A Fortnight at the Front — A Reader’s Guide

The Ubiquitous Soldier and Civilian Relations

Wakefield repeatedly notes how British soldiers have 'taken possession' of the French villages. He describes them appearing 'out of farm buildings,' leaning over gates, and holding 'difficult conversation' with local women and elderly ladies. The phrase 'ubiquitous person is our soldier' captures the pervasive presence of khaki. He reports asking a French Archbishop and a French Bishop about the men's behaviour; both replied they were 'beyond reproach.' This reliance on clerical testimony underscores Wakefield's method: he gathers evidence from fellow religious leaders to support his claim that the British are not visitors but almost residents. The observation is precise, grounded in specific encounters, and avoids vague praise.

Duty as the Animating Principle

Wakefield contrasts the Front with home: 'In five hours from London one can be at the very heart of affairs, and yet you are in a different world.' At the Front, he writes, 'all are living for duty,' and 'all the little things are relegated to their proper place.' The drop from the high standard of headquarters in France to the capital of the Empire 'depresses a good deal.' He wishes people at home shared the same devotion, so that 'despairing recruiting bills' would be unnecessary. The diction—'animates,' 'absorbs,' 'instinct with the same devotion'—reveals a pastoral concern for national morale, not just military strategy. His call for volunteers echoes Isaiah's 'Here am I, send me,' blending scripture with recruitment.

Germanic Ambition and Internal Divisions

In a broader survey, Wakefield turns to Germany, which he knows from residence. He traces its militarism from 1870, when Prussia 'regarded itself as the Dictator of the Continent.' After 1880, material prosperity 'facilitated the extension of armed power,' and national pride grew into 'an extraordinary conception of the Divine right of Teutonic aspirations.' He notes internal antagonisms: 'no people really dislike each other more than the Bavarian dislikes the Prussian,' and Saxons and Prussians are 'antagonistic.' Yet under 'the iron hand of military despotism,' Munich and Dresden 'came to heel.' This analysis is geopolitical, not anecdotal, and relies on his pre-war travels. It shows Wakefield shifting from observer to commentator, though he admits colonial expansion brings Germany into conflict with Britain.

Ecumenical Hopes Amidst War

Wakefield reports a conversation with the Archbishop of Rouen, who said: 'if at the root of things we are the same? Of course, at the root there must be union of belief.' Wakefield does not claim every French Archbishop would go so far, but he insists there are 'great instances of breadth' within Roman Catholicism. He hopes the war might foster 'a better understanding between the various religious bodies, whose men are fighting for the Allies.' This section is notable for its restraint: he does not exaggerate the accord, but presents it as a possibility. The evidence is a single quoted remark, and Wakefield carefully limits his inference, acknowledging that others may disagree.

Wakefield's narrative is neither a soldier's diary nor a strategic report; it is a bishop's reconnaissance of morale, manners, and meaning. Readers should attend to how he balances firsthand impressions with broader reflections, and how his clerical role shapes what he notices—courtesy, duty, religious unity. The brevity of his visit (a fortnight) and the explicit limits he sets make this a document of its moment, valuable for its voice rather than its completeness.

I keep thinking about Bishop Wakefield’s quiet astonishment at the sheer orderliness of it all—the courtesy amid the guns—and somehow my mind drifts to the wonder of early flight, the same solemn lifted gaze. His fortnight, their machines: both caught a world holding its breath. The Romance of Aircraft — Edition Insights feels like a companion reverie, not an answer.