Welsh Journals

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WAR-THE MODERN CRUCIFIXION by Tom Nefyn Williams THE heather blushed on the hillside and the sunlight kissed the dancing waves on the sea. The echoes of laughter forced their way into the silence of Nantgwytheyrn-the laughter of happy and healthy visitors who climbed the Rivals. Nothing but the occasional blasting of rocks in the Granite Quarries and the bleating of distant goats and sheep disturbed the peace of those days and of that locality. At that time I worked as a common labourer-a labourer whose meagre earnings and strength-taxing work were a source of constant worry and weariness, and I oftentimes envied the birds and the beasts of the fields. And who could justly condemn a young soul that was driven along by the whip of poverty, disappointments, and premature cares, for voicing one opinion-" Blessed are the birds of the air and the beasts of the field." Their ig- norant trust brought to their life both joy and peace. The limited horizon of their existence guarded them against hopes and disappointments. Their thoughtlessness kept away from their lives the shadows of all crosses-the crosses of poverty, and of wealth, of selfishness and of service, of vices and of virtues. Nevertheless, as the birds trimmed their feathers on the branches and mur- mured their psalms, my soul was unconsciously approaching its most critical cross-roads. As the morning sun kissed away the tears from the eye- lids of the waking flowers each day, and as the gold of Autumn crept silently into the edge of the quivering summer leaves, the world with merci- ful but contemptible blindness moved slowly to ward its Garden of Gethsemane. Suddenly, a strange roar and a rumble swept throughout the land. A blood-red flash, like the sword of a demon, disturbed the skies. Men and women trembled with anger and fear. Parlia- ments and poorhouses, princes and priests, tav- erns and colleges, were all embraced by the dark- ness and horror of one cloud, and on the lips of the people one ominous word lingered — War War War! Soon after the guns of war had commenced their booming and banging, I enlisted with the Infantry. This I did not because I desired and expected a short, pleasant holiday. A little seri- ous thinking would have destroyed one false ex- pectation in every heart-the expectation that the war would terminate after six months fighting and blood spilling enterprises. For it was evident that countries which were characterised by the magnitude of Germany, France, Russia, Britain, and Austria, would not expend all their warring passions, energies, and materials in six months. A storm which had taken several years to gather its brutal and hidden forces together and which had assumed a universal character, could not be silenced immediately either by the prayers of frightened Bishops, or by the frantic efforts of militarists, or by the noble protest of a number of honest Conscientious Objectors. Four or five influences induced me to enlist in 1914 :­ (1) The histories and the heroes that had been commended and idolized in the schools during the pre-war days had left an indelible impression on my mind, and their sinister influences made me an easy prey to the war spirit and to military ap- peals. (2) The Church's worship of an Old Testament God and its proclaimed faith in a modern tribal diety its willingness to sing the hymns of hatred and death and to dismiss the authority and guid- ance of Christ, led my footsteps into false and pagan paths. (3) I enlisted under the spell of a conscientious desire to assist and to save the weak and the wrecked members of the European family; to support the campaigns of my country and under the influence of a tragic forgetfulness, namely, that conscience is neither infallible in its dictates, nor essentially Christian in its promptings. (4) The religious enthusiasm and sanction which had been associated with a bloodstained patriot- ism the effort of politicians and preachers to picture the war with the colours of a Christian crusade and the endeavour of the churches, in conjunction with Horatio Bottomley, to elevate the service and the sufferings of the soldiers into equality with the death of Christ, made it easy for me to shoulder a rifle and sharpen a bayonet. Having been trained and equipped for the bat- tlefields, I went to the East-the cradle-land of Christianity After a slow, patience-testing voy- age-a voyage that was accompanied by many revealing incidents, I arrived in the Dardanelles. Hungry and tired, thirsty and ignorant as to the exact nature and needs of the oncoming days, we landed on the sands of the Suvla Bay. There we were spitefully lashed by the heat of a scorching sun, and were shelled mercilessly by the Turks from the surrounding hills. The Holy War soon proved to be a Hellish War, and it did not re- quire a long time to convince the men that they were nothing better than human cards in the hands of military blunderers and gamblers. Mem- ory of four or five incidents which occurred dur- ing the earliest days of the Suvla Bay expedition justify the two terms I have used in the preceding sentence, for during those days I witnessed a number of mistakes-mistakes that caused the destruction of hundreds of young lives; that wrecked the confidence of the soldiers in their leaders and reduced the courage, discipline, struggles, fighting, and suffering- of the various battalions into a wasted fragrance on the desert