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hear the British soldiers singing the wellknown
marching song, ”It’s a long way to Tipperary”, when
the ships left the docks in Gothenburg, and turned
their prows toward home. Apparently they had sung
this song many times in their prison camps; their
voices then had been filled with melancholy, for the
way to Tipperary had seemed to them very long,
dark and uncertain. But now their voices were
jubilant and full of hope.
I looked at the German soldiers. It seemed as if
their hearts were in the well-known tune. They also
knew that they would soon return to their homeland
— to that which they treasured most. Every country
has her Tipperary. Each soldier has his own
particular home and his private plot of land; it máy be
somewhere in the enormous British Empire, in das
grosse Vaterland, in Russian Holy soil; in old
Denmark or Norway, in Finland, the land of the thousand
lakes, or anywhere else where people have their roots
— the country which he calls his own. Those who
have fought for their country long to go back to it.
They want to be present when their country’s future
needs them.
With such memories behind me, I feel a deep
gratitude for the opportunity of participating in the
work of the Red Cross. It has only one aim: to try
to lend a helping hand to suffering or distressed
people, regardless of their nationality, race, creed
or political affiliation.
2
oD
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