B00D2VJZ4G EBOK (9 page)

Being the C.S.M. of my company, my duty was to take over trench stores, post guards, and detail ration parties to go down and meet the Q.M.S. at night, bring up the bully beef and biscuits and the most important of all, the rum. The men always got their tot about 4 a.m., and I can assure you they needed it. Standing about day and night wet and half-frozen, it always put new life into them.

Drinking-water was sometimes very difficult to get, and we had to bring it up in petrol tins. One day the water did not arrive. An officer’s servant came to me and asked if he could get some to make the officer’s tea. The only water, I told him, was that gathered in a waterproof sheet which was stretched above our heads in the dug-out to keep us dry. It was the colour of stout, and I was not very sure whether there were any dead Germans buried above us or not.

‘Never mind; it will do fine. The officers will never know, as I will put plenty of tinned milk and sugar in it,’ and off he went with his kettle filled. The following night he brought me a small mug of hot tea which I enjoyed very much, but suddenly I remembered the water had not arrived, and asked where he got it. ‘Oh! just out of your sheet.’ I flung the mug at his head and chased him along the trench.

One night I detailed a party of bombers to hold a sap. Later on I took a turn up the sap to see if all was well and found every man knocked out by a shell. Another lot had to be detailed at once, and a burial party to take the dead away and have them buried before daylight. This was our usual daily occurrence.

Early in the morning the snipers were at their posts, with telescopic rifles ready to put a bullet into any German that happened to look over the top. One morning I stood beside Sniper McDonald, and watched the enemy lines through my periscope. Suddenly opposite us a box periscope went up and, after a survey of our lines, was taken down and put up again further along.

I told Mac to put it out of action next time. But instead of the periscope a Staff officer put his head up and looked around. I heard the ping of the sniper’s rifle and saw Herr Von throw up his hands and fall back into his trench. Immediately another officer sprang up and shook his fist. Another ping and that was two he bagged that morning. I am sorry to say that sniper was killed by a shell a week later. He was sitting with me and two or three others in a cover-in, down a support trench, when a shell hit the rear of our shack, nearly smothering us with muck. He darted to the opposite side to another shelter and the second shell, following hard on the first, got him.

One night in the front line the men were sitting about the fire-trench or wading about in the water, which was up to their knees, trying to keep themselves warm. It had been sleet and snow all day, and we had another two days to go before being relieved. I was walking along in the dark when I plumped into a hole full of water up to the hips. Some of the boys had dug it during the day to give them a drier place to stand on. I had just managed to pull myself out, when I heard a splashing and someone running towards me. shouting, ‘Stand to, men! And, Sergeant-Major, come quick. The enemy are advancing in thousands on the right.’ I immediately ran towards the direction the noise was coming from, and found it was a young officer running about with a revolver in his hand.

How he expected me to stop them I don’t know. The men got up at once on the fire-step, getting their rifles ready and blowing on their hands. The officer still kept shouting to me for God’s sake to come quick. I thought it was funny, if an attack was on, that the Germans still kept throwing up their Verey lights. I looked over the top and could see nothing. Neither could the sentries. The Captain came on the scene, gave him a telling off and ordered him back to his platoon, and passed the word along for the men to stand down. I think the young officer had got a touch of the ‘jumps,’ as it was his first spell in the front line.

C.S.M. Thomas McCall joined up at Inverness, September 1914, in the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders. After training at Inverness, Aldershot, and Salisbury, sailed for France, July 4th, 1915, with 44th Highland Brigade, 15th Scottish Division, and was with them at Loos, Somme, Arras, and the Belgian Front. Held the rank of company sergeant-major from September 27th, 1915, until the end of the war. Was fortunate in never being wounded, or on the sick list, though he had many narrow escapes. Left France December 11th, 1918, and was demobilized January 11th, 1919
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A fellow named Kendall and I palled up the day after he joined our company. We were in a sugar factory at the time, where we were to spend the night before going into the line. I had found two planks and trestles, and thought, in my ignorance, to make a bed where the rats would not disturb me, and while I surveyed the available floor space the slinking form of a large rat, just discernible in the dimming light, made me turn sharply round. My planks struck Kendall’s and, in trying to save them, he received the full weight of one on his foot.

‘Clumsy swine!’ he shouted, and hopped in a threatening attitude towards me. As I put up my fists, I appraised his ability. He was lean and lanky. I decided to punch him in the stomach and upper-cut him as he crumpled. But the platoon-sergeant intervened, warned us both for guard from two to four o’clock the following morning.

Kendall spat copiously after the retiring sergeant.

‘Stop that!’ I said in mock seriousness, ‘or I’ll have you up for dumb insolence.’

Kendall laughed outright.

‘Well, if we’ve got to go on guard together we may as well kip together.’ He had two planks but no trestles, so we jammed the four planks together on my trestles, and next morning on guard we got to know each other better.

Looking back, I am vaguely conscious that the human associations of those War years live more vividly in my memory than the horror and unspeakable realities of War, much as they tormented me.

Kendall and I did many duties together after that and we grew in each other’s regard. Of course we never voiced it – at twenty years of age one does not, nor, I suppose, at sixty. I don’t know! But how else can I explain why he cursed me more abusively than my fellows? Or that my references to his mode of travel along the trenches as being due to chronic ‘wind-up’ caused him to smile and make dumb signs with his fingers, yet when others said so he would rise in a flash to silence them with his clenched fists.

One night when Kendall and I, together with two others, were over the parados busily digging, the enemy’s machine guns traversed in our direction. It was soon after nine o’clock when ‘Jerry’ started to strafe us pretty generally along the line with ‘minnies,’ ‘coal-boxes,’ ‘flying pigs,’ ‘toffee apples, ‘aerial torpedoes; ‘flying fishes,’ ‘pip-squeaks,’ – a very mixed assortment from his stock, to be recognized by whichever of their names you knew them.

Soon we heard the cry ‘Stretcher bearers!’ Again and again it was repeated as we crouched lower in our now deepening pit.

‘Down Sap 26 – shouldn’t wonder,’ Kendall said, rising and plying his spade once more. ‘’D’ Company’s getting it good and heavy. Damned if I don’t think we’re better off out here over the – ’ A ‘pip-squeak’ exploded near by and the sprayed earth tinkled on our steel helmets. The next minute our captain dropped into the pit. We stopped working and wondered what he wanted. He spoke to me:

‘A ‘minnie’ has dropped plump into the middle of the support bay of Sap 26 and wiped all four of them out, poor chaps, and the two men at the sap-head have been sent down with shell-shock. I want you and someone else to man the sap-head and hang out as long as you possibly can, because the company is short of men and I can’t spare any to remain in support. If you get into trouble you must send up a couple of Verey lights and make your way back to the front line. Now, who’ll you take with you?’

‘Me, sir!’ Kendall answered quickly.

‘Right! You others must come to the front line. This job must wait.’

We gathered our tools together and prepared to make our way back to the front line.

‘Sergeant Popple and I will come with you as far as the support bay. Wait for us at the entrance to the sap.’

Arrived at the entrance, we waited for the captain and Sergeant Popple. They soon came up, bringing the Verey light pistol with them.

‘All O.K.?’ the captain asked.

We nodded.

‘Then lead the way – you’ll find it’s knee deep in mud. Halt at the support bay, or where the bay was before the ‘minnie’ dropped. We’re sure to straggle outgoing through the mud.’

For the first few yards of the sap – a roughly hewn trench leading forwards from our front line – the going was good and the desultory shelling ceased. Then the mud became thicker, almost knee high, and footholds none too easy. And the squelching as each foot was lifted out of the mud seemed deafening in contrast with the piercing quiet that had descended on our sector.

I floundered into a hole, loin high in the mud.

‘‘Ware hole,’ I whispered over my shoulder to Kendall and heard him pass the warning on to the captain, who in turn passed it on to Sergeant Popple. And in a few moments more I heard the captain’s muffled curses as he floundered as I had done.

At last we arrived at the ‘minnie’ hole, where the support bay had been.

‘Jerry could hear us a mile off,’ Kendall whispered.

How much farther to the sap-head? ‘the captain asked.

‘Another 60 feet or so,’ I replied.

‘All right. We’ll give you ten minutes by my watch, and unless you signal us before that we’ll return to the front line. I’ll have you relieved as soon as I can, but it won’t be before morning. Don’t make yourselves objectionable, because I can’t spare any men to support you. Good luck!’

The mud was not so deep at the sap-head. Kendall made himself comfortable on the small fire-step close to the supply of Mills’ bombs, having first put a couple handy beside him. He looked at his watch: ‘Five minutes to ten,’ he whispered. ‘They’ll be back in the front line by now. Say, Jerry’s only a few yards away, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ I answered.’ No need to whisper, but don’t shout. Jerry’s sap-head is about 25 yards from here. Sometimes, when it’s quiet, you can hear him knock a tin over. I believe they’ve got a little dug-out at their sap-head.’

‘Seems damn silly, doesn’t it,’ Kendall remarked. ‘Couple of Jerries, or so, 25 yards over there and us over here, sitting on our backsides doing nothing.’

‘Shift farther up, then I can sit down and help you. When Jerry sends a couple of bombs over after he’s had his supper we’ll send one over just to let him know we’re still awake.’

‘We shan’t have had any supper though. Have you anything to eat?’ Kendall asked.

‘No. Have you?’

‘Not a thing, only these hard biscuits.’

Apart from two small explosions near by and our reply, the night was comparatively quiet. But a continuous booming as of distant thunder came from the direction of the Somme. Kendall noted it:

‘Worse places than this, I suppose,’ he said.

‘Yes. Still you might have had a soft look-out job in the front line. What did you want to come down here for, anyway? Always thought you were windy,’ I bantered.

‘So I am,’ he confessed; ‘windy as hell.’

‘So am I.’

‘Then why did the captain call on – ’

‘Shut up! I haven’t told him yet.’

Kendall became reminiscent as a rat scuttled up the bank to the side of us.

‘Funny, that night in the sugar factory. Lord, how I cursed that sergeant sticking us on guard together! And here we are – snug as a couple of bugs in a rug.’

‘Not so strange after all. Perhaps, if we knew Jerry better, there’d be none of this,’ I ventured.

‘Perhaps so. Yes. And here we sit, and over there Jerry sits, lousy as hell – platoons of ’em in column of route marching all over you: drink that’s one part water and four parts chloride of lime and brought up from the well at Ecurie in 2-gallon petrol tins; a bath every eighteen days and a shave when you’re lucky enough to find a puddle that hasn’t been stirred for an hour or so. What the devil made you join up?’

‘The papers talked me into it – and vanity, I suppose,’ I answered.

And so we talked through the night, gathering our greatcoats around us in the chill of the morning before dawn. A night crammed full of self-revelation – interesting as nothing else – of intimacies conveyed half-banteringly, yet with a veneer of cynicism!

And at dawn we eyed each other, a little shamefacedly perhaps, with a new interest and greater understanding.

‘Gets colder between stand-to and stand-down,’ Kendall remarked. He jumped down from the fire-step, where he had been looking towards the German lines. ‘The sun’ll get stronger presently. Keep an eye on that poppy – it grew on the edge of the trench – ’ watch it open. That’ll help the time to pass.’

‘Blimy!’ he continued. ‘We’ve done eight hours already. Must report to the union when we get back.’

Sergeant Popple crawled warily up to the sap-head, carrying two hunks of bread, two small pieces of bacon, and a dixie of cold tea. We welcomed him as uproariously as the proximity of the two sap-heads allowed.

‘Well, Pop,’ Kendall said, ‘how are things?’

‘Lost a lot of men in the bombardment last night – Jerry’s got our range to an inch. Davies gone, poor fellow, and Wellshead; Ashton blown to pieces; and Wheeler, poor kid. Only seventeen too! Got out here by bluffing his age and now a shell’s taken his head clean off while he was standing on the fire-step. Goodness knows how many have had ‘Blighty ones.’’ Sergeant Popple looked grave as he stood with bended back, biting the ends of his grey moustache, the mud dripping from his puttees.

We ate the breakfast he had brought, filled our water bottles with the cold tea that was over, and asked him when he thought we would be relieved.

‘Can’t say,’ he replied. ‘Won’t be before this afternoon, anyway. And cookie’s got a touch of nerves, so I’ll bring you along some grub when I get the chance. Captain wants you to keep a sharp look-out from this sap-head, and you’re not to leave it on any account.’

‘Right-o! Pop. Kiss the captain for me,’ Kendall answered, and we watched Sergeant Popple down the sap, his back bent low, and carrying the empty dixie.