COMRADESHIP.
22
The Ypres Times.
beautiful tragedy which crowned Capt. Scott's fatal expedition to the South Pole. Sapper Hackett was
a practical miner, and he must have known that there was no prospect of delivering the unhappy man
still remaining in the sap. But the gallant fellow brushed aside counsels of prudence, and since he could
not save his doomed comrade he went in to him and died with him. The horrified working party saw
the gallery collapse with a crash, and after four days of furious digging they failed to reach the bodies
of the ill-fated men. Where they fought they fell, and where they fell, there were they buried.
Hackett was born in Nottingham 43 years before the commission of the deed
described above, and was the son of a travelling brewer who did much business with
country inns of the old-fashioned sort. Sapper Hackett never went to school but worked
in factories until he was eighteen years of age. He went to Denaby Main where he worked
in the coal-mine for twenty-three years. Then he went to Manvers Main as a detaller,
remaining at that work up to the time of his enlistment in a tunnelling company of the
Royal Engineers on the 25th of October, 1915. He had previously been rejected by
military medical men four times on account of his age and suspected heart trouble. His
training at Chatham extended over a fortnight only, as he was a skilled miner. A few
days' leave at homethe last he was to spend thereand he was sent to France. Among
his old workmates in the district he will always be more popularly remembered as
Youthey, V.C." than as Sapper Hackett, V.C. The affectionate nickname was gained
through his habit of calling the boys Youth."
There be men who will tell you now
That we wasted our livesand how
The fight we fought,
And the deeds men wrought
Were for nought but a devil's war.
They say that the way we stuck
For years in the blood and muck
To hold the line,
Is no story fine
But a Hell to forgetno more.
I'm not the one to deny
We have cursed for a reason why
But there's one I know
I would not forgo
And this was a war of men.
I learnt what a pal was worth
When nothing was left on earth
If I'm down on my luck,
His cheer and his pluck
Will save me nowas then.
So we count this a peerless name
And this is the right we claim
Who have stood the test
From torment to jest
And men have declared us true
The password is our's to give
As long as our day shall live
Where ever men meet
In desert or street
Wipers shall pass us through. Beatrix Brice.