Chapter 2

Blowing a gale. All day the spendrift has been blowing over. The decks have been too wet for parades, thank God! All the way over we have had physical exercise, sometimes as much as four hours a day. We’re all in fine physical condition.

To-day we were allowed to wash our clothes. I can see the advantage of khaki now. Even after working hard on my clothes, my underwear is still dark white. The rails were covered with underwear and socks when the storm started. Now every square inch below is used for drying clothes. Even the electric lights are festooned. We have a final kit inspection to-morrow and then we pack for disembarkation. We are only about one hundred miles from the “Bishop’s Light.”

It has been a very long voyage and we have been very cramped. All our equipment has to be carried in our cabins. Try sleeping six men with all their outfit in a cabin nine feet by six feet. The ship carpenter has a standing job to repair our cabin. We have rough-housed so much that his attention was continually necessary. The trip has been so long that we are now beginning to hate each other. I went down in the stoke-hole and the engine-room. Even amongst the whirling machines it was more peaceful than in our quarters. It seems months since I was in Montreal last.

Dear Old England in sight!

We’re passing the Lizard now.

The kit has all been inspected and we hope to land to-morrow some time.

We’re lying in the historic harbor of Plymouth; arrived here about two hours ago. We’re surrounded by fast little torpedo-boat destroyers, which are chasing round us all the time like dogs loosened from a chain. The breakwater has searchlights mounted on each end and fixed lights are playing from the shore. As the lights occasionally flash up the ships in the bay, it is as bright as day. Nobody is allowed ashore, not even the officers. We may go on to Southampton, only we must get there before five at night. After that time nothing is allowed in.

Sailed at daybreak on to Devonport. Most of the transports are now lying in pairs at anchor in the harbor. We’re close to the shore. We can see naval “jolly boats” and pinnaces sailing back and forth. On one side are lying the H.M.S Powerful and another boat, both of which in their day were the pride of the Navy. The Powerful was the boat which made such a name for herself in the Boer War. Now both of these vessels are training ships and obsolete so far as this war goes.

All our haversacks have been boiled in coffee to stain them khaki.

One of the Navy steam launches came by and we asked them to get us newspapers. They came back with a bundle and we nearly had a riot trying to get at them.

It was only to-day that we heard of the fall of Antwerp, the atrocities of Belgium, and the treachery of Maritz in Cape Colony.

We shall be getting off in a few hours and this may be the last I shall write for some time. I have put in a great deal of time during the voyage writing and have done so under difficulties. Sometimes the cabin has been torn in pieces, and often arguments, carried on by leather-lunged opponents of “Kultur,” have made this work hard.

We hear that some paper published an account of the sinking of twenty of the ships. This rumor is false, and it’s a beastly thing for the newspaper to do, but you must remember to discount all news a great deal.

Still on board and we shall probably be here for a few days more. My, it’s galling to be so near to the land and yet to be cooped up in our crowded quarters. Crowded launches and steamers are sailing round the liners. All day long cheering crowds come out to see us. Last night another liner called Florizel, with the First Regiment Newfoundland troops, tied up to us. They were a fine-looking lot of men. We told them we had no tobacco; they threw dozens of tins of their tobacco and cigarettes over to us. We fought for them. I got the remains of one tin with most of the contents spilt. Still, as many of us haven’t had a smoke for three days, we appreciated it. Several cruisers have come in to-day, and there seem to be dozens of submarines and torpedo boats cruising around all day. The reason we did not go to Southampton is that five German submarines were waiting for us.

The transports are unloading at the rate of five or six ships a day. It will probably be our turn on Sunday. The fleet looks splendid at night now that we have most of the lights on. All night the steel riveters are at work on three battleships that are being built close by. Near us are several “wooden walls.” One is a ship of Nelson’s, the Queen Adelaide. Every boat, tug, lighter and motor boat here is the property of the Admiralty.

We are probably going to Salisbury Plain for two months. We are the first Expeditionary Force to land in England from the dominions or colonies, but others are on their way. The sailors from the training ships serenade us in boats with bands and play “O Canada,” “The Maple Leaf Forever,” and all day long on one ship or the other we hear “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” Every one is singing it; without doubt it is _the_ song of the war. To-day we got a bundle of papers. We read them right through to the advertisements. Cigarettes and matches are at a premium and food is running out on board. The strain of staying here is becoming too great. We’re all disagreeable and insubordinate. The guard room is already full and will soon need enlarging.

On guard to prevent the men of the two ships (our own and the Florizel with the Newfoundlanders) coming over to visit each other. At ten o’clock at night I got the tip that a bunch of men were going to make a break for shore and I was asked to go. I had just come off sentry and was dressed for shore. We all met up forward, hailed a police boat, climbed down a rope ladder across two barges unloading shells and into the police launch. When I got in I found that I and one other fellow were the only privates; all the rest were sergeants and corporals, thirteen altogether, unlucky number. The police sergeants asked me if we had passes. I said, “You bet,” and we sailed away from the ship right under everybody’s nose. We landed and then took a car to Plymouth and went on the Hoe, which has been in absolute darkness since the beginning of the war. Girls were very interested in us and took most of our collar badges and buttons as souvenirs. One man asked me to give him a cigarette as a souvenir.

We met an English captain in a tobacconist’s and he invited us up to the barracks. Two of us went. I was one. To get there we had to go on a street car. We had just sat down when up the stairs came my Lieutenant McCarthy. When he saw me he said, “How the hell did you get here?” “Oh, just swam across.” “Well, if you get caught it’ll be the guard room for you.” I said, “Never mind, we’ll have company.” He is a pretty good sport. We went to the barracks, had a session with the captain, then went to the quay, picked up the rest of the men, and sneaked on board. I got to bed at three and had to get up this morning at six o’clock to go on guard.

Sunday, very tired. On guard all day, two hours on, four off. It’s very unfortunate having a Sunday guard, because in the ordinary way we have to attend church parade in the morning and after having listened to a sermon and sung “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” or, “Fight the good fight,” we are free for the day, whereas guards stay on twenty-four hours.

The major noticed one of the sergeants coming on board this morning at six o’clock. The idiot missed us this morning and of course that dished us. The sergeants got in wrong. As I am only a private, and therefore ignorant and simple according to the military code, and, being with non-commissioned officers who are supposed to possess superior intelligence, I got away with it. The sergeants have had to do sentry on the same ladder we went down.

Everybody is as disagreeable as possible. We are lying in midstream and can see the town. Can you imagine anything more galling than that?

While I was on guard the Vicar of Plymouth came aboard and held service. He said that the last time a Vicar of Plymouth preached to warriors was just before Drake sailed to meet the Armada.

Thank God! moving at last. We’ve moored up to the docks just opposite two magnificent dreadnaughts. Naval men are handling our cargo, our kit bags are packed and we are ready to disembark.

Near our ship’s stern is a barge full of ventilators and spare parts of ships which are taken away when ships are cleared for action. Some of the rifle racks were marked Cornwall and I noticed a davit post with the name Highflyer, the boat that sank the Kaiser Wilhelm after she had been preying on the shipping off South Africa. When a ship is cleared for action, all inflammable fittings, such as wooden doors, ladders, racks, extra boats, and davits, etc., are discarded. If the order to “clear the decks for action” comes at sea, overboard go all these luxuries. It is calculated that the cost of “clearing decks” on a cruiser is five thousand dollars.

Some of our stuff was unloaded yesterday, and when the ship moved a guard was placed over it. When the corporal went down the gangplank with the relief, Pat and I walked down behind as if we were part of the same, right by the officers. We had a devil of a job to get through the dock gates, a suspicious policeman and sentry on guard. We told the sergeant of the police a pitiful story, saying that we hadn’t had anything to eat for three days, and finally he relented. “All right, my lads, only don’t ‘swing the lead’ in town.” We got into Devonport and went to the biggest hotel. Before they had time to throw us out we ordered breakfast of real food. It was fine after the ship’s grub. After sitting there ten minutes, the general commanding the district came in and sat behind us. He stared. Two privates in the same room as the general!! But all he said was, “If you boys can fight as you eat, you’ll make an impression.” Then we visited some other places!

We went back to the docks and went over the super-dreadnaughts, Tiger and Benbow, the biggest war vessels in the world. The Tiger’s speed on her trials was 37.5 knots an hour.

After we had seen enough, we went back to the ship and tried to look as if we had been working with one of the fatigue parties on shore. It worked!

We marched off the ship midday and then I had to go on guard again all night. That was the first time we were allowed ashore to see the town, and I was on guard, so if I hadn’t slipped ashore on the two occasions mentioned, I should not have seen it at all.

It rained all night, and when I was off guard I slept on the top of one of our armored trucks, under a tarpaulin. It’s wonderful how we can sleep now anywhere, and we often have our clothes on for three days at a time. Many a time I sleep with all my equipment on. Get wet and dry it by keeping it on. We all have to do it. The idea of pajamas or baths as necessities seems funny. At one time I would sooner go without breakfast than miss a bath. Now I make sure of the breakfast.

We are going to drive our cars through England to Salisbury Plain. We started this morning and drove through Devonport. Cheering crowds everywhere. All our cars wear the streaming pennants: “Canada With the Empire,” which pleased the people a great deal.

As we rode through the streets people showered gifts upon us, such as cakes, chocolates, newspapers and apples, and everywhere made lusty demonstrations. The people of Taunton, as soon as they heard that the Canadians were coming, turned out the barracks and we were met by all the officers, who came in to talk to us. One second lieutenant, after studying me for some time, said, “Isn’t your name Keene?” “Yes,” I replied, “but how do you know?” “I went to school with you fifteen years ago.” His name was Carter; he was in the Second Dorsets. That night he got me out of barracks for a couple of hours, and we hashed over the schoolboy reminiscences. The people of Taunton were arranging a dance for us, but nobody was allowed to attend. The major believes in putting us to bed early; his theory being that a man can’t drive cars well after a party, and he couldn’t keep the drivers in alone.

Ladies from Taunton, of the pleasing English type with beautiful complexions, handed round all sorts of rubbish, jam puffs, and other things which belong to the time before we joined the army.

Traveled all the morning. Everybody turned out to see us. The Brigadier-General wired ahead, and hastily prepared placards, still wet, were hanging from the windows,—

God Bless the Canadians Loyal Sons of The Empire

The gathering of the Lions’ whelps

and in one case the haste was so great that “God Save the King” was hung upside down.

Everybody wants my badges and buttons, and some men in the unit have not one left. Hence I have requisitioned an order for a hundred to meet the demand.

All over the country you see “Kitchener’s Army” drilling. In one case we passed about a hundred of them. When they saw us they broke ranks and shook us by the hands. The people of England are much impressed with our speed in coming over. Old men and women shouted, “God bless you, Canadians!” while tears trickled down their cheeks.

I read this notice in one little shop,—

At noon every day the church bell will ring a few chimes and everybody is asked to stop whatever he is doing and offer this prayer, “Oh, Lord, help our soldiers and sailors to defeat our enemies, and let us have Peace.”

(Signed) The Vicar.

Recruiting notices ten feet by six feet with the sentence “Your King and Country Need You” are to be seen everywhere in shops, on barns, trees, and even church doors.

Motorists and cyclists are warned to pull up whenever requested or the results may be serious. Most of the motors have O.H.M.S. plates above the number plate.

We billeted in a village school; all slept in our blankets on the floor. Left the school and cleaned up before the kids came for their lessons next day.

Salisbury Plain. Arrived to-day. This part is called Bustard and takes its name from the small Bustard Inn, Headquarters of General Alderson, General Officer Commanding. Troops are here in thousands and we are no novelty. The roads are torn up. Mud is two feet deep in places. All through the day and night motor lorries, artillery and cavalry are traveling over the ground. Aeroplanes are circling overhead and heavy artillery are firing. We see the shells bursting on the ranges every day.

Always raining. Everything is wet, and I am sleeping in a rotten tent which leaks. Still, we are all so fit that what would kill an ordinary man doesn’t worry us much.

We all get three days’ leave and are trying by every means possible to wangle another day or two. Many men have to see dentists, and lots of men have grandparents in Scotland who display signs of dying suddenly. If the excuse is good enough, we get four days and sometimes five. I have a sweetheart in Scotland, but if that is played out I have to work something else.

Wonderful sight from where I am now. Miles of tents, motors and horse lines on this desolate moorland. No houses; only camps and a few trees which have been planted as wind screens. The soil is very poor, too poor for farming. It is government property and it is only used for troops. We are ten miles from a railroad. We are so isolated that we might be in Africa, except that it’s so cold.

The papers are starting an agitation to get the Canadians to march through London, and are asking why they should be smuggled in and then shut up on Salisbury Plain. They want to see us, AND WE WANT TO SEE LONDON!!

Our ambulance car has been used every day since we came here, taking wounded from one hospital to another. The rest of our cars have been used to carry German prisoners.

One of the spies caught on the ships is said to have been shot. Several were arrested; two were caught in Devonport while we were there, one in a Canadian officer’s uniform.

Am spending seventy-two hours’ leave in London. Got leave through this telegram which is from “the girl I’m engaged to”:

Disappointed. Met train. Please do come. Leaving for Belgium soon. Love.

EDYTHE.

She is a Red Cross nurse. This is a new one and it worked. McCarthy sent it to me.

London is very dismal. No electric signs, and the tops of all the street lamps are painted black so that the lights don’t show from above. However, we managed to have a good time, in spite of it all. The Germans say that the Canadians are being held in England to repel the invasion.

The facilities for bathing are not very extensive. I rode into Salisbury, a distance of seventeen miles, yesterday, on top of some packing-cases in a covered transport wagon, for a bath, the first since I was last on leave. We get a Turkish bath in town for thirty cents. After that we had a large juicy steak and then started our seventeen-mile trip back through the pouring rain. Every other mile we got down and helped the driver swear and push the car out of the mud, vast quantities of which abound on the Salisbury roads, believe me!!

It is Sunday afternoon. Most of the men in camp are asleep or reading. Outside it is raining. It seems to be always raining, and occasionally we have such a thick fog that even a trip to get water is exciting before you can get back to your own lines.

Owing to our camp having become a swamp we have had to move our quarters to drier ground. Moving the tents is not a big job, but rebuilding the cook-house is! I figure that when I leave the army I shall have a few more professions to choose from. For example, I’m a pretty hefty trench digger; then as a scavenger I am pretty good at picking up tin cans and pieces of paper; also I’m an expert in building things such as shelters from any old pieces of timber that we can steal; then as a cook I can now make that wonderful tea that I wrote you about, besides many other things which we didn’t realize that we had to do when we enlisted.

To-day the paper says “Fair and Warmer.” We could do with some of that. Years ago, before I joined the army and lost my identity, I rather liked occasionally getting wet in the refreshing rain; but now the trouble is that we are always wet and have nowhere to dry our things, except by sleeping on them.

Our major has an original scheme of training men in the ranks to qualify for commissions, sort of having half a dozen embryo officers ready. I have been picked as one and have to study in all my spare time. It means a great deal more work, but it’s very interesting and the sort of thing I would like to do. We start to-day.

We began our instruction on the machine gun to the officers and the men who are up here for a special course; I have a boozy lieutenant, who doesn’t care a hang, and a bright non-com. Some of the officers we brought over make good mascots.

It was fine to-day. We were even able to open up the tent flap to dry the place a bit. To-day the major congratulated me on the Christmas card I designed for the unit.

Our classes of instruction to the “alien” officers finish to-morrow. Both the men I was instructing passed.

The adjutant is very anxious to put us through our officers’ training course quickly.

We are now recognized as the specialist corps in the machine-gun work with the Canadian Division, and he is anxious that we shall be ready to take commissions when casualties occur. Every battalion of infantry has a machine-gun section attached, and we have the job of training the officers and sergeants of these sections.

Owing to the bombardment of the east coast, several of our battalions are under orders to move at a moment’s notice. It is thought that the bombardment was simply a ruse to draw the British fleet away from around Heligoland.

The newspaper boys in Salisbury, when you refuse to buy an “Hextra,” shout “Montreal Star” and “Calgary Eyeopener,” and all the shopgirls and barmaids in Salisbury say, “Some kid,” “Believe muh,” “Oh, Boy!”

I had been granted Christmas leave at the last minute, and as it was awkward to telegraph to Northwich, I arrived after a long journey, lasting sixteen hours, ten minutes ahead of the letter I’d sent saying I was coming. My arrival soon spread over the town. A Canadian—this was a rather unique thing for Northwich, a little Cheshire town. Out of a population of about eighteen thousand, two thousand men have joined the colors. The men in uniform from the works are all receiving half pay. The other men who are staying are working twelve hours a day and give up part of their pay so that the jobs of the soldiers will be open when they come back. Thirty-five Belgian refugees are being kept here. Money to keep them for twelve months has been subscribed. One huge house has been taken over as a hospital with twenty-three nurses, all volunteers from Northwich. Everybody has done or is doing something in the great struggle. The young ladies in this neighborhood have no use for a man who is not in khaki, and with customary north of England frankness tell them so.

I expect that you know that the Government has sent around forms to every house asking the men who are going to volunteer to sign, and men long past the military age have signed the papers, “too old for the war service, but willing to serve either at home or abroad voluntary for the period of the war.” Others have offered to do work to allow young men to go, to keep their jobs for them. This shows the spirit that permeates England. There is only one end and that MUST be the crushing of the Germans. I don’t believe people have any idea of the number of men who are at present under arms, and still the posters everywhere say that we must have more men.

I wonder if you know that the Germans are shooting British prisoners who are found with what they consider insulting post-cards of the Kaiser, and even references to His All Highest in letters are dangerous. As we are nearing the time when we shall go across I thought I would mention it.

We expect to leave England somewhere around January 15th. We have been living in the mud so long that we are getting quite web-footed.

This is a war Christmas. People are too excited and anxious to celebrate it. I wonder what sort of a Christmas the next one will be! What a terrible Christmas the Germans must have had in Germany. They admit over one million casualties. Fancy a million in less than five months. During the Napoleonic wars, which extended over twenty years, six million died, and yet one side in this war already admits one million.

The Canadian ordnance stores have been given instructions that all equipments down to the last button must be ready by the 15th of January. That date seems to be the favorite one. I believe it is the commencement of big things; a move will then be made to embark large numbers of troops across to France.

All our telegraphic addresses were taken when we came away on leave in case it were decided to send units over before our term of leave expired.

A German aviator flew over Dover yesterday and made a fierce and terrible bomb attack on a cabbage patch. Terrible casualty in cabbages. Berlin must have designs on a bumper crop of sauerkraut.