Memoirs of an Infantry Officer

by Siegfried Sassoon

  A couple of hours later we were wandering aimlessly along the shore at Formby, and still jabbering for all we were worth. I refused to accept his well-meaning assertion that no one at the Front would understand my point of view and that they would only say that I’d got cold feet. ‘And even if they do say that,’ I argued, ‘the main point is that by backing out of my statement I shall be betraying my real convictions and the people who are supporting me. Isn’t that worse cowardice than being thought cold-footed by officers who refuse to think about anything except the gentlemanly traditions of the Regiment? I’m not doing it for fun, am I? Can’t you understand that this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life? I’m not going to be talked out of it just when I’m forcing them to make a martyr of me.’ ‘They won’t make a martyr of you,’ he replied. ‘How do you know that?’ I asked. He said that the Colonel at Clitherland had told him to tell me that if I continued to refuse to be ‘medically-boarded’ they would shut me up in a lunatic asylum for the rest of the War. Nothing would induce them to court martial me. It had all been arranged with some big bug at the War Office in the last day or two. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ I asked. ‘I kept it as a last resort because I was afraid it might upset you,’ he replied, tracing a pattern on the sand with his stick. ‘I wouldn’t believe this from anyone but you. Will you swear on the Bible that you’re telling the truth?’ He swore on an imaginary Bible that nothing would induce them to court martial me and that I should be treated as insane. ‘All right, then, I’ll give way.’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth I sat down on an old wooden breakwater.

  So that was the end of my grand gesture. I ought to have known that the blighters would do me down somehow, I thought, scowling heavily at the sea. It was appropriate that I should behave in a glumly dignified manner, but already I was aware that an enormous load had been lifted from my mind. In the train David was discreetly silent. He got out at Clitherland. ‘Then I’ll tell Orderly Room they can fix up a Board for you to-morrow,’ he remarked, unable to conceal his elation. ‘You can tell them anything you bloody well please!’ I answered ungratefully. But as soon as I was alone I sat back and closed my eyes with a sense of exquisite relief. I was unaware that David had, probably, saved me from being sent to prison by telling me a very successful lie. No doubt I should have done the same for him if our positions had been reversed.

  It was obvious that the less I said to the Medical Board the better. All the necessary explanations of my mental condition were contributed by David, who had been detailed to give evidence on my behalf. He had a long interview with the doctors while I waited in an ante-room. Listening to their muffled mumblings, I felt several years younger than I’d done two days before. I was now an irresponsible person again, absolved from any obligation to intervene in world affairs. In fact the present performance seemed rather ludicrous, and when David emerged, solemn and concerned, to usher me in, I entered the ‘Bird Room’ assuring myself that I should not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau if birds confabulated or no. The Medical Board consisted of a Colonel, a Major, and a Captain. The Captain was a civilian in uniform, and a professional neurologist. The others were elderly Regular Army doctors, and I am inclined to think that their acquaintance with Army Forms exceeded their knowledge of neurology.

  While David fidgeted about the ante-room I was replying respectfully to the stereotyped questions of the Colonel, who seemed slightly suspicious and much mystified by my attitude to the War. Was it on religious grounds that I objected to fighting, he inquired. ‘No, sir; not particularly,’ I replied. ‘Fighting on religious grounds’ sounded like some sort of a joke about the Crusades. ‘Do you consider yourself qualified to decide when the War should stop?’ was his next question. Realizing that he was only trying to make me talk rubbish, I evaded him by admitting that I hadn’t thought about my qualifications, which wasn’t true. ‘But your friend tells us that you were very good at bombing. Don’t you still dislike the Germans?’ I have forgotten how I answered that conundrum. It didn’t matter what I said to him, as long as I behaved politely. While the interrogations continued, I felt that sooner or later I simply must repeat that couplet out loud – ‘if birds confabulate or no’. Probably it would be the best thing I could do, for it would prove conclusively and comfortably that I was a harmless lunatic. Once I caught the neurologist’s eye, which signalled sympathetic understanding, I thought. Anyhow, the Colonel (having demonstrated his senior rank by asking me an adequate number of questions) willingly allowed the Captain to suggest that they couldn’t do better than send me to Slateford Hospital. So it was decided that I was suffering from shell-shock. The Colonel then remarked to the Major that he supposed there was nothing more to be done now. I repeated the couplet under my breath. ‘Did you say anything?’ asked the Colonel, frowning slightly. I disclaimed having said anything and was permitted to rejoin David.

  When we were walking back to my hotel I overheard myself whistling cheerfully, and commented on the fact. ‘Honestly, David, I don’t believe I’ve whistled for about six weeks!’ I gazed up at the blue sky, grateful because, at that moment, it seemed as though I had finished with the War.

  Next morning I went to Edinburgh. David, who had been detailed to act as my escort, missed the train and arrived at Slateford War Hospital several hours later than I did. And with my arrival at Slateford War Hospital this volume can conveniently be concluded.

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