It was on the Somme.  We were in the middle of a bit of a show, and we were all hands down in shell holes with a heavy machine-gun fire crackling overhead.  I was in one hole, and in the next, which merged with mine, were two chaps who were cousins.

Mad Harry came along, walking perfectly upright, regardless of danger, with his left arm shattered.  He dropped into the next shell hole and with his expressionless drawl unshaken, said, “Private X. Dress my arm.”

Private X got out his own emergency bandage and fixed the arm.  When it was done Mad Harry, still speaking in his monotonous drone, said: 

“Now, Private X, get up out of this hole.  Don’t be hiding.”

Private X obeyed orders without a question.  He climbed out and fell with a bullet through his head.  His cousin, who was a very dear friend of the boy, evidently went more or less crazy at this.  I saw him leap at Mad Harry and snatch his pistol from the holster.  He was, I think, about to shoot his officer when a shell burst overhead and killed them both.

Well, on this first day of the hike Mad Harry ordered us out for foot inspection, as I have said.  I found that I simply couldn’t get them out.  They were in no condition for foot inspection,—­hadn’t washed for days.  Harry came round and gave me a royal dressing down and ordered the whole bunch out for parade and helmet inspection.  We were kept standing for an hour.  You couldn’t blame the men for hating an officer of that kind.

It is only fair to say that Mad Harry was not a usual type of British officer.  He simply carried to excess the idea of discipline and unquestioning obedience.  The principle of discipline is the guts and backbone of any army.  I am inclined to think that it is more than half the making of any soldier.  There has been a good deal of talk in the press about a democratic army.  As a matter of fact fraternization between men and officers is impossible except in nations of exceptional temperament and imagination, like the French.  The French are unique in everything.  It follows that their army can do things that no other army can.  It is common to see a French officer sitting in a cafe drinking with a private.

In the British army that could not be.  The new British army is more democratic, no doubt, than the old.  But except in the heat of battle, no British officer can relax his dignity very much.  With the exception of Mr. Blofeld, who was one of those rare characters who can be personally close and sympathetic and at the same time command respect and implicit obedience, I never knew a successful officer who did not seem to be almost of another world.

Our Colonel was a fine man, but he was as dignified as a Supreme Court Judge.  Incidentally he was as just.  I have watched Colonel Flowers many times when he was holding orders.  This is a kind of court when all men who have committed crimes and have been passed on by the captains appear before the Colonel.