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.

HISTORISCHE KRANTEN

The Ypres Times (1921-1936) | 1924 | | pagina 24