168
THE YPRES TIMES
terror to the weak-kneed crocks who was nevertheless ready to help lame dogs over
stiles too high for them, and he was respected and admired by all hands.
But the B.S.M. had a weakness. Never when the battery was in action did he let it
get the upper hand but on most of the rare occasions when we were out of the line he
would make one night at least hideous, shouting, bawling at the top oi nis voice about
how much he loved the Major and the horses and nonsense of that kind.
Time after time this weakness of his was reproved and forgiven, steps were taken to
cover things up as far as possible, the C.O. even went so far as to take him out for a ride
one morning to keep him out of sight of the General who was due for a visit of in
spection.
After this the Major, a very considerate Regular officer, decided to have no more of
these scenes and warned the B.S.M. that his patience was at an end and that he would
take the necessary steps to have him reduced in rank and transferred to another brigade.
All of us begged and implored the Major not to do this, and pointed out that the battery
might not find his equal in a thousand years, but to no purpose. The C.O. was adamant.
That night when the officers oi the battery were having dinner in the bell tent which
served as a mess, one of the batmen saia that Driver Welsh wanted to speak to the Major.
The Major, somewhat annoyed that an A.S.C. Driver should demand such a thing
during dinner, sent out a message that he would see him at office next morning
Office is the Artillery equivalent of Infantry Orderly Room but the batman re
turned with a reply that Driver Welsh insisted on seeing the Major at once.
Very well said the C.O. Show him in."
Then there appeared in the tent doorway a little humble figure twiddling his cap in his
hands and displaying every sign of agitation.
He said I hear you're going to break the Sergeant Major. That's what I was once.
Please don't."
Having disclosed this tragedy of his past, which until then had been a secret unknown
to anyone, our little A.S.C. driver left the tent without another word.
His action saved the Sergeant Major.
Pictoriaily stated it is correct to say that the Great War presented itself to the mind
of all of us as a huge weight which had to be lifted and could only be moved out of the
way by the co-operative efforts of millions of hands belonging to little figures heaving at
the immense obstacle. One of these little figures was Driver Brown.
This gallant little man contrived to do his bit to help his country in spite of natural
handicaps. In private life a house-painter, he was conspicuous among the drivers
mostly very small menfor his lack of inches, he was no more than 5 feet 2, and in ad
dition he was of poor physique. As a driver his abilities were not even equal to steering
satisfactorily the depressing pair of spare horses which helped in the lead of the G.S.
Waggon when the battery was on the march. He was, however, a lovable little duffer
and everyone overlooked his many failures, recognizing that if the flesh was weak
the spirit was very willing.
One day this little iellow asked meas his Section Commanderif he might be
allowed to give up nis horses and take on cutting the hay with the chaffcutter in the
forage-barn. He said he hated being so useless as a driver and wanted to show us
