Hira Singh: When India Came to Fight in Flanders (WWI Centenary Series)

By Talbot Mundy

This early work by Talbot Mundy was originally published in 1917 and we are now republishing it as part of our WWI Centenary Series. 'Hira Singh : When India Came to Fight in Flanders' is a classic work of wartime novel about a regiment of Sikh cavalry who are captured in battle at Flanders in the early days of World War One. The men escape and make their way back to India, experiencing many adventures along the way. This book is part of the World War One Centenary series; creating, collating and reprinting new and old works of poetry, fiction, autobiography and analysis. The series forms a commemorative tribute to mark the passing of one of the world's bloodiest wars, offering new perspectives on this tragic yet fascinating period of human history. Each publication also includes brand new introductory essays and a timeline to help the reader place the work in its historical context.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Last Post Press
• Release date: Mar 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781473367364

Talbot Mundy

Born in London in 1879, Talbot Mundy (1879-1940) was an American based author popular in the adventure fiction genre. Mundy was a well-traveled man, residing in multiple different countries in his lifetime. After being raised in London, Mundy first moved to British India, where he worked as a reporter. Then, he switched professions, moving to East Africa to become an ivory poacher. Finally, in 1909, Mundy moved to New York, where he began his literary career. First publishing short stories, Mundy became known for writing tales based on places that he traveled. After becoming an American citizen, Mundy joined the Christian science religious movement, which prompted him to move to Jerusalem. There he founded and established the first newspaper in the city to be published primarily in the English language. By the time of his death in 1940, Mundy had rose to fame as a best-selling author, and left behind a prolific legacy that influenced the work of many other notable writers.

Book preview

HIRA SINGH.

WHEN INDIA CAME TO FIGHT IN FLANDERS

BY

TALBOT MUNDY

Copyright © 2016 Read Books Ltd.

This book is copyright and may not be

reproduced or copied in any way without

the express permission of the publisher in writing

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Contents

Introduction to the World War One Centenary Series

A Timeline of the Major Events of World War One in Europe

World War One in Literature

In Flanders Fields

Preface

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Introduction to the World War One Centenary Series

The First World War was a global war centred in Europe that began on 28 July 1914 and lasted until 11 November 1918. More than nine million combatants were killed, a casualty rate exacerbated by the belligerents’ technological and industrial sophistication – and tactical stalemate. It was one of the deadliest conflicts in history, paving the way for major political changes, including revolutions in many of the nations involved. The war drew in all the world’s great economic powers, which were assembled in two opposing alliances: the Allies (based on the Triple Entente of the United Kingdom, France and the Russian Empire) and the Central Powers of Germany and Austria-Hungary. These alliances were both reorganised and expanded as more nations entered the war: Italy, Japan and the United States joined the Allies, and the Ottoman Empire and Bulgaria joined the Central Powers. Ultimately, more than 70 million military personnel were mobilised.

The war was triggered by the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary, by a Yugoslav nationalist, Gavrilo Princip in Sarajevo, June 28th 1914. This set off a diplomatic crisis when Austria-Hungary delivered an ultimatum to Serbia, and international alliances were invoked. Within weeks, the major powers were at war and the conflict soon spread around the world. By the end of the war, four major imperial powers; the German, Russian, Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires—ceased to exist. The map of Europe was redrawn, with several independent nations restored or created. On peace, the League of Nations formed with the aim of preventing any repetition of such an appalling conflict, encouraging cooperation and communication between the newly autonomous nation states. This laudatory pursuit failed spectacularly with the advent of the Second World War however, with new European nationalism and the rise of fascism paving the way for the next global crisis.

This book is part of the World War One Centenary series; creating, collating and reprinting new and old works of poetry, fiction, autobiography and analysis. The series forms a commemorative tribute to mark the passing of one of the world’s bloodiest wars, offering new perspectives on this tragic yet fascinating period of human history.

Amelia Carruthers

A Timeline of the Major Events of World War One in Europe

World War One in Literature

In 1939, the writer Robert Graves was asked to write an article for the BBC’s Listener magazine, explaining ‘as a war poet of the last war, why so little poetry has so far been produced by this one.’ From the very first weeks of fighting, the First World War inspired enormous amounts of poetry, factual analysis, autobiography and fiction - from all countries involved in the conflict. 2,225 English war poets have been counted, of whom 1808 were civilians. The ‘total’ nature of this war perhaps goes someway to explaining its enormous impact on the popular imagination. Even today, commemorations and the effects of a ‘lost generation’ are still being witnessed. It was a war fought for traditional, nationalistic values of the nineteenth century, propagated using twentieth century technological and industrial methods of killing. The literature written during, and inspired by the first world war provides extraordinary insight into how the common soldier experienced life in battle, as well as how the civilian population mobilised and dealt with these losses.

A lot of the literature written during the war was designed to inform and propagandise, and nowhere was this more evident than in literary works for children. There were many overt attempts to encourage support for the war effort, influencing children’s (future soldiers) attitudes towards armed conflict. An earlier example, encouraging children to be good citizens, fighting for king and country was Scouting for Boys, written by Lord Baden-Powell, the founder of the scouting movement (published 1908). The cover depicted a boy watching out for enemy ships on the shoreline, replacing traditional images of childish innocence, passivity and naivety with children ready, willing and able to serve their nation. These were activities full of excitement and adventure, including tracking, woodcraft, endurance, chivalry, saving lives and patriotism. Such tropes were eagerly expanded once the war had began, notably by A.R. Hope, with The School of Arms: Stories of Boy Soldiers and Sailors (1915).

This volume contained many stories about the experiences of young soldiers in battles, using historical accounts to make participating in war seen normal. In fact, such actions were often depicted as a fundamental part of any boys’ coming of age, thereby preparing people to accept the idea of their young men and boys fighting and dying in battle. In the popular children’s periodical, The Boys Own Paper, numerous stories of young war heroes also provided entertainment for its avid readers - instilling pride in ones own country and distain for the enemy. Despite these glorifying aspects of home-front propaganda, the war literature that is most celebrated today is that which highlights the grim reality and everyday experiences of the men on the front line. From Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, to Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front, to the poetry of Sassoon, Graves, and Brooke, there are numerous examples of acclaimed writing inspired by the Great War. Wilfred Owen (killed in the conflict at the age of twenty-five), wrote in introduction to his collected poems, ‘This book is not about heroes... Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, might, majesty, dominion, or power, except War.... My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.’

The autobiography of Robert Graves perfectly sums up this mood, his ‘bitter leave-taking of England.’ The title, Good-Bye to All That points to the passing of an old order following the cataclysm of global war, the massive inadequacies of the patriotism which the government tried so hard to sustain, the rise of atheism, feminism, socialism and fascism as well as a whole host of other social changes. The unsentimental and frequently comic treatment of the banalities and intensities of the life of a British army officer in the First World War gave the author fame and financial security. It also provided an eager public with detailed descriptions of trench warfare, including the tragic incompetence of the Battle of Loos and the bitter fighting in the first phase of the Somme Offensive. The spread of education in Europe in the decades leading up to World War One meant that both soldiers and the public, at all levels of society, were literate. As a result, authors, both professional and amateur, were prolific during and after the war and found a market for their works. Literature was produced throughout the war but it was in the late 1920s and early 1930s that the real boom in war writing took place.

Erich Maria Remarque’s best-selling book, Im Westen nichts Neues (All Quiet on the Western Front), was translated into 28 languages with world sales nearly reaching 4 million in 1930. The book describes the German soldiers’ extreme physical and mental stress during the war, and the detachment from civilian life felt by many of these soldiers upon returning home from the front. Remarque’s book was also partly based on Henri Barbusse’s 1916 novel, Le Feu (Under Fire). Barbusse was a French journalist who served as a stretcher-bearer on the front lines and his book was very influential in its own right at the time. The year after its publication, it won the prestigious Prix Goncourt and by the Armistice had sold 200,000 copies in France alone. Other novels, such as the The Good Soldier Švejk by Jaroslav Hašek, have since become national emblems. This darkly comic tale, and its main protagonist Švejk, has developed into the Czech national personification, exploring both the pointlessness and futility of conflict in general, and of military discipline, Austrian military discipline in particular. Many of its characters, especially the Czechs, were participating in a conflict they did not understand on behalf of a country to which they had no loyalty.

Aside from literature directly relating to combatants’ experiences, some pre-existing popular literary characters were placed by their authors in World War I-related adventures during or directly after the war. These include Tom Swift (Tom Swift and His Aerial Warship, 1915 and Tom Swift and His Air Scout, 1919), Sherlock Holmes (His Last Bow, 1917) and Tarzan (Tarzan the Untamed, 1920). In addition, there was a massive amount of literature written by those ‘left behind’ on the home front; Vera Brittain’s Testament of Youth (first published 1933) has since been acclaimed as a classic for its description of the impact of the war on the lives of women and the civilian population - extending into the post-war years. As is evident, the literature of World War One is an enormous field, encompassing a wide array of styles; propagandistic, poetic, fictional, autobiographical and comical. It provides a glimpse into just what this terrible war meant for the everyday population, as well as the intelligentsia. It is hoped the current reader is encouraged to find out more, and enjoys this book.

This book is part of the World War One Centenary series; creating, collating and reprinting new and old works of poetry, fiction, autobiography and analysis. The series forms a commemorative tribute to mark the passing of one of the world’s bloodiest wars, offering new perspectives on this tragic yet fascinating period of human history.

Amelia Carruthers

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

John McCrae, May 1915

The War was decided in the first twenty days of fighting, and all that happened afterwards consisted in battles which, however formidable and devastating, were but desperate and vain appeals against the decision of Fate.

Winston Churchill (1874–1965), British statesman, writer. Liaison 1914, (1930).

Image 1. Indian cavalry

PREFACE

I take leave to dedicate this book to Mr. Elmer Davis, through whose friendly offices I was led to track down the hero of these adventures and to find the true account of them even better than the daily paper promised.

Had Ranjoor Singh and his men been Muhammadans their accomplishment would have been sufficiently wonderful. For Sikhs to attempt what they carried through, even under such splendid leadership as Ranjoor Singh’s, was to defy the very nth degree of odds. To have tried to tell the tale otherwise than in Hira Singh’s own words would have been to varnish gold. Amid the echoes of the roar of the guns in Flanders, the world is inclined to overlook India’s share in it all and the stout proud loyalty of Indian hearts. May this tribute to the gallant Indian gentlemen who came to fight our battles serve to remind its readers that they who give their best, and they who take, are one.

T. M.

One hundred Indian troops of the British Army have arrived at Kabul, Afghanistan, after a four months’ march from Constantinople. The men were captured in Flanders by the Germans and were sent to Turkey in the hope that, being Mohammedans, they might join the Turks. But they remained loyal to Great Britain and finally escaped, heading for Afghanistan. They now intend to join their regimental depot in India, so it is reported.

New York Times, July, 1915

CHAPTER I

Let a man, an arrow, and an answer each go straight. Each is his own witness. God is judge.—EASTERN PROVERB.

A Sikh who must have stood about six feet without his turban—and only imagination knows how stately he was with it—loomed out of the violet mist of an Indian morning and scrutinized me with calm brown eyes. His khaki uniform, like two of the medal ribbons on his breast, was new, but nothing else about him suggested rawness. Attitude, grayness, dignity, the unstudied strength of his politeness, all sang aloud of battles won. Battles with himself they may have been—but they were won.

I began remembering ice-polished rocks that the glaciers once dropped along Maine valleys, when his quiet voice summoned me back to India and the convalescent camp beyond whose outer gate I stood. Two flags on lances formed the gate and the boundary line was mostly imaginary; but one did not trespass, because at about the point where vision no longer pierced the mist there stood a sentry, and the grounding of a butt on gravel and now and then a cough announced others beyond him again.

I have permission, I said, to find a certain Risaldar-major Ranjoor Singh, and to ask him questions.

He smiled. His eyes, betraying nothing but politeness, read the very depths of mine.

Has the sahib credentials? he asked. So I showed him the permit covered with signatures that was the one scrap of writing left in my possession after several searchings.

Thank you, he said gravely. There were others who had no permits. Will you walk with me through the camp?

That was new annoyance, for with such a search as I had in mind what interest could there be in a camp for convalescent Sikhs? Tents pitched at intervals—a hospital marquee—a row of trees under which some of the wounded might sit and dream the day through-these were all things one could imagine without journeying to India. But there was nothing to do but accept, and I walked beside him, wishing I could stride with half his grace.

There are no well men here, he told me. Even the heavy work about the camp is done by convalescents.

Then why are you here? I asked, not trying to conceal admiration for his strength and stature.

I, too, am not yet quite recovered.

From what? I asked, impudent because I felt desperate. But I drew no fire.

I do not know the English name for my complaint, he said. (But he spoke English better than I, he having mastered it, whereas I was only born to its careless use.)

How long do you expect to remain on the sick list? I asked, because a woman once told me that the way to make a man talk is to seem to be interested in himself.

Who knows? said he.

He showed me about the camp, and we came to a stand at last under the branches of an enormous mango tree. Early though it was, a Sikh non-commissioned officer was already sitting propped against the trunk with his bandaged feet stretched out in front of him—a peculiar attitude for a Sikh.

That one knows English, my guide said, nodding. And making me a most profound salaam, he added: Why not talk with him? I have duties. I must go.

The officer turned away, and I paid him the courtesy due from one man to another. It shall always be a satisfying memory that I raised my hat to him and that he saluted me.

What is that officer’s name? I asked, and the man on the ground seemed astonished that I did not know.

Risaldar-major Ranjoor Singh bahadur! he said.

For a second I was possessed by the notion of running after him, until I recalled that he had known my purpose from the first and that therefore his purpose must have been deliberate. Obviously, I would better pursue the opportunity that in his own way He had given me.

What is your name? I asked the man on the ground.

Hira Singh, he answered, and at that I sat down beside him. For I had also heard of Hira Singh.

He made quite a fuss at first because, he said, the dusty earth beneath a tree was no place for a sahib. But suddenly