The Amateur Army | Page 2

rank.
The earlier stages of our training took place at Chelsea and the White
City, where untiring instructors strove to convince us that we were
about the most futile lot of "rookies" that it had ever been their
misfortune to encounter. It was not until we were unceremoniously
dumped amidst the peaceful inhabitants of a city that slumbers in the
shadow of an ancient cathedral that I felt I was in reality a soldier.
Here we were to learn that there is no novelty so great for the newly
enlisted soldier as that of being billeted, in the process of which he
finds himself left upon an unfamiliar door-step like somebody else's
washing. He is the instrument by which the War Office disproves that
"an Englishman's home is his castle." He has the law behind him; but
nothing else--save his own capacity for making friends with his
victims.
If the equanimity of English householders who are about to have
soldiers billeted upon them is a test of patriotism, there may well be
some doubts about the patriotic spirit of the English middle class in the
present crisis. The poor people welcome to their homes soldiers who in

most cases belong to the same strata of society as themselves; and,
besides, ninepence a night as billet-fee is not to be laughed at. The
upper class can easily bear the momentary inconvenience of Tommy's
company; the method of procedure of the very rich in regard to
billeting seldom varies--a room, stripped of all its furniture, fitted with
beds and pictures, usually of a religious nature, is given up for the
soldiers' benefit. The lady of the house, gifted with that familiar ease
which the very rich can assume towards the poor at a pinch--especially
a pinch like the present, when "all petty class differences are forgotten
in the midst of the national crisis"--may come and talk to her guests
now and again, tell them that they are fine fellows, and give them a
treat to light up the heavy hours that follow a long day's drill in full
marching order. But the middle class, aloof and austere in its own
seclusion, limited in means and apartment space, cannot easily afford
the time and care needed for the housing of soldiers. State commands
cannot be gainsaid, however, and Tommy must be housed and fed in
the country which he will shortly go out and defend in the trenches of
France or Flanders.
The number of men assigned to a house depends in a great measure on
the discretion of the householder and the temper of the billeting officer.
A gruff reply or a caustic remark from the former sometimes offends;
often the officer is in a hurry, and at such a time disproportionate
assortment is generally the result. A billeting officer has told me that
fifty per cent. of the householders whom he has approached show
manifest hostility to the housing of soldiers. But the military authorities
have a way of dealing with these people. On one occasion an officer
asked a citizen, an elderly man full of paunch and English dignity, how
many soldiers could he keep in his house. "Well, it's like this--," the
man began.
"Have you any room to spare here?" demanded the officer.
"None, except on the mat," was the caustic answer.
"Two on the mat, then," snapped the officer, and a pair of tittering
Tommies were left at the door.

Matronly English dignity suffered on another occasion when a sergeant
inquired of a middle-aged woman as to the number of men she could
billet in her house.
"None," she replied. "I have no way of keeping soldiers."
"What about that apartment there?" asked the N.C.O. pointing to the
drawing-room.
"But they'll destroy everything in the room," stammered the woman.
"Clear the room then."
"But they'll have to pass through the hall to get in, and there are so
many valuable things on the walls--"
"You've got a large window in the drawing-room," said the officer;
"remove that, and the men will not have to pass through the hall. I'll let
you off lightly, and leave only two."
"But I cannot keep two."
"Then I'll leave four," was the reply, and four were left.
Sadder than this, even, was the plight of the lady and gentleman at St.
Albans who told the officer that their four children were just recovering
from an attack of whooping cough. The officer, being a wise man and
anxious about the welfare of those under his care, fled precipitately.
Later he learned that there had been no whooping cough in the house;
in fact, the people who caused him to beat such a hasty retreat were
childless. He felt annoyed and discomfited; but about a week following
his first visit he called again at the