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MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
a lot about this lately in France – no one could help doing so
when one fi nds that the two sections from Ireland are actually
side by side holding the trenches! No words – not even your
own – could do justice to the splendid action of the new Irish
soldiers. They never have fl inched. They never give trouble,
and they are steady and sober. Had poor Kettle lived he would
have given the world a wonderful account of things out there.
I saw a good deal of Kettle, and we had many talks of the Unity
we both hoped would come out of the War. I have been an
extreme Nationalist all my life, and if others as extreme, perhaps, on the other side will only come half-way, then I believe,
impossible as it may seem, we should be able to hit upon a plan
to satisfy the Irish sentiment and the Imperial sentiment at
one and the same time. I am sure you can do very much, as
you already have done, in this direction. I am going back for
Christmas with the men I have become attached very deeply to
during the last two years.
With many thanks for your letter,
Yours very truly,
WILLIAM REDMOND.
Major.
If this letter, even now, were posted up by the Free State
and Northern Governments at every cross-roads of Ireland
the spirit of Willie Redmond might heal the wounds of the
unhappy country.
CHAPTER XXVII
A REMEMBRANCE
OF THE DARK YEARS
Nightmares of the Morning – The Civilian Reserve – The
Volunteers – Domestic Life in War Time – German Prisoners –
Cipher to our Prisoners – Sir John French – Empress Eugenie –
Miracle Town – Armour – Our Tragedy.
I CAN never forget, and our descendants can never imagine, the strange effect upon the mind which was produced by
seeing the whole European fabric drifting to the edge of the
chasm with absolute uncertainty as to what would happen
when it toppled over. Military surprises, starvation, revolution,
bankruptcy – no one knew what so unprecedented an episode
would produce. It was all so evidently preventable, and yet it
was so madly impossible to prevent it, for the Prussians had
stuck their monkey-wrench into the machinery and it would
no longer work. As a rule one has wild dreams and wakes to
sanity, but on those mornings I left sanity when I woke and
found myself in a world of nightmare dreams.
On August 4, when war seemed assured, I had a note from
Mr. Goldsmith, a plumber in the village: “There is a feeling
in Crowborough that something should be done.” This made
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MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
me laugh at fi rst, but presently I thought more seriously of it.
After all, Crowborough was one of a thousand villages, and
we might be planning and acting for all. Therefore I had notices rapidly printed. I distributed them and put them at road
corners, and the same evening (August 4) we held a village
meeting and started the Volunteers, a force which soon grew
to 200,000 men.
The old Volunteers had become extinct when the Territorials had been organised some ten or twelve years before. But this
new force which I conceived was to be a universal one, where
every citizen, young and old, should be trained to arms – a great
stockpot into which the nation could dip and draw its needs.
We named ourselves the Civilian Reserve. No one, I refl ected,
could be the worse in such days for being able to drill and to
shoot, or for being assembled in organized units. Government
was too preoccupied to do anything, and we must show initiative for ourselves. After I had propounded my scheme, I signed
the roll myself, and 120 men did the same. Those were the fi rst
men in the Volunteer Force. Next evening we assembled at the
drill-hall, found out who could drill us, chose our non-commissioned offi cers and set to work to form ourselves into an
effi cient company. Gillette, my American actor friend, had got
stranded in England, and he was an interested spectator on this
occasion. For the time being I took command.
I had notifi ed the War Offi ce what we had done and asked
for offi cial sanction. We were careful not to stand in the way
of recruiting and determined to admit none who could reasonably join up at once. When the plan began to work I wrote
a description of our methods to “The Times.” As a consequence
423
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
I received requests for our rules and methods from 1,200
towns and villages. My secretary and I worked all day getting
these off, and in many cases the inquiries led to the formation
of similar companies.
For about a fortnight all went well. We drilled every day,
though we had no weapons. At the end of that time there came
a peremptory order from the War Offi ce: “All unauthorized
bodies to be at once disbanded.” Unquestioning and cheerful
obedience is the fi rst law in time of war. The company was on
parade. I read out the telegram and then said: “Right turn! Dismiss!” With this laconic order the Civilian Reserve dissolved
for ever.
But it had a speedy and glorious resurrection. There was
a central body in London with some remote connection with
the old Volunteer Force. Lord Des-borough was chairman of
this, and there could not have been a better man. The Government put the formation of a Volunteer Force into the charge
of this committee, to which I was elected. Mr. Percy Harris was
the secretary and showed great energy. I wrote to all the 1,200
applicants referring them to this new centre, and we, the
Crowborough body, now became the Crowborough Company
of the Sixth Royal Sussex Volunteer Regiment. That we were
the fi rst company in the country was shown by the “Volunteer
Gazette” when a prize was awarded for this distinction. Under its new shape Captain St. Quintin, who had been a soldier,
became our leader, and Mr. Gresson and Mr. Druce, both of
them famous cricketers, our lieutenants. Goldsmith was one
of the sergeants, and I remained a full private for four years of
war, and an extra half-year before we were demobilized. Our
424
MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
ranks fl uctuated, for as the age limit of service gradually rose
we passed many men into the regular Army, but we fi lled up
with new recruits, and we were always about a hundred strong.
Our drill and discipline were excellent, and when we received
our rifl es and bayonets we soon learned to use them, nor were
our marching powers contemptible when one remembers
that many of the men were in the fi fties and even in the sixties. It was quite usual for us to march from Crowborough to
Frant, with our rifl es and equipment, to drill for a long hour in
a heavy marshy fi eld, and then to march back, singing all the
way. It would be a good 14 miles, apart from the drill.
I have very pleasant recollections of that long period of service. I learned to know my neighbours who stood in the same
ranks, and I hope that they also learned to know me as they
could not otherwise. We had frequent camps, fi eld days and
inspections. On one occasion 8,000 of us were assembled, and
I am bound to say that I have never seen a fi ner body of men,
though they were rather of the police-constable than of the
purely military type. The spirit was excellent, and I am sure
that if we had had our chance we should have done well in
action. But it was hard to know how to get the chance save in
case of invasion. We were the remaining pivots of national life,
and could only be spared for short periods or chaos would follow. But a week or two in case of invasion was well within our
powers, and such a chance would have been eagerly hailed.
No doubt our presence enabled the Government to strip the
country of regular troops far more than they would have dared
otherwise to do. Twice, as Repington’s “Memoirs” show, there
425
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
was a question of embodying us for active service, but in each
case the emergency passed.
I found the life of a private soldier a delightful one. To
be led and not to lead was most restful, and so long as one’s
thoughts were bounded by the polishing of one’s buttons and
buckles, or the cleansing of one’s rifl e, one was quietly happy. In that long period I shared every phase of my companions’ life. I have stood in the queue with my pannikin to get
a welcome drink of beer, and I have slept in a bell-tent on
a summer night with a Sussex yokel blissfully snoring upon
each of my shoulders. Sometimes amusing situations arose.
I remember a new adjutant arriving and reviewing us. When
he got opposite to me in his inspection, his eyes were caught
by my South African medal. “You have seen service, my man,”
said he. “Yes, sir,” I answered. He was a little cocky fellow who
might well have been my son so far as age went. When he had
passed down the line, he said to our C.O., St. Quintin: “Who is
that big fellow on the right of the rear rank?” “That’s Sherlock
Holmes,” said C.O. “Good Lord!” said the adjutant, “I hope he
does not mind my ‘My manning’ him!” “He just loves it,” said
St. Quintin, which showed that he knew me.
The other big factor which covered the whole period of the
war, and some time after it, was my writing the History of the
European campaign, which I published volume by volume under the name of “The British Campaign in France and Flanders.” My information was particularly good, for I had organized
a very extensive correspondence with the generals, who were
by no means anxious for self-advertisement, but were, on the
other hand, very keen that the deeds of their particular troops
426
MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
should have full justice done them. In this way I was able to be
the fi rst to describe in print the full battle-line with all the divisions, and even brigades in their correct places from Mons onwards to the last fi ght before the Armistice. When I think what
a fuss was made in the old days when any Correspondent got
the account of a single Colonial battle before his comrades, it is
amazing to me that hardly a single paper ever commented, in
reviewing these six successive volumes, upon the fact that I was
really the only public source of supply of accurate and detailed
information. I can only suppose that they could not believe it to
be true. I had no help but only hindrance from the War Offi ce,
and everything I got was by means which were equally open to
anyone else who took the trouble to organize them. Of course,
I was bowdlerized and blue-pencilled by censors, but still the
fact remains that a dozen great battle-lines were fi rst charted
by me. I have since read the offi cial account so far as it has gone,
and fi nd little to change in my own, though the German and
French records are now available to broaden the picture. For
the moment war literature is out of fashion, and my war history, which refl ects all the passion and pain of those hard days,
has never come into its own. I would reckon it the greatest and
most undeserved literary disappointment of my life if I did not
know that the end is not yet and that it may mirror those great
times to those who are to come.
For the rest I had a great deal of literary propaganda work
to do. Once it was the “To Arms!” pamphlet written in conjunction with Mr. Smith, soon to become Lord Birkenhead. Once
again it was an appeal for our ill-used prisoners. Sometimes
Norway, sometimes South America, always the United States,
427
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
needed treatment. As to my special missions, those I treat in
separate chapters.
There are many small but very important details of domestic life during the war which have never been properly
described, and could indeed best be described by a woman,
for they were usually an invasion of her department. Our descendants will never realize how we were all registered and
docketed and rationed, so that the State could give the least
to and take the most from each of us. One had food-cards for
practically everything, and the card only entitled you to get
your meagre portion if it was to be had. Often it wasn’t. I have
been at a great lunch with half the grandees of the land, and
the Prime Minister to speak. The fare was Irish stew and ricepudding.
What could man ask for more, but it will need another war
to bring it round again. There was a pleasing uncertainty about
all meals. There was always a sense of adventure and a wonder
whether you would really get something. It all made for appetite. Then there were the darkened windows, the sharp knocking of the police if the blind emitted any light, the vexatious
summons for very small offences, the pulling down of every
blind on the railway trains. At night one never knew what evil
bird was fl ying overhead or what foul egg would be dropped.
Once, as we sat in the theatre at Eastbourne, the whirr of
a Zeppelin was heard above us. Half the audience slipped out,
the lights were put out, and the play was fi nished with candles
on the stage. When I was lecturing in London the same thing
happened, and I fi nished my lecture in the dark.
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MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES
Every one found themselves doing strange things. I was
not only a private in the Volunteers, but I was a signaller and
I was for a time number one of a machine gun. My wife started
a home for Belgian refugees in Crow-borough. My son was
a soldier, fi rst, last, and all the time. My daughter Mary gave
herself up altogether to public work, making shells at Vickers’
and afterwards serving in a canteen. If I may quote a passage
from my history: “Grotesque combinations resulted from the
eagerness of all classes to lend a hand. An observer has described how a peer and a prize-fi ghter worked on the same
bench at Woolwich, while titled ladies and young girls from
cultured homes earned sixteen shillings a week at Erith and
boasted in the morning of the number of shell-cases which
they had turned, and fi nished in their hours of night-shift.
Truly it had become a national war. Of all its memories none
will be stranger than those of the peaceful middle-aged civilians who were seen eagerly reading books of elementary drill
in order to prepare themselves to meet the most famous soldiers in Europe, or of the schoolgirls and matrons who donned
blue blouses and by their united work surpassed the output of
the great death factories of Essen.”
Every house had its vegetable garden and every poor man
his allotment, that we might at the worst exist until we could
win our peace. The want of sugar and the limitation of tea were
the worst privations. My wife, greatly helped by a faithful servant, Jakeman, did wonders in saving food, and we always
lived well within our legal rations. This did not save us once
from a police raid, because some tea, sent us as a present from
India, had arrived. We had already distributed a good deal of
429
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
it, however, to our less fortunate neighbours, so we came well
out of the matter.
I have one singular memory in having to guard German
prisoners at work. The Volunteers had a turn at this work, and
we spent the night at Lewes Prison. In the early morning, dark
and misty, we were mustered, and fi ve prisoners handed over
to each of us. Mine worked on a farm some 4 miles from the
town, and thither I had to march them, walking behind them
with my rifl e on my shoulder. When I had reached the lonely
country road, I thought I would get into human touch with
these poor slouching wretches, who were still in their stained
grey uniforms, and wearing their service caps with the bright
red bands which formed a wonderful advertisement of the excellence of German dyes. I halted them, drew them up, and
asked them their nationality Three were from Wurtemburg
and two from Prussia. I asked the Wurtemburgers how long
they had been prisoners. They said, “Fourteen months.” “Then,”
said I, “you were taken by the Canadians at Ypres upon such
and such a date.” They were considerably astonished, since
I was simply a second-line Tommy from their point of view.
Of course, I had the details of the war very clearly in my mind,
and I knew that our one big haul of Wurtemburgers had been
on that occasion. To this day they must wonder how I knew.
I shall not forget that day, for I stood for eight hours leaning
on a rifl e, amid drizzling rain, while in a little gap of the mist
I watched those men loading carts with manure. I can answer
for it that they were excellent workers, and they seemed civil,
tractable fellows as well.
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