As a Scotsman, the English people have my profound sympathy.

In the comic papers of all countries the Englishman is depicted—or was in the days of peace—as stupid, purseproud, thick-skinned, arrogant, and tyrannical. In practice, what is he? The whipping-boy of the British Empire.

In the War of to-day, for instance, whenever anything particularly unpleasant or unpopular has to be done—such as holding up neutral mails, or establishing a blacklist of neutral firms trading with the enemy—upon whom does the odium fall? Upon "England"; never upon France, and only occasionally upon Great Britain. The people and press interested thunder against "England's Arrogance." Again, in the neutral days, when an American newspaper published a pro-British article, Potsdam complained peevishly that the entire American Press was being bribed with "English" gold. A German school teacher is greeted by her infant class with the amiable formula: "Good morning, teacher. Gott strafe England!" (Never "Britain," as a Scotsman once very rightly complained to me.) On the other hand, when there is any credit going round—say, for the capture of a hitherto impregnable ridge on the Western Front—to whom is that credit assigned? Well, it depends. If the Canadians took the ridge, Canada gets the credit; and the world's press (including the press of London and England generally) pays due tribute to the invincible valour of the men from the Dominions. Or, if a Scottish or Irish regiment took the ridge, the official report from General Headquarters makes appreciative reference to the fact. But how often do we see the phrase: "The ridge was stormed, under heavy fire, by an English regiment?" Practically never. A victory gained by English boys from Devon or Yorkshire appears as a British victory, pure and simple.

Now why? Why should the credit for the good deeds of the British Empire be ascribed to those respectively responsible—except the English—while the odium for the so-called bad deeds is lumped on to England alone? To a certain extent, England herself is to blame. When a Scotsman speaks of Scotland he means Scotland. An Irishman, when he speaks of Ireland, means Ireland and nowhere else. But when an Englishman speaks of "England," he may mean Scotland, or Ireland, or even Canada! This playful habit of assuming that England is the Empire, and that the Empire is England, does not always make for imperial fraternity, even though in the vast majority of cases not the slightest offence is intended. To the average Englishman it seems simpler to say "England."

But there are other and deeper reasons. England is a big nation, while the others are small. There are more people in London than in the whole of Scotland, or Ireland, or, until recent years, Canada. And a small nation is always intensely sensitive, and assertive, of its own nationality. The English, too, are an exceedingly placid nation. Their enemies call them self-satisfied, but this is hardly just. Scotsmen and Irishmen celebrate the mysteries of St. Andrew's Day and St. Patrick's Day with a fervour only equalled by that of the average American citizen on the Fourth of July. But if you were to ask the average Englishman the date of St. George's Day, he probably would not be able to tell you: and under no circumstances would he dream of celebrating the occasion.

"Of course I am proud of being an Englishman," he says in effect; "but everybody realizes that. So why advertise the fact unnecessarily? Why make a cantata about it?"

It is this same attitude of mind which causes an Englishman to care little, provided a piece of work is well done for the cause in which he is interested, who gathers the credit. Instinct and tradition have taught him to set the cause above the prize. It is this characteristic which makes him such an amazingly successful subordinate official, whether in the Services or in commerce. He is not vitally interested to climb to the top. His job, for its own sake, suffices him. He is content to work below the waterline, and if the Ship goes forward he is satisfied. So he smiles paternally on these aggressively patriotic little brethren of his; allows them to absorb all possible credit for their respective achievements; and philosophically shoulders the responsibility for the shortcomings of the British Empire. It saves trouble; it saves explanation; and an average Englishman would rather be scalped than explain.

This stoical attitude is all very well, but it can undoubtedly be carried too far. Patience is a virtue, but an overthick skin is not. The courage of one's convictions can sometimes merge into blind indifference to the opinions of other people. From here it is a mere step to "You be damned!"

Let us consider the Englishman as he appears to the other inhabitants of the globe, be they relatives, friends, or foes.

CHAPTER TWO