A SIMPLE SOUL.

Press, Volume LIV, Issue 16154, 7 March 1918, Page 8

A SIMPLE SOUL.

(By 2nd Lieut, A. A. Milne, Lite Assistant Editor of London "Punch.")

FRANCE, December 27,

Before tho war lie was an elementary school teacher. 1 can imagine liim standing beforje the blackboard, in an ill-fitting black suit and with "an immature moustache, explaining simply and very conscientiously some knotty point, perhaps, in English grammar. Very plain you_would have called him, but you would have forgiven him this, indeed you would havo forgotten it when you saw him smile; a friendly deprecating smile—"l don't look much, but then I don't much matter to anybody" it seemed to Bay; that, and his steadfast way of regarding you all the time he was speaking, were what you noticed about him chiefly.

Out of hours he was a Scoutmaster. Of coursc he would bo. I can imagine him on the (Saturday afternoon" explaining to the same boys, and with equal simplicity and conscientiousness, the best; way of laying a fire. Then back to his lodgings at night and the company of his books. On bunday twice to church, a Sunday-school class, perhaps, in the afternoon, and a long solitary walls in tho evening. And on Monday back to the blackboard with entire cheerfulness. A simple soul, whom the gilded youth of 1913 would have called a bounder —meaning that his tastes ivero different from theirs.

He had decided to go into the church and he wanted to do it by way of Cambridge, with the idea of taking a degree. All this means money, of which there is not very much in the cavings of an elementary echool teacher. However, there are ways of getting to Cambridge cheaply; there aro funds, no doubt, for helping deserving students to Orders; and September, 1914, to his deep content, was to have found him at Fitzwilliam Hall. Instead, of course, it found him in the army. Many of these things (and the rest I imagined for myself) he told me in an estaminet at Frevent. I forgot what I was drinking; he didn't drink himself, but he offered we some sweets he had bought. The little paper bag lay between us, so that I could help myself. A sunple soul. His battalion had been in France a year. Ho had rejoined it (after being wounded) a month ago ; I had been attached to it for three months; so that I had had opportunities both of hearing about him and of seeing liim for myself. What I had heard made me want to see him; for his reputation was quite simply that ho was the bravest man in the British army. Of course no man can be called the bravest man in the army; what those who spoke of him meant was that they could not imagine any braver. I do not know how I should define bravery, further than saying that it is something much higher than fearlessness, but I think I should sum up Dormer as the man who disregarded fear more completely than anybody I have met. That he could feel it, like nearly all of us, I am certain, but it did not come into liis calculations. There it was, but one did not talk of it or take anv notice of it. At the back of this courage was, I am sure, some religious inspiration. There were times, when I thought that Dormer (Arthur Dormer was his name) regarded himself in his ingenious way as specially marked bv God to destroy God's enemy the Kaiser, and to that end would bo faitliful unto death; and there were times when I smiled at

this fancy of mine, and saw in him just :i simple-minded gentleman who loit- with, alt his soul that he was in God's hands-, ami tiu-t the future therefore was not a thing to bo anxious about. At any rate, lie was not anxious, iie was very calm, and in .his mind very, very peaceful. H« had only one aim, as lie had had.ill his elementary school —to do his duty. Ho had been badly wounded in tho stomach, anil was childishly ploased about it. For one thing, his hfo had been given up'by the doctors, and only some remarkable operation, the first of its kind, had saved him ; so that ho was regarded with interest at hospitals as rather a special;ease. To bo regarded with interest by anybody was unexpected by Dormer, and lie found it pleasant. And for another thing, his wound brought hiiu a gratuity of £150 —which would give him "much more of a chance at Cambridge after 'the war," he told me with his doprccating smilo in that estaminet at Frevent.

Perhaps I should toll you how ho go'c wounded. He was out one night with a wiring party; and, while he was there, ho thought he might as well look at th e German wire. So he went across, found a gap, strolled through it, and so into the German trench. Ho spent about an hour there, and camo back with a good deal of information. This h<> handed over, together with his wiring party to his company commander; refused all drinks; and, after sitting silent for half an hour in a corner of tho dugout (he had few of tho social graces) got up with' tho remark that he 'thought he'd be getting along as ho had been wounded a bit. This, if you please, was the famous wound which was 1 to give him a chance at Cambridge after tho war.

Of coursc there was never' any chance that lie would got to Cambridged He died at Beamnont-Hlamel; where, to the Military Cross which ho had' already been given, ho addod a | recommendation for the Victoria Cross. 1 He led no dashing charge, no bombing attack—that was not his line; but for three, days and nights he went quiotly about the battlefield doing his duty. If there was a company to bo led to a cortain point he led it; if thora was a battalion to be brought out of action, he went -and brought it; :i General to bo found, lie found him; a message to lie carried, lie was tho messenger. Tor throe days and nights he exposed himself quite simply and naturally to death, and ou tho fourth day lie found it.