RUDYARD KIPLING
[Speech at the Mansion House, London, on January 27, 1915.]
Ladies and Gentlemen:—I am greatly honoured by the Lord Mayor's request to speak before you. The most useful thing that a civilian can do in these busy days is to speak as little as possible, and, if he feels moved to write, to confine his efforts to his cheque-book. [Laughter.] But this is an exception to that very good rule.
We do not know the present strength of our New Armies. Even if we did it would not be necessary to make it public. We may assume that there are now several battalions in Great Britain which did not exist at the end of last July, and some of these battalions are in London. Nor is it any part of our national scheme of things to explain how far they are prepared for the work ahead of them. They were quite rightly born in silence, but that is no reason why they should walk in silence for the rest of their lives. At present, unfortunately, most of them are obliged to walk in silence, or to no better accompaniment than whistles, concertinas, and other meritorious but inadequate instruments of music which they provide for themselves.
In the beginning this did not matter so much. There were more urgent needs to be met; but now that the New Armies are what they are, we, who cannot assist them by joining their ranks, owe it to them to provide them with more worthy music for their help, and comfort, and honour. I am not a musician, so if I speak as a barbarian, forgive me.
From the lowest point of view, a few drums and fifes in a battalion are worth five extra miles on a route-march—quite apart from the fact that they swing the battalion back to quarters composed and happy in its mind—no matter how wet and tired its body may be. And even where there is no route-marching, the mere come-and-go, the roll and flourish of the drums and fifes round barracks is as warming and cheering as the sight of a fire in a room.
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