Over Here: Impressions of America by a British Officer
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Over Here: Impressions Of America By A British Officer By Hector Macquarrie Over Here: Impressions Of America By A British Officer I A NAVAL BATTLE FOLLOWED BY SERVICE AT SEA R. M. S. BEGONIA, Atlantic Ocean, August 30, 1917. When I was told that I should possibly visit America I was not quite certain how I liked the idea. To be sure I had never been to the United States, but to leave the comparative peace of the war zone to spend my days amidst the noise and racket of machine shops and steel mills, accompanied by civilians, was not altogether attractive. Nevertheless there was a great deal that seemed interesting in the scheme, and on the whole I felt glad. After being invalided from Ypres I had spent some time in a convalescent home, and I finally joined a reserve brigade on what is termed "light duty." While here, I was ordered to hold myself in readiness to proceed to America as an inspector of production, which meant that I was to help in every possible way the production of guns and carriages. My job would be to help the main contractor as far as possible by visiting the sub- contractors, and by letting the people at home know (through the proper channels) of anything that would assist the manufacturer. My ideas about America are slightly mixed. Like all my countrymen, I rather refuse to acknowledge the independence of the United States. They are relations, and who ever heard of cousins maintaining diplomatic relations amongst themselves and being independent at the same time. Of course, many cousins, especially of the enthusiastic and original type, rather seek a certain independence, but, alas, they never get it; so we still regard the American people as part of ourselves, and, of course, make a point of showing them the more unpleasant features of their national character. Of course, they may enjoy this, but on the other hand, they may not. I don't know. Perhaps I shall find out. It is a little difficult to understand their attitude in regard to the Germans. We dislike them. They ought to. However, before proceeding to America, I was ordered to tour the munition plants of the British Isles. I enjoyed this very much and was astonished at the cleverness displayed by my fellow countrymen, and especially by my fellow countrywomen. The latter were seen by the thousands. Some were hard at work on turret lathes turning out fuses like tin tacks. Others, alleged by my guide to be "society women," whatever that may mean, were doing work of a more difficult nature. They were dressed in khaki overalls and looked attractive. Some young persons merely went about in a graceful manner wielding brooms, sweeping up the floor. There always seemed a young lady in front of one, sweeping up the floor. I felt like doffing my cap with a graceful sweep and saying, "Madam, permit me." I was examining a great big 9.2 Howitzer gun and carriage ready for proof, and I found three old ladies sitting behind it having a really good old gossip. They hopped up in some confusion and looked rather guilty, as I at once felt. This used to be called "pointing" when I worked in a machine shop. I saw the luncheon rooms provided for the women. When women do things there is always a graceful touch about somewhere which is unmistakable. The men in charge of several of the plants I visited remarked that, generally speaking, the women were more easily managed than the men, except when they were closely related to the men, and that then awkward situations sometimes arose. I believe there is a lady in charge called a moral forewoman. The women have to wear a sort of bathing cap over their hair. Some of them hate this—naturally. A woman's glory has been alleged to be her hair, but this remark was made before the modern wig was developed, so I don't know whether it applies now or not. However, the order has to be insisted upon. One poor girl, working a crane, had her hair caught in the pinions, and unfortunately lost most of her scalp. I won't vouch for the truth of this statement, but a full typed account of the accident was being circulated while I was visiting several large munition plants. Of course, the object was to let the ladies see, that while their glory might be manifested to the workmen for a time, there were certain risks of losing the glory altogether—and was it worth while? I visited Glasgow and saw many wonderful things. In a weak endeavour to jump over a table, I caught my foot somehow or other, and came an awful cropper on my elbow, and I nearly died with pain, but after three days in the hospital I started off on my journey. Later I received an army form charging me with thirty days' ration allowance for time spent in Glasgow Military Hospital. I refused to sign this, but I dare say they will get the money all right; however, I won't know about it, and that is all that matters. Finally, I returned to London, and after passing with some difficulty a rigid examination presided over by my chief, I lunched with him at the Reform Club, and then spent a few busy hours buying civilian clothes. Later I met my Major's wife who was in a worried condition over one big thing and another little thing. The big trouble was caused by her husband's unfortunate collision with a 5.9 shell; the little thing was caused by the fact that the Major's Airedale, Jack, had had an unfortunate incident with a harmless lamb, which made his stay in the country difficult, if not impossible. I had to relieve her of Jack so that all her attention might be devoted to the Major. The next day, I took him home to the country, hoping that the lady of the manor would suggest his staying there. She might have done so if he had shown an humble spirit. He dashed into the pond, disturbed the life out of the tiny moorhens, and, worse still, sent scurrying into the air about a dozen tame wild duck. This sealed his fate as regards the manor, so I decided that he would have to go to America with me. I had few objections, but I regretted that he was so big. He caused me much trouble and a little anxiety, but finally I got him safely on board the Cunarder. The captain seemed to like him all right, and so did many passengers, but he made much noise and eventually had to spend the greater part of his life in an unpleasant dungeon on one of the lower decks. Here he was accompanied by a well bred wire-haired fox terrier. This fox terrier gave birth, during the voyage, to seven little puppies, and the purser alleged that he would charge freight for eight dogs; thereby showing a commercial spirit but little humour, or perhaps too much humour. These notes are being written during the last days of the journey. I am enjoying the whole thing. I sit at the Captain's table accompanied by another officer from the navy, a correspondent of the Daily Mail, and a Bostonian and his wife whom I love rather, since I have always liked Oliver Wendell Holmes. The Bostonian is a splendid chap, turned out in an English cut suit which he hates because it seems to him too loose. I think that he looks ripping. I always agree with his arguments, feeling it to be safer; but I had to put in just a mild protest, when he observed that America could equip an army in six weeks, that would lick any Continental army. Of course, this showed some optimism, and a great faith. We were comparatively happy, however, until the naval chap had an unfortunate altercation with the Bostonian. They both meant well, I am sure, but sea travelling often changes the mental perspective of people, and the Bostonian sought another table. We expect to arrive in two days and I am looking forward to seeing New York and the skyscrapers. II NEW YORK SHELLED WITH SHRAPNEL AND AN ENTRANCE MADE TO THE "HOLY CITY" BETHLEHEM, U. S. A., October 30, 1917. After passing through several days of dense fog we at last arrived off the Statue of Liberty, and commenced to thread our way up the Hudson River. What a wonderful approach New York has. I felt that anything merely "American" ought not to be so beautiful. It ought to have been flimsy and cheap looking. My mind rushed back to London and Tilbury Docks, where upon arrival one feels most depressed. For dear old London cannot impress a stranger when he first gets there. The colouring of the great skyscrapers is so beautiful, sometimes white, sometimes rusty red, always gay and cheerful. Besides being marvellous products of engineering skill, they display architectural beauty. When man tries to vie with nature in matters of beauty, he generally comes off second best, but the high buildings when seen from the Hudson at dusk approach very closely to nature's own loveliness. Cheery little puffs of snowy white steam float around, and when the lights start to twinkle from every window one thinks of fairy land. In the dusk the buildings seem to form a great natural cliff, all jagged and decently untidy.