A Mother’s Answer
This letter was published in ‘The Morning Post’ newspaper in
England as a response to a letter from a
solider that had appeared earlier in the week complaining about conditions in
the war. ‘Tommy Atkins’ is not the real soldiers name but rather a common slang
term for any soldier in the British Army.
A MOTHER’S ANSWER TO “A COMMON
SOLDIER”
To the Editor of The Morning Post
Sir,
As a mother of an only child – a son now in training and
waiting for the age limit to do his bit – may I be permitted to reply to Tommy
Atkins, whose letter appeared in your issue of the 9th August? Perhaps he
will kindly convey to his friends in the trenches, not what the Government
thinks, not what the Pacifists think, but what the mothers of the British race
think of our fighting men. It is a voice which demands to be heard,
seeing that we play the most important part in the history of the world, for it
is we who “mother the men” who have to uphold the honour and traditions not
only of our Empire, but of the whole civilised world.
To the man who pathetically calls himself a “common
soldier”, may I say that we women, who demand to be heard, will tolerate no
such cry as “Peace! Peace!” where there is no
peace. The corn that will wave over land watered by the blood of our
brave lads shall testify to the future that their blood was not spilt in
vain. We need no marble monuments to remind us. We only need that
force of character behind all motives to see this monstrous world tragedy
brought to a victorious ending. The blood of the dead and the dying, the
blood of the “common soldier” from his “slight wounds” will not cry out to us
in vain. They have all done their share, and we, as women, will do ours
without murmuring and without complaint. Send the Pacifists to us and we
shall very soon show them, and show the world, that in our homes at least there
shall be no “sitting at home warm and cosy in the winter, cool and ‘comfy’ in
the summer.” There is only one temperature for the women of the British
race, and that is white heat. With those who disgrace their sacred trust
of motherhood we have nothing in common. Our ears are not deaf to the cry
that is ever ascending from the battlefield from men of flesh and blood whose
indomitable courage is borne to us, so to speak, on every blast of the
wind. We women pass on the human ammunition of ”only sons” to fill up the
gaps, so that when the “common soldier” looks back before going “over the top”
he may see women of the British race on his heels, reliable, dependent,
uncomplaining.
The reinforcements of women are, therefore, behind the
“common soldier.” We gentle-nurtured, timid sex did not want the
war. It is no pleasure to us to have our homes made desolate and the
apple of our eye taken away. We would sooner our lovable, promising,
rollicking boy stayed at school. We would have much preferred to have
gone on in a light-hearted way with our amusements and our hobbies. But
the bugle call came, and we have hung up the tennis racquet, we’ve put his cap
away, and we have glanced lovingly over his last report, which said “Excellent”
– we’ve wrapped them all in a Union Jack and locked them up, to be taken out
only after the war to be looked at. A “common soldier”, perhaps, did not
count on the women, but they have their part to play, and we have risen to our
responsibility. We are proud of our men, and they in turn have to be
proud of us.
If the men fall, Tommy Atkins, the women won’t.
Tommy Atkins to the front
He has gone to bear the brunt.
Shall “stay-at-homes” do naught but snivel and but sigh?
No, While your eyes are filling
We are up, and doing, willing
To face the music with you – or to die!
Women are created for the purpose of giving life, and men to
take it. Now we are giving it in a double sense. It’s not likely we
are going to fail Tommy. We shall not flinch one iota, but when the war
is over he must not grudge us, when we hear the bugle call of “lights out”, a
brief, very brief, space of time to withdraw into our own secret chambers and
share with Rachel the Silent the lonely anguish of a bereft heart, and to look
once more on the college cap, before we emerge stronger women to carry on the
glorious work our men’s memories have handed down to us for now and all
eternity, - Yours &c.,
A LITTLE MOTHER
August 14