



Produced by Brian Coe, Paul Clark and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)









                   _THE DAILY CHRONICLE WAR LIBRARY_


                                THE WAR
                                STORIES
                              OF PRIVATE
                             THOMAS ATKINS

                        A SELECTION OF THE BEST
                        THINGS IN HIS PERSONAL
                       LETTERS FROM THE FRONT &
                      SO A STIRRING TALE OF GREAT
                        DEEDS DONE FOR A GREAT
                      CAUSE IN A SPIRIT OF SIMPLE
                        DUTY AND GALLANT GAIETY


                   PUBLISHED FOR THE DAILY CHRONICLE
                      BY GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED OF
                  SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND, LONDON, AT
                           ONE SHILLING NET




                    _No one with a sense of Humour
                         should miss reading_

                               “SMITHY”

                            Not to Mention

                              NOBBY CLARK
                                  AND
                              SPUD MURPHY

                           By EDGAR WALLACE


              The most entertaining Stories ever written
                 of “Tommy Atkins” and his little ways


                             _NOW ON SALE_

        _at all Booksellers and Railway Bookstalls,    1/-
          or Post free 1/2, from the Publishers,_      Net


GEORGE NEWNES LTD.

8-11 Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.




                                THE WAR
                                STORIES
                              OF PRIVATE
                             THOMAS ATKINS


    “_Are we downhearted?_” “_No-o-o!_”

                                         THE WAR CRY OF PRIVATE ATKINS.

    _It’s a long way to Tipperary
      It’s a long way to go,
    It’s a long way to Tipperary,
      To the sweetest girl I know!
    Good-bye, Piccadilly!
      Farewell, Leicester Square!
    It’s a long, long way to Tipperary,
      But my heart’s right there._

                                   THE MARCHING SONG OF PRIVATE ATKINS.


                   PUBLISHED FOR THE DAILY CHRONICLE
                      BY GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED OF
                    SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND, LONDON




                              PRINTED AT
                         THE BALLANTYNE PRESS
                                LONDON




CONTENTS


                                    Page

       “BLOW! BUGLES, BLOW!”           5

     I MARCHING TO WAR                 9

    II THINGS BY THE WAY              14

   III THE FRIENDLY FRENCH            20

    IV THE ENEMY GERMAN               26

     V CAMPAIGNING IN GENERAL         32

    VI BATTLES IN BEING               41

   VII WHAT THE SOLDIER SEES          56

  VIII HOW IT FEELS UNDER FIRE        67

    IX CORNERS IN THE FIGHT           78

     X HIT AND MISSED                 92

    XI ADVANCE AND RETREAT           103

   XII IN THE TRENCHES               115

  XIII GALLANT DEEDS                 125

   XIV TALES OF TRAGEDY              134

    XV ANECDOTES OF HUMOUR           142

   XVI STORIES OF SACRIFICE          150

  XVII THE MAN AMID WAR              159

 XVIII THE COMMON TASK               169

   XIX MATTERS IN GENERAL            179

    XX SUMMING IT UP                 186




    _Now all the youth of England are on fire,
    And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
    Now thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought
    Reigns solely in the breast of every man._

                                                    WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.




“BLOW! BUGLES, BLOW!”

    _Boot, saddle, to horse, away!
    Rescue my castle before the hot day
    Brightens to blue from its silvery grey.
    Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!_

                                                        ROBERT BROWNING.


You like song, dear Private Atkins, its lilt and its sentiment, and you
have been singing your way through battle, on the hills of France and
the plains of Belgium. You are really a poet, as well as a first-rate
fighting man, though the very idea will make your camp-fire rock with
laughter. Well, in your letters from the war to the old folk and the
young folk at home, you have written things worthy to be bound in cloth
of gold.

You have, in particular, being a natural fellow, written yourself to
them, and you are just splendid, singly and collectively. You look out
from your epistles with a smile on your lips, humour in one eye and a
touch of the devil in the other, and you cry, “Are we downhearted?”
“No!” gladly answer we, who have been listening to the news of battle
ringing down the street, and for a moment, perhaps, forgetting you and
your writing on the wall with the bayonet point.

You do get the red, living phrases, don’t you, Private Atkins? “The
hottest thing in South Africa was frost-bitten compared with what’s
going on here.” “The Boer War was a mothers’ meeting beside this
affair.” “Another shell dropped at me and I went like Tod Sloan.” “Did
you see that German man’s face when I told him about our victories?
Poor devil