a trap for us and were caught in it themselves. Theoretically they ought to have been able to skip quickly enough out of their burrows, but they have failed to do so. They held them with a kind of dumb defiance till it was too late and then had nothing to do but surrender, with a sigh of heartfelt satisfaction. Pessimists told us that we lost a great opportunity by not digging deeper and showed our national vice, idleness and inefficiency. In reality we chose the path of good soldiership, and justified fully our national virtue of trimming—of not pushing even a good thing too far, and not spoiling a benefit by overdoing it.
When the public has recovered from its most wholesome and natural delight in the victory of Beaumont Hamel, pessimists will of course begin to practise the gentle art of Casualistry " and to say : After all, was it worth while ? Does it lead us anywhere ? What was the good of it ? " That there is a perfectly good answer to all such questions we are entirely convinced. Unfortunately, however, to give that answer in detail or even to guess at it just now would be most impolitic, nay, most dangerous. The public here must be content to rest on general assurances and to trust to the great soldier who is in command on the Somme. He knows what he is about. He has a true mental picture of the campaign in his mind. He did not take Beaumont Hamel for the fun of taking it, or because his pride was involved, or for any other fortuitous reason. He took it because he is determined to keep the ship of State on the course he and Sir William Robertson laid down for her, and laid down for good and sufficient reasons.
But though it is our purpose to be businesslike and not merely lyrical, we cannot leave the battle of Beaumont Hamel without dwelling once more on the thought of our fighting soldiers, men and officers, and on the glory that shines from the trenches. Without their greatness of heart Sir Douglas's ablest plans must have fallen as futile and unregarded things. Can we do better than end with the words of one of our own poets, as we are proud to call him, Mr. Herbert Asquith—the laurelled protege of that department of Parnassus which presides over the music of the Great Guns :— " The fighting men go charging past
With the battle in their eyes, The fighting men go reeling past Like gods in poor disguise.' '
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