In Good Company. Coulson Kernahan
again expressed his curiosity in regard to the mystery by which the prayer was attributed to him, and his desire to unravel it, asking me if I heard any more of it to let him know.
That I was of some service to him in the matter was due more to chance than to any mystery-unravelling merit of my own.
A friend who is interested in religious work among soldiers lent me a little book, with the request that I would look into it and return it at my leisure. I opened the volume somewhat indifferently, and the first thing to catch my eye was the very prayer which Lord Roberts and I had been discussing. The book stated that it had been written by the late Archbishop Alexander for the use of the troops in South Africa, and so exactly expressed the faith and feelings of Lord Roberts that he had it printed at his own cost and sent it to his various officers, asking them to distribute it to all ranks under their command.
That the prayer was ultimately attributed to the Field-Marshal instead of to the Archbishop I diagnose thus: Even though “Tommy” was specifically informed that it was composed by Archbishop Alexander—to “Tommy” that information meant little or nothing. But to “Tommy” the fact that it had been specially sent to him by his beloved “Bobs” would mean everything; and so, no doubt, it became known as “Lord Roberts’ prayer,” and as “Lord Roberts’ prayer” it came to the knowledge of the editor of A Cloud of Witnesses, and was printed in good faith by him over the Field-Marshal’s signature in that book, whence it was reproduced, equally in good faith, in other prints.
But to recur to the little book in which I found the prayer attributed, and rightly, to the Archbishop. With the owner’s permission I sent it to Lord Roberts to see for himself how, in my opinion—and he entirely agreed with me—the mistake originally arose. His reply has a characteristic touch, for though he went out to South Africa to take supreme command, his soldier-like way of putting it is “When I was ordered out.” Nor is the reference to failing memory without pathos to those whose smallest service to the cause he had so at heart—National Defence—was never forgotten by one of the greatest-hearted and most generous of men and of chiefs.
Almond’s Hotel, Clifford Street,
London, W., 15th Feb., 1914.
Dear Kernahan,
I cannot think how I could have forgotten about the prayer, for I myself asked the Primate to write it. I knew him well, and I was greatly struck by the few verses he wrote about “War” shortly after the trouble in South Africa had commenced.
When I was ordered out I wrote to the Primate and asked him to write out a short prayer. I had some thousand copies printed and distributed.
I am so glad you discovered who the author was, although your doing so proves and makes me sad to think that my memory is not so good as I thought it was.
I am returning your little book. I wish I could have kept it.
Yours sincerely,
Roberts.
My next meeting with Lord Roberts was twelve days later, and was at No. 10 Downing Street, Mr. Asquith’s official residence. Lord Roberts said, among other things, in the talk we had together on that occasion that he was very much indebted to me for the promptness with which I had unravelled the mystery about himself and the Archbishop, and went on gravely:
“I very much dislike having attributed to me a prayer which I did not write. It is not, as you know, that I do not believe in prayer. I have humbly asked God’s help and guidance in everything that I undertook all through my life, and never more so than now, when I am an old man, and His call may be very near. But——” he hesitated a moment, “offering up a brief prayer—it may only be the words ‘God help me!’—before going into action, or in some time of difficulty, is one thing; and sitting down to write, to print and publish a prayer for others is quite another thing—for a soldier, at least. That was why I asked my friend the Archbishop to compose the prayer. It was for him, God’s minister, a clergyman, not for me, a soldier, to do it.”
Lord Roberts then asked me to advise him how best to prevent a recurrence of the error by which the prayer was attributed to him. I replied that if he wished I would on his behalf write to the editor of A Cloud of Witnesses pointing out the mistake, and suggesting that an erratum slip, making the correction, be inserted in all copies of the book already printed, and that the Archbishop’s name replace that of Lord Roberts in any future edition.
“I shall be so much obliged if you will,” he said gratefully. “May I leave it to you, and will you let me know when you hear from him?”
I promised to do so, and carried the promise into effect, sending Lord Roberts, when I received it, the editor’s reply, in which, after expressing regret for the error, he undertook to do what was proposed. That Lord Roberts felt strongly about the matter, and was most anxious that the correction should be made, will be seen by the following letter which I received the morning after I had seen him at Downing Street:
Englemere, Ascot, Berks,
28th Feb., 1914.
Dear Kernahan,
Thanks for your letter of the 21st instant and for sending me the little book, which I wish I could have kept. Would it be possible to communicate with the author of the book you sent me in which the prayer of the Primate of Ireland appeared under my name? I should like to have this corrected, as it is quite wrong that I should have the credit of being the author of such a beautiful prayer when I was only the indirect means of it being written.
(Thus far Lord Roberts’ letter was typed. Then in his own strong, clear, firm hand the letter concluded as follows): This letter was dictated before I met you yesterday. I only send it as a reminder.
I may just add in conclusion that “the little book” which he twice, almost wistfully, said he wished he could have kept (if I remember rightly it told, among other things, of his son’s death in South Africa) was by the courtesy of the friend from whom I had borrowed it, reforwarded to Lord Roberts, and was by him gratefully and gladly acknowledged.
III
Even as an old man—though none of us who knew and loved him could ever bring ourselves to think of Lord Roberts as old—his energy was amazing, and the amount of work he got through was stupendous. His mere correspondence alone would have kept any other man going all day and with no moment to spare for the many great issues with which his name was connected. He accomplished so much because he practised in his own life the organisation, if not indeed the National Service which he preached to the nation—the organisation which, as he foresaw, would be so tremendous a driving power behind Germany when the time came for her to force a war upon this country, the war which he even more clearly foresaw.
As an instance of how Lord Roberts systematised his days, I may mention that a friend of mine and his, recently returned from Bulgaria, wished to see him to put certain military facts before him, and also, if I remember rightly, to present him with some interesting trophies of the war which he knew the Field-Marshal would prize. He wrote accordingly and asked for an appointment. Lord Roberts replied by return of post, from Almond’s Hotel, Clifford Street, W., to say that he was then in town but was returning to Ascot the following day. “If it will be saving you a railway journey—and I know what a busy man you are,” he wrote, “to see me here at the Hotel, instead of at Ascot, by all means let it be so. But I am afraid, if not too early for you, it must be at 8.30 in the morning, as the rest of my day is already mapped out.”
My friend smiled sadly in telling me the story. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “8.30, and even later, generally sees me tubbing, shaving, or at best breakfasting, but if 8.30 was not too early for a great soldier who had turned 80 to be up, and ready to receive visitors, I could hardly plead that 8.30 was too early for me,” and the appointment was made.
IV