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The prevailing force in my undergraduate days was not Socialism but
Kiplingism。 Our set was quite exceptional in its socialistic
professions。 And we were all； you must understand； very distinctly
Imperialists also； and professed a vivid sense of the 〃White Man's
Burden。〃
It is a little difficult now to get back to the feelings of that
period； Kipling has since been so mercilessly and exhaustively
mocked； criticised and torn to shreds；never was a man so violently
exalted and then； himself assisting； so relentlessly called down。
But in the middle nineties this spectacled and moustached little
figure with its heavy chin and its general effect of vehement
gesticulation； its wild shouts of boyish enthusiasm for effective
force； its lyric delight in the sounds and colours； in the very
odours of empire； its wonderful discovery of machinery and cotton
waste and the under officer and the engineer； and 〃shop〃 as a poetic
dialect； became almost a national symbol。 He got hold of us
wonderfully； he filled us with tinkling and haunting quotations； he
stirred Britten and myself to futile imitations； he coloured the
very idiom of our conversation。 He rose to his climax with his
〃Recessional；〃 while I was still an undergraduate。
What did he give me exactly？
He helped to broaden my geographical sense immensely； and he
provided phrases for just that desire for discipline and devotion
and organised effort the Socialism of our time failed to express；
that the current socialist movement still fails； I think； to
express。 The sort of thing that follows； for example； tore
something out of my inmost nature and gave it a shape； and I took it
back from him shaped and let much of the rest of him； the tumult and
the bullying； the hysteria and the impatience； the incoherence and
inconsistency； go uncriticised for the sake of it：
〃Keep ye the Lawbe swift in all obedience
Clear the land of evil； drive the road and bridge the ford；
Make ye sure to each his own
That he reap where he hath sown；
By the peace among Our peoples let men know we serve the Lord！〃
And then again； and for all our later criticism； this sticks in my
mind； sticks there now as quintessential wisdom：
The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone；
'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own；
'E keeps 'is side…arms awful： 'e leaves 'em all about
An' then comes up the regiment an' pokes the 'eathen out。
All along o' dirtiness； all along o' mess；
All along o' doin' things rather…more…or…less；
All along of abby…nay； kul； an' hazar…ho；
Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so！〃
It is after all a secondary matter that Kipling； not having been
born and brought up in Bromstead and Penge； and the war in South
Africa being yet in the womb of time； could quite honestly entertain
the now remarkable delusion that England had her side…arms at that
time kept anything but 〃awful。〃 He learnt better； and we all learnt
with him in the dark years of exasperating and humiliating struggle
that followed； and I do not see that we fellow learners are
justified in turning resentfully upon him for a common ignorance and
assumption。 。 。 。
South Africa seems always painted on the back cloth of my Cambridge
memories。 How immense those disasters seemed at the time； disasters
our facile English world has long since contrived in any edifying or
profitable sense to forget！ How we thrilled to the shouting
newspaper sellers as the first false flush of victory gave place to
the realisation of defeat。 Far away there our army showed itself
human； mortal and human in the sight of all the world； the pleasant
officers we had imagined would change to wonderful heroes at the
first crackling of rifles； remained the pleasant； rather incompetent
men they had always been； failing to imagine； failing to plan and
co…operate； failing to grip。 And the common soldiers； too； they
were just what our streets and country…side had made them； no sudden
magic came out of the war bugles for them。 Neither splendid nor
disgraceful were they；just ill…trained and fairly plucky and
wonderfully good…tempered menpaying for it。 And how it lowered
our vitality all that first winter to hear of Nicholson's Nek； and
then presently close upon one another； to realise the bloody waste
of Magersfontein； the shattering retreat from Stormberg； Colenso
Colenso； that blundering battle； with White； as it seemed； in
Ladysmith near the point of surrender！ and so through the long
unfolding catalogue of bleak disillusionments； of aching；
unconcealed anxiety lest worse should follow。 To advance upon your
enemy singing about his lack of cleanliness and method went out of
fashion altogether！ The dirty retrogressive Boer vanished from our
scheme of illusion。
All through my middle Cambridge period； the guns boomed and the
rifles crackled away there on the veldt； and the horsemen rode and
the tale of accidents and blundering went on。 Men； mules； horses；
stores and money poured into South Africa； and the convalescent
wounded streamed home。 I see it in my memory as if I had looked at
it through a window instead of through the pages of the illustrated
papers； I recall as if I had been there the wide open spaces； the
ragged hillsides； the open order attacks of helmeted men in khaki；
the scarce visible smoke of the guns； the wrecked trains in great
lonely places； the burnt isolated farms； and at last the blockhouses
and the fences of barbed wire uncoiling and spreading for endless
miles across the desert； netting the elusive enemy until at last；
though he broke the meshes again and again； we had him in the toils。
If one's attention strayed in the lecture…room it wandered to those
battle…fields。
And that imagined panorama of war unfolds to an accompaniment of
yelling newsboys in the narrow old Cambridge streets； of the flicker
of papers hastily bought and torn open in the twilight； of the
doubtful reception of doubtful victories； and the insensate
rejoicings at last that seemed to some of us more shameful than
defeats。 。 。 。
7
A book that stands out among these memories； that stimulated me
immensely so that I forced it upon my companions； half in the spirit
of propaganda and half to test it by their comments； was Meredith's
ONE OF OUR CONQUERORS。 It is one of the books that have made me。
In that I got a supplement and corrective of Kipling。 It was the
first detached and adverse criticism of the Englishman I had ever
encountered。 It must have been published already nine or ten years
when I read it。 The country had paid no heed to it； had gone on to
the expensive lessons of the War because of the dull aversion our
people feel for all such intimations； and so I could read it as a
book justified。 The war endorsed its every word for me； underlined
each warning indication of the gigantic dangers that gathered
against our system across the narrow seas。 It discovered Europe to
me； as watching and critical。
But while I could respond to all its criticisms of my country's
intellectual indolence； of my country's want of training and
discipline and moral courage； I remember that the idea that on the
continent there were other peoples going ahead of us； mentally alert
while we fumbled； disciplined while we slouched； aggressive and
preparing to bring our Imperial pride to a reckoning； was extremely
novel and distasteful to me。 It set me worrying of nights。 It put
all my projects for social and political reconstruction upon a new
uncomfortable footing。 It made them no longer merely desirable but
urgent。 Instead of pride and the love of making one might own to a
baser motive。 Under Kipling's sway I had a little forgotten the
continent of Europe； treated it as a mere envious echo to our own