Showing posts with label England. Show all posts
Showing posts with label England. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

"Our History Would Not Come To An End" Winston Churchill on How He Felt Knowing the United States Had Joined WWII




When British Prime Minister Winston  Churchill heard that Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor, he immediately called American President Franklin D Roosevelt. Roosevelt told him "They have attacked us at Pearl Harbor. We are all in the same boat now."

Churchill later wrote:
"No American will think it wrong of me if I proclaim that to have the United States at our side was to me the greatest joy. I could not foretell the course of events. I do not pretend to have measured accurately the martial might of Japan, but now at this very moment I knew the United States was in the war, up to the neck and in to the death. So we had won after all!
"Yes, after Dunkirk; after the fall of France; after the horrible episode of Oran; after the threat of invasion, when, apart from the Air and the Navy, we were an almost unarmed people; after the deadly struggle of the U-boat war - the first Battle of the Atlantic, gained by a hand's-breath; after seventeen months of lonely fighting and nineteen months of my responsibility in dire stress. We had won the war. England would live; Britain would live; the Commonwealth of Nations and the Empire would live.
"How long the war would last or in what fashion it would end no man could tell, nor did I at this moment care. Once again in our long Island history we should emerge, however mauled or mutilated, safe and victorious.
"We should not be wiped out. 
"Our history would not come to an end. We might not even have to die as individuals.
"Hitler's fate was sealed. Mussolini's fate was sealed. As for the Japanese, they would be ground to powder."

Friday, June 24, 2016

"It Will Soon Be Time To Believe In America Again"




via Daily Pundit:

Mr. Donald J Trump's Statement on the British Referendum on E.U. Membership (aka "Brexit"):

" The people of the United Kingdom have exercised the sacred right of all free peoples. They have declared their independence from the European Union and have voted to reassert control over their own politics, borders and economy. A Trump Administration pledges to strengthen our ties with a free and independent Britain, deepening our bonds in commerce, culture and mutual defense. The whole world is more peaceful and stable when our two countries – and our two peoples – are united together, as they will be under a Trump Administration. 
" Come November, the American people will have the chance to re-declare their independence. Americans will have a chance to vote for trade, immigration and foreign policies that put our citizens first. They will have the chance to reject today’s rule by the global elite, and to embrace real change that delivers a government of, by and for the people. I hope America is watching, it will soon be time to believe in America again."



Tuesday, April 22, 2014

A Prayer for Josie Cunningham: Updated With Rejoicing!

A heart-stopping story of a woman who is so lost that she eagerly seeks attention for her planned murder of an innocent:  http://liveactionnews.org/wannabe-celebrity-josie-cunningham-planning-an-abortion-so-she-can-get-on-a-reality-show/

Father God, please send Your angels to change Josie Cunningham's mind and save her from murdering her baby. Is there a Solomon in her life who can intervene in time? Please send signs and wonders and true friends to open her eyes to the truth, her ears to the sound of true love for the beautiful and lovely person she can be if only she will repent and turn to You.   If in the hardness of her heart she proceeds, please take her little one into Heaven without suffering.  Father, please surround her children with true love from other places, that evil cannot touch or damage them, that they may grow up whole and healthy and know Your blessing of redemption. We ask all this in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ, who was also threatened as an infant by evil that killed other babies for worldly gain, and Who taught "let the little children come to me, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven", in Jesus name we ask for the lives of these little ones, and an intervention to stop this woman from the terrible sin she is planning, that she may have forgiveness and mercy, and the joy of new life in Christ. Amen. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

UPDATE April 28, 2014:  Thank you Father God for answered prayers. Thank you Lord Jesus that Josie's little one "leapt in her womb", just as Elizabeth's baby John did to greet you when Mary visited during her expectency with You. Please protect and bless this child all of his life. May his life and work be to Your Glory! In Jesus name, Amen!
    From The Mirror, click through to read the whole wonderful article!
 "... Josie travelled to London the night before her appointment but spent frightening ­sleepless hours watching videos of abortions close to the 24-week legal limit.
"She says: “I’d had so many angry tweets from people telling me to look at pictures of foetuses at 18 or 19 weeks and to understand what I was doing.
"“I was so stubborn I just ignored them. But as I lay awake the night before the appointment, I cracked. I felt the baby kicking again and I couldn’t stop myself from looking on my phone. What I saw horrified me.
"“They looked like fully formed babies and I read there have been 66 cases where aborted foetuses have come out alive because their mothers left the decision so late. I lay in bed and sobbed. Doubts crept in.”
"Josie left for her appointment at the north London clinic on Thursday. But feeling her baby move that morning was the final straw.
"“I tried to put it to the back of my mind because I was determined I’d made the right decision. But suddenly none of that mattered any more,” she said. “I told the driver to take me back to the hotel. As soon as I realised I was going to keep the baby, I felt happy – like a weight lifted.”" 
What a great day! God is Good! May all mothers feel the joy of their children yet to be and welcome them, despite anything to the contrary. May all mothers love their babies and want them, even before they have conceived, that they never be tempted to harm. May all know the Love of our Father in Heaven, that such Great and Eternal Love will lead them through the storms here below. In Jesus Name, Amen!

Saturday, May 26, 2012

"...Those Who Went West Have Seen Him": A Memorial Day Story


Memorial Day is nearly 150 years old. During each of those years, families and towns have new reason for remembrance, have new graves to tend on "Decoration Day". American freedom is bought dearly by men and women who gladly stand up and push back against threats to liberty.

In our household, we remember these men of the 3rd LAR,seven Marines and their Navy medic, who served with my son, Sgt Ethan D Arguello, and paid for our freedom with their lives in 2006 in Iraq:
Seaman Chadwick T. Kenyon
Cpl. Phillip E. Baucus
Lance Cpl. Anthony E. Butterfield
Cpl. Adam A. Galvez
Lance Cpl. Jason Hanson
Lance Cpl. Shane P. Harris
Lance Cpl. Randy L. Newman
Sgt. Christian B. Williams

I've written about them before. In many ways, their stories are unique, and each brave member of the US Military has their own story to tell. At the same time, there is a kind of courage that is renewed with each generation of Americans, and these men shared that courage with those of older times and other wars who, like them, gave their all for God and country, for liberty and freedom.

The story below, "The Beloved Captain", is the second of Donald Hankey's stories I've shared here. It was published in 1917, painting the heroism Hankey witnessed during The Great War, as WWI was then known.When I read it, the story didn't seem like something from a hundred years ago, but instead, it sounded like the kinds of things I was hearing people say about Doc Kenyon, Adam Galvez, Tony Butterfield, Jason Hanson, Randy Newman, Phillip Baucus, Chris Williams, and Shane Harris. 

The man who wrote this story, Donald Hankey, is himself numbered with them. He was killed in action in 1916, in the battle of the Somme. May God bless us to meet them all in the joy of the Resurrection at the end of all strife, and the final, victorious coming of the Lord.


The Beloved Captain

"He came In the early days, when we were still at recruit drills under the hot September sun. Tall, erect, smiling: so we first saw him, and so he remained to the end. At the start he knew as little of soldiering as
we did. He used to watch us being drilled by the sergeant; but his manner of watching was peculiarly his own. He never looked bored. He was learning just as much as we were, in fact more. He was learning his job, and from the first he saw that his job was more than to give the correct orders. His job was to lead us. So he watched, and noted many things, and never found the time hang heavy on his hands. He watched our evolutions, so as to learn the correct orders; he watched for the right manner of command, the manner which secured the most prompt response to an order; and he watched every one of us for our individual characteristics.

"We were his men. Already he took an almost paternal interest in us. He noted the men who tried hard, but were naturally slow and awkward. He distinguished them from those who were inattentive and bored. He marked down the keen and efficient amongst us. Most of all he studied those who were subject to moods, who were sulky one day and willing the next. These were the ones who were to turn the scale. If only he could get these on his side, the battle would be won.

"For a few days he just watched. Then he started work. He picked out some of the most awkward ones, and, accompanied by a corporal, marched them away by themselves. Ingenuously he explained that he did not know much himself yet; but he thought that they might get on better If they drilled by themselves a bit, and that if he helped them, and they helped him, ey would son learn. His confidence was Infectious. He looked at them, and they looked at him, and the men pulled themselves together and determined to do their best. Their best surprised themselves. His patience was inexhaustible. His simplicity could not fail to be understood. His keenness and optimism carried all with them. Very soon the awkward squad found themselves awkward no longer; and soon after that they ceased to be a squad, and went back to the platoon.


"Then he started to drill the platoon, with the sergeant standing by to point out his mistakes. Of course he made mistakes, and when that happened he never minded admitting It. He would explain what mistakes he
had made, and try again. The result was that we began to take almost as much interest and pride in his progress as he did in ours. We were his men, and he was our leader. We felt that he was a credit to us, and
we resolved to be a credit to him. There was a bond of mutual confidence and affection between us, which grew stronger and stronger as the months passed. He had a smile for almost everyone; but we thought that he had a different smile for us. We looked for it, and were never disappointed.

"On parade, as long as we were trying, his smile encouraged us. Off parade, if we passed him and saluted, his eyes looked straight into our own, and his smile greeted us. It was a wonderful thing, that smile of his. It was something worth living for, and worth working for. It bucked one up when one was bored or tired. It seemed to make one look at things from a different point of view, a finer point of view, his point of view.
There was nothing feeble or weak about It. It was not monotonous like the smile of " Sunny Jim." It meant something. It meant that we were his men, and that he was proud of us, and sure that we were going to do jolly well” better than any of the other platoons. And it made us determine that we would. When we failed him, when he was disappointed in us, he did not smile. He did not rage or curse. He just looked disappointed, and that made us feel far more savage with ourselves than any amount of swearing would have done. He made us feel that we were not playing the game by him. It was not what he said. He was never very good at talking. It was just how he looked. And his look of displeasure and disappointment was a thing that we would do anything to avoid. The fact was that he had won his way into our affections. We loved him. And there isn't anything stronger than love, when all's said and done.

"He was good to look on. He was big and tall, and held himself upright. His eyes looked his own height. He moved with the grace of an athlete. His skin was tanned by a wholesome outdoor life, and his eyes were clear and wide open. Physically he was a prince among men. We used to notice, as we marched along the road and passed other officers, that they always looked pleased to see him. They greeted him with a cordiality which was reserved for him. Even the general seemed to have singled him out, and cast an eye of special approval upon him.

"Somehow, gentle though he was, he was never familiar. He had a kind of innate nobility which marked him out as above us. He was not democratic. He was rather the justification for aristocracy. We all knew
instinctively that he was our superior - a man of finer temper than ourselves, a "toff" in his own right. I suppose that that was why he could be so humble without loss of dignity. For he was humble too, if that is the right word, and I think it is. No trouble of ours was too small for him to attend to. When we started route marches, for instance, and our feet were blistered and sore, as they often were at first, you would have thought that they were his own feet from the trouble he took.

"Of course after the march there was always an inspection of feet. That is the routine. But with him it was no mere routine. He came into our rooms, and if anyone had a sore foot he would kneel down on the floor and
look at it as carefully as if he had been a doctor. Then he would prescribe, and the remedies were ready at hand, being borne by the sergeant. If a blister had to be lanced he would very likely lance it himself there and then, so as to make sure that it was done with a clean needle and that no dirt was allowed to get in. There was no affectation about this, no striving after effect. It was simply that he felt that our feet were pretty important, and that he knew that we were pretty careless. So he thought it best at the start to see to the matter himself. Nevertheless, there was in our eyes something almost religious about this care for our feet. It seemed to have a touch of the Christ about it, and we loved and honored him the more.

"We knew that we should lose him. For one thing, we knew that he would be promoted. It was our great hope that some day he would command the company. Also we knew that he would be killed. He was so amazingly unselfconscious. For that reason we knew that he would be absolutely fearless. He would be so keen on the job in hand, and so anxious for his men, that he would forget about his own danger. So it proved. He was a captain when we went out to the front. Whenever there was a tiresome job
to be done, he was there in charge. If ever there were a moment of danger, he was on the spot. If there were any particular part of the line where the shells were falling faster or the bombs dropping more
thickly than in other parts, he was in it.

"It was not that he was conceited and imagined himself indispensable. It was just that he was so keen that the men should do their best, and act worthily of the regiment. He knew that fellows hated turning out at night for fatigue, when they were in a "rest camp." He knew how tiresome the long march there and back and the digging in the dark for an unknown purpose were. He knew that fellows would be inclined to grouse and shirk, so he thought that it was up to him to go and show them that he thought it was a job worth doing. And the fact that he was there put a new complexion on the matter altogether. No one would shirk if he were there. No one would grumble so much, either. What was good enough for him was good enough for us. If it were not too much trouble for him to turn out, it was not too much trouble for us.

"He knew, too, how trying to the nerves it is to sit in a trench and be shelled. He knew what a temptation there is to move a bit farther down the trench and herd together in a bunch at what seems the safest end. He
knew, too, the folly of it, and that it was not the thing to do - not done in the best regiments. So he went along to see that it did not happen, to see that the men stuck to their posts, and conquered their nerves.

"And as soon as we saw him, we forgot our own anxiety. It was: "Move a bit farther down, sir. We are all right here; but don't you go exposing of yourself." We didn't matter. We knew it then. We were just the rank
and file, bound to take risks. The company would get along all right without us. But the captain, how was the company to get on without him? To see him was to catch his point of view, to forget our personal
anxieties, and only to think of the company, and the regiment, and honor.

"There was not one of us but would gladly have died for him. We longed for the chance to show him that. We weren't heroes. We never dreamed about the Victoria Cross. But to save the captain we would have earned it ten times over, and never have cared a button whether we got it or not. We never got the chance, worse luck. It was all the other way.

"We were holding some trenches which were about as unhealthy as trenches could be. The Bosches were only a few yards away, and were well supplied with trench mortars. We hadn't got any at that time. Bombs and air torpedoes were dropping round us all day. Of course the captain was there. It seemed as if he could not keep away. A torpedo fell into the trench, and buried some of our chaps. The fellows next to them ran to dig them out. Of course he was one of the first. Then came another torpedo in the same place. That was the end.

"But he lives. Somehow he lives. And we who knew him do not forget. We feel his eyes on us. We still work for that wonderful smile of his. There are not many of the old lot left now; but I think that those who went West have seen him. When they got to the other side I think they were met. Someone said: "Well done, good and faithful servant."

"And as they knelt before that gracious pierced Figure, I reckon they saw nearby the captain's smile. Anyway, in that faith let me die, if death should come my way; and so, I think, shall I die content.
"











Sunday, November 20, 2011

Not Only the Icelanders: Translating Praise Music from 1500 Years Ago, and the Future of Printed Books

It's often told that in the most literate society in the world, Iceland, readers can still understand books written in Icelandic 800 years ago. It is impressive and admirable that their ancient texts, the Sagas and Eddas, remain accessible to allow the average person opportunity to read and decipher for themselves.

But perhaps literate speakers of English have the same ability, mostly yet untried.

Accidentally, today, in surfing around the web, I came across a reference to the oldest identified Anglo-Saxon poet, Caedmon.  Caedmon worked in a Monastery, tending to the animals. He could not read, and sang so badly that when everyone got together for the 8th century's version of karioke, he left the room. One night, he had a dream, in which an angel asked him to sing - and he sang a new song. Upon waking, he remembered the verses and spent the rest of his life turning scripture into Praise music.

I went looking for more info, including a different translation and came upon one that also gave the original text.

Well. You know how it is. Once a stream of thought gets going, there we go.

I noticed that the opening word "Nu" sounds like "Now", then that "hefaen___" sounds exactly like "Heaven" and one thing led to another. What I found is that by trying different pronunciations of the original words, I was able to decypher much of the Old English version.

Here's a poetic Modern English translation:

          Now let me praise the keeper of Heaven's kingdom,
          the might of the Creator, and his thought,
          the work of the Father of glory, how each of wonders
          the Eternal Lord established in the beginning.
          He first created for the sons of men
          Heaven as a roof, the holy Creator,
          then Middle-earth the keeper of mankind,
          the Eternal Lord, afterwards made,
          the earth for men, the Almighty Lord.

Here's an original language version from the year 737 Anno Domini:


              1 Nu scylun hergan hefaenricaes uard
              2 metudæs maecti end his modgidanc
              3 uerc uuldurfadur sue he uundra gihuaes
              4 eci dryctin or astelidæ
              5 he aerist scop aelda barnum
              6 heben til hrofe haleg scepen.
              7 tha middungeard moncynnæs uard
              8 eci dryctin æfter tiadæ
              9 firum foldu frea allmectig

Here's my rough, literal version:

1 Now shall hear Heaven-rich's [Heaven owner's] ward
2 Mete-er's (measurer's) might and his making-think
3 Work of the elderfather so his wonder goes
4 ever directing the onset
5 He first shaped the elder sons
6 Heaven to roofbeam holy shaper
7 then middle-earth mankind's ward
8 ever directing after today (until today)
9 the firm fields Free-Lord Almighty

Here's another good modern translation that I found.

My pronunciation may not be anything like the original, but because the language remains the same, despite spelling and dialectical changes over time, the words still mean pretty much what they did 1,500 years ago. There "original language version" is also transcribed into our modern alphabet - if one were to try to read the text as written, we'd need to also discuss the character "thorn" and a few other such, just as we have to know that the long S of colonial times is not an "F" but rather a modified character used according to certain grammar rules of the day. This follows a discovery some time ago, that I could sort-of read Greek by simply transliterating the letters in biblical texts and looking for roots to English words.

I'm not going to be winning any awards or going into business translating ancient texts, but the thing is: this is one of the wonders of the internet. To uncover new possibilities in ourselves by being exposed to history we never even knew existed, to science we never even questioned, to the stories of ordinary people who helped set the course for the future.

Like the monks copying the Bible and their countries' literature to get books into every monastery in the world, like Gutenberg's printing press churning out copies of the Bible and world literature for every book buyer in Europe, the net puts everything written before into the hands of ordinary people.

And we don't have to depend on "authorized experts" to translate for us or explain it to us.

I'm reading a book that came out a few years ago, on the history of printing, called "Paradigms Lost: The Life and Death of the Printed Word" (Tip: go through your favorite blogger's Amazon search link to buy it). It's a fascinating delve into many of the ways the printing press, and even typography, changed our societies and our world. It is in some ways an unfinished book, for, as the author himself, a retired editor who bills himself  "an independent historian" and cites reams of sources,  says "..[we] are just in the first years of an era that exists so far mostly in magazine articles, techology manufacturers' boastful extrapolations, books like this one, and confused observations..."  The book was copyrighted 2005, at the beginning of the "print apocalypse" as the failure of traditional publishing to meet customer needs was beginning to become clear. 

Despite the introduction of the Kindle in 2007 (not so much new technology as a more wide-spread distribution method),  the number of books printed in the US in 2010 grew 5% with traditional publishers. But the really exciting part is that the "non-traditional" sector, including "print on demand" and self-published books almost tripled from 1,033,065 titles in 2009 to 2,776,260 in 2010.

This does not represent new demand - the demand was always there - this represents new access, thanks to the internet, which has given any author a nearly cost-free access to markets outside their local area.

The internet lets us all share what we know, and learn more on whatever topic we wish. We can direct our own course of study, without cost. We can become self-educated people.We can think for ourselves. And we can tell others.

And like those who first benefited from the printing press, we want our own copies. Just in case the link goes dark. Or the net goes down. But mainly because free people everywhere like to have their own.


Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Some Safety Recommendations in Case of a Flash Mob or Riot

I can't imagine how frightened people all over Great Britain - and in some US cities - must be right now. They are in our prayers and our thoughts.

I am no expert in safety or security, but my first questions when considering a dangerous situation are "What do I do?" "How do I protect myself and others? What will minimize damage or injury? That's how I get a head start on overcoming fear to be sure I can take immediate action in an emergency.

I've never before considered what to do if a flash mob should erupt. I didn't find a lot in my searches, but  here are some articles about protecting oneself from violence during riots that may be useful to help people prepare themselves in advance.

If anyone has links to expert or official advice and instructions for keeping safe in times of civil unrest, please add them in the comments.

wikiHow's "How to Survive a Riot" in the Travel Safety & Security category seems to offer VERY useful advice, pointing out that "riots can break out anywhere", noting that angry mobs have rioted after "college tuition increases, soccer games, institutionalized oppression, death caused by police, editorial cartoons, and a movie star's death". The article lists 8 steps, with detailed notes under each. Below are condensed excerpts:

1. Be prepared. If you know an area is ripe for a riot but you can't avoid traveling there, take some simple precautions to help protect yourself.
*First, be prepared for the worst; the unexpected can happen at any moment. Crowds are dangerous when they're in an ugly mood and normally placid people can turn frenzied just by being in the presence of other frenzied people.
*Wear dark clothes that minimize the amount of exposed skin when going out. Do not wear clothing that could be interpreted as military or police wear in any way; avoid wearing anything that looks like a uniform.
*Take a motorcycle helmet with you. If bricks or other large items are being thrown about, at least you protect your vulnerable head.
2. Remain calm. ... Avoid confrontation by keeping your head down.
# Walk at all times. If you run or move too quickly, you might attract unwanted attention.
3. Get inside and stay inside. Typically riots occur in the streets or elsewhere outside. Being inside, especially in a large, sturdy structure, can be your best protection to weather the storm. [B]e on the lookout for signs of fire. If the building is set on fire get out quickly.
4. Stay on the sidelines. If you're caught up in a riot, don't take sides.
*Try to look as inconspicuous as possible, and slowly and carefully move to the outside of the mob. 

*Stay close to walls or other protective barriers if possible but try to avoid bottlenecks.
5. If you're caught up in a car, stay calm. Remain inside the car unless your car becomes a focus for the riot, in which case it risks being torched, smashed or rolled over. Calmly and swiftly leave it behind and get to safety if that happens.
6. Use the social media to alert you as to where to stay away from.
7. Avoid being hit by riot control chemicals or weapons.
8. Move away from the riot. ....in most circumstances it's better to move out of a riot slowly.
* If you run, you will draw attention to yourself, so it's usually best to walk.
* It can also be dangerous to move against a crowd, so go with the flow until you are able to escape into a doorway or up a side street or alley
.

The article also includes lists of tips and warnings. Be sure to read it all at wikiHow. There's a related article on wikiHow titled "How to Avoid Danger During Civil Unrest" that offers useful advice as well.

The Travel Safety Hub on WorldNomads article "Safety Advice: What to do about Political instability" from 2008 lists recommendations for avoidingdemonstrations and keeping safe during disturbances, including:
If caught in a civil disturbance
* If you find yourself caught up in a demonstration keep to the edge of the crowd where it is safer. Try not to be identified as being one of the demonstrators by keeping well away from the leaders/agitators
* At the first opportunity break away and seek refuge in a nearby building or find a suitable doorway or alley and stay there until the crowd passes
* When leaving the fringe of the demonstration just walk away – don’t run as this will draw attention to you
* In the event that you are arrested by the police/military do not resist. Go along peacefully and rather contact red24 or your embassy to help you resolve your predicament
* If you are caught up in the crowd, stay clear of glass shop fronts, stay on your feet and move with the flow
* If you are swept along in the crush, create a space for yourself by grasping your wrists and bracing your elbows away from your sides; bend over slightly – this should allow you breathing room
* If pushed to the ground, try to get against a wall and roll yourself into a tight ball and cover your head with your hands until the crowd passes
* Remember to keep calm – the crowd should sweep past in a short space of time
* If shooting breaks out, drop to the ground and cover your head and neck, and lie as flat as you can
"

This article from last year on a progressive/liberal website describes how one couple used Twitter to track a mob's movement and to attempt to build a counter-stream of re-tweets urging calm: "How the Twittersphere Helped Keep Oakland Safe During Riots"

Here are two articles from the Christian Science Monitor on how social media can draw a crowd - or a mob:
Social media mayhem: when flash mobs go from benign to malign `includes a girl who used Facebook to invite her friends to her birthday party - and 1,600 people came to her house.
'Flash robs': How Twitter is being twisted for criminal gain outlines how gangs of dozens are scheduling shoplifting events and other criminal activities.

Our community Neighborhood Watch programs and Volunteer Fire Departments are good places to start working with our local authorities and first responders to plan ahead to help our communities avoid or respond quickly, firmly and effectively to these kinds of events.

January 20, 2017 UPDATE: Here is a great article from Donald Sensing on what to do - and what NOT to do - in case shooting breaks out: http://senseofevents.blogspot.com/2017/01/what-not-to-do-under-gunfire.html

Sunday, May 22, 2011

"An Englishman Prays" A Timeless Story From World War I




Donald Hankey was a British soldier in The Great War for Civilization, which we call WWI. He served in the trenches in the terrible Battle of the Somme, the bloodiest battle in Britain's history and was killed in action on the Western Front near Le Transloy on October 26, 1916.  His grave is there, with those of the comrades who fell with him, marked by the Thiepval Memorial to the 72,195 missing or unidentified among the 1.5 million men who gave their lives in the long Somme Campaign from July 1915 through February 1918.

Some of his essays were published before his death, and others collected and published posthumously. His stories were either autobiographical or based on genuine experiences of the men with whom he served.  My copy is a slim, straightforward volume of three stories published in 1917, with no extra material - biographical or otherwise - included.



An Englishman Prays

By Donald Hankey (EP Dutton, 1917)

In civil life he had always said his prayers. They had done him good, too, in a way. They had been a sort of squaring of his accounts morally. He had tried to see where he had failed, made resolutions to amend, and acknowledged to himself at any rate, that he had failed. He had remembered his relations and friends before God, and it had helped him to do his duty by them. At the same time, he was not in the least degree a mystic. Even in his prayers he had never felt the reality of God. "God" to him was rather the name for the principle of goodness than a Being of infinite power and intimate importance. His greatest religious "experience" had been a spasmodic loyalty to the Christ-man, stimulating him at rare intervals to sudden acts of quixotism.

When he first enlisted he continued the habit of saying his prayers, more because it was inconvenient than for any other reason, perhaps. The other fellows in the barrack-room did not say their prayers, and he was too English not to feel the more resolved to say his. He was not going to be afraid. So he said them, deliberately and very self-consciously, half expecting to be laughed at. It was very difficult. He could not concentrate his mind. He whispered the words mechanically, his head full of other thoughts.

The other fellows paused in their talk the first night, and then went on as if nothing had happened. After that no notice was taken at all. No one followed his example. No one commented, or interfered with him. A little persecution would have hardened his resolve. Being ignored weakened it. He could not bring his mind to bear on his words, and there seemed to be no point in going on. He tried saying them in bed, in the privacy of his blanket. Then one day he forgot; and after that he just omitted to say them ever.

After all it made very little difference. And yet at times he felt that there was a difference. It was a little like a man sitting in a room with a frosted window that only opened at the top. He understood that it gave on to a garden, but he had never seen the garden. He used to sit with the top of the window pulled open, and then somehow one day he forgot to open it, and after that he never bothered. It made so little difference. At times he did notice that the air was a little less fresh, but he was too lazy, or too busy about other matters to bother.

This Englishman's religion had always been a bit like that, like a window opening on to the unknown and unexplored. He liked to think that his window gave on to a garden, and to think that he sometimes caught the scent of the flowers. But he had never had the energy or the faith to test his belief. Suppose he were to find that after all his garden was only a paved yard.  Anyhow he had left the window shut now. At times he regretted it; but a kind of inertia possessed him, and he did not do anything about it.

When he first got to the front he prayed, half ashamed. He was not quite sure of himself, and he prayed that he might not be found wanting. But when it came to the point everything was very prosaic. It was boring, and uncomfortable, and at times terrifying. Yet he felt no inclination to shirk. He just drifted on, doing his bit like the others, and with not too good a grace. He was asked to take the stripe, and refused. It meant more trouble and responsibility. His conscience told him that he was shirking. He grew angry with it. "Well," he demanded of it, "why have I responsibilities more than anyone else? Haven't I failed?"

He put the question defiantly, ostensibly to his conscience, but with an eye to the "Christ-man" in Whom he had almost ceased to believe. To his astonishment he got an answer. It was a contingency with which he had not reckoned. Like a flash this sentence wrote itself across his mind — " Strengthen My brethren." It staggered him. He felt that he knew what it meant. " Don't whine about failure. If you are willing to serve, here is your job, and the sign of your forgiveness — Strengthen My brethren." He took the stripe after all, and fathered the boys of his section.

The final stage came later. There had been a charge, a hopeless affair from the start, undertaken in broad daylight. He had fallen between the lines, and had seen the battered remnant of his company retire past him to their own trench before a hail of bullets. He lay in the long grass between the lines, unable to move, and with an unceasing throbbing pain in his left leg and arm. A whizz-bang had caught him in both places. All the afternoon he lay still, his mind obsessed by one thought — Would anyone find him when it was dark, or would he be left to die?

He kept on wondering the same thing, with the same maddening persistence. At last he must have lost consciousness, for he woke to find that the sun had set, and all was still but for an occasional flare or a random shot. He had lost a lot of blood; but the throbbing had ceased, and if he kept still he felt no pain. He just lay there, feeling strangely peaceful. Above him he could see the stars, and the moon, though low in the heavens, gave a clear light.

He found himself vaguely wondering about the meaning of everything. The stars seemed to make it all seem so small and petty. All this bloodshed — what was the good of it? It was all so ephemeral, so trivial, so meaningless in the presence of eternity and infinity. It was just a strife of pygmies. He suddenly felt terribly small and lonely, and he was so very, very weak. He was cut off from his fellow men as surely as if he had been on a desert island, and he felt somehow as if he had got out of his element, and was launched, a tiny pygmy soul, on the sea of immensity, where he could find no bearings. Eternity and infinity were so pitiless and uncomprehending. The stars gazed at him imperturbably. There was no sympathy there but only cold, unseeing tolerance.

Yet after all, he had the advantage of them. For all his pygmy ineffectiveness he was of finer stuff than they. At least he could feel — suffer. He had only to try to move to verify that. At least he was aware of his own existence, and could even gauge his own insignificance. There was that in him which was not in them, unless — unless it was in everything. "God!" he whispered softly. " God everywhere ! " Then into his tired brain came a new phrase — "Underneath are the everlasting arms." He sighed contentedly, as a tired child, and the phrase went on repeating itself in his brain in a kind of chant — "Underneath are the everlasting arms."

The moon went down behind the horizon, and it was dark. They fetched him in at last. He will never again be sound of limb; but there is in his memory and in his heart that which may make him a staunch fighter in other fields. He has learnt a new way of prayer, and the courage that is born of faith well-founded.


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You can find the full text from which this story was excerpted in Hankey's Memoir "A Student in Arms", by clicking here.

Photo via Wikipedia, British War Photographer Ernest Brooks "Cheshire Regiment trench Somme 1916"

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