Part 6

At Neuve Eglise, March 1918, we were suddenly attacked by Jerry, but drove him back. Every now and again we spotted Germans dodging across a gap in a hedge. At once a competition started as to who could catch a German with a bullet as he ran across the gap.

"Reminds me of shooting at the bottles and fings at the fair," said my pal, another Cockney Highlander.

A second later a piece of shrapnel caught him in the hand. "Blimey, I always said broken glass was dangerous," he remarked as he gazed sadly at the wound.--_F. Adams (late H.L.I.), 64 Homestead Road, Becontree, Essex._

Teacup in a Storm

We were in support trenches near Havrincourt Wood in September 1917. At mid-day it was exceptionally quiet there as a rule.

Titch, our little Cockney cook, proceeded one day to make us some tea by the aid of four candles in a funk-hole. To aid this fire he added the usual bit of oily "waste," and thereby caused a thin trail of smoke to rise. The water was just on the boil when Jerry spotted our smoke and let fly in its direction everything he had handy.

Our trench was battered flat.... We threw ourselves into a couple of old communication trenches. Looking around presently for our cook we found him sitting beneath a waterproof sheet calmly enjoying his sergeant-major's tea. "Ain't none of you blokes firsty?" was his greeting.--_R. J. Richards (late 61st Trench Mortar Battery, 20th London Division), 15 London Street, W.2._

Jack's Unwelcome Present

Our company were holding the line, or what _was_ a line of trenches a short time before, when Jerry opened out with all kinds of loudspeakers and musical instruments that go to make war real.

We were knocked about and nearly blinded with smoke and flying sandbags. The best we could do was to grope our way about with arms outstretched to feel just where we were.

Eventually someone clutched me, saying, "Is that you, Charlie--are you all right?"

"Yes, Jack," I answer, "are you all right?"

"Well, I don't know fer sure," he says as he dives his hand through his tunic to his chest and holds on to me with the other. I had a soft place in my heart for Jack, for nobody ever sent him a parcel, so what was mine was Jack's. But not the piece of shrapnel that came out when he withdrew his hand from inside his tunic!

"The only thing that ever I had sent me--and that from Jerry!" says Jack. "We was always taught to love our enemies!"

They sure loved us, for shortly after I received my little gift of love, which put me to by-by for several months. But that Cockney lad from East London never grumbled at his hard lot. He looked at me, his corporal, and no wonder he clung round my neck, for he has told me since the war that he was only sixteen then. A brave lad!--_D. C. Maskell (late 20th Battn. Middlesex Regt.), 25 Lindley Road, Leyton, E.10_.

Goalie Lets One Through

In September 1916 we landed in a portion of German trench and I was given orders to hang on. Shells were bursting all around us, so we decided to have a smoke.

My two Cockney pals--Nobby and Harry, who were a goalie and centre-forward respectively--were noted for their zeal in keeping us alive.

Nobby was eager to see what was going on over the top, so he had a peep--and for his pains got shot through the ear. He fell back in a heap and exclaimed, "Well saved, goalie! Couldn't been better if I'd tried."

"Garn," said Harry, bending over him, "it's blinkin' well gorn right frew, mate."--_Patrick Beckwith, 5 Duke Road, Chiswick, W.4._

A Good Samaritan Foiled

I was rather badly wounded near Bullecourt, on the Arras front, and was lying on a stretcher outside the dressing station.

Nearby stood a burly Cockney with one arm heavily bandaged. In the other hand he held his ration of hot coffee.

Noticing my distress, he offered me his drink, saying, "'Ere y'are, mate, 'ave a swig at this." One of the stretcher-bearers cried: "Take that away! He mustn't have it!"

The Cockney slunk off.

"All right, ugly," he said. "Take the food aht of a poor bloke's mouf, would yer?"

Afterwards I learned the stretcher-bearer, by his action, had saved my life. Still, I shan't forget my Cockney friend's generosity.--_A. P. S. (late 5th London Regiment), Ilford._

Proof of Marksmanship

Poperinghe: a pitch-black night. We were resting when a party of the West Indian Labour Company came marching past. Jerry sent one over. Luckily, only one of the party was hit.

A voice from the darkness: "Alf! keep low, mate. Jerry 'as got his eye in--'e's 'it a nigger in the dark!"--_C. Jakeman (late 4/4th City of London Royal Fusiliers), 5 Hembridge Place, St. John's Wood, N.W.8._

"Well, He Ain't Done In, See!"

During the great German offensive in March 1918 our company was trying to hold the enemy at Albert. My platoon was in an old trench in front of Albert station, and was in rather a tight corner, the casualties being pretty heavy. A runner managed to get through to us with a message. He asked our sergeant to send a man to another platoon with the message.

One of my pals, named Gordon, shouted, "Give it to me; I'll go."

He crept out of the trench and up a steep incline and over the other side, and was apparently being peppered by machine-gun fire all the way. We had little hope of him ever getting there. About a couple of hours later another Cockney cried: "Blimey! He's coming back!"

We could see him now, crawling towards us. He got within a dozen yards of our trench, and then a Jerry "coal-box" arrived. It knocked us into the mud at the bottom of our trench and seemed to blow Gordon, together with a ton or so of earth, twenty feet in the air, and he came down in the trench.

"That's done the poor blighter in," said the other Cockney as we rushed to him. To our surprise Gordon spoke:

"Well, he ain't done in--see!"

He had got the message to the other platoon, and was little the worse for his experience of being blown skyward. I think that brave fellow's deed was one of many that had to go unrewarded.--_H. Nachbaur (late 7th Suffolks), 4 Burnham Road, St. Albans, Herts._

"Baby's Fell Aht er Bed!"

The day before our division (38th Welch) captured Mametz Wood on the Somme, in July 1916, our platoon occupied a recently captured German trench. We were examining in a very deep dug-out some of Jerry's black bread when a heavy shell landed almost at the entrance with a tremendous crash. Earth, filled sandbags, etc., came thundering down the steps, and my thoughts were of being buried alive about forty feet underground. But amid all the din, Sam (from Walworth) amused us with his cry: "Muvver! Baby's fell aht er bed!"--_P. Carter (late 1st London Welch), 6 Amhurst Terrace, Hackney, E.8._

Stamp Edging Wanted

During severe fighting in Cambrai in 1917 we were taking up position in the front line when suddenly over came a "present" from Jerry, scattering our men in all directions and causing a few casualties.

Among the unfortunate ones was a Cockney whose right hand was completely blown off.

In a sitting position he calmly turned to the private next to him and exclaimed "Blimey, they've blown me blinkin' German band (hand) off. Got a bit of stamp edging, mate?"--_T. Evans, 24 Russell Road, Wood End Green, Northolt, Greenford._

"Oo's 'It--You or Me?"

It was our fifth day in the front line in a sector of the Arras front. In the afternoon, after a terrible barrage, Jerry came over the top on our left, leaving our immediate front severely alone.

Our platoon Lewis gun was manned at that time by "Cooty," a Cockney, he being "Number One" on the gun. We were blazing away at the advancing tide when a shell exploded close to the gun.

"Cooty" was seen to go rigid for a moment, and then he quickly rolled to one side to make way for "Number Two" to take his place. He took "Number Two's" position beside the gun.

The new "Number One" saw that "Cooty" had lost three fingers, and told him to retire. "Cooty" would not have that, but calmly began to refill an empty magazine. "Number One" again requested him to leave, and a sharp tiff occurred between them.

"Cooty" was heard to say, "Look 'ere, oo's _'it_--you or me?" "You are," said "Number One."

"Then mind your own blinkin' business," said "Cooty," "and get on with shelling these peas."

Poor "Cooty," who had lost his left foot as well, passed out shortly after, was a Guardsman at one time.--_D. S. T., Kilburn, N.W._

The Stocking Bomb

We were a desert mobile column, half-way across the Sinai Peninsula from Kantara to Gaza. Turkish aeroplanes paid us a daily visit and pelted us with home-made "stocking-bombs" (old socks filled with nails, old iron, and explosives).

On this particular day we were being bombed and a direct hit on one gunner's shoulder knocked him to the ground, but failed to explode.

Sitting up in pain he blinked at the stocking-bomb and then at the plane and shouted: "Nah chuck us yer blinkin' boots dahn!" He then fainted and we helped him, but could not resist a broad smile.--_A. Crose, 77 Caistor Park Road, West Ham, E.15._

Not an Acrobat

In a communication trench on the Somme, near Guillemont, in August 1916, we were halted for a "blow" on our way up when Jerry opened with shrapnel.

Private Reynolds, from Marylebone, had his right hand cut off at the wrist. We bound his arm as best we could, and whilst doing so one man said to him, "A sure Blighty one, mate--and don't forget when you get home, drop us a line to let's know how you are getting on in hospital."

"Yus! I'll write all right," said Reynolds, and then, suddenly, "'Ere, wot d'yer fink I am, a blinkin' acrobat? 'Ow can I write wivout a right arm ter write wiv?"--_A. Sharman (late 12th Royal Fusiliers), 177 Grenville Road, N.W.2._

Story Without an Ending

Our gun position lay just behind the Ancre, and Fritz generally strafed us for an hour or two each day, starting about the same time. When the first shell came over we used to take cover in a disused trench.

One day, when the strafe began, I grabbed two story magazines just before we went to the trench, and, arrived there, handed one to my Cockney pal.

We had both been reading for some time when a shell burst uncomfortably near, and a splinter hit my pal's book and shot it right out of his hand. At which he exclaimed: "Fritz, yer blighter, I'll never know nah whether he was goin' to marry the girl or cut 'er bloomin' froat."--_G. W. Wicheloe (late 138th Heavy Battery, R.G.A.), 162 Stevens Road, Chadwell Heath, Essex._

Cause and Effect

A 5·9 had burst on the parados of our trench, and caused--as 5·9's usually did--a bit of a mess.

A brand-new officer came around the trench, saw the damage, and asked: "Whatever caused this mess?"

Without the slightest suspicion of a smile a Cockney private answered: "An explosive bullet, sir!"--_C. T. Coates, 46 Hillingdon Street, London, S.E.17._

[Illustration: "... an explosive bullet, sir!"]

The Cockney and the Cop

During the final push near Cambrai Jerry had just been driven from a very elaborate observation post--a steel-constructed tower. Of course, we soon occupied it to enable us to see Jerry's hasty retreat.

No sooner had we got settled when, crash, Jerry had a battery of pipsqueaks trained on us, firing gas shells. A direct hit brought the building down.

By the time we had sorted ourselves out our eyes began to grow dim, and soon we were temporarily blind. So we took each other's hands, an ex-policeman leading.

After a few moments a Cockney friend chimed out, "Say, Cop, do you think you can find the lock-up now, or had you better blow your whistle?"--_H. Rainford (late R.F.A.), 219 The Grove, Hammersmith, W.6._

In the Drorin' Room

It was on "W" Beach, Gallipoli, some months after the historic landing. It was fairly safe to picnic here, but for the attentions of "Beachy Bill," a big Turkish gun. I was with six other R.F.A. details in a dug-out which was labelled, or rather libelled, "The Ritz."

"Smiler" Smith gave it that name, and always referred to this verminous hovel in terms of respect. Chalked notices such as "Wait for the Lift," "Card Room," "Buffet," were his work.

A dull thud in the distance--the familiar scream--and _plomp_ came one from "Bill," a few yards from the Ritz. Only "Smiler" was really hurt. He received a piece of shell on his arm. As they carried him away, he called faintly for his tobacco tin.

"Where did you leave it, 'Smiler'?"

"In the drorin' room on the grand pianner," said "Smiler" faintly.--_Gunner W. (late 29th Division, R.F.A.)._

Getting His Goat

Sandy was one of those whom nature seemed to have intended for a girl. Sandy by colour, pale and small of features, and without the sparkling wit of his Cockney comrades, he was the butt of many a joke.

One dark and dirty night we trailed out of the line at Vermelles and were billeted in a barn. The farmhouse still sheltered its owner and the remainder of his live-stock, including a goat in a small shed.

"Happy" Day, having discovered the goat, called out, "Hi, Sandy! There's some Maconochie rations in that 'ere shed. Fetch 'em in, mate."

Off went Sandy, to return hastily with a face whiter than usual, and saying in his high treble: "'Appy, I can't fetch them. There's two awful eyes in that shed."

Subsequently Jerry practically obliterated the farm, and when we returned to the line "Happy" Day appropriated the goat as a mascot.

We had only been in the line a few hours when we had the worst bombardment I remember. Sandy and the goat seemed kindred spirits in their misery and terror.

"Happy" had joined the great majority. The goat, having wearied of trench life and army service, had gone over the top on his own account. The next thing we knew was that Sandy was "over" after him, shells dropping around them. Then the goat and "Sandy Greatheart" disappeared behind a cloud of black and yellow smoke.--_S. G. Bushell (late Royal Berks), 21 Moore Buildings, Gilbert Street, W._

Jennie the Flier

It was my job for about two months, somewhere in the summer of 1917, to take Jennie the mule up to the trenches twice a day with rations, or shells, for the 35th Trench Mortar Battery, to which I was attached. We had to cover about 5 kilos. from the Q.M. stores at Rouville, Arras, to the line. When Jerry put a few over our way it was a job to get Jennie forward.

One night we arrived with a full load, and the officer warned me to get unloaded quick as there was to be a big bombardment. No sooner had I finished than over came the first shell--and away went Jennie, bowling over two or three gunners.

Someone caught her and I mounted for the return journey. Then the bombardment began in earnest.

You ought to have seen her go! Talk about a racehorse! I kept saying, "Gee up, Jennie, old girl, don't get the wind up, we shall soon get back to Rouville!"

I looked round and could see the flashes of the guns. That was the way to make Jennie go. She never thought of stopping till we got home.--_W. Holmes (9th Essex Regiment), 72 Fleet Road, Hampstead, N.W._

A Mission Fulfilled

On August 28, 1916, we were told to take over a series of food dumps which had been formed in the front and support lines at Hamel, on the Ancre, before a general attack came off.

On the following night Corporal W----, a true and gallant Cockney who was in charge of a party going back to fetch rations, came to my dug-out to know if there were anything special I wished him to bring.

I asked him to bring me a tin of cigarettes. On the return journey, as the party was crossing a road which cut through one of the communicating trenches, a shell struck the road, killing two privates and fatally wounding Corporal W----.

Without a word the corporal put his hand into his pocket and, producing a tin, held it out to an uninjured member of the party.

I got my smokes.--_L. J. Morgan (late Capt., The Royal Sussex Regiment), 1 Nevern Square, S.W.5._

He Saved the Tea

On the night before our big attack on July 1, 1916, on the Somme, eight of us were in a dug-out getting a little rest. Jerry must have found some extra shells for he was strafing pretty heavily.

Two Cockney pals from Stratford were busy down on their hands and knees with some lighted grease and pieces of dry sandbag, trying to boil a mess-tin of water to make some tea.

The water was nearly on the boil when Jerry dropped a "big 'un" right into the side of our dug-out.

The smoke and dust had hardly cleared, when one of the Stratfordites exclaimed, looking down at the overturned mess-tin, "Blimey, that's caused it." Almost immediately his pal (lying on his back, his face covered with blood and dirt, and his right hand clasped tightly) answered: "'S'all right. I ain't put the tea and sugar in."--_J. Russ (Cpl., late 6th Battn. Royal Berkshire Regt.), 309 Ilford Lane, Ilford, Essex._

Old Dutch Unlucky

After a week in Ypres Salient in February 1915 we were back at a place called Vlamertinghe "resting," i.e. providing the usual working parties at night. Going out with one of these parties, well loaded with barbed wire, poles, etc., our rifles slung on our shoulders, things in general were fairly quiet. A stray bullet struck the piling swivel of the rifle of "Darkie," the man in front of me. "Missed my head by the skin of its teeth," said "Darkie." "Good job the old Dutch wasn't here. She reckons she's been unlucky ever since she set eyes on me--and there's another pension for life gone beggin'."--_B. Wiseman (late Oxford and Bucks L.I.), 12 Ursula Street, Battersea, S.W.11._

A Long Streak of Misery

Dusk was falling on the second day of the battle of Loos. I was pottering about looking for the other end of our line at the entrance to Orchard Street trench. A voice hailed me: "'Ere, mate! Is this the way aht?"

It came from a little Cockney, a so-called "walking" wounded case. Immediately behind him there hobbled painfully six feet of complete abjection.

I gave them directions, and told them that in two or three hundred yards they should be out of danger. Then Jerry dropped a "crump." It tortured the sorely-tried nerves of the long fellow, and when the bricks and dust had settled, he declared, with sudden conviction: "We're going to lose this blinkin' war, we are!"

His companion gave him a look of contempt.

"You ain't 'arf a long streak of misery," he said. "If I fort that I'd go back nah an' 'ave another shot at 'em--even if you 'ad to carry me back."--_"Lines," (33 (S) Bty), 24 Clifton Road, Maida Vale, W.9._

"Smudger's" Tattoo

"Smudger" Smith, from Hoxton, had just returned off leave, and joined us at Frankton Camp, near Ypres. Not long after his arrival "Jerry" started strafing us with his long-range guns, but "Smudger" was more concerned with the tattooing which he had had done on his arms on leave.

I said they were very disfiguring, and advised him to have them removed, giving him an address to go to when he was again in London, and telling him the probable price.

Not very long after our conversation "Jerry" landed a shell about forty yards away from us and made us part company for a while. When I pulled myself together and looked for "Smudger" he was half-buried with earth and looked in much pain.

I went over to him and began to dig him out. Whilst I was thus engaged he said to me in a weak voice, but with a smile on his face:

"How much did yer say it would corst to take them tattoos orf?" And when I told him he replied: "I fink I can get 'em done at harf-price nah."

When I dug him out I found he had lost one arm.--_E. R. Wilson (late East Lancs Regt.), 22 Brindley Street, Shardeloes Road, New Cross, S.E.14._

Importance of a "Miss"

Soon after the capture of Hill 70 an artillery observation post was established near the new front line. A telephone line was laid to it, but owing to persistent shelling the wire soon became a mere succession of knots and joints. Communication was established at rare intervals, and repairing the line was a full-time job. A Cockney signaller and I went out at daybreak one morning to add more joints to the collection, and after using every scrap of spare wire available made another temporary job of it.

Returning, however, we found at a cross-over that the wire had fallen from a short piece of board that had been stuck in the parapet to keep it clear of the trench. As my pal reached up to replace it his head caught the eye of a sniper, whose bullet, missing by a fraction, struck and knocked down the piece of wood.

The signaller's exclamation was: "Blimey, mate, it's lucky he ain't broke the blinkin' line again!"--_J. Hudson (late R.G.A.), 6 Ventnor Road, New Cross, S.E.14._

"In the Midst of War----"

A battalion of a London regiment was in reserve in Rivière-Grosville, a small village just behind the line, in March 1917. Towards midnight we were ordered to fall in in fighting order as it was believed that the Germans had retired.

Our mission was to reconnoitre the German position, and we were cautioned that absolute silence must be preserved.

All went well until we reached the German barbed wire entanglements, that had to be negotiated by narrow paths, through which we proceeded softly and slowly, and with the wind "well up."

Suddenly the air was rent by a stream of blistering invective, and a Cockney Tommy turned round on his pal, who had tripped and accidentally prodded him with the point of his bayonet, and at the top of his voice said:

"Hi, wot's the blinkin' gime, Charlie? Do that again and I'll knock yer ruddy 'ead off."

Charlie raised his voice to the level of the other's and said he'd like to see him do it, and while we flattened ourselves on the ground expecting a storm of bullets and bombs at any moment, the two pals dropped their rifles and had it out with their fists.

Fortunately, rumour was correct, the Germans had retired.--_H. T. Scillitoe, 77 Stanmore Road, Stevenage, Herts._

A Case for the Ordnance

A pitch dark night on the Salonika front in 1917. I was in charge of an advanced detachment near a railhead.

A general and a staff officer were travelling by rail-motor towards the front line when in the darkness the rail-motor crashed into some stationary freight trucks, completely wrecking the vehicle and instantly killing the driver.

I rushed with a stretcher party to render help. The general and his staff officer were unconscious amid the wreckage.