The Amateur Army

The Amateur Army

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Title: The Amateur Army
Author: Patrick MacGill
Release Date: June 16, 2005 [EBook #16078]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE AMATEUR ARMY
BY PATRICK MACGILL

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
CHILDREN OF THE DEAD END
THE RAT-PIT
[Illustration: RIFLEMAN PATRICK MACGILL]

HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED ARUNDEL PLACE HAYMARKET
LONDON S.W. MCMXV

_Wyman & Sons Ltd., Printers, London and Reading._

PREFACE
I am one of the million or more male residents of the United Kingdom,
who a year ago had no special yearning towards military life, but who
joined the army after war was declared. At Chelsea I found myself a
unit of the 2nd London Irish Battalion, afterwards I was drilled into
shape at the White City and training was concluded at St. Albans,
where I was drafted into the 1st Battalion. In my spare time I wrote
several articles dealing with the life of the soldier from the stage of raw
"rooky" to that of finished fighter. These I now publish in book form,
and trust that they may interest men who have joined the colours or
who intend to take up the profession of arms and become members of
the great brotherhood of fighters.
PATRICK MACGILL.
"The London Irish," British Expeditionary Force, _March 25th_, 1915.

CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
I ENLIST AND AM BILLETED 13

CHAPTER II
RATIONS AND SICK PARADE 23

CHAPTER III
PICKETS AND SPECIAL LEAVE 36

CHAPTER IV
OFFICERS AND RIFLES 48

CHAPTER V
THE COFFEE-SHOP AND WANKIN 60

CHAPTER VI
THE NIGHT SIDE OF SOLDIERING 71

CHAPTER VII
DIVISIONAL EXERCISE AND MIMIC WARFARE 85

CHAPTER VIII
THE GENERAL INSPECTION AND THE EVERLASTING
WAITING 99

CHAPTER IX
READY TO GO--THE BATTALION MOVES 111

CHAPTER I
I ENLIST AND AM BILLETED
What the psychological processes were that led to my enlisting in
"Kitchener's Army" need not be inquired into. Few men could explain
why they enlisted, and if they attempted they might only prove that
they had done as a politician said the electorate does, the right thing
from the wrong motive. There is a story told of an incident that
occurred in Flanders, which shows clearly the view held in certain
quarters. The Honourable Artillery Company were relieving some
regulars in the trenches when the following dialogue ensued between a
typical Tommy Atkins and an H.A.C. private:
T.A.: "Oo are you?"
H.A.C.: "We're the H.A.C."
T.A.: "Gentlemen, ain't yer?"
H.A.C.: "Oh well, in a way I suppose--"
T.A.: "'Ow many are there of yer?"
H.A.C.: "About eight hundred."
T.A.: "An' they say yer volunteered!"
H.A.C.: "Yes, we did."
T.A.: (With conviction as he gathers together his kit). "Blimey, yer
must be mad!"
For curiosity's sake I asked some of my mates to give me their reasons
for enlisting. One particular friend of mine, a good-humoured Cockney,
grinned sheepishly as he replied confidentially, "Well, matey, I done it
to get away from my old gal's jore--now you've got it!" Another recruit,
a pale, intelligent youth, who knew Nietzsche by heart, glanced at me

coldly as he answered, "I enlisted because I am an Englishman." Other
replies were equally unilluminating and I desisted, remembering that
the Germans despise us because we are devoid of military enthusiasm.
The step once taken, however, we all set to work to discover how we
might become soldiers with a minimum of exertion and inconvenience
to ourselves. During the process I learned many things, among others
that I was a unit in the most democratic army in history; where Oxford
undergraduate and farm labourer, Cockney and peer's son lost their
identity and their caste in a vast war machine. I learned that Tommy
Atkins, no matter from what class he is recruited, is immortal, and that
we British are one of the most military nations in the world. I have
learned to love my new life, obey my officers, and depend upon my
rifle; for I am Rifleman Patrick MacGill of the Irish Rifles, where
rumour has it that the Colonel and I are the only two real Irishmen in
the battalion. It should be remembered that a unit of a rifle regiment is
known as rifleman, not private; we like the term rifleman, and feel
justly indignant when a wrong appellation plays skittles with our