https://www.thetimes.co.uk/edition/register/are-reprisals-justified-b0759bftc
Yesterday, after telegraphing my dispatch, I took advantage of the clear afternoon sun to go on to some high ground to look at the German positions. It is a deceptive country, for there is no sign of life. Not a human being is visible, and it is difficult to believe that in the flat plain before you Armies are confronting each other, and that every yard of this smiling, sunlit ground is under scrutiny from trench loophole, telescope, field glass, and aeroplane, and that to walk forward a few hundred yards in the open is almost certain death. There is noise enough, with the roar of our guns behind, the scream of shells in a never-ceasing stream overhead, and the angry c-r-r-rump c-r-r-rump of the enemy’s shells. What one does not see is the minor defences and machinegun holes scattered all over the innocent-seeming land — more formidable than the most massive bastions and fortress walls. As we returned, one of our aeroplanes came down beside us, making a steep but safe landing. When we reached the spot other hands had helped the observer to lift the pilot out and lay him on the ground, where, with his right leg shattered above the knee by a bullet, he lay smoking a cigarette, and trying to pretend that it did not hurt. The machine was almost shot to ribbons, with a half-dozen ripping tears in the wings and as many jagged holes in the body. It was easy to see where the bullet had passed which shattered the limb. It was sad, but such things must happen, and it was almost worth while as a lesson in courage when one considered what it meant, with the agony of the useless, broken limb (it would not lie straight on the grass), to have brought the machine safely down so that the observer was unhurt and the aeroplane still sound to fly.
May 4, 1917
Are reprisals justified?
To the Editor of The Times Sir, My friend Sir Edward Clarke has done an act of characteristic honesty and courage. In The Times of May 1 he denounced the bombardment by British aeroplanes of an unfortified German town. Our enemies have, indeed, as he points out, committed “outrages on the laws of war and the instincts of humanity”. They have thus made themselves outlaws. But this is no reason for our sinking to the German level of barbarity; to imitate the misdeeds of criminals is neither a creditable nor a happy way of punishing crime. In so far, then, as Sir Edward Clarke warns us against reprisals which partake in appearance of revenge, and make our brave soldiers appear at least to be murderers of unarmed civilians, of women, and of babies, he has made a strong case for demanding some clear vindication of acts which, when done by our enemies, we condemned as crimes. It is, to my mind, the duty of every man who, like myself, sympathizes with Sir Edward Clarke’s protest, to give him support. A short letter addressed to a newspaper must inevitably express even sound doctrine without adding all its necessary qualifications. The public do not, as yet, know all the circumstances in which the bombardment of an unfortified town took place. Such a town may conceivably be, though unfortified, full of troops, or be a great railway junction filled with engines and carriages for conveying troops, and also with arms and munitions. In such a state of things it must, one would think, be doubtful whether the spirit of the rule which forbids the bombardment of an unfortified town really applies. It is further possible — one hopes it is the case — that the brave airmen sent to attack an unfortified town were given orders to avoid, as much as in them lay, the killing of unarmed citizens or the doing damage to any hospital. But while desiring to place some restriction on the broad terms in which my friend lays down sound doctrine, and, in fact, denounces every form of warfare which savours of mere vindictiveness, I heartily deprecate with him any attempt to imitate, and thereby to countenance, the new cruelties by which our enemies have attempted to add to the frightfulness of war.
I am yours, &c., A V DICEY, Oxford, May 2.
I am yours, &c., A V DICEY, Oxford, May 2.
May 3, 1917
Looking towards Douai
Another day has been quiet except for the guns and the airmen — a beautiful spring day, of almost summer heat, with a clear sky and only a slight haze on the horizon to dim visibility. Again, however, there has been no infantry movement of importance. In yesterday’s communique, the enemy claims to have put out of action ten “Tanks” in the latest fighting. It is only necessary to say that not a single “Tank” was engaged anywhere on the line. The rest of the German claims can be estimated accordingly.Yesterday, after telegraphing my dispatch, I took advantage of the clear afternoon sun to go on to some high ground to look at the German positions. It is a deceptive country, for there is no sign of life. Not a human being is visible, and it is difficult to believe that in the flat plain before you Armies are confronting each other, and that every yard of this smiling, sunlit ground is under scrutiny from trench loophole, telescope, field glass, and aeroplane, and that to walk forward a few hundred yards in the open is almost certain death. There is noise enough, with the roar of our guns behind, the scream of shells in a never-ceasing stream overhead, and the angry c-r-r-rump c-r-r-rump of the enemy’s shells. What one does not see is the minor defences and machinegun holes scattered all over the innocent-seeming land — more formidable than the most massive bastions and fortress walls. As we returned, one of our aeroplanes came down beside us, making a steep but safe landing. When we reached the spot other hands had helped the observer to lift the pilot out and lay him on the ground, where, with his right leg shattered above the knee by a bullet, he lay smoking a cigarette, and trying to pretend that it did not hurt. The machine was almost shot to ribbons, with a half-dozen ripping tears in the wings and as many jagged holes in the body. It was easy to see where the bullet had passed which shattered the limb. It was sad, but such things must happen, and it was almost worth while as a lesson in courage when one considered what it meant, with the agony of the useless, broken limb (it would not lie straight on the grass), to have brought the machine safely down so that the observer was unhurt and the aeroplane still sound to fly.
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