Part 15

For the purpose of maintaining communication a French telephonist was quartered in our dug-out. Whenever he wished to get into communication with his headquarters he unmercifully thumped the field telephone and in an excitable voice called out: "_'Ullo, mon capitaine_," five or six times in half as many seconds.

Greatly impressed by one of these sudden outbursts, the adjutant's batman--a typical Cockney--exclaimed in a hurt voice: "Nah then, matey, jest cool yerself a bit till the young lidy tells yer to put in yer two coppers!"--_F. G. Pickwick (301 Brigade R.F.A.), 100 Hubert Grove, Stockwell, S.W.9._

The General Goes Skating

One horribly wet day during the winter of 1915 I met the Brigadier paying his morning visit to the front line and accompanied him along my section of the trench. Entering one fire-bay, the gallant General slipped and sat down uncommonly hard in the mud.

Discipline stifled any desire on my part for mirth, but to my horror, the sentry in that bay, without turning away from his periscope, called over his shoulder in unmistakable Cockney accents: "'Ere, chum, get up; this ain't a blinkin' skatin' rink!"

Fortunately the General's sense of humour was equal to the occasion, and he replied to the now horror-stricken sentry with an affable "Quite."--_"Company Commander," Orpington, Kent._

"To Top Things Up"

During the early part of 1916 a few picked men from the North Sea Fleet were sent on a short tour of the Western Front to get an accurate idea of the work of the sister Service. One or two of these men were attached to my company for a few days in January when we were at Givenchy--a fairly lively spot at that time. The morning after their arrival there was some pretty heavy firing and bombing, which soon died down to normal.

Later in the day, as I was passing down the line, I asked one of our guests (an out-and-out Londoner) what he thought of things. He shook his head mournfully. "I thought the blighters was coming over after all that gun-fire this morning, sir," he said. "I been in a naval action; I been submarined; I been bombed by aeroplanes; and, blimey, I did 'ope I'd be in a bay'nit charge, just to top things up."--_L. V. Upward (late Capt. R.N.), 14 Lyndhurst Road, Hampstead, N.W.3._

Luck in the Family

A cockney R.A.S.C. driver had been knocked down and badly injured by a staff-officer's car.

On recovering consciousness in hospital, he highly amused the doctor by exclaiming, "Well, me gran'farver was kicked by a Derby winner, me farver knew Dr. Crippen, an' 'ere's me gets a blighty orf a brass-'at's Rolls-bloomin'-Royce. It's funny 'ow luck runs in famblys!"--_J. F. C., Langdon Park Road, N. 6._

"I'm Drownded"

We were going into the line in front of Cambrai, in November 1917, and were walking in single file. The night was pitch black. Word came down at intervals from the leading file, "'Ware wire," "'Ware shell-hole."

My pal, a Cockney, was in front of me. Suddenly I heard a muffled curse--he had deviated and paid the penalty by falling into a particularly deep shell-hole filled with mud and water.

I stumbled to the edge of the hole and peered down and saw his face. I asked him if he was all right, and back came the reply, "Blimey, I'm drownded, so let the missus know I died like a sailor."

Three days later he did die ... like a soldier.--_Ex-Rfn. John S. Brown, 94 Masterman Road, East Ham, E.6._

Not a New World's Wonder

The regiment had reached Hebuterne after marching from St. Amand, and a party of us was detailed to carry stuff up to the front line.

One of our number, a hefty Cockney, besides being in full marching order, had a bag of bombs and a couple of screw pickets. A sergeant then handed him some petrol tins. With a look of profound disgust, the Cockney dropped the tins and remarked, "Chuck it, mate; there's only seven wonders in this blinkin' world."--_W. G. H. Cox (late 16th London Regt.), 9 Longstaff Crescent, Southfields, S.W.18._

Lads of the Village

While en route from the Western to the Italian front we were held up at an Italian wayside station and, hearing that we had some time to wait, our cook says, "Nah's our chance to make some tea."

So we dragged our boiler on to the end of the platform, scrounged some wood, and soon had the fire going and the water on the boil. "Nah we will get the tea and sugar," says the cook. When we returned we found that the chimney of the boiler had disappeared, smoke and flames were roaring up, and the water was ruined by soot.

An Italian soldier was standing by, looking on. "Somebody's pinched our chimbley," gasped the cook, "and I've got an idea that this Italian fellow knows somefing abaht it."

Back came the reply from the Italian, in pure Cockney: "I ain't pinched yer chimbley, mate!"

"What! yer speak our lingo?" says the cook. "What part of the Village do yer come from?"

"Clerkenwell," was the reply.

"Give us yer mitt," says the cook. "I'm from the same parish. And nah I knows that yer couldn't 'ave pinched our chimbley. It must have been one of them scrounging Cockneys."--_H. Howard, 26 Hanover Street, Islington, N.1._

Before 1914, When Men Worked

Night after night, for three weeks, with never a night off, we took ammunition up for the guns at Ypres in 1917. Sometimes we couldn't get back until 5 a.m. or 6 a.m.--and the day was spent feeding and grooming the horses, cleaning harness, and a hundred odd jobs besides.

We had built a bit of a shack, and in this I was writing a letter home, and one of my drivers noticed my handwriting on the envelope.

"Coo, Corp! You can't 'arf write! 'Ow did yer learn it?" he said.

I told him I had been in an insurance office before I joined up.

"Lumme!" he exclaimed, "did yer _work_ once, Corp?"--_David Phillips (late R.F.A.), The Ship Inn, Soham, near Ely, Cambridgeshire._

Their Fatigue

In August 1915, our Division was moved to the Loos area in preparation for the battle which began on September 25, and I well remember the long march which brought us to our destination--the mining village of Noeux-les-Mines, about a mile from Mazingarbe.

We ended the hard and tiring journey at a spot where a huge slag-heap towered above our heads to a height of seventy or eighty feet. On our arrival here there were the usual fatigue parties to parade, and with everyone tired and weary this was an unthankful duty.

The youngest Cockney in my section, who was always cheerful, hearing me detailing men for fatigue, shouted out, "Come on, mites; paride with spoons and mess-tins. The blinking fattygue party will shift this perishin' slag-heap from 'ere to Mazingarbe."--_Herbert W. Bassett (Cpl. attached 47th London Division), 41 Argyle Road, Sevenoaks, Kent._

Teaching Bulgars the Three-card Trick

At Butkova, on the right of Lake Doiran, in 1917, we had surprised the Bulgar and had pushed forward as far as the foot of the Belashitsa Mountains, the reserve position of the enemy.

After a sharp encounter we retired, according to plan, and on the return to our lines we heard murmurings in a nullah to our right.

Motioning to me and the section corporal, our platoon commander advanced cautiously towards the nullah and you can imagine our surprise when we discovered "Dido" Plumpton calmly showing the "three-card trick" to the two Bulgar prisoners he had been detailed to escort. He was telling his mystified audience: "Find der lidy--dere you are--over yer go--under yer go--_nah_ find 'er!"--_Alfred Tall (late 2nd East Kents), 204 Hoxton Street, N.1._

3. HOSPITAL

"Tich" Meets the King

In a large ward in a military hospital in London there was a little Cockney drummer boy of eighteen years who had lost both legs from shell fire. In spite of his calamity and the suffering he endured from numerous operations for the removal of bone, he was one of the cheeriest boys in the ward.

At that time many men in the ward had limbs amputated because of frost-bite, and it was quite a usual thing for a visitor to remark, "Have you had frost-bite?"

Nothing made Tich so furious as the suggestion that he should have lost his limbs by any, to his mind, second-rate way. If he were asked, "Have you had frost-bite?" he would look up with disgust and reply, "Naow---a flea bit me!" If, however, he was asked, "Were you wounded?" he would smile and say, "Not 'arf!"

A visit was expected from the King, and the Tommies kept asking Tich what he would say if the King said, "Have you had frost-bite?" "You wite!" said Tich.

I was standing with the Sister near to Tich in his wheel-chair when the King approached. His Majesty at once noticed Tich was legless, and said in his kind way, "Well, my man, how are you getting on?"

"Splendid, sir!" said Tich.

"How did it happen?" asked the King.

"Wounded, sir--shell," replied Tich, all smiles.

Tich's opinion of the King soared higher than ever.---_M. A. Kennedy (late V.A.D., Royal Military Hospital, Woolwich), 70 Windmill Hill, Enfield, Middlesex._

Putting the Lid on It

It was "clearing day" at the 56th General Hospital, Wimereux. Nurses and orderlies were having a busy morning getting ready the patients who were going to Blighty. Nearly all of them had been taken out to the waiting ambulances except my Cockney friend in the bed next to mine, who had just had an arm amputated and was very ill.

Two orderlies came down the ward bearing a stretcher with an oblong box fixed on to it (to prevent jolting while travelling). They placed it beside my friend's bed, and, having dressed him, put him in the box on the stretcher. Then a nurse wrapped him up in blankets, and after she had finished she said: "There you are. Feeling nice and comfortable?"

"Fine," said he, "but don't put the lid on before I have kissed the orderly good-bye."--_E. C., Hackney, E.8._

Riddled in the Sands

One of the finest exhibitions of Cockney spirit I saw during the war occurred in Mesopotamia after the Battle of Shaiba (April 1915), in which we had completely routed the Turkish army.

We were busy evacuating the wounded in boats across the six-mile stretch of water which separated us from Basra. A sergeant who had been hit by no fewer than six machine-gun bullets was brought down in a stretcher to be put in one of the boats. As I superintended this manoeuvre he said to me: "Don't drop me in the water, sir. I'm so full of holes I'd be sure to sink!"--_F. C. Fraser (Lieut.-Col., Ind. Med. Service), 309 Brownhill Road, Catford, S.E.6._

Season!

A cockney soldier, badly hit for the third time, was about to be carried once more on board the ambulance train at Folkestone. When the bearers came to his stretcher, one said to the other, "What's it say on his ticket?"

"Season!" said a voice from the stretcher.--_Rev. A. T. Greenwood, Wallington, Surrey._

Where's the Milk and Honey?

A medical Officer of a London division in Palestine was explaining to a dying Cockney in his field ambulance at Bethlehem how sorry he was that he had no special comforts to ease his last moments, when the man, with a cheery grin, remarked: "Oh, that's all right, sir. Yer reads as 'ow this 'ere 'Oly Land is flowing with milk and 'oney; but I ain't seen any 'oney myself, and in our battery there's 15 men to a tin o' milk."--_E. T. Middleton, 32 Denmark Road, West Ealing, W.13._

"Lunnon"

He was my sergeant-major. Having on one occasion missed death literally by inches, he said coolly: "Them blighters can't 'it 'arf as smart as my missus when she's roused." I last saw him at Charing Cross Station. We were both casualties. All the way from Dover he had moaned one word--"Lunnon." At Charing Cross they laid his stretcher beside mine. He was half conscious. Suddenly he revived and called out, his voice boyish and jolly: "Good 'ole Charin' Crawss," and fell back dead.--_G. W. R., Norwich, Norfolk._

Sparing the M.O.

It was during some open warfare in France. The scene a small room full of badly wounded men; all the remainder have been hurriedly removed, or rather, not brought in here. There are no beds; the men lie on the floor close together.

I rise to stretch my back after dressing one. My foot strikes another foot. A yell of agony--the foot was attached to a badly shattered thigh.

An insistent, earnest chorus: "You _didn't_ 'urt him, sir. 'E often makes a noise like that."

I feel a hand take mine, and, looking down, I see it in the grasp of a man with three gaping wounds. "It _wasn't_ your fault, sir," he says, in a fierce, hoarse whisper.

And then I realise that not a soul in that room but takes it for granted that my mental anguish for my stupidity is greater than his own physical pain, and is doing his best to deaden it for me--one, at any rate, at great cost to himself.

In whose ranks are the world's great gentlemen?--_"The Clumsy Fool," Guy's Hospital, E.C._

"Robbery with Violence"

A Cockney soldier had his leg shattered. When he came round in hospital the doctors told him they had been obliged to take his leg off.

"Taken my leg off? Blimey! Where is it? Hi, wot yer done wiv it? Fer 'Eaven's sake, find my leg, somebody; it's got seven and a tanner in the stocking."--_S. W. Baker, 23 Trinity Road, Bedford._

Seven His Lucky Number

Scene: the plank road outside St. Jean. Stretcher-bearers bringing down a man whose left leg had been blown away below the knee. A man coming up recognises the man on the stretcher, and the following conversation ensues:

"Hello, Bill!" Then, catching sight of the left leg: "Blimey! You ain't 'arf copped it."

The Reply: A faint smile, a right hand feebly pointing to the left sleeve already bearing _six_ gold stripes, and a hoarse voice which said, "Anuvver one, and seven's me lucky number."--_S. G. Wallis Norton, Norton House, Peaks Hill, Purley._

Blind Man's Buff

The hospital ship _Dunluce Castle_, on which I was serving, was taking the wounded and sick from Gallipoli. Among the wounded brought on board one evening was a man who was badly hurt about his face. Our M.O. thought the poor chap's eyes were sightless.

Imagine our surprise when, in the morning, finding that his eyes were bandaged, he pulled himself to a sitting posture in bed, turned his head round and cried out, "S'y, boys, who's fer a gime of blind man's buff?"

I am glad to say that the sight of one eye was saved.--_F. T. Barley, 24, Station Avenue, Prittlewell, Southend._

Self-Supporting

After being wounded at Ypres in July 1917, I was being sent home. When we were all aboard, an orderly came round with life-belts.

When he got to the next stretcher to me, on which lay a man who had his arm and leg in splints, he asked the usual question ("Can you look after yourself if anything happens going across?"), and received the faint answer: "Lumme, mate, I've enough wood on me to make a raft."--_A. E. Fuller (36th Battery R.F.A.), 21 Pendragon Road, Downham Estate, Bromley._

In the Butterfly Division

On arriving at the hospital at Dames Camiers, we were put to bed. In the next bed to mine was a young Cockney who had lost three fingers of his right hand and his left arm below the elbow.

The hospital orderly came to take particulars of our wounds, etc. Having finished with me, he turned to the Cockney. Rank, name, and regimental number were given, and then the orderly asked, "Which division are you from?"

"Why, the 19th," came the answer; and then, as an afterthought, "that's the butterfly division, yer know, but I've 'ad me blinkin' wings clipped."--_H. Redford (late R.F.A.), 49 Anselm Road, Fulham, S.W.6._

An Unfair Leg-Pull

I was working in a surgical ward at a base hospital, and among the patients was a Tommy with a fractured thigh-bone. He had his leg in a splint and, as was customary in these cases, there was an extension at the foot-piece with a heavy weight attached to prevent shortening of the leg.

This weight was causing him a good deal of pain, and as I could do nothing to alleviate it I asked the M.O. to explain to him the necessity for the extension. He did so and ended up by saying, "You know, we want your leg to be straight, old man."

The Tommy replied: "Wot's the good of making that leg strite w'en the uvver one's bowed?"--_Muriel A. Batey (V.A.D. Nurse), The North Cottage, Adderstone Crescent, Newcastle-upon-Tyne._

He Saw It Through

In the big general hospital at Colchester the next bed to mine was occupied by a typical Cockney who was very seriously wounded. It was little short of marvellous that he was alive at all.

Early one morning he became so ill that the hospital chaplain was sent to administer the Last Sacrament and the little Londoner's parents were telegraphed for.

About nine o'clock he rallied a little, and apparently realised that the authorities had given him up as hopeless, for with a great effort he half-sat up and, with his eyes ablaze, cried: "Wot? You fink I'm goin' ter die? Well, you're all wrong! I've bin in this war since it started, an' I intends to be in it at the finish. So I just _won't_ die, to spite yer, see?"

His unconquerable spirit pulled him through, and he is alive--and well--to-day!--_A. C. P. (late 58th (London) Division), Fulham, S.W.6._

As Good as the Pictures

In Salonika during 1916 I was taken to a field hospital, en route for the Base Hospital.

All merry and bright when lying down, but helpless when perpendicular, was a comrade in the next bed to me. We were to be moved next day.

I was interested in him, as he told me he belonged to "Berm-on-Sea," which happens to be my birth-place. Well, close to our marquee were the dump and transport lines, which we could plainly see through the entrance to the marquee.

Sister was taking our temperatures when we heard an explosion. Johnnie had "found" the dump. An officer ran through the marquee, ordering everyone to the dug-outs, and they promptly obeyed.

I looked at Bermondsey Bill. He said: "We are beat. Let's stop and watch the fireworks."

We were helpless on our feet. I tried to walk, but had to give it up. A new commotion then began, and Bill exclaimed: "Blimey, 'ere comes Flying Fox rahnd Tattenham Corner." It was a badly-wounded and panic-stricken mule. It dashed through our marquee, sent Sister's table flying, found the exit and collapsed outside.

Sister returned (she was the right stuff) and said: "Hello, what's happened here? And you boys still in bed! Hadn't you better try and get to the dug-outs?"

Bermondsey Bill said: "We'll stick it aht nah, Sister, an' fancy we're at the pictures."--_J. W. Fairbrass, 131 Sutton Dwellings, Upper Street, Islington, N.1._

Room for the Comforter

At Etaples in 1916 I was in a hospital marquee with nothing worse than a sprained ankle. A Y.M.C.A. officer was visiting us, giving a cheery word here and there, together with a very welcome packet of cigarettes.

In the next cot to me was a young Cockney of the "Diehards," who had been well peppered with shrapnel. His head was almost entirely swathed in bandages, openings being left for his eyes, nose, and mouth.

"Well, old chap," said the good Samaritan to him, "they seem to have got you pretty badly."

"I'm all right, guv'nor--ser long as they leaves me an 'ole to put me fag in."--_A. E. Jeffreys (late 4th Q.O. Hussars), 24 Byne Road, Sydenham, S.E. 26._

"War Worn and Tonsillitis"

My son, Gunner E. Smith (an "Old Contemptible"), came home on leave in September 1918, and after a day or two had something wrong with his throat. I advised him to see the M.O.

He went and came back saying, "Just look at this." The certificate said "War worn and tonsillitis."

He went to the hospital, and was kept in for three weeks. The first time I went to see him, he said, "What do you think of it? A 1914 man, and knocked over by a kid's complaint."--_F. Smith, 23 Saunders Road, Plumstead, S.E.18._

"... Fort I was in 'Ell"

It was at the American General Hospital in Rouen. There was the usual noise created by chaps under anesthetic, swearing, shouting, singing, and moaning; but the fellow in the next bed to me had not stirred since they had brought him from the operating theatre many hours before.

Suddenly he sat up, looked around him in amazement, and said, "Strike, I've bin a-lying 'ere fer abaht two 'ours afraid ter open me peepers. I fort I was in 'ell."--_P. Webb (late E. Surreys), 68 Rossiter Road, Balham, S.W.12._

Pity the Poor Fly!

Amongst my massage patients at one of the general hospitals was a very cheery Cockney sergeant, who had been badly damaged by shrapnel. In addition to other injuries he had lost an eye.

One morning he was issued with a new eye, and was very proud of it. After admiring himself in a small mirror for a considerable time he turned to me and said, "Sister, won't it be a blinkin' sell for the fly who gets into my glass eye?"--_(Mrs.) A. Powell, 61 Ritherdon Road, S.W.17._

Temperature by the Inch

I was a patient in a general hospital in 1918, when a Cockney gunner was put into the bed next to mine. He was suffering from a severe form of influenza, and after ten days' treatment showed little sign of improvement.

One evening the Sister was going her rounds with the thermometers. She had taken our friend's temperature and registered it on the chart hanging over his head. As she passed to the next bed he raised himself and turned round to read the result. Then he looked over to a Canadian in a bed in the far corner of the ward, and this dialogue ensued:

Gunner: Canada!

Canadian: Hallo!

Gunner: Up agin.

Canadian: Go on! How much?

Gunner: 'Arf inch.--_E. A. Taylor (late 4th London Field Ambulance), Drouvin, The Chase, Wallington, Surrey._

"'Arf Price at the Pickshers!"

On the way across Channel with a Blighty in 1917 I chummed up with a wounded Cockney member of the Sussex. His head was swathed in bandages.

"Done one o' me eyes in altergevver," he confided lugubriously. "Any blinkin' 'ow," he added in cheerier tones, "if that don't entitle a bloke to 'arf price at the pickshers fer the rest of 'is blinkin' natural I don't know wot will do!"--_James Vance Marshall, 15, Manette Street, W.1._

Twenty-four Stitches in Time

During the 1918 reverses suffered by the Turks on various fronts large numbers of mules were captured and sent to the veterinary bases to be reconditioned, sorted, and shod, for issue to various units in need of them. It was no mean feat to handle and shoe the worst-tempered brutes in the world. They had been made perfect demons through privation.

"Ninty," a shoeing-smith (late of Grange Road, Bermondsey), was laid out and savaged by a mule, and carried off to hospital. At night his bosom pal goes over to see how his "old china" is going on.

"'Ow are ye, Ninty?"

"Blimey, Ted, nineteen stitches in me figh an' five in me ribs. Ted--wot d'ye reckon they done it wiv? A sewin' machine?"--_A. C. Weekley (late Farrier Staff Sergeant, 20th Veterinary Hospital, Abbassair), 70 Denbigh Road, East Ham, E.6._

His Second Thoughts

A Bluejacket who was brought into the Naval Hospital at Rosyth had had one of his legs blown off while he was asleep in his hammock. The late Mr. Thomas Horrocks Oppenshaw, the senior surgeon-in-charge, asked him what his first thought was when the explosion woke him up.

"My first thought was 'Torpedoed, by gum!'"

"And what did you think next?"

"I think what I thought next was 'Ruddy good shot!'"--_H.R.A., M.D., llford Manor, near Lewes, Sussex._

Hats Off to Private Tanner

The following story, which emphasises the Cockney war spirit in the most adverse circumstances, and how it even impressed our late enemy, was related to me by a German acquaintance whose integrity is unimpeachable.