Part 9

During the Battle of the Somme our trench-mortar battery was going back after a few days' rest. It was very dark and raining. As we neared our destination it appeared that Jerry and our chaps were having a real argument.

We were going up a road called "Queen's Hollow." Jerry was enfilading us on both sides, and a rare bombing fight was going on at the farther end of the Hollow--seventy or a hundred yards in front of us. We were expecting to feel the smack of a bullet any moment, and there was a terrible screeching and bursting of shells, with a few "Minnies" thrown in. We were in a fine pickle, and I had just about had enough when my pal (a lad from "The Smoke") nearly put me on my back by stopping suddenly.

"I don't like this, Bomb," he said.

"What's wrong with you? Get on," I replied, "or we'll all be blown sky high."

"Oh, all right," he said, "but I wish I'd brought me mouf orgin. I could then have livened fings up a bit."--_"Bombardier" (R.A.), late T.M.B., 7th Division._

Water-cooled

There must be at least six men still alive who remember a certain affair at Kemmel. During the latter part of April 1918 our machine gunners had been having a bad time, and one old Cockney sergeant found himself and his party isolated miles in front of our line.

The cool way in which he gave orders, as he told his men to make their way back--lying down for a bit, then making a run for another shelter--would have been humorous if conditions had not been so terrifying.

He himself kept his gun working to protect their retreat, and when he saw they had reached a place of safety he picked up his gun and rejoined them unhurt.

One of his men, describing the action afterwards, said, "Carried his gun three miles--wouldn't part with it--and the first thing he did when he was able to settle down quietly was to start cleaning the blessed thing!"--_H. R. Tanner, "Romsdal," Newton Ferrers, S. Devon._

Top-hatted Piper of Mons

During the retreat from Mons it was a case of "going while the going was good" until called upon to make a stand to harass the enemy's advance.

After the stand at Le Cateau, bad and blistered feet caused many to stop by the wayside. Among these, in passing with my little squad, I noticed a piper belonging to a Scottish regiment sitting with his blistered feet exposed and his pipes lying beside him. Staff officers were continually riding back and urging the parties of stragglers to make an effort to push on before they were overtaken.

In the late afternoon of this same day, having myself come up with my unit, I was resting on the roadside when I heard the skirl of bagpipes. Before long there came into sight, marching with a fair swing, too, as motley a throng as one ever saw in the King's uniform. Headed by a staff officer were about 150 men of all regiments with that same piper, hatless and with one stocking, in front.

Beside him was a Cockney of the Middlesex Regiment, with a silk hat on his head, whose cheeks threatened to burst as he churned out the strains of "Alexander's Rag-time Band" on the bagpipes. Being a bit of a piper himself, he was giving "Jock" a lift and was incidentally the means of fetching this little band away from the clutches of the enemy.--_"Buster" Brown (late Bedfordshire Regt.), Hertford._

Two Heads and a Bullet

Early in 1916 ten of us were going up with rations--chiefly bread and water. In one part of the trench there were no duckboards and the vile mud was thigh-deep.

Here we abandoned the trench and stumbled along, tripping over barbed wire and falling headlong into shell-holes half-full of icy water.

A German sniper was at work. Suddenly a bullet pinged midway between the last two of the party.

"Hear that?" said No. 9. "Right behind my neck!"

"Yes," replied No. 10, "right in front of my bloomin' nose!"--_C. A. Davies (late 23rd R. Fusiliers), 85 Saxton Street, Gillingham, Kent._

Spoiling the Story

We were billeted in the upper room of a corner house north of Albert, and were listening to "Spoofer's" memories of days "dahn Walworf way."

"Yus," he said, "I ses to the gal, 'Two doorsteps an' a bloater.'"

At that moment a "coal-box" caught the corner of the house, bringing down the angle of the wall and three-parts of the floor on which we had squatted.

Except for bruises, none of us was injured, and when the dust subsided we saw "Spoofer" looking down at us from a bit of the flooring that remained intact.

"Yus," he continued, as though nothing had happened, "as I was saying, I'd just called fer the bloater...."

Came another "coal-box," which shook down the remainder of the floor and with it "Spoofer."

Struggling to his hands and knees, he said, "Blimey, the blinkin' bloater's cold nah."--_F. Lates, 62 St. Ervan's Road, North Kensington._

Afraid of Dogs

Towards the end of October 1918 I was out on patrol in front of Tournai on a dark, windy night. I had a Cockney private with me, and we were some distance from our lines when we heard a dog barking. All at once, before I could stop him, the Cockney whistled it.

I threw the Cockney down and dropped myself. A German Verey light went up--followed by a hail of machine-gun bullets in our direction. As the light spread out, we saw the dog fastened to a German machine-gun! We lay very still, and presently, when things had quietened down, we slid cautiously backwards until it was safe to get up.

All the Cockney said was, "Crikey, corp, I had the wind up. A blinkin' good job that there dawg was chained up. Why? 'Cause 'e might 'ave bitten us. I allus was afeard o' dawgs."--_J. Milsun (late 1/5th Battn., The King's Own 55th Div.), 31 Collingwood Road, Lexden, Colchester._

The Song of Battle

At the first Gaza battle we had to advance 1,700 yards across a plain in full view of the Turks, who hurled a terrific barrage at us. We were in artillery formation, and we marched up until within rifle range. With machine guns and artillery the Turks were depleting our ranks, so that less than half of us were still marching on at 500 yards range.

In my section was the Cockney "funny man" of the company. When things were bad, and we were all wondering how long we would survive, he began singing lustily a song which someone had sung at our last concert party behind the lines, the refrain of which was "I've never heard of anybody dying from kissing, have you?"

Before he had started on the second line nearly everyone was singing with him, and men were killed singing that song. To the remainder of us it acted like a tonic.

Good old Jack, when he was wounded later he must have been in terrible pain, yet he joked so that at first we would not believe he was seriously hit. He shouted, "Where is 'e?--let me get at 'im."--_J. T. Jones (late 54th Division), 37 Whittaker Road, East Ham, E.6._

Stalls at "Richthofen's Circus"

A New Zealander was piloting an old F.E. 2B (pusher) 'plane up and down over the lines, observing for the artillery, when he got caught by "Richthofen's Circus."

The petrol tank behind the pilot's seat was set on fire and burning oil poured past him into the observer's cockpit ahead and the clothes of both men started to sizzle.

They were indeed in a warm situation, their one hope being to dive into Zillebeke Lake, which the New Zealander noticed below. By the time they splashed into the water machine and men were in flames; and, moreover, when they came up the surface surrounding them was aflame with the burning oil.

Treading water desperately and ridding themselves of their heavy sodden flying coats, they made a last bid for life by swimming under water, that flaming water, and at last, half-dead, reached the bank.

There a strong arm gripped the New Zealander by the scruff of the neck and he was hauled to safety, dimly aware of a hoarse voice complaining bitterly, "Ours is the best hid battery in this sector, the only unspotted battery. You _would_ choose just 'ere to land, wouldn't yer, and give the bloomin' show away?"

Our Cockney battery sergeant-major had, no doubt, never heard of Hobson or his choice.--_E. H. Orton, 9 High Grove, Welwyn Garden City, Herts._

"Butter-Fingers!"

A Cockney infantryman of the 47th Division was on the fire-step on the night preceding the attack at Loos. He was huddled up in a ground-sheet trying to keep cheerful in the drizzle.

Suddenly a British 12-in. shell passed over him, and as he heard its slow rumble he muttered, "Catch that one, you blighters."

Just then it burst, and with a chuckle he added, "Oh, butter-fingers, yer dropped it!"--_Henry J. Tuck (late Lt., R.G.A.)._

Getting into Hot Water

We were in the front line, and one evening a Battersea lad and myself were ordered to go and fetch tea for the company from the cook-house, which was in Bluff Trench. It was about a mile from the line down a "beautiful" duckboard track.

With the boiling tea strapped to our backs in big containers, both of which leaked at the nozzles, we started for the line. Then Jerry started sniping at us. There came from the line a sergeant, who shouted, "Why don't you lads duck?" "That's right," replied my chum. "D'yer fink we wants ter be scalded to death?"--_H. G. Harrap (23rd London Regiment), 25 Renfrew Road, S.E._

2. LULL

Rate of Exchange--on Berlin

With four Cockney comrades of the Rifle Brigade, during 1915 at Fleurbaix, I was indulging in a _quiet_ game of nap in the front line.

One man dropped out, "broke to the wide." Being an enthusiastic card player, he offered various articles for sale, but could find no buyers. At last he offered to _find_ a Jerry prisoner and sell him for a franc.

He was absent for some time, but eventually turned up with his hostage, and, the agreement being duly honoured, he recommenced his game with his fresh capital.

All the players came through alive, their names being J. Cullison, F. Bones, A. White, W. Deer (the first-named playing leading part), and myself.--_F. J. Chapman (late 11th Batt. Rifle Brigade), 110 Beckton Road, Victoria Docks, E.16._

A Hen Coup

During the retreat from Mons strict orders were issued against looting. One day an officer, coming round a corner, discovered a stalwart Cockney Tommy in the act of wringing the neck of an inoffensive-looking chicken. The moment the Tommy caught sight of his officer he was heard to murmur to the chicken, "Would yer, yer brute!" Quite obviously, therefore, the deed had been done in self-defence.--_The Rev. T. K. Lowdell, Church of St. Augustine, Lillie Road, Fulham, S.W.6._

A "Baa-Lamb" in the Trenches

The "dug-out" was really a hole scraped in the side of a trench leading up to the front line and some 50 yards from it. It was October '16 on the Somme, after the weather had broken. The trench was about two feet deep in liquid mud--a delightful thoroughfare for runners and other unfortunate ones who had to use it.

The officer in the dug-out heard the _splosh--splosh--splosh_ ... of a single passenger coming up the trench. As the splosher drew abreast the dug-out the officer heard him declaiming to himself: "Baa! baa! I'm a blinkin' lamb lorst in the ruddy wilderness. Baa! baa!..."

And when the bleating died away the _splosh--splosh--splosh_ ... grew fainter too, as the "lamb" was lost in the night.--_L. W. Martinnant, 64 Thornsbeach Road, Catford, S.E.6._

He Coloured

When serving with the Artists' Rifles in France we went into the line to relieve the "Nelsons" of the 63rd (Royal Naval) Division.

As I was passing one of their men, a regular "Ole Bill," who was seated on the fire-step, I heard him say, "Artists' Rifles, eh; I wonder if any of you chaps would _paint_ me a plate of 'am and eggs!"--_R. C. Toogood, 43 Richmond Park Avenue, Bournemouth._

Why the Fat Man Laughed

During the winter of 1914-15 the trenches were just like canals of sloppy mud, and dug-outs were always falling in. To repair the dug-outs pit-props were used, but they often had to be carried great distances up communication trenches, and were very difficult to handle. The most popular way to carry a prop was to rest one end on the left shoulder of one man and the other end on the right shoulder of the man behind.

On one occasion the leading man was short and fat, and the rear man was tall and thin. Suddenly the front man slipped and the prop fell down in the mud and splashed the thin man from head to foot. To add to his discomfort the little fat man gave a hearty laugh.

"Can't see anything to larf at, mate," said the mud-splashed hero, looking down at himself.

"I'm larfing," said the little fat Cockney, "'cos I've just remembered that I tipped the recruiting sergeant a bloomin' tanner to put me name down fust on his list so as I'd get out here quick."--_A. L. Churchill (late Sergt., Worcs. Regt.), 6 Long Lane, Blackheath, Staffs._

He Met Shackleton!

The troops in North Russia, in the winter of 1918-19, were equipped with certain additional articles of clothing designed on the same principles as those used on Antarctic expeditions. Among these were what were known as "Shackleton boots," large canvas boots with thick leather soles. These boots were not at all suitable for walking on hard snow, being very clumsy, and they were very unpopular with everyone.

The late Sir Ernest Shackleton was sent out by the War Office to give advice on matters of clothing, equipment, and so on. When he arrived at Archangel he went up to a sentry whose beat was in front of a warehouse about three steps up from the road, and said to him, "Well, my man, what do you think of the Shackleton boot?"

To this the sentry replied: "If I could only meet the perishing blighter wot invented them I'd very soon show----"

Before he could complete the sentence his feet, clad in the ungainly boots, slipped on the frozen snow, and slithering down the steps on his back, he shot into Sir Ernest and the two of them completed the discussion on Shackleton boots rolling over in the snow!--_K. D., Elham, near Canterbury._

Domestic Scene: Scene, Béthune

Near the front line at Béthune in I917 was a farm which had been evacuated by the tenants, but there were still some cattle and other things on it. We were, of course, forbidden to touch them.

One day we missed one of our fellows, a Cockney, for about two hours, and guessed he was on the "scrounge" somewhere or other.

Eventually he was seen coming down the road pushing an old-fashioned pram loaded with cabbages, and round his waist there was a length of rope, to the other end of which was tied an old cow.

You can imagine what a comical sight it was, but the climax came when he was challenged by the corporal, "Where the devil have you been?" "Me?" he replied innocently. "I only bin takin' the kid and the dawg for a bit of a blow."--_A. Rush (late 4th Batt. R. Fus.), 27 Milton Road, Wimbledon._

Getting Their Bearings

It was on the Loos front. One night a party of us were told off for reconnoitring. On turning back about six of us, with our young officer, missed our way and, after creeping about for some 15 minutes, a message came down, "Keep very quiet, we are nearly in the German lines."

I passed on the message to the chap behind me, who answered in anything but a whisper, "Thank 'eaven we know where we are at last."--_H. Hutton (late 16th Lancers, attached Engineers), Marlborough Road, Upper Holloway._

High Tea

During the winter of 1917-18 I was serving with my battery of Field Artillery in Italy. We had posted to us a draft of drivers just out from home, and one of them, seeing an observation balloon for the first time, asked an old driver what it was.

"Oh, that," replied the old hand, who hailed from Hackney--"that is the Air Force canteen!"--_M. H. Cooke (late "B" Battery, 72nd Brigade, R.F.A.), Regency Street, Westminster._

Lots in a Name

Salonika, mid-autumn, and torrents of rain. The battalion, changing over to another front, had trekked all through the night. An hour before dawn a halt was called to bivouac on the reverse slope of a hill until the journey could be completed in the darkness of the following night.

Orderlies from each platoon were collecting blankets from their company pack mules. Last of them all was a diminutive Cockney, who staggered off in the darkness with his load perched on his head. Slowly and laboriously, slipping backwards at almost every step, he stumbled and slithered up hill in the ankle-deep mud. Presently he paused for breath, and took advantage of the opportunity to relieve his feelings in these well-chosen words: "All I can say is, the bloke as christened this 'ere perishin' place Greece was about blinking well right."--_P. H. T. (26th Division)._

Gunga Din the Second

After the battle of Shaikh Sa'Ad in Mesopotamia in January 1916 more than 300 wounded were being transported down the Tigris to Basra in a steamer and on open barges lashed on either side of it. Many suffered from dysentery as well as wounds--and it was raining.

There appeared to be only one Indian bhisti (water-carrier), an old man over 60 years of age, to attend to all. He was nearly demented in trying to serve everyone at once. When my severely wounded neighbour--from Camberwell, he said--saw the bhisti, his welcome made us smile through our miseries.

"Coo! If it ain't old Gunga Din! Wherever 'ave yer bin, me old brown son? Does yer muvver know yer aht?"--_A. S. Edwardes (late C.S.M., 1st Seaforth Highlanders), West Gate, Royal Hospital, Chelsea, S.W.3._

A Fag fer an 'Orse

Late one afternoon towards the end of 1917, on the Cambrai sector, enemy counter-attacks had caused confusion behind our lines, and as I was walking along a road I met a disconsolate-looking little Cockney infantryman leading a large-size horse. He stopped me and said, "Give us a fag, mate, and I'll give yer an 'orse."

I gathered that he had found the horse going spare and was taking it along with him for company's sake.--_H. J. Batt (late Royal Fusiliers), 21 Whitehall Park Road, W.4._

Put to Graze

It was at the siege of Kut, when the 13th ("Iron") Division was trying to relieve that gallant but hard-pressed body of men under General Townshend. Rations had been very low for days, and the battery had been digging gun-pits in several positions, till at last we had a change of position and "dug in" to stay a bit. What with bad water, digging in, and hardly any food, the men were getting fed up generally. An order came out to the effect that "A certain bunchy grass (detailed explanation) if picked and boiled would make a very nourishing meal." One hefty Cockney, "Dusty" Miller, caused a laugh when he vented his feelings with "'Struth, and nah we got ter be blinking sheep. Baa-Baa!"--_E. J. Bates (late R.F.A.), 37 Ulverscroft Road, E. Dulwich._

Smith's Feather Pillow

The boys had "rescued" a few hens from a deserted farm. The morning was windy and feathers were scattered in the mud.

Picquet officer (appearing from a corner of the trench): "What's the meaning of all these feathers, Brown?"

Brown: "Why, sir, Smiff wrote 'ome sayin' 'e missed 'is 'ome comforts, an' 'is ma sent 'im a fevver piller; an' 'e's so mad at our kiddin' that 'e's in that dug-out tearin' it to bits."--_John W. Martin, 16 Eccles Road, Lavender Hill, S.W.11._

Bombs and Arithmetic

We were in the trenches in front of Armentières in the late summer of 1916. It was a fine, quiet day, with "nothing doing." I was convinced that a working party was busy in a section of the German trenches right opposite.

Just then "O. C. Stokes" came along with his crew and their little trench gun. I told him of my "target," and suggested that he should try a shot with his Stokes mortar. Glad of something definite to do, he willingly complied.

The Stokes gun was set down on the floor of the trench just behind my back, as I stood on the fire-step to observe the shoot.

I gave the range. The gun was loaded. There was a faint pop, a slight hiss--then silence. Was the bomb going to burst in the gun and blow us all to bits? I glanced round apprehensively. A perfectly calm Cockney voice from one of the crew reassured me:

"It's orl right, sir! If it don't go off while yer counts five--_you'll know it's a dud!_"--_Capt. T. W. C. Curd (late 20th Northumberland Fusiliers), 72 Victoria Street, S.W.1._

Help from Hindenburg

I was serving with the M.G.C. at Ecoust. Two men of the Middlesex Regiment had been busy for a week digging a sump hole in the exposed hollow in front of the village and had excavated to a depth of about eight feet. A bombardment which had continued all night became so severe about noon of the next day that orders were given for all to take what cover was available. It was noticed that the two men were still calmly at work in the hole, and I was sent to warn them to take shelter. They climbed out, and as we ran over the hundred yards which separated us from the trench a high explosive shell landed right in the hole we had just left, converting it into a huge crater. One of the men turned to me and said, "Lumme, mate, if old Hindenburg ain't been and gone and finished the blooming job for us!"--_J. S. F., Barnet, Herts._

Raised his Voice--And the Dust

In the early part of 1917, while the Germans were falling back to the Hindenburg line on the Somme, trench warfare was replaced by advanced outposts for the time being. Rations were taken up to the company headquarters on mules.

Another C.Q.M.S. and I were going up with mules one night and lost our way. We wandered on until a voice from a shell-hole challenged us. _We had passed the company headquarters and landed among the advanced outposts._

The chap implored us to be quiet, and just as we turned back one of the mules chose to give the Germans a sample of his vocal abilities.

The outpost fellow told us what he thought of us. The transport chap leading the mule pulled and tugged, using kind, gentle words as drivers do.

And in the midst of it all my C.Q.M.S. friend walked up to the mule, holding his hands up, and whispered: "S-sh! For 'eaven's sake be quiet."--_F. W. Piper (ex-Sherwood Foresters), 30 The Crescent, Watford, Herts._

Mademoiselle from--Palestine

After the fall of Gaza our battalion, on occupying a Jewish colony in the coastal sector which had just been evacuated by the Turks, received a great ovation from the overjoyed inhabitants.

One of our lads, born well within hearing of Bow Bells, was effusively greeted by a Hebrew lady of uncertain age, who warmly embraced him and kissed him on each cheek.

Freeing himself, and gesticulating in the approved manner, he turned to us and said: "Strike me pink! Mademoiselle from Ah-my-tears."--_Edward Powell, 80 Cavendish Road, Kentish Town, N.W._

"Ally Toot Sweet"

At the latter end of September 1914 the 5th Division was moving from the Aisne to La Bassée and a halt was made in the region of Crépy-en-Valois, where a large enemy shell was found (dud).

A Cockney private was posted to keep souvenir hunters from tampering with it. When he received his dinner he sat straddle-legged on the shell, admired by a few French children, whom he proceeded to address as follows: "Ally! Toot sweet, or you'll get blown to 'ell if this blinkin' shell goes orf."--_E. P. Ferguson, "Brecon," Fellows Road, S. Farnborough, Hants._

Luckier than the Prince

In the autumn of 1916, while attending to the loading of ammunition at Minden Post, a driver suddenly exclaimed, "'Struth, Quarter; who's the boy officer with all the ribbons up?"

Glancing up, I recognised the Prince of Wales, quite unattended, pushing a bicycle through the mud.