The Young Citizens at the Front

Writing home to his mother, a private of the 14th (Service) Battalion Royal Irish Rifles (Y.C.V.) says –

"I am afraid I must have given you a desperate picture of our march and of my condition, but I must have been in rotten form when I wrote it, so that will account for it. I am by no means a 'poor old son,' I am rather a fortunate one, as I am neither dead, wounded, gassed, sick, bereaved, or indeed in any unfortunate circumstances. 'Tis true, today was one of the roughest days we have yet had. To begin with, we changed billets again, and shifted some kilometres further up the line. We found ourselves in a clean, large barn, very cold and draughty, but with plenty of room. When the lights had been put out we heard the other occupants of the barn, and judging from the sounds they far outnumbered our platoon. I had left a couple of biscuits on the ledge above our bed and I heard these crackling, and so I flung my cap at them, but only I succeeded in crumbling some biscuit over my bed. Then at another corner the fellows were having quite a dispute with some rats as to the right of possession, and by the light of a flash-lamp we saw several huge brown rats darting for their holes. When they had sought temporary refuge in their holes they ostrich-like, thought they, unseeing, were unseen, with the result that one of the animals lost his tail. After this casualty they paid another visit to our bed, and in their struggles for eatables one of them dropped on my partner's head. With a yell he jumped up and looked for a light to see if the intruder was still there, but in the words of the psalm, "He passed, yea, was not, him I sought, but found he could not be." This rather unnerved my bed-mate, who said he would face a German a dozen times rather than a rat, and his slumbers were very disturbed that night. Fortunately, I seem to be of a rather indifferent disposition, and so I simply put a blanket well up over my head, and the region of activity and consciousness knew me no more.

"This morning it was bitterly cold, and we had to get up at 6 a.m. to proceed to our navvying again. It was ugh-h-h-h when we got up, and the ground outside was like glass. We had a march of about four kilos, to our job, and the snow began before we got there. We started work, but in the increasing storm of snow very little work was done, more especially as the breakfast we had before leaving was a misnomer. The tea had evidently been made from the drippings of a sewer, and its taste amply justified this opinion formed from its smell. A piece of bread and marmalade completed the regal repast, which was to last us till 2 p.m. However, a visit to the canteen made up in some degree for this breakfast, and three cups of tea, two pieces of cake, three packets of biscuits, and some chocolate filled up a few of the gaps in my anatomy. By this time the snow had turned into a regular blizzard, and all work was suspended, so we had to march back again. The march back in the teeth of the blizzard was desperate, and several fellows were bleeding in various parts of their face ere we sighted our village. The snow froze on our eyebrows and hair, and our very breath froze on the capes, so it was quite a unique crowd which landed in the village. We carried between us several bags of coal collected where we had been working, the whole way back. When we reached our billets we found that blankets, rucksacks, and all our belongings were covered with some inches of snow, which had come in through the various holes in the roof and walls.

"It was a crude homecoming, but flitting being simplicity itself in the Army we simply moved our billets, and are now in canvas huts, which are at least rain and snow proof, and which are at any rate no colder than the barn billets. We expect to be in the trenches early next week, so I hope the weather will change and be a little more reasonable, or there will be cases galore of trench foot and frost-bitten feet. However, what man hath done man can do, so we hope to do our best to keep up the reputation of the division and of the battalion to which we belong."



From The Witness, 10th March 1916.
Image: A self portrait of Lance Corporal George Hackney colourised by John McCormick.

Women and the War

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The copious records of women's work in connection with the war with which the newspapers teem daily are of the highest significance. They indicate that the women of the United Kingdom are all alive to the gravity of the situation and to the supreme call of public duty. Everywhere women are asking themselves what they can do to help the Empire in its supreme struggle; what they can do to inspire our troops with courage; to arouse men to rally to the standard; to provide needful comforts for soldiers in the trenches; to nurse the wounded; to do work of every sort for the production of munitions and for the maintenance of all branches of industry; to initiate methods of saving so as to economise our resources; to make personal sacrifices commensurate with the necessities of the times; in a word, to do what they can to win a speedy and decisive victory over our enemies. But the public reports in the newspapers give us only a very small account of the work in which women are actually engaged in this terrible conflict. From countless homes women are sending to sons, and husbands, and brothers and lovers in the camp, the fruits of their hard work and affection. They are denying themselves many a coveted indulgence, and foregoing many a legitimate luxury, that they may minister to the men who have gone forth to fight for their defence and to lay down their lives for their country. Not only so, they are suffering bravely in private the sorrows of the war; the sorrows of bereavement for the brave men who have fallen in battle; the agony of suspense for lives dearer than their own who are in daily peril on land or sea or air. The war has aroused the womanhood of the United Kingdom as it never was aroused before. It is said that at the present moment there are not fewer than 200,000 women engaged in war contracts! These women belong to no trades union and threaten no strikes. They work at severe manual labour week in week out full hours, and get through their full tale of work. In addition to this noble army of women workers in our great centres of munition factories, we have on many of our railways women ticket-collectors, and booking-clerks; we have in the public service women letter-carriers, policemen, tram and bus conductors and commissionaires; we have an increase of lift-attendants, of scavengers, of grocer-assistants, gardeners, chauffeurs, and van-drivers. All these and far more have pressed into the fields of industry to take the place of men who have gone into the ranks of the fighters. Surely these women are doing their duty in the present distress. My chief fear of them is that they may be over-worked, and our politicians would be doing a great public service if they would cease debating in Parliament and take effective measures for their protection.

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Higher in the scale of social service is the great company of woman who have dedicated themselves to nursing. Multitudes have abandoned ease and luxury and devoted themselves to the severe drudgeries of the hospital. Ladies of wealth and fashion have enlisted themselves in the ranks of those who scrub the floors of hospital wards, who make poultices for the wounded, or moisten the fevered lips of the dying. The discipline they undergo, the dangers they incur, the sacrifices they voluntarily make, the stern sense of duty which they manifest, the skill with which they organise the British Red Cross Society, the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, and the voluntary aid detachments, the private hospitals which were sent to Serbia, where they grappled with the insoluble problem of an army ill-supplied with medical comforts and attacked by various deadly epidemics, the ambulances which were sent to the French, Russian, and Belgian fronts, required courage of the very highest order. Who shall say that such a nurse as Miss Cavell did not stand in the very foremost rank of heroism? And hundreds of nurses just as brave as she are at this moment giving their lives for the alleviation of suffering in the face of deadly epidemics or the constant peril of the emissaries of the Kaiser. The women of the United Kingdom surely never showed to greater advantage than in the present crisis. The Empire needs them, and they have left home and kindred, ease and culture, positions of affluence and refinement to put down their hands, to spend their days and nights, to devote their brains and spirit in the Divine work of ministry. It was fortunate for us that for a generation we had been diligently pursuing a new and better ideal of womanhood than ever before. The education of women had departed from the old school of artistic accomplishments, and had entered upon the much saner pursuit of genuine mental development and bodily culture which were necessary for the creation of a race of strong and gentle women. In the open air, in active pursuits, in the bracing atmosphere of public and private duty, a new generation of women had unconsciously prepared themselves for the crisis which the war had suddenly brought upon us, and hence it has come to pass that the women of the Empire were just as well prepared as the men for the rough tasks of the emergency. Womanhood is playing a noble part in the whole campaign, and marks a miraculous advance in the whole standard of our civilisation. There is a beautiful passage in the Divina Comedia of Dante, in which the great poet describes his ascent towards Paradise in company with his young heroine Beatrice, and he rightly measures the degrees of his ascent by the growing beauty and brightness of Beatrice's face. There is no test of civilisation so good as this. It is the splendour of woman's face that is the measure of our progress, and surely it is the face of British womanhood at the present time that marks our position in the present and projects our destiny in the near future. Whilst this war lasts nothing will so fire the men of the Empire as the thought that their women must be protected from the brutality of the savages who outraged Belgium; and nothing will so hearten the Empire for the future as the knowledge that in the new order which victory will secure there will be a kingdom for the enthronement of the noblest type of womanhood which this world has ever seen.

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The British Empire is going to be saved by its women. It is British women who are saving our industries now and are nursing our wounded. It is British women who are to plan our economies in the future, and to teach the coming generation to bear bravely the burdens of the entail of the war. I will go further, and say that it is British women who are to save our politics from degradation and ruin. They will purify our public life from selfish venality. They will shame out of existence the self-seeking political parasites who have fastened upon the Empire, and who bleed it of its very life-blood. All this they will do in the woman's way, by taking their full share of duty and responsibility in public life, and by building up for us pure homes on the foundations of religion and liberty. There is an Italian proverb to the effect that man builds the house, but woman builds the home. Let men do their part and women will do theirs. It is the house now that is in danger. If we fail to protect it, then there is nothing left. But if we secure the house and drove the German Boeche back to his own land, then the home will come all right, and the wife and mother will rule it with a sceptre strong in its integrity and gentle in its love.

Mr. Buchan, in his history of the war, says of the women of Britain -- "From the beginning they realised the gravity of the struggle. The women's movement in recent years had given to a large class a special organisation and discipline, which was turned to admirable purpose. The leaders of that movement in the Press and on the platform did a great work in rousing the nation, and none dealt more trenchantly with counsels of supineness and peace." This is true; and it furnishes the best answer that has yet been given of the capacity of women to deal with the subject of war. For years we have refused to give women the vote because it was believed that they would embarrass the Empire in dealing with the question of war. It now turns out that the women of the nation have far clearer ideas and for more capacity for forming a policy for its prosecution than the male politicians who refused them the franchise. A Cabinet of women could hardly have been guilty of the blunders which have been practised by the Asquith Cabinet. They would not have gambled with 200,000 men, the very flower of the British race, in the Dardanelles fiasco; and they would have drowned in the depths of the sea that prolific parent of all our misfortunes, "wait and see," unless, indeed, they had been a Cabinet of very "old women." The war will bring about new adjustments in reference to the political status of women. It will become abhorrent to all patriotic men to refuse a vote to such women as Miss Cavell, and give it to every slacker and shirker whose only known qualification is the boast that he belongs to "the superior sex.” The Empire owes already far too much to its noble women to refuse any lawful demand they may make in the future. Other adjustments will also necessarily follow, in the field of industry, in the field of commerce, in the field of scholarship, in the manifold fields of public and private life.



This article by "Southern Presbyterian" appeared in The Witness, 3rd March 1916.

Mighty to Save

Come in Thy might, Lord!
    Come in Thy power!
Come to our land
    In this dark hour!
From the dread foe
    Deliverance we crave;
Be Thou our Helper,
    "Mighty to save."

Pardon our weakness
    When we give way;
When our faith falters
    Be Thou our stay;
Go Thou before us,
    Then we'll be brave;
Thou art our strength,
    "Mighty to save."

Why should we doubt
    With Thee ever near?
Why should our hearts
    Weaken, with fear?
Is Thy hand shortened,
    That it cannot save?
Lord God Omnipotent,
    "Mighty to save."

Let us, then, trust Thee
    Whatever betide;
Safe in the midst of foes
    In peace abide.
If we are Thine,
    No fears should enslave,
Thou, Lord, will guard us,
    "Mighty to save."

Jane Thomson.

Cullycapple, Aghadowey.

Poem: The Witness, 25th February 1916.
Image: Evidence of Angels by Marina Petro.

To the Ulster Volunteers

Ye brave, brave sons of Ulster, who rallied to the call,
Left your friends and peaceful homes and sacrificed your all.
To meet and fight — and put to flight — that grasping cruel foe
Who has caused grim desolation, and heartache, pain, and woe.

    Courage, boys, courage!—
       Be this your daily cry;
    But don’t forget to “trust in God,
       And keep your powder dry.”

For many years the Germans had been making deep their plan;
Had worshipped militarism, had drilled their every man.
While other peaceful nations thought them cultured, honest, true,
The Germans forced this awful war like startling “bolt from blue.”

    Courage, boys, courage, &c.

Then gallant little Belgium had first to face the foe;
Her land was devastated, her precious shrines laid low.
What cruel, sad atrocities were daily practised there
By the Germans, in their bitter hate — ah! the thought is hard to bear.

    Courage, boys, courage, &c.

But Britain, to the rescue, came — France, Russia, Italy, too;
Supported by our Colonies — brave-hearted, leal, and true.
To conquer wrong, uphold the right, and make the weak ones strong —
With this as glorious motive, may great power to them belong.

    Courage, boys, courage, &c.

Our Ulster Volunteers set out; with ready pluck and vim
They joined the Empire’s army, to fight for home and King,
To show to all the world they were patriots, staunch and true,
And to uphold the grand old flag of red and white and blue.

    Courage, boys, courage, &c.

Brave boys from Aghadowey, we’ve a special word for you,
We have known you from your childhood, we have seen each in his pew
Listening to the Word of Life, joining in prayer and praise;
And now we pray that God may give “strength equal to your days.”

    Courage, boys, courage, &c.

And when the strife has ended, and fearful war is o’er,
You’ll have a warm, glad welcome back to your native shore,
You’ll tread once more the valleys where the little shamrock grows,
And gain new health and vigour ’mid Ulster’s calm repose.

    Courage, boys, courage, &c.

We mourn those noble soldiers who’ll return, alas! no more.
They’ve “crossed the bar,” and landed upon the other shore.
But if Christ has been their Captain, they inhert full reward,
And their dust will rest in foreign land, as in the old Churchyard.

    Courage, boys, courage, &c.

We thank our noble Army, we thank our Navy, too;
But, more than they, we thank our God, to Whom all praise is due,
That He kept the heartless Germans, despite their craft and guile,
From invading and destroying out own beloved Green Isle.

    Courage, boys, courage, &c.

J. THOMSON, Cullycapple.

January, 1916.

From The Witness, 18th February 1916.

St. Valentine's Day, 1915

A Missive from the Front.

Ere the first grey dawn has banished
    Restless night and her alarms,
When the sleeper's snores have vanished
    On the order “Stand to arms!”
When the sky is bleak and dreary
    And the rain is chill and thin,
Be I ne’er so damp and weary,
    Yet my thoughts on You I pin.

When the bullets fly unheeded
    O’er the meagre parapet.
As I pace my ditch impeded
    By the squelching mud and wet;
When I eat my Army ration
    With my fingers caked in clay—
You can stake your total cash on
    Me remembering You this day.

Though the glittering knight whose charger
    Bore him on his lady’s quest
With an infinitely larger
    Share of warfare’s pomp was blest,
Yet he offered love no higher,
    No more difficult to quench,
Than this filthy occupier
    Of an unromantic trench.


Poem from Punch, 10th February 1915.

From Home to the Trenches

Sonny, it seems like twenty year,
     The while that you’ve been gone,
And left me lonesome for you here
Trying to do my bit — oh, dear! —
     By keeping steady on.

I promised and I’ve meant to do,
     But now and then at night
I’ve been to blame, the times it blew
Like guns that answered guns, with you —
     My you — amongst the fight.

But in the morning “Dear old fool”
     I’ve seemed to hear you say;
“Mother, no need to fuss, keep cool,”
Just like the cheeky brat from school
     You was the other day.

You wasn’t always quite so grand;
     Once you was mighty glad,
Chased by a puppy-dog, to stand
Behind your Mummy, slip your hand
     In hers, the way you had.

Small son turned big, now that you’re grown
     And in a real war,
And set to face it all alone,
I’m wild to run and guard my own
     Same as I did before.

You’d laugh at that; but keep your fun
     Till fighting’s through, and then
Hurry off back to where there’s one
All of a fuss to hear her son
     Say “Dear old fool” again.

This poem appeared in Punch, 19th May 1915.

Hamilton Road Presbyterian, Bangor 1897-1947

Hamilton Road Church, Bangor, was opened for public worship on the 10th September, 1899, and in September this year special services were held to celebrate the Jubilee. Among the special preachers was the Moderator of the General Assembly (The Rt. Rev. Dr. G. D. Erskine), who brought the congratulations and good wishes of the Church to the congregation.

The congregation was erected, by direction of the General Assembly, on 8th June, 1897. The first minister was Rev. Robert Montgomery, B.A., of Portrush (brother of Rev. Dr. Henry Montgomery, Belfast). Mr. Montgomery’s ministry was brief, as he had to resign in May, 1898, owing to ill-health.

It was during the ministry of the next minister, Rev. W. A. Hill, B.A. (who had, prior to his ordination, been assistant, for two years, to Rev. Dr. Charles Davey, in St. Enoch’s Church, Belfast), that the Church building was erected and opened for public worship. The Church has seating accommodation for over 1,000 people, and is built of Scrabo stone. A particular feature of the building is a large glazed dome in the roof, giving light through the ceiling panelling to the whole of the centre of the Church.

As a memorial to the members of the congregation who gave their lives, and to those who served in the Great War, a pipe organ was installed in 1922.

In May, 1928, Mr. Hill accepted a call to Wexford and Enniscorthy congregations, and in October of the same year, Rev. J. Millar Craig, B.A., formerly of First Letterkenny, Sandymount, (Dublin), St. George’s, Sunderland, and latterly of St. Ninian’s, Golder’s Green, London, was installed as minister.

Largely due to Mr. Craig’s inspiring leadership and untiring efforts, the Church Halls, consisting of a Large Hall and a Minor Hall, seating 450 and 150 people respectively, cloakrooms and a kitchen, were built in 1932 at a cost of £4,500.

Electrical heating and lighting were introduced into the Church in 1939 (the Church being the first in Ireland to be wholly heated by electricity).

In 1945, Rev. J. M. Craig retired from the active duties of the ministry, and his successor is Rev. E. M. Borland, B.A., the present minister, formerly minister of Downpatrick congregation.

The congregation has shown a steady increase in numbers and givings throughout the years. 57 families, in 1897, grew to 160 in 1910, and to 487 in 1947. The givings to Missions increased from £50 in 1897, to £567 in 1947.

The members of the congregation have always been interested in Evangelistic work, and in Foreign Missions, and this is evidenced by the generous givings to Missions and by the fact that thirty-four members of the congregation have been, or are, engaged in active full-time Christian service at home and abroad.

A Booklet, giving the full history of the congregation from 1897-1947, has been prepared and published by Rev. E. M. Borland.


An extract from the Presbyterian Herald, December 1949.