Part 16

It was at a German prisoner-of-war clearing station in Douai during the summer of 1917, where wounded British prisoners were being cleared for prison-camp hospital.

A number of wounded of a London regiment has been brought in, and a German orderly was detailed to take their names and particulars of wounds, etc. Later, looking over the orderly's list, the German sergeant-major in charge came across a name written by the orderly which was quite unintelligible to the sergeant-major.

He therefore requested an intelligence officer, who spoke perfect English, to ask this particular man his name. The intelligence officer sought out the man, a Cockney, who had been severely wounded, and the following conversation took place.

I.O.: You are Number ----?

Cockney: Yussir.

I.O.: What is your name?

Cockney: Fourpence'a'penny.

I.O.: I understand this is a term of English money, not a name.

Cockney: Well, sir, I used to be called Tanner, but my right leg was took orf yesterday.

The final words of the intelligence officer, as related to me, were: "I could have fallen on the 'begrimed ruffian hero's' neck and kissed him."--_J. W. Rourke, M.C. (ex-Lieut. Essex Regt.), 20 Mill Green Road, Welwyn Garden City._

The Markis o' Granby

Wounded at Sheria, Palestine, in November 1917. I was sent to the nearest railhead in a motor-ambulance. A fellow-passenger--also from a London battalion--was wounded very badly in both thighs. The orderly who tucked him up on his stretcher before the start asked him if he would like a drink.

"No, thanks, chum--not nah," he replied; "but you might arsk the driver to pull up at the ole Markis o' Granby, and we'll all 'ave one!"

I heard later that he died in hospital.--_C. Dickens (late 2/20th London Regiment), 18 Wheathill Road, Anerley, S.E.20._

A One-Legged Turn

Wounded about half an hour after the final attack on Gaza, I awoke to consciousness in the M.O.'s dug-out.

"Poor old concert party," he said; "you're the fifth 'Ragamuffin' to come down."

Eventually I found myself sharing a mule-cart with another wounded man, but he lay so motionless and quiet that I feared I was about to journey from the line in a hearse.

The jolting of the cart apparently jerked a little life into him, for he asked me, "Got a fag, mate?" With a struggle I lighted my one remaining cigarette.

After a while I asked him, "Where did you catch it, old fellow?" "Lumme," he replied, "if it ain't old George's voice." Then I recognised Sam, the comedian of our troupe.

"Got it pretty rotten in the leg," he added.

"Will it put paid to your comedy act, Sammy?" I asked.

"Dunno," he replied with a sigh in his voice--"I'm tryin' to fink 'art a one-legged step dance."--_G. W. Turner (late 11th London Regt.), 10 Sunny View, Kingsbury, N.W.9._

4. HIGH SEAS

The Skipper's Cigar

Bradley (a Deptford flower-seller before joining up) was the "comic" of the stokers' mess deck.

He was always late in returning from shore leave. One Monday morning he returned half an hour "adrift," and was promptly taken before the skipper.

The skipper, a jovial old sort, asked him his reason for being adrift again, and Bradley replied:

"Well, sir, Townsend and me were waiting for the liberty boat, and I was telling him that if ever I sees the skipper round Deptford I'll let him 'ave a 'bob' bunch of flowers for a 'tanner,' and we looked round and the blinkin' boat was gorne."

The skipper smiled and dismissed him. On Christmas Day Bradley received a packet containing a cigar in it, with the following written on the box:

"For the best excuse of the year.--F. H. C., Capt."

I saw Bradley three years ago and he told me he still had that cigar in a glass case with his medals.--_F. H. (late Stoker, R.N.), 18 Little Ilford Lane, Manor Park, E.12._

Breaking the Spell

We were in a twelve-inch gun turret in a ship during the Dogger Bank action. The ship had been hit several times and big explosions had scorched the paint and done other damage. There came a lull in the firing, and with all of us more or less badly shaken there was a queer silence. Our captain decided to break it. Looking round at the walls of the turret he remarked in a Cockney, stuttering voice: "Well, lads, this blinking turret couldn't 'arf do with a coat of paint."--_J. Bone, 84 Victoria Road, Surbiton._

A V.C.'s Story of Friendship

A transport packed with troops and horses for the Dardanelles was suddenly hailed by a German cruiser and the captain was given a few minutes in which to abandon ship.

One young soldier was found with his arms round his horse's neck, sobbing bitterly, and when ordered to the boats he stubbornly refused to move. "Where my white-faced Willie goes _I_ goes," he said proudly.

His loyalty to his dumb friend was rewarded, for the German cruiser fired twice at the transport, missed each time, and before a third effort British destroyers were on the scene to chase her away. It was then the young soldier had the laugh over his friends, for they in many cases arrived back on the ship half frozen and soaked to the skin!--_A Colonel, who wishes to remain anonymous: he holds the V.C., D.S.O., and M.C._

The Stoker Sums it Up

I was on a large transport (normally a freighter), which had just arrived at a port on the East African coast, very rusty, and with a very un-naval-looking crew. We were taken in charge by a very small but immaculate gun-boat.

Orders were shouted to us by megaphone, and our men were leaning over the side watching the gun-boat rather enviously, when a Poplar stoker came up from below for a "breather," and summed up his mates' feelings in eight words.

Cupping his hands about his mouth, he shouted in a voice of thunder: "_Do yer stop aht all night in 'er?_"--_R. N. Spence (late Lieutenant, R.N.V.R.), 214 Croydon Road, Beckenham._

Channel Swimming his Next Job

During the war I had to fly a machine over to France. I had as passenger a Cockney Tommy who had recently transferred from the infantry to the R.F.C., and was joining his unit overseas.

Half-way over the Channel my engine failed and I glided down towards the nearest boat I could see. The landing was not very successful; the under-carriage struck the crest of a wave and the aeroplane hit the water almost vertically.

We were both thrown out, my passenger being somewhat badly knocked about in the process. We clung to the almost submerged wreckage and gazed hopefully towards the vessel I had sighted. She continued on her course, however.

The machine soon sank and we were left bobbing about in our life-belts. Things began to look far from bright, especially as my Cockney observer was in a pretty bad way by now. Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds, and the white cliffs of Grisnez, about eight miles away, stood out clearly.

"What's them hills, sir?" asked Tommy.

"Cape Grisnez, where Burgess landed after his Channel swim," I replied.

"Blimey," he said, "if we ever gets out of this perishing mess, and I can't get me old job back after the war, I'll be a blooming Channel swimmer. I know the ruddy way across nah."--_"Pilot R.F.C.," London, W.1._

It _Was_ a Collapsible Boat

I was one of the survivors of the transport ship _Leasowe Castle_. Just before she took her final plunge, I was standing on deck when an empty boat was seen drifting near by. Our section officer called for swimmers, and five or six men went overboard in a jiffy and brought the boat alongside.

There was a bit of a scuffle to get over the rail and into the boat, and one man jumped straight into her from a height of about thirty feet. To our dismay he went clean through--it was a collapsible boat!

No sooner had this happened than a typical Cockney voice said: "Blimey, he's got the anchor in his pocket, I'll bet yer!"--_G. P. Gregory (late 272 M.G. Company), 107 Tunkar Street, Greenwich._

Luck in Odd Numbers

We were on board H.M.S. _Sharpshooter_, doing patrol off the Belgian coast. The signalman on watch, who happened to be a Cockney, suddenly yelled out: "Aeroplane on the starboard bow, sir."

The "old man," being fairly tired after a night of rain, said: "All right, it's only a friendly going back home."

About two minutes later the plane dropped three bombs, the last of which was much too close to be comfortable.

After our friend the signalman had wiped the splash off his face he turned round to the First Lieutenant and casually remarked: "Strike! It's a thundering good job he wasn't hostile or he might have hit us."--_R. Walmsley, D.S.M., 47 Watcombe Road, South Norwood, S.E.25._

"Your Barf, Sir!"

We were a mixed crowd on board the old _Archangel_ returning "off leave" from Southampton to Havre on the night of January 6, 1917. The sea was calm, and a moon made conditions ideal for Jerry's "skimmers."

When we were well under way I chummed up with a typical son of the Mile End Road, one of the Middlesex men, and we talked for some time whilst watching the long, white zig-zag wake.

Then he suggested looking for a "kip." After nosing around several dark corners, a strip of carpet along the alley between the first-class cabins appealed to us, and quietly unslinging kit and putting our packs for a pillow, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible. During the process my pal jerked his thumb towards the closed doors and whispered "Orficers."

How long we had been asleep I don't know, but we were rudely awakened by a dull booming thud and a sound of splintering wood, and at the same time we were jolted heavily against the cabins. We hurriedly scrambled to our feet, looked at each other (no need to ask what had happened!), then grabbed our kit and made for the deck.

As my companion passed the last cabin he banged on the door with his fist and called out: "Oi, yer barf'll be ready in a minute, sir!"--_A. E. Ulyett, 41 Smith Terrace, King's Road, Chelsea, S.W.3._

"Mind My Coat"

Middle watch, H.M.S. _Bulldog_ on patrol off the Dardanelles: a dirty and a black night. A shout of "Man overboard!" from the fore-gun crew.... We located an A.B. in the water, and with a long boat-hook caught his coat and pulled him towards the boat. As he drew nearer he cried: "Don't pull so bloomin' hard; you'll tear my blinkin' coat!"

Then we knew it was our "Ginger," from Poplar. Now "Ginger" has the life-saving medal. A few weeks after his ducking the ship struck a mine and the after-part went west: "Ginger" was discovered in the water, having gone in after a wounded sub-lieutenant who had been blown overboard.--_Henry J. Wood, D.S.M., 19 Gracechurch Street, E.C.3._

"Wot's the Game--Musical Chairs?"

It was a bitterly cold day in December, somewhere in the North Sea. A section of mine-sweepers were engaged clearing an area well sown by Jerry's submarines. Suddenly the expected happened, and in a few minutes one of the sweepers was settling down fast by the stern.

Those who did not "go west" in the explosion were with difficulty picked up; among them was a Cockney stoker rating. He arrived on board, wet, cold, and pretty well "pumped," and the bo'sun's peg of rum had almost disappeared between his chattering teeth when there was another explosion, and once again he was in a sinking ship.

His reply to the order "abandon ship," which he had heard for the second time within half an hour, was: "Wot blinkin' game's this--musical chairs?"--_H. Waterworth, 32 Grasmere Road, Muswell Hill, N.10 (late Engineer-Lieutenant, R.N.R. (retired))._

A Voice in the Dark

Dawn of a day in March 1917 found Submarine F3 on patrol near the Terschelling lightship. As we broke surface two German destroyers were seen only a few hundred yards away. We immediately dived again, and shortly afterwards the depth charges began to explode. Lower and lower we went until we touched the bottom.

Bangs to the right of us, bangs to the left of us, bangs above us--then one glorious big bang and out went the lights.

Deadly silence, and then out of the darkness came the voice of our Battersea bunting-tosser--"Anyone got six pennorth o' coppers?"--_Frederick J. H. Alsford, 78 North Street, S.W.4._

Why the Stoker Washed

H.M.Q. ship 18 was sinking sixty miles off the French coast as the result of gun-fire, after destroying a German submarine.

After getting away we had a hurried call-over and found that a Cockney fireman was missing. We hailed the ship which seemed about to take the plunge any minute, and at last the stoker appeared, spotlessly clean and dressed in "ducks."

He had to jump and swim for it. As we hauled him to our boat we asked him why he had waited to clean himself.

"Well," he explained, "if I am going to hell there's no need to let the blighter know I'm a stoker."--_Wm. C. Barnaby (late Chief Coxswain, R.N.), 7 Seville Street, Knightsbridge, S.W.1._

Accounts Rendered

The First-Lieutenant of a warship I was in, though a first-class sailor, had no great liking for clerical work, consequently the ship's store-books were perhaps not quite as they should have been.

He therefore got an Able Seaman (who had been a London clerk in civil life) to give him a hand in his "off watches" in putting the books in order.

Shortly afterwards the ship stopped a torpedo and sank in eight minutes. Before the First-Lieutenant had very much time to look round he found himself in the "ditch."

As he was clambering out of the water on to the bottom of an upturned boat, he saw his "Chief Accountant" climbing up the other side, and the first thing he did was to reach out and shake hands with the A.B. across the keel of the boat, at the same time remarking, "Well, _that_ clears up those blessed accounts anyhow."--_John Bowman (Able Seaman, R.N.V.R.), 19 Handel Mansions, W.C.1._

An Ocean Greyhound

On one occasion when the _Diligence_ was "somewhere in the North Sea," shore leave was granted.

One of the sailors, a Cockney, returned to the ship with his jumper "rather swollen." The officer of the watch noticed something furry sticking out of the bottom of his jumper, and at once asked where he had got it from, fearing, probably, that he had been poaching.

The Cockney thought furiously for a moment and then said: "I chased it round the Church Army hut, sir, until it got giddy and fell over, and so I picked it up and brought it aboard to nurse it back to 'ealth and strength."--_J. S. Cowland, 65 Tylney Road, Forest Gate, E.7._

Margate In Mespot.

October 29, 1914--England declares war on Turkey and transports laden with troops sail from Bombay.

One evening, within a week, these transports anchor off the flat Mesopotamian coast at the top of the Persian Gulf. In one ship, a county regiment (95 per cent. countrymen, the remainder Cockney) is ordered to be the first to land. H.M.S. _Ocean_ sends her cutters and lifeboats, and into these tumble the platoons at dusk, to be rowed across a shallow "bar."

Under cover of an inky darkness they arrive close to the beach by midnight. It is very cold, and all feel it the more because the kit worn is shorts and light khaki shirts.

In the stone-cold silence a whisper passes from boat to boat--"_Remove puttees; tie boots round the neck; at signal, boats to row in until grounded; platoons to disembark and wade ashore_."

So a shadowy line of strange-looking waders is dimly to be seen advancing through the shallow water and up the beach--in extended order, grim and frozen stiff. As dawn breaks they reach the sandy beach, and a few shots ring out from the distant Fort of Fas--but no one cares. Each and all are looking amazedly at the grotesque appearance of the line--silent, miserable figures, boots wagging round their necks, shorts rolled as high as possible, while their frozen fingers obediently cling to rifles and ammunition.

It is too much for one soul, and a Cockney voice calls out: "'Ere, wot price this fer Margate?"

The spell is broken. The Mesopotamian campaign begins with a great laugh!--_John Fiton, M.C., A.F.C., 9 High Grove, Welwyn Garden City, Herts._

Urgent and Personal!

The ss. _Oxfordshire_, then a hospital ship, was on her way down from Dar-es-salaam to Cape Town when she received an S.O.S. from H.M.T. _Tyndareus_, which had been mined off Cape Agulhas, very near the spot where the famous _Birkenhead_ sank.

The _Tyndareus_ had on board the 26th (Pioneer) Battalion, Middlesex Regiment, under the command of Colonel John Ward, then on their way to Hong Kong.

As the hospital boat drew near it was seen that the _Tyndareus_ was very low in the water, and across the water we could hear the troops singing "Tipperary" as they stood lined up on the decks.

The lifeboats from both ships were quickly at work, every patient capable of lending a hand doing all he could to help. Soon we had hundreds of the Middlesex aboard, some pulled roughly up the side, others climbing rope-ladders hastily thrown down. They were in various stages of undress, some arriving clad only in pants.

On the deck came one who, pulled up by eager hands, landed on all fours with a bump. As he got up, hands and toes bleeding from contact with the side of the vessel, I was delighted to recognise an old London acquaintance. The following dialogue took place:

MYSELF: Hallo, Bill! Fancy meeting you like this! Hurt much?

BILL: Not much. Seen Nobby Clark? Has he got away all right?

MYSELF (_not knowing Nobby Clark_): I don't know. I expect so; there are hundreds of your pals aboard.

BILL: So long. See you later. Must find Nobby; he collared the "kitty" when that blinking boat got hit!--_J. P. Mansell (late) 25th Royal Fusiliers._

Victoria! (Very Cross)

While I was an A.B. aboard H.M.S. _Aboukir_ somewhere in the North Sea we received a signal that seven German destroyers were heading for us at full speed. We were ordered at the double to action stations.

My pal, a Cockney, weighing about 18 stone, found it hard to keep up with the others, and the commander angrily asked him, "Where is your station?"

To which the Cockney replied, "Victoria--if I could only get there."--_J. Hearn, 24 Christchurch Street, S.W.3._

He Saw the Force of It

In February 1915 we beat out our weary patrol near the Scillies. Our ship met such heavy weather that only the bravest souls could keep a cheery countenance. Running into a growing storm, and unable to turn from the racing head seas, we beat out our unwilling way into the Atlantic.

Three days later we limped back to base with injured men, hatches stove in, winch pipes and boats torn away. Our forward gun was smashed and leaned over at a drunken angle.

Early in the morning the crew were taking a well-earned rest, and the decks were deserted but for the usual stoker, taking a breath of air after his stand-by watch. A dockyard official, seeing our damage, came on board, and, after viewing the wrecked gun at close quarters, turned to the stoker with the remark: "Do you mean to say that the sea smashed a heavy gun like that, my man?"

The stoker, spitting with uncanny accuracy at a piece of floating wood overside, looked at the official: "Nah," he said, "it wasn't the blinking sea; the ryne done it!"--_A. Marsden (Engineer-Lieutenant-Commander, R.N.), Norbrook Cottage, Leith Park Road, Gravesend._

New Skin--Brand New!

Two mines--explosion--many killed--hundreds drowned. We were sinking fast. I scrambled quickly out of my hammock and up the hatchway. On deck, leaning against the bulkhead, was a shipmate, burned from head to foot. More amazing than fiction was his philosophy and coolness as he hailed me with, "'Cher, Darby! Got a fag? I ain't had a 'bine since Pa died." I was practically "in the nude," and could not oblige him. Three years later I was taking part at a sports meeting at Dunkirk when I was approached by--to me--a total stranger. "What 'cher, Darby--ain't dead yet then. What! Don't you remember H.M.S. _Russell_? Of course I've altered a bit now--new skin--just like a two-year-old--brand new." Brand new externally, but the philosophy was unaltered.--_"Darby," 405 Valence Avenue, Chadwell Heath, Essex._

A Zeebrugge Memory

During the raid on Zeebrugge, one of our number had his arms blown away. When things quietened a little my chum and I laid him on a mess table and proceeded to tend his wounds. My chum tried to light the mess-deck "bogey" (fire), the chimney of which had been removed for the action. After the match had been applied, we soon found ourselves in a fog. Then the wounded man remarked: "I say, chum! If I'm going to die, let's die a white man, not a black 'un." The poor fellow died before reaching harbour.--_W. A. Brooks, 14 Ramsden Road, N.11._

Another Perch in the Roost

On the morning of September 22, 1914, when the cruisers _Aboukir_, _Hogue_, and _Cressy_ were torpedoed, we were dotted about in the water, helping each other where possible and all trying to get some support. When one piece got overloaded it meant the best swimmers trying their luck elsewhere.

Such was my position, when I saw a piece of wreckage resembling a chicken coop, large enough to support four men. I reached it just ahead of another man who had been badly scalded.

We were both exhausted and unable to help another man coming towards us. He was nearly done, and my companion, seeing his condition, shouted between breaths: "Come along, ole cock. Shake yer bloomin' feavers. There's a perch 'ere for anover rooster."

Both were stokers on watch when torpedoed, and in a bad state from scalds. Exposure did the rest. I was alone, when picked up.--_W. Stevens (late R.M.L.I.), 23 Lower Range Road, Denton, near Gravesend._

Uncomfortable Cargo

(_A 12-in. shell weighs about 8 cwt. High explosives were painted yellow and "common" painted black._)

In October 1914 H.M.S. _Venerable_ was bombarding the Belgian coast and Thames tugs were pressed into service to carry ammunition to ships taking part in the bombardment.

The sea was pretty rough when a tug came alongside the _Venerable_ loaded with 12-in. shells, both high explosive and common. Deck hands jumped down into the tug to sling the shells on the hoist. The tug skipper, seeing them jumping on the high explosives, shouted: "Hi! dahn there! Stop jumping on them yaller 'uns"; and, turning to the Commander, who was leaning over the ship's rail directing operations, he called out: "Get them yaller 'uns aht fust, guvnor, or them blokes dahn there 'll blow us sky high."--_A. Gill, 21 Down Road, Teddington, Middlesex._

Good Old "Vernon"

Several areas in the North Sea were protected by mines, which came from the torpedo depot ship, H.M.S. _Vernon_. The mines floated several feet below the surface, being kept in position by means of wires attached to sinkers.

In my submarine we had encountered very bad weather and were uncertain of our exact position. The weather got so bad that we were forced to cruise forty feet below the surface.

Everything was very still in the control room. The only movements were an occasional turn of the hydroplanes, or a twist at the wheel, at which sat "Shorty" Harris, a real hard case from Shadwell.

Suddenly we were startled by a scraping sound along the port side. Before we could put our thoughts into words there came an ominous bump on the starboard side. _Bump!_ ... _bump!_ ... seven distinct thuds against the hull. No one moved, and every nerve was taut. Then "Shorty" broke the tension with, "Good old _Vernon_, another blinkin' dud."--_T. White, 31 Empress Avenue, Ilford._

Any Time's Kissing Time!