TOMMY ATKINS.

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume XXXIII, Issue 4470, 22 September 1922, Page 4

TOMMY ATKINS.

A PEN-PORTRAIT. The following pen-portrait of “Tommy Atkins,” by the late FieldMarshal Sir Henry Wilson, who was foully murdered, in London a few weeks ago, appeared in a recent issuof The Democrat: “After all, what is the British soldier ? He is the essence of our town and country life. He is the embodiment, not of a class, but of the whole of our great* Empire. He is at once the most forgetful, and most thoughtful of men. He is the biggest cpward and the bravest man alive. He is the greatest grumbler and the most willing of men. He is the greatest pessimist in .speech and the most profound opitmist in action of any man that ever lived. He is as cruel as a schoolboy, and as gentle as a woman; while, as a comrade in a tight place —and the tighter the better —there is nobody (and I venture to think there never has been anybody) like the British soldier. I said he was forgetful, because he takes no thought at all beyond his next meal. I said he was most thoughtful because, having set out on an enterprise, he never ceases until he brings it to a happy end. I said he was the biggest coward, because, on many hundreds of occasions, when he has done some action which brings a gulp tp ope’s throat, he skulks behind anybody and everybody if he is asked to stand out and get his reward. And I said ne was the bravest man in the world because I have seen him in quite impossible positions—whether under a devastating fire, or whether tending' his comrades ip a cholera camp—with a smile on his face, absolutely unconscious of and certainly with no intention to claim, the amazing service that he was performing. I said he was a grumbler- Let me take you into barracks or camp, on service cr in peace, where for the moment lie is getting seven nights in bed, wi‘n any amount to eat and drink, and nothing to do. He will grumble until he nearly breaks your heart; but, on the other hand, let. me take you into a camp or bivouac, on service or not, when rations are short, health is weak, and duties are terribly heavy —there is nothing, at least I have never seen anything, that you cannot cal), on that man to do, and which he is not. only willing, but anxious, to do, if you seek him. I said he was the greatest pessimist. Hark to him as he grumbles to his pais and nobody “who matters” is listening. Did any-

thing ever go right ? Could anybody ever do anything that would give satisfaction ? Was it possible to beat, the enemy, whether “Boche’’ or “cholera ?” And then watch his actions, contradicting his words in such a charming, boylike way that one feels inclined —as, indeed, all we officers have done a thousand times over—to take one’s hat off before speaking to him. I said he was as cruel as a schoolboy, and I mean what I say, but only as schoolboys in small things that don’t matter. And I said he was as gentle as a woman, and I mean still more what I say. I have seen him with hands .as soft and light, with forethought as deep and true, as any woman that was ever a nursing angel. I have seen him. look after his wounded comrades. I have seen him watching day and night, to try and bring them back to health, pr, if that was not possible, to ease their last moments; and I have seen him, in perhaps the most trying circumstances in the world, nursing his pwn comrades in cholera camp, where the chances were—and nobody knew it better than he did—he himself would be the next victim. “No wonder, then, that we officers are proud of our men. No wonder, then, we officers prize above every-

thing else the good opinion of such men.”