Newspaper Page Text
March 13.
14-YEAR-OLD WARRIOR
MAKES LIGHT OF BATTLE
Hew York Boy Over Top More Times Than He Remembers;
Shrapnel Annoying’, But Not So Bad As Chiding
of the Officers.
(From the New York Sun).
Counting two months in the hospital
he was in the British army five
months. He was of those who held a
front line trench at Yprea five weeks
went over the top so. many times that
he lost count —four times in one boil
ing summer week. A speck of shrap
nel pierced his right hand. A Ger
man’s clubbed musket smashed his
shoulder in a ruined house at St. Ju
lian, and his chum snuffed out the Ger
man. He did a man’s work; claims no
more and no less. He was honorably
discharged for reasons which will ap
pear.
Nothing extraordinary about this?
All right; then let him tell why he
especially remembers his 14th birth
day, July 24, 1917.
“You know the country around
Ypres is pretty watery anyway, and it
had rained, for seven days and nights.
I was walking along a duck board. You
know duck boards are the planks- that
they sink into the goo in the trenches,
one plank on top of another until there
is sort of a solid path. I stepped on a
loose one, the other end flew up and*!
spilled into four feet of mud that was
mostly water. Sympathy? ‘Jeff,’ sings
out my chum. Tiny Bradford, ’you been
kickin’ for four weeks about not havin’
a bawth, and here’s hopin’ you’re sat
isfied now.' I swabbed the mud out of
my eyes, went to the C. O*'s office,
where there was a fire, and they let me
hang up my clothes and get them dry
for the first time in an awful while.
That's why I remember the day 1 was
14."
Perhaps Youngest in War.
Sydney Jaffe, a New York boy now
back in New York, was perhaps the
youngest soldier in the war. He en
listed and was accepted at 13, was a
British rifleman 165 days. There is no
question ©f that. Official records prove
it. The rest of the story is his own,
British officers here call it incredible,
but the boy sticks to it. He says the
dreariest of all fghting fronts, the
Ypres salient, was an old story to him
before he was 14. And now with that
behind him, he is living wth his
mother at 580 East 164th Street and
clerking for an Exemption Board on
the East Side, helping in another way.
to recruit tile army of freedom.
His story begins just where he be
gan when he told it to “The Sun” yes
terday :
“I was born near London, and when
I was 7 my father died of sickness
brought on by Boer War wounds. I
have two brothers, and in 1914 my
mother moved us all to New York. I
went to Public School 147, in East
Broadway, and then started in Morris
High School. I was pretty well sat
isfied until I took two days off to visit
two friends—they were- big lads —who
were going to join the American army.
They didn’t say anything, but from all
their talk I got to thinking. It looked
funny that I had come away from
England just when the war started,
when everybody that could ought to be
going the other way. Well, the. next
morning after I saw my two friends
off I went to a British recruiting office
here and enlisted. It was on June 7
last year and L was 13 1-2 years old,
but fairly big, and my voice had
changed. (Jaffe is about 5. feet 6
inches tall now).
Said He Was 18,
“ Itojd ’em I was 18 and they took
me. My mother was going to kick, but
as I thought 1 would, be training in
Canada: for seven months I told her so,
and that the war would be over by
then. But a week after I got to Can
ada I was grabbed for a draft they
were sending over and was sent along.
Iwas in A Company, Sixth Battalion,
the Rifle Brigade, and later in the
Twelfth Battalion. From England they
sent us right over. We w’ere at a
French seaport two days, then up the
line to Calais and a four days’ march
to Ypres. Gee, that was some march!”
Sydney Jaffe stopped as if he had
told it all, and the astounding inter
viewer had to prod him with, “Well, go
on. What did you do at Ypres?”"
“Oh.” he said, in precise English,
not of the East Side out of London.
“We started doing our work, like in
and out of the lines and going over
the top occasionally. It was summer
and our bodies were nearly raw from
sun&urn. At one stretch we were in
our trench for five weeks —you know
at times relief was bad and of course
there’s nothing to do but stay' where
you are tfiL.it comes. Well, after that
the C. O. says—this was in July, I
think —Boys, you're out for a long rest
now. We pay out tomorrow and draw
as ranch as, you like.
“I drew oat 100 francs and spent a
week in Poperinghe with my chum.
Tiny Bradford; who was 18. but
smaller than I. He went in, by the
way, in 1914, on the second day of the
wait-
"Then it was back to Ypres again,
and just as we got there another big
attack started. When we went over
at dawn the Germans were not there
—they h:ul evacuated their line; it
was quite a retreat, I think. We kept
on and caught up with them at the
end of about four miles, at the town
of St. Julian, which was badly bat-
TRENCH AND CAMP
tered. As they had left machine- gun
emplacements in the houses to protect
their rear our company commander.
;Lieut. West, said:
“ 'Boys, the Germans, are trying to
put one over by firing on us from these
houses. It’s up to you to go through
the houses and protect the rest of the
division.’
Go Through the Houses.
“Tiny and I were ordered .into a
shack that had been a dwelling place
but rather knocked about by shellfire.
We went up stairs first and there was
nobody there. Then we went down to
the street floor and opened a door and
came upon a German. He mad a ma
chine gun—it was a. Lewis gun—and
had stuck the muzzle through the
shutters of a, window in such away
that no on eoutside would know it was
there. But the gun was jammed and
|he was working on it. He was a big
Prussian Guardsman.
“The shrapnel helmet always gave
me a headache and when we went
i over I always managed to get rid of
i it, so I did not have it this time. Tny
! and I went for the- German, but he
I picked up a rifle and just managed to
i whirl it as a. club when we closed. I
I git it on the shoulder and was knocked
j down. But good old Tiny Bradford let
i the German have the bayonet. No,
■ he’ll never see Prussia again.
. “Then Bradford cut off the sleeve of
’my tunic ajrd shirt and put a field
i dressing on the shoulder. When we
i got down stairs I reported sick to the
! section commander, and at the base
’ hospital they found my collar bone
1 broken and sinews torn. At the base
. I got malaria and was sent over to
: Broadway Hospital. Sheerness, Eng
’ land. I was there two months and re
joined the battalion at the. beginning
!of last. November. Then finally I was
1 discharged.”
I Again the boy thought his story
ended and had to be reproved for his
reticence. Was he never wounded ex-
J cept by the butt of the Prussian’s
: rifle?
Shrapnel Spoiled the Tea,
“Necking but a rultls,” 1.2 said-.
"On eday in the trenches a group
of us were standing by the dugout and
I watched a shrapnel shell that came
fros across the way. You can see a
shell going. up ; you know, but not com
ing down. This one came down on top
of the dugout. I forgot to say we were
I making tea at the time in a canteen
! that we call a dixie. Pieces of shrap
j nel and parapet spattered all over us
and splashed mud into the dixie, so thu
lea was si oiled."
“But that was hardly a catastrophe;
was it,” the interviewing guide sug
gested.
“It was to us,” said Jaffe.
"B-.it what aj ot the scratch you
I got?"
: * ' Nothing but a • it or sl.r.tpncl that
|w.m.t through right here.’ He-pointed
j out faint marks that may be small
scars on the palm and back of his. right
hand, “near the junction of forefinger
and thumb, but it was clear’ that the
loss of a pot of tea. had been the only
event of that day of any importance.”
“Would you be interested in know
ing that I deserted?” he offered- “Well
it was near the end of my service,
when I was back in England. Tiny.
Bradford and I must have acted like
kids, for we were always up for dodg
ing parades and failure to answer roll
call.. This time we were going up be
fore the Colonel, for taking some ap
ples from an orchard, and as the Cob
one! didn’t like us because we both
ered him we thought we’d get away,
especially as we’d been paid* off the
night before. We went in khaki, for
if they catch you in your, uniform you
are not' a deserter, but merely absent
.without leave. Wk strolled off to an
other camp. —this was on an island off
the coast of Kent—and then we found
a hut on the* shore and stayed in. that,
In the night things got to crawling
over us, and lightning match we found
they were sand crabs. There must
have a millin of ’em, but we col
lected them all together in a box and
threw the box into the fire we had
made. Gee, you ought to have heard
those crags crackle! After that we
could sleep.”
Jaffe and Tiny got tired of the hut
on the shore, it seemed, and embarked
on the North Sea in a boat with no.
oars., who knew' the coast, found they'
were headed for “the biggest whilrpool
in the world, where seven tides meet.”
Caught by Sergeant Major.
Later they raided a camp postoffice
and filled up on the contents of pack
ages intended for well behaved sol
diers. By climbing through the win
dow of a canteen they' got cigarettes,
and the next day, being hungry' again,
helped themselves to- the store of an
officers’ mess. Then they' were off to
London and at a farm house on the
way' had the first glass of milk Jaffe
had tasted since he left New York. In
a town, the name of which the boy
mentioned, their four days roving was
ERNEST GAMBLE CONCERT CO.
. ■’'■■•LT ■ G
For throe days including Sunday, the
■ Ernest Gamble Concert Company dbiight
: ed huge audiences in every' section of the
’ camp. There was no- rag time or popu
j lar vaudeville songs, but high grade clas
sical music rendered in artistic fashion.
I It was- also delightful, to have Mr; Clam
! hie give a short description of the number
before, each presentation. The programs
were varied.
I Miss Aline Kuhn was the pianist, and
i Miss Olive Wambaugh the violiuiste. The
, audiences applaude dvociferiously and the
| company was generous with eneores. Mr.
| Gamble and his party' are giving their
i services to numerous army eamps,
■ and it is gratifying to note that
i such high grade classical music
1 is really’ appreciated by the soldier boys.
r That Mr. Gamble is a keen analyst of
I his audiences as well as a"sympathetic
interpreter of the best vocal music is at
tested by the following quotation from an
article by him. published in “Talent.”
“The success of any concert depends as
much upon the audience as on the enter-
I tainers. You work better when you know
i your efforts are being appreciated. So
• does an. entertainer. A cold, critical, un
-1 jsponsive audience never gets its money’s
i worth. No performer can be at his best
. before such an audience. Good hearty
I applause is stimulating. It helps break
I up that reserve noticeable in so many
I audiences. Someone has said that ap
i
: ended by a sergeant major who walked
I in on them.
j “What are you doing here?,” said’ the
■ sergeant major.
I “On sick leave, sir,” said; Jaffe.
I “Then go back to quarters and clean
i tip. *
. “Yes, sir.”
• "As we were pretty hungry' again,
iwe went back,” Jaffe went. on. “We
j met the provost sergeant and re
( marked, ‘We have been absent with-
I out leave, sir.”
‘ “ ‘Oh, all right, Jaffe,” he said. “I
know what’s the matter with you.
I Turn out your pockets-
• “I emptied out the cigarettes, for you
I can’t smoke in the pigger (guard
I house). The next day we were before
■ the Colonel.
' “ ‘B, F. man (British Expeditionary
I Force)’? he said to me.
> “ ‘Yes, sir.’
“ ‘Been in France and Belgium ?’
1 “ ‘Yes, sir.’
1 “‘How old are you?'
j “ ‘Fourteen years and three months,
sir.’
“ ‘lmpossible!’
“ ‘Yes, sir.’
Jeff* and Tiny' thought, anything
, short of shooting might happen to
' them, hut eight days confinement in
barracks for Jaffe and- four days for
Bradford, with an opportunity to do
all he dirty work around camp, was
their mild punishment.
Mother Takes a Hand.
Meanwhile Mother Jaffe in New
York had been trying to; get her pre
cocious child out of the service. When
Sydney found his name posted for duty
in SaJoniki instead of a return to Bel
gium, as he says, he began a serious
attempt to impress his real age upon
his commanding oficers. About the
some time h!s mother’s letter, with a
copy of the- birth certificate, reached
them. The Colonel said: “We don’t
want that kid here,” and on Novem
ber 15 last Jaffe was discharged from
the service at Eastchurch,
He placed before- “The Sun” reporter
his certificate of discharge and “char
| acter sheet,” whereon is recorded that
I Sydney Joffrey (the name under which
Ihe enlisted) was discharged “in con-
I sequence of having made a fisstate
ment as to age of enlistment” in viola
i tion of paragraph 392 of the King’s
regulations. The papers say he was
born at IMiston, County of London,
England, on July 25, 1903; that he en-
I listed on Jane 27, 1917; that he was
165 days with the colors and. that his
age at the time ‘of discharge was 14
years and 3 months. But the entry
that pleases the boy most is this
signed, as are the others, by “Mor
land,. Major.”
“This is to certify that No. S 333304;
rank, rifleman; name, Sydney Jeffrey,
has served with the colors in the Sixth
Reserve Battalion, the Rifle Brigade
for five months, and his character is
good.”
Thus his narrative a§ to his age and
time of service is. attested officially.
The papers do not mention service in
France or Belgium, but the boy says
that what he says is all true, and that
he doesn’t care particularly about go
ing back, though if the war is going
when he’s 18 he’ll be there.
He is a clerk for Exemption Board
plausc to a performer is like “sic ’em” to
a dog-fight.
“There are /persons who decry good
things and classics, and say: “I'm not
educated up to that,” with an inflection
of depreciation’ and ridicule, who would
throw contempt upon the creations of
Browning. Mozart and Handel and. try to
vindicate their own ignorance. Such peo
ple. who do not understand, who do not
know, who do not. feel, are the hopeless
ones for an artist to reach with his mes
sage. One of the most intelligent and
diseruninating audiences I ever had was
at the Elmira State Reformatory, where
(Vagner's. ‘Evening Star' was received
with rapt attention, and where ‘Where is
My Wandei-i.ng-Boj' To-night?’ would have
<been hissed down. My most, sympathetic
audience was composed of. several hun
dred blind people, and the most enthus
iastic was one before eight, hundred sail
ors on board the United States warship
Wabash.
“Every artist goes to school to his au
dience; mid from them discovers his pow
ers and learns his deficiencies. For a vo
calist some audiences are better training
than a> term; of lessons with a great sing
ing master. The ideal audience is- the
one that knows and loves and sympa
thizes: that is wise In appreciation, just
in criticism, sensil ive to every mood’ of the
artist keen in enjovment, enthusiastic
and helpful in applause.”
93, at 229 East Broadway, and when he
quits the task expects to go to work
for an uncle in North Dakota.
“The Sun” asked several officers of
the British recruiting mission what
they thought of Sydney .fajfo's story.
They said it was incredible, that the
boy’s mother set out to get him dis
charged soon after his enlistment, and
that it was unlikely be ever got fur
ther than an Engleshi training camp.
The minimum training period is now
14 weeks. A few soldiers do slip by in
shorter time, the British officers said,
and three of them who enlisted last
yerr were- wounded in battle- and have
returned- to America were mentioned.
But the oficers could not believe that
a mereboy could have the same ex
perience.
“But it’s all true, just as I have told
it,” is Sydney Jaffe’s final word.
RUSH FOR TESTA
This tale comes from a naval secretary
In Virginia:
“The demand for Testaments is so
great here,” he writes, "that we can not
maintain an adequate supply. The re
ligious work director was in his usual
place the other night, his grip open, and
he was doing a big business. A verit
able mob of sailors, all sincerely wanting
Testaments, surrounded; him. Suddenly
a new arrival came tearing through the
crowd at top speeed.
“ ‘Where the hell is he? Where the hell
is he?’ bellowed Jack Tar.
“The secrekauy did not realize that he
was being calle<L so he called' the sailor.
To his great surprise the sailor, holding
his hat in his hand and looking some
what embarrassed, said:
“ ‘I was looking for you. I want a
Testament before they are al! gone.’
“The bliM» jacket had unmistakably
demonstrated his need for a Testament,
so the secretary gave him the last one
that was left, which of course, would
hawe been gone had he waited to get in
the regular way.”
ENGLISH
“It is not only in France,” writes Mr.
VVilliam B. Powell, publicity secretary
of the Y. M. C. A. in England, "that Am
erican soldiers and sailors are experienc
ing trouble in understanding the local
tongue. A conversation with some of
the English people is not without Its
hazards, as may be seen by an incident
told by an American sailor in London.
“This young man from the States went
to Scotland Yard to report that, lie was
changing his place of abode—inasmuch as
he was on; his way to the hospital for a
stay. The sergeant behind the desk look
ed m> at him and asked: \
" ‘Are you going down to die?”
“ ‘Well, if I do. I won’t be any more
trouble tb you.’ replied the lad, looking
more doleful than ever.
"Gloomily he started to leave the of
fice. when a clerk laughingly told him
that the sergeant meant, ‘Are you going
down today.' ”
CONVENIENT '.7 RIST WATCH.
“I can’t understand w’hy the public
make such a joke of the wrist watch,”
said the kn.ut to the hardened sinner.
“I’m sure it’s a great convenience.”
“Yes. With the old kind of watch I
always had to unbutton my coat and
fish in every one of mya waistcoat
pockets for it. Now I have to unbot
ton my- coat, fish In every one of my
waistcoat pockets, discover that the
watch isn’t there, push up my sleeve,
and look at it. A great convenience!”
Page 5
I
ijmT
MH jfl t J
fiH
a 1 r
u
& P H
I 8 i
t
*
I
ill n
il H
% W I
