On the afternoon of August 4th, 1916, a detachment of about 1,000 men of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers came into Luton from Bedford by road for a ten-day course of musketry instruction and firing practice on the Warden Hills. These men, with thousands of their comrades, had been stationed at Bedford for some months.

They came into town singing gaily under the heat of the scorching sun on that Friday afternoon, and we refer to the fact because that same singing has in a way made and unmade their reputation among the residents of Luton.

From the first night of their stay the men, in groups here and there, gathered to sing hymns before proceeding to their billets for the night. In Upper Wellington Street, where and in the adjoining neighbourhood many of them were billeted, much interest was displayed at the unaccustomed innovation on the night of Friday week, but there was no semblance of disorder or unruly conduct, and the hymn-singing - evidently favourite melodies peculiar to the Principality, with here and there one more familiar to English ears - seemed to be cordially approved by the residents.

The singing terminated promptly at the sounding of the Last Post by the bugler with the National Anthem, and the streets at once resumed their normal quietude.

An unfortunate turn of events came on the Sunday evening [August 6th], when a constable appeared on the scene and requested the men either to leave off or move on. This the Welshmen declined to do, pointing out, it is understood, that they were doing no harm. The harmony continued, but a distinctly disturbing element had been introduced.

The effect of this was seen on Monday [August 7th] when, for a short time, the singing party shifted under the walls of St Saviours Church, and proceeded in the customary order. But only for a few minutes, when they returned and took up their old stand at the junction of Windsor Street and Wellington Street. Soon, however, more than one policeman came up and requested them to leave off and move away, but all requests were firmly but politely ignored.

The singing was more or less disturbed from its even flow, but terminated in an orderly way and in good time. There was considerable excitement, however, and a larger crowd of onlookers than usual, including some noisy boys.

The same conditions prevailed on succeeding evenings, except that the police turned up in increased numbers, and on one or two nights pickets of the detachment and those from the Beech Hill Artillery School were pressed into service, but the singers would not consent to remain dumb.

Things got to an excited pitch on Thursday evening [August 10th], and the crowd of greater and more disturbing proportions, that the officers of the regiment were actually summoned from their mess to see what could be done to bring about a more satisfactory state of affairs, though it must in fairness be said that all the arguments were being carried out by the police and the singers in a very friendly and conciliatory spirit, and it was amusing to note the amount of handshaking going on between the wearers of the khaki and blue uniforms.

The officers - or the spokesman for the rest - at once inquired what all the hubbub was about, and why it was sought to restrain the men from singing.

"Are they doing any harm? Does anyone object?" he asked, to which a very general reply of "No!" went up, with the addendum that the singing was, on the other hand approved.

What was the reason for wishing to silence them, the officer then asked the police. It was understood that the by-laws were being contravened. The officer pointed out that the men were quite orderly, they were no singing songs others than a few hymns, and this they had done in all the towns in which they had undergone their training, and he characterised it as a very petty procedure to try and stop them from following the custom in Luton.

The officer added that the man had been in training for some months, they had come to Luton for shooting practice, and were due to go to the Front at no distant date.

He said: "In a few more weeks these boys will be in the trenches, many of them may possibly be killed, and yet you would keep them from singing a few hymns!"

"Now boys, the speaker added, "sing quietly and orderly, and no one can complain." He concluded by calling for three cheers for the police, which he led and which were lustily given, but a considerable refrain of booing indicated that an atmosphere of opposition was beginning to be experienced.

On Friday evening [August 11th] a member of the police looked in on the scene, but the singing went on. As this was 'pay parade day' with the men, it had been bruited about that some disturbance might possibly ensue, and again a large crowd in addition to the regular residents gossiped and lounged about in anticipation of possibly something more exciting that the singing.

But except for the noisy and rather irregular course of one of two comrades who had not confined themselves to aqua pura during the evening, there was no exhibition of unseemliness or disorder.

On Saturday things also went well, and the police had not much to do.

On Sunday night [August 13th] , however, an unfortunate turn of events came about. The soldiers took up their accustomed stand in Wellington Street and everything proceeded in quite an orderly manner, such hymns as "Lead Kindly Light" and "Abide With Me" being sung in addition to their own special Welsh harmonies. No disorder was apparent here up to 9.30, at all events.

At that time, however, some trouble which had evidently been brewing lower down the street. There was a large crowd of some hundreds of persons congregated on the Town Hall frontage, and surging up the street came some scores of soldiers shouting and singing, accompanied by the crowd.

Arriving at Adelaide Street, their progress was stayed by a cordon of police, but singing proceeded, and at ten o'clock could be heard the strains of "God Bless My Soldier Daddy," declaimed by a stentorian-throated vocalist, the large crowd reinforced by the dispersed Town Hall company, taking up the chorus.

This went on until about 10.30, when the officers arrived on the scene and appealed to the men to return to their billets. Many did so but others, who were evidently looking for trouble, did not. These, with others, finally found themselves accommodated in the cells of the lock-up for the night, to the number of about a score. What was their morning's reflections?

In the upper part of the street excitement was more or less something, but there were no overt acts of disorder. Here and there were groups of soldiers and civilians, men and women, and some difficulty was experienced in inducing them to go to their homes. Eventually, at a late hour, the efforts of the police and pickets were successful in rounding up all loiterers.

But some resentment was felt by certain householders who were peremptorily told to go inside their own domiciles from the outside step on which they were standing. This was, for the moment, a reminder of the procedure of a now almost forgotten election riot in the town (in 1895).

Monday [August 14th] saw the departure of the Welshmen, and it is possible the manner of their going was in a measure controlled by the untoward and regrettable events of the previous evening. Paraded in the morning, they were informed that no return to billets would be made, that rations would be served on the hills and that return to Bedford would be by the 9.30 pm train.

On Warden Hills, however, this itinerary was varied somewhat. At seven o'clock they marched off to Clophill to stay for the night, and went on to Bedford on the Tuesday morning.

So much for the Welshmen! There are some good singers, perhaps, amongst them, but there are evidently others. And since Sunday night the town has been much quieter in those neighbourhoods in which they were billeted.

[The Luton News: Thursday, August 17th, 1916]