Produced by Al Haines
Facing Fearful Odds
O'er Moor and Fen
The Wilderness
Rosaleen O'Hara
The Soul of Dominie Wildthorne
Follow the Gleam
David Baring
The Trampled Cross
My only qualification for writing this simple story of "Tommy" is thatI have tried to know him, and that I greatly admire him. I met himbefore he joined the army, when for more than six months I addressedrecruiting meetings. I have also been with him in training camps, andspent many hours talking with him. It was during those hours that heopened his heart to me and showed me the kind of man he is. Since thenI have visited him in France and Flanders. I have been with him downnear La Bassée, and Neuve Chapelle. I have talked with him while greatguns were booming as well as during his hours of well-earned rest, whenhe was in a garrulous mood, and was glad to crack a joke "wi' a manwearin' a black coat." I have also been with him up at Ypres, when theshells were shrieking over our heads, and the "pep, pep, pep" ofmachine guns heralded the messengers of death. We stood side by sidein the front trenches, less than a hundred yards from the Germansand-bags, when to lift one's head meant a Hun's bullet through one'sbrain, and when "woolly bears" were common. So although I am not asoldier, and have probably fallen into technical errors in telling thestory of "Tommy," it is not because he is a stranger to me, or becauseI have not tried to know him.
Only a small part of this story is imagination. Nearly every incidentin the book was told me by "Tommy" himself, and while the setting of mysimple tale is fiction, the tale itself is fact.
That is why I hope the story of "Tommy" will not only be read bythousands of men in khaki, but by their fathers and mothers and lovedones who bade them go to the Front, and who earnestly pray for theirspeedy and victorious return, even as I do.
PRIORS' CORNER, TOTTERIDGE, HERTS, February 1916.
The Brunford Town Hall clock was just chiming half-past three as TomPollard left his home in Dixon Street and made his way towards theThorn and Thistle public-house. It was not Tom's intention to staylong at the Thorn and Thistle, as he had other plans in view,nevertheless something drew him there. He crossed the tram lines inSt. George's Street, and, having stopped to exchange some rustic jokeswith some lads who stood at the corner of the street, he hurried acrossthe open space and quickly stood on the doorsteps of the public-house.
The weather was gloriously fine, and for a wonder the air in the heartof the town was pure and clear. That was accounted for by the factthat it was Sunday, and the mills were idle. Throughout the week-days,both in summer and in winter, the atmosphere of Brunford is smokeladen, while