Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 111, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 May 1915 — TERRITORIALS AS KEEN AS MUSTARD [ARTICLE]

TERRITORIALS AS KEEN AS MUSTARD

British Generals Speak in High Praise of Kitchener’s New Soldiers.

ASK FOR NO BETTER TROOPS ■ Men Are Wonderfully Intelligent and Acquire Remarkable Skill in Trench Warfare—Hot Bath Every Ten Days for Every British Soldier.

By E. ASHMEAD BARTLETT,

International News Service Correspondent

British General Headquarters, France.— At the outbreak of the war almost everyone In England had complete confidence In the British small regular army, and felt certain tljat it would give a splendid account Of itself on the continent. On tjie other hand there was widespread mistrust of the capabilities of the hew territorial army, either for purposes of home defense, or for service abroad. I will give my own impression from what I saw during my visit to the front, and also the opinions of various generals—without mentioning names, which Is forbidden by the censor —under whom they have served. The vast majority of the men who fill the ranks of the territorial forces are drawn from a different class to those who enlist In the regular army. There are clerks from the London financial district holding good positions. There are men who come from behind the counter, and others who fill positions of a highly important and confidential character, such as secretaries, accountants and mechanical experts. Every of trade and Industry Is represented In the They are men who have joined the force out of a sense of duty, because they feel that every able-bodied man should play some role, however small, in the defense of his country.

Many have been obliged to throw’ up employment which was bringing them In large salaries, and now support their homes and families on the king’s shilling and separation allowances. Some of the battalions sent to tfee front had to meet their baptism of fire under the most trying circumstances. French is Delighted. But Sir John French himself is delighted with them. A corps commander said to me: “I consider the territorial battalions under my command the equal of any of the line battalions. Let them send me out as many as they can. I can ask for no better troops after they had a few weeks of experience in the face of the enemy.” A brigade commander spoke as follows: “My territorials are a wonderful lot I never saw finer troops. This men are wonderfully intelligent. They are as keen as mustard, and are acquiring a remarkable skill in irench warfare.”

Take the case of a crack corps, like the “Artists’ Rifles.” Our losses in officers has been' so heavy that Sir John French decided on the novel ex-

periment of keeping the whole of this famous battalion behind the line, and training all ranks as officers. As they reached a certain standard of progress they were given commissions and drafted to regular battalions. I made careful inquiries as to how this experiment had worked out in practice. One corps commander told me he had received a large number of these new officers from the Artists’ Rifles, and that with extremely few exceptions they had turned out admirably. A love of cleanliness is one of the strongest traits in the Anglo-Saxon race. The best of troops speedily lose their pride and self-respect if they are obliged, to live in filthy surroundings, amidst which it is impossible for them to clean themselves, their uniforms and equipment. The conditions in Flanders throughout the winter have been about as bad as any troops have ever had to face. The army medical corps took the problem in hand and has shown remarkable skill and ingenuity in its solution. Bath Every Ten Days. Scattered over northern France and Flanders are many factories for making beet sugar and beer. These possess enormous vats such as most of us are familiar with in breweries at home. As their legitimate occupation, in the case of those situated close to the firing line, is now gone, they have been utilized for the purpose of washing the British army. This experiment of cleaning every man in an army several hundreds of thousands Btrong once in every ten days has never been tried before in war. Yet so complete is the organization that, except under exceptional circumstances, every man and officer is sure of his fyot bath ehrery ten days. A battalion comes off duty and marches to rest in its billets, the men and their uniforms covered with mud. Above all, it is necessary to change their shirts and underclothes.

Let it not be supposed that the only enemy our men have to face is found in the trenches. There is another,

who carries on a horrible nerve-rack-ing form of guerilla warfare in closer proximity to you after a few days spent in the mud. His pertinacity and vitality is amazing. He requires ten times as much killing as any German, but our medical service has proved equal to the task of circumventing his wiles. The battalion is paraded and marched to the nearest bath. Often this is under shell fire, and the shrapnel is screaming overhead. But no one heeds such trifles as these. Each man strips and throws his shirts, underclothes, and socks into a heap. His uniform he takes off, and ties to it his tin identification disk. At a word of command groups of fourteen nude forms with a wild howl of joy rush into each of the steaming tubs. From these arise a chorus of screams and chaff as the men soap or duck each othe£ in soap suds. Clothes Steamed and Washed. Meanwhile the uniforms are placed in another vat, and steamed for ten minutes. The heat is so great that no evaporation takes place, and they come out perfectly dry. Each man as he emerges from the bath after his alloted span is handed a towel and a fresh set of underclothes. He then dries himself, puts his new garments on, and claims his uniform, recognizing it by the identification disk. The underclothes, which he took off are then boiled or steamed in great vats, and then handed over to the washerwomen who are employed for this purpose at four franca (80 cents) a day. They are then carefully inspected and if found perfectly clean are made up into sets, and are available for the next battalion which, comes to be washed.

I was present when a territorial battalion was haring its turn. A young printer's clerk said to me: “This is the day we all lire tor. It helps you to get back your self-respect just when you feel you are sinking to the level of brute beasts from mud and dirt. I don't believe one of us would surrender his turn for a fiver."*