"Under such conditions," he wrote, "marksmen may
achieve no more than the most erratic shots; the smartest corps may
quickly degenerate into a rabble; the easiest tasks will often appear
impossible. An army can weather trials such as those just depicted only
if it be collectively considered in that healthy state of mind which the
term _moral_ implies." It is just that _moral_ which the British
Expeditionary Force has been proved to possess in so rich a measure, and
which must belong to all good soldiers in these days of nerve-shattering
war.
Little touches of pathos are not wanting in the scenes pictured in the
soldiers' letters, and they bring an element of humanity into the cold,
well-ordered, practical business of war. Men who will meet any personal
danger without flinching often find the mists floating across their eyes
when a comrade is struck down at their side. Private Plant, Manchester
Regiment, tells how his pal was eating a bit of bread and cheese when he
was knocked over: "Poor chap, he just managed to ask me to tell his
missus." "War is rotten when you see your best pal curl up at your
feet," comments another. "One of our chaps got hit in the face with a
shrapnel bullet," Private Sidney Smith, First Warwickshires, relates.
"'Hurt, Bill?' I said to him. 'Good luck to the old regiment,' says he.
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