"Well, boy, how did you do it?" "What are the prison camps like?"
"Are the Germans as cruel as they are painted?" These are the
questions that I have been asked thousands of times since coming home.
I have answered them from scores of platforms, for all kinds of Red
Cross organizations; and now I have been persuaded to try and put my
answer on paper--and if when I have finished, there are a few points
cleared up that you have been wondering, and perhaps worrying about, I
shall feel repaid for the writing. They say that "the pen is mightier
than the sword," but my experiences of the last ten years have given me
much more practice with the latter than with the former. I shall not
attempt a flowery story, nor exaggerate anything to make it sound big,
but I shall, as they say in the Court, tell "the truth, and nothing but
the truth."
My story begins when this war broke out in August, 1914. I was working
with a survey party at the time not far from Fernie, British.
Columbia. I remember the day that I made up my mind to enlist. I had
just decided the question when along came my chum Stevens, and I said,
"Well, I'm jumping the job this morning, Steve." He said, "Why? What
the devil is eating you now? Don't you know when you are well off?" I
said, "Yes, Steve, I do; but it is like this--ever since you and I went
to town the other day I have been thinking this thing over." "Thinking
what?" "Why, about the war, of course--I can't get it out of my head.
There is going to be the devil of a scrap over there--and say, boy!
I've got to get into it! When I hear of what Germany is doing to poor
little Belgium it makes my blood boil--I have worked with the Germans,
and I have a little idea of what it would mean to turn the world over
to them--so I'm off to draw my time." Well, when I came back from the
boss's cabin, I found Steve packing up, and I said, "Why, what's the
matter, Steve?" He said, "Oh hell! if you're going, I'm going too;" so
we started off together.
We had a twelve-mile hike to the nearest town, and that night we took
the train for Winnipeg. We stayed off in Moose Jaw to see some boys
that we knew, and of course we told them that we were on our way to
enlist. To our surprise we found that they were planning to join a
company that was being recruited in Moose Jaw, and they urged us to
sign up with them. We thought it would be nice to be with some one we
knew, so one morning we lined up with three or four hundred others to
be examined for the Army. They had room for only two hundred and fifty
men, and as we stood in line we looked around to size up the bunch and
see what our chances were for getting in. They were a husky-looking
lot, and all were eager to go. I remember one big fellow near the end
of the line offered me five dollars for my place. I said, "Go to hell
with your five dollars." Afterwards in the trenches, when we were
knee-deep in mud and the big shells were bursting around us, he could
have had my place and welcome. Well, we were all taken on, and we got
our first taste of drilling and marching. For about a week we were
marched around the streets of Moose Jaw--flags were flying--bands
playing--and we were the centre of interest. The last night we were
there, the city tendered us a banquet and an old South African veteran
gave us a farewell speech. Among other things, he said, "Well, boys,
you belong to the Army now [they didn't let us forget it very long].
The first thing you must learn is discipline," and he gave us a long
speech on that. Then he went on: "The next thing is cleanliness. I
suppose you have been taught as I was that 'cleanliness is next to
godliness'; but in the Army you will find that it works pretty much the
other way--godliness is next to cleanliness." This is all I remember
of the old soldier's speech, and afterwards, believe me, I found that
he was right; in the trenches cleanliness is quite as difficult as
godliness.
Well, early next morning we took the train for Winnipeg, and there was
a big crowd to see us off, for most of the boys who had joined up had
their homes in Moose Jaw. I didn't know any one, and I was not paying
much attention to the crowd when a funny thing happened. I was feeling
a bit lonely seeing all the other boys being made a fuss over, when
suddenly a nice-looking young girl loomed up in front of me, and a
joyful voice said, "Why, Harry, here you are; I have been looking all
over for you." Now, my name was not Harry, but when she lifted her
face to be kissed, why I tried to do as the real Harry would have done.
Perhaps I did not succeed, for somehow she realized her mistake and she
did not seem half as well pleased over it as I was. Finally the train
pulled out amid the cheers of the crowd, and the boys who were leaving
home and friends looked just a wee bit quiet and sad, but soon they
recovered their spirits, and we had a jolly time playing cards and
getting acquainted. They were all strangers to me, and we were
destined to go through experiences that drew us closer together than
brothers, but I didn't know it then, so I sat there and tried to
imagine what they were like, and the opinions I formed were far from
right in the light of events that followed. I have learned now how
foolish it is to judge a man by his appearance. It was only a
twelve-hour trip to Winnipeg, and when we got there we found a band to
meet us. We were marched through the streets, and though we stuck out
our chests and tried to remember all that had been told us about
marching, I fear we made a poor impression. We still wore our ordinary
clothes and only the badges on our arms marked us as would-be soldiers.
After about an hour's march we were taken to a large frame barrack
known as the Horse Show Building. This place had been built for a
skating rink and was never intended as a dwelling-place for men. In
the winter the water poured from the frost-lined roof, and for a long
time we had no floor. We slept on ticks filled with straw, and these
were soaked every day--we were almost drowned out. There was an old
piano in the building, and every morning we were awakened by a wag in
the crowd playing "Pull for the shore, sailor." The boys would all
take it up, and in a few minutes every one would be singing at the top
of their voices. This put us in good humour for the day.
We were not the only ones in the building; other companies had come in
from the West, and when our numbers had reached the 1,100 mark we were
formed into what was known as the 28th Northwest Battalion.
Now, it is not my intention to give a detailed account of our training.
We were like every other new battalion, perfectly green in the art of
soldiering, awkward in the use of our hands and feet, but strong in our
determination to make good as a battalion. Especially were we anxious
to please our commanding officer. Just to give you an idea of how
green I was, let me tell you of my first meeting with our O. C.,
Colonel Embury. I was lounging around the guardroom one day when the
Sergeant asked me to take some papers to the Orderly Sergeant upstairs.
Now, my tunic was unfastened, my belt loose, and my cap on the back of
my head, but it never occurred to me to fix myself before going up. I
took the papers and went up three steps at a time. When I reached the
orderly-room I walked in, and said, "Who is the Orderly Sergeant here?"
A voice from the corner of the room said, "Here, lad," and I started in
his direction when another voice spoke up and said, "Look here,
sonny--" I turned around and found myself looking into the genial
fatherly face of Colonel Embury. I was too much surprised and dismayed
to even attempt a salute, and the Colonel, instead of calling me down,
just smiled and said: "Young man, supposing you go out into the hall,
fasten up your tunic, tighten your belt, and put your cap on properly;
then come to the door and knock. When you get an answer, walk in and
salute, and see how much smarter and better it will look." You bet I
felt cheap, and almost any sized hole would have been large enough for
me just then. But I went out and did as I was told, and when I came
back he answered my salute and smilingly said, "Now, that is fine," and
went on with his work. What wouldn't a boy do for an officer who used
him like that?
It was hard for us boys who had been on our own hook for several years
to get used to the discipline of the Army. We were used to doing
exactly as we liked, and the unquestioning obedience demanded did not
come easy. Gee, but it used to hurt to take a "call-down" from a petty
officer without having a chance to reply or even to show what we felt
in our faces, and when he had said everything he could think of we had
to touch our cap and say "Yes, Sir!" I assure you, very often we felt
like saying something entirely different.
Training in the open with the thermometer ranging anywhere between 25
and 40 below zero is no fun. We were taught to shoot, march, skirmish
and drill, and we also learned the art of "old soldiering," which means
the art of being able to dodge anything in the shape of work. By the
way, they have a fancy name for work in the Army--they call it
"Fatigue," but when you come to do it it's just the same as the common
variety spelled with four letters. We did not get meals at barracks,
but took them in a restaurant downtown--and rising at 6 A.M. on a
bitterly cold winter's morning and having to walk a mile to breakfast
was not always pleasant. Sometimes we would break away and take a
streetcar, till an order was issued forbidding our doing it. However,
one very cold morning following a heavy fall of snow we plodded our way
downtown; our new uniforms with their unlined greatcoats (minus the
cozy fur collars such as civilians wore) did not keep out more than a
quarter of the cold, the rest went through us. Our caps were
wedge-shaped affairs of imitation black fur, and on mild days we felt
very smart in them, but when it was forty below and Jack Frost was on a
still hunt for every exposed portion of our body, a cap that would not
be coaxed down to meet our collars was a fit object for our worst
language.
Well, on this particular morning every one got half frozen going down,
and after breakfast no one felt like walking home. About half of the
boys "fell out" and took the street-car. I got on a car that was
pretty well filled with our lads, and we were having a jolly time when
the car stopped and in walked our O. C. Several of the boys jumped up
to offer their seat, but the Colonel smiled and said, "Never mind,
boys," and continued to stand at the back of the car. We were pretty
quiet, for we hated to be caught disobeying orders, and especially did
we hate being found out by our O. C. Well, he got off the car before
we did, and we did not see him again till the next parade. Then when
we were lined up Colonel Embury read out the rule forbidding us to
break ranks--we were wondering how many days C. B. we would get--when
the O. C. looked around with a smile and said, "Well, boys, I'll let
you off this time, I didn't feel much like walking myself." One of the
boys dug me in the ribs and whispered, "Some scout, eh?" It was little
things like this that won the hearts of "his boys," as he always called
us, and so far from spoiling discipline it made us put up with any
discomforts for the sake of pleasing him.
But before going any farther I wish to explain what C. B. means. It is
the favourite mode of punishment in the Army and is served out for
almost all offences or "crimes," as they are called--the only variation
being in the length of time given. "C. B." is "confined to barracks"
and having to answer a bugle call every half-hour, after the battalion
is dismissed. The object of answering this bugle call is to let the
powers that be know that you are still there. In the Army it is known
as "Defaulters," but we named it the "Angel Call." There was usually
one or more of our little circle answering it, and the favourite crimes
were smoking on parade, staying out without a pass, coming home
"oiled," and staying in bed after reveille in the morning; the
last-named was a favourite one of mine, and I escaped punishment for
quite a while, but the old saying "The pitcher that goes oft to the
well is sure to get broken at last" was true in my case. I had formed
the habit of lying in bed and reading the paper for about half an hour
after reveille, and it always made the Sergeant mad. However, so far
he had not reported me; but this morning, after about twenty-five
minutes of stolen comfort, the Sergeant said, "Now, look here, O'Brien,
if you are not out of bed in three minutes I'll have you up before the
Major." I looked, listened, and pulling out my watch continued
reading. Exactly on the three minutes I jumped out, but the boys were
all laughing and the Sergeant got mad and had me "pinched"; so at 9
a.m. I was brought up on the "carpet" before the Major. I was looking
the picture of innocence, and I had a chum outside to prove that I was
out of bed three minutes after the Sergeant's warning. Well, the
Sergeant didn't press the charge very much, and the Major asked me how
long it was after reveille when I got up. I said it was five minutes
anyway, and I had them arguing whether it was five or ten minutes (it
was really half an hour), when the officer said, "O'Brien, have you any
witnesses?" I said, "Yes, Sir, Private Gammon." Officer: "Private
Gammon, step forward. How long after reveille did O'Brien lie in bed?"
"Fifteen minutes, Sir," said Gammon, and looked at me as though he were
doing me a great favour. "Five days C. B.," said the Major; "right
about turn, dismiss." Now, believe me, what I said to that boy
wouldn't look well in print. No more "witnesses" for me--like the
darky who was brought up before the judge for stealing chickens. He
protested his innocence, and the judge said, "Pete, have you any
witnesses?" The old man answered, "No, Sir, I never steals chickens
'fore witnesses." In the future I would follow my old schoolmaster's
advice; he said, "My boy, never tell a lie; but if you do happen to
tell one, make it a good one and stick to it." I haven't always been
able to live up to the first part, but when I fell down on that the
latter half came in handy. This was my first crime, but it wasn't by
any means my last. I remember one day in the early spring the
battalion was out doing some skirmishing, and somehow three of us got
separated from the others. In looking for our company we came across
an inviting-looking spot, and we sat down to have a rest. Smoking and
telling stories made the time pass quickly, and when we came to look
for the battalion it had gone home. We hiked for home as fast as our
legs could carry us and got in about an hour late. Next morning we
were paraded before the Major, and he listened to our story but
evidently didn't sympathize with our love for nature and gave us seven
days C. B. I thought the punishment rather stiff, but the old Major
had it in for me. A few days before, when we were on parade, the old
Major kept our platoon drilling after the others had gone in, and all
the boys were sore. He gave us an order, and one of the boys near me
said in a loud undertone, "Go to hell, you spindle-legged old crow."
The Major heard it; he turned quickly and looked in our direction and
caught me laughing, so he felt pretty sure that it was I who had made
the remark; so when he got a chance to get even, he soaked it to me.
However, two can play at that game, and my chance came a few nights
later; I was on sentry duty and the old Major was acting as orderly
officer. He was always spying on us boys, and about 2 A.M. on the
coldest nights he would make the round of the guards to be sure that we
were all at our posts. This was not done by the other officers, and
naturally we resented it, so when the boy on the next beat gave me the
tip that the old boy was coming I stood in close to the wall and
waited--as he turned the corner, stealing along like a cat, I sprang
out with my bayonet at his chest, and in a voice loud enough to be
heard ten blocks away shouted "Halt!" Old "Spindle-legs" threw up his
hands, gasped like a fish, and it seemed half a minute before he
whispered "Orderly officer." Of course I lowered my rifle with a fine
show of respect, but he didn't lose any time asking what my orders were
for the night; he beat it for the orderly-room as fast as his trembling
legs could carry him. He took it for granted that we were _very much_
on guard. The other guard and I almost had a fit laughing, and it was
as much as we could do to face him next day.
Little things like this relieved the monotony of the days that
otherwise were very much alike. We were drilled into shape and finally
we came to take pleasure in doing things in the sharp brisk manner they
required and in making as good a showing as possible--everything was
for the honour of the battalion, and woe betide any one who was
slovenly in his dress or who bungled his marching.
But we would have had a pretty lonely winter if it had not been for the
great kindness shown us by some of the Winnipeg churches and also by
individual ladies. Chief among these, I would like to take the liberty
of mentioning Lady Nanton; she was the guardian angel of the 28th; the
billiard room of her beautiful home was thrown open for our use every
night in the week and a lunch was served to as many boys as cared to
go. It was through the efforts of Lady Nanton that a smoking-room was
erected for our benefit, for we were not allowed to smoke in barracks.
I received parcels from her when I was a prisoner of war in Germany,
and I leave you to imagine how much they were appreciated then; and now
that the 28th boys are coming back wounded and broken in health it is
Lady Nanton that still acts as guardian angel and gets everything
possible for them.
But to go back to my story. We had been in training for about six
months and the Army life had done a great deal for us. The city was
full of soldiers; new battalions were being formed all the time, and we
felt quite like old veterans. We were "fed up" with marching around
the city on parade, and we longed to get into the real fighting. For
my part, I was heartily sick of the whole thing, and all that made it
bearable was the close friendship I had formed with some of the boys in
my platoon; about a dozen of them were my close friends. I shall name
a few of these, so that you may recognize them when they appear farther
on in my story; there were "Bink," Steve, Mac, Bob, Tom, Jack, Scottie,
and also our "dear old Chappie"; the last-named was one of those
quiet-going Englishmen who always mean what they say and who invariably
addressed every one as "my deah chappie," but he was a good old scout
and everybody liked him. Our Sergeant, known among the boys as "Yap,"
is another interesting character; his heart was the biggest thing about
him and his voice came next. If he wanted you to do anything he spoke
loud enough to be heard a mile away; if you didn't do as he ordered,
you could never bring in the excuse of not having heard. Then there
was our Corporal, who got the name of "Barbed-wire Pete," so called
because when the order came to grow moustaches his attempt looked like
a barbed-wire entanglement. Now for our Lance Corporal, who when he
got to France was known as "Flare-pistol Bill." He early developed a
mania for shooting up flares in the front-line trench at night. We had
two Yankees in our bunch--"Uncle Sam," who was the oldest man in the
platoon, and "Baldy," who only wore a fringe of hair. One day in the
trenches one of the boys noticed Baldy scratching his head on a spot
where there was still a little hair, and he said, "Hey, Baldy, chase
him out into the open; you'll have a better chance to catch him there."
Now, I realize that this bunch of boys may sound very commonplace to
the average reader, but we went through more than one hell together and
I found them white clear through, and heroes every one of them. They
included farmers, firemen, business men, university men, hoboes, and
socialists. Some mixture!--but it was out of this kind of stuff that
our Canadian Army was made, and I am not ashamed of their record.
[Illustration: 28TH BATTALION LEAVING WINNIPEG ON THE 27TH OF MAY, 1915]
Now that I have introduced you to some of my friends, I will go back to
the time when we left Winnipeg. After many false rumours, at last the
day came when we were to start. On the 26th of May, 1915, the order
came out that we were to entrain the following morning--we were all
confined to barracks and every one was crazy with joy--we hurried
through our packing, then we sat around all night, singing, telling
yarns, and trying to put in the time till morning. Early next day we
were marched to the station, and though for obvious reasons our going
had not been advertised, hundreds of friends were there to see us off.
They loaded us with candy, fruit, smokes, and magazines, and I don't
think a happier bunch ever left Winnipeg. The train trip was very
uneventful. We ate and played cards most of the day. This was varied
by an occasional route march around some town on the way. When we
reached Montreal we were reviewed by the Duke of Connaught, and as soon
as this was over they marched us down to our boat. After locating our
berths we thought we had nothing to do but go out and do the city. My
chum and I made our way down to the gangway and there found our way
barred by a sentry who said, "Nobody allowed off the ship." We were
terribly disappointed, but we had learned not "to reason why" in the
Army, so we went to the other end of the ship. Here we found another
boat drawn up alongside, and as there was no one in sight we boarded
her. From here we had no trouble getting ashore, and away we went
uptown--"stolen pleasure is the sweetest kind"--and we had no end of a
time for a few hours. We hiked back and got to the ship just in time
to turn in with the other boys; no one had missed us for a wonder, and
everything was all right. Next morning we awoke to find ourselves
slipping down the broad St. Lawrence. Our voyage lasted ten days, and
it sure was "some" trip. The weather was perfect and we had all kinds
of sport, wrestling, boxing, and everything that could be done in a
limited space. The regimental band of the 28th was something that we
were justly proud of, and they supplied the music for our concerts and
dances--yes, we did have dances, even though there were no ladies
present--half of the fellows tied handkerchiefs on their sleeves and
took the ladies' part; their attempts at being ladylike and acting coy
were very laughable. The only thing that really marred our pleasure
was the lifeboat drill; any hour of the day or night when the signal
was given, no matter what we were doing, we must grab our life-belt and
make all possible speed to our place at the lifeboats. At first it was
great fun, but soon we grew to hate it, and we almost wished the ship
would be torpedoed just to make a change. The last three days of our
trip we were in the "Danger Zone," and at night all lights were put out
and as many men as possible slept on deck; machine guns were posted and
men on duty at them all the time. The sentries had orders to shoot any
one that showed a light. We were obliged to wear our life-belts night
and day, and if I looked as funny to the others as they did to me, I
don't see how they ever got their faces straight. Most of our waking
hours were spent in looking for "subs," and every one that saw a bottle
or stock on the water was sure he had sighted a periscope. One night
as I was sleeping on deck I was awakened by having a great light
flashed in my face--I jumped up in a hurry and to my amazement I found
two great searchlights sweeping our ship from stern to stern--and
immediately, out of the darkness, two destroyers, slim and grey, came
racing up, one on either side of us. They gave us our first glimpse of
Britain's sea power, and we felt a wonderful sense of security. In the
morning we had a good look at the destroyers, for they were quite close
and they kept just abreast of us--every now and then they would put on
speed and rush ahead leaving us as if we were standing still--then they
would turn almost in their own length and come rushing back, sometimes
circling the ship two or three times. They reminded me of a couple of
puppies gambolling and trying to coax the old dog into the game.
We proceeded this way till we hit the Channel, and soon we caught our
first glimpse of the shores of England (or "Blighty," as the soldiers
call it). The green hills sure did look good to us after gazing at
water for ten days. We also passed a big wooden ship built in the time
of Nelson that is being used as a training-ship for cadets--as we
steamed slowly by, hundreds of the cadets were clustered on the masts
and rigging, and they gave us a great burst of cheers. It was our
first welcome to the old land. That night we slipped slowly into port,
and again we caught a glimpse of Britain at war; big searchlights
glaring out to sea, crossing and recrossing, searching--searching all
the time. Big ships were going to and fro with coloured lights to show
their identity. We stayed on the ship all night, but most of us were
too excited to get any sleep. Next morning we were taken off and put
aboard a dinky little train. The locomotives and coaches looked so
small in comparison with the big American trans-continental trains that
the Englishmen in our outfit came in for lots of chaff. "Baldy," the
American, would say to Bob Goddard, "Do you call this miniature thing a
railroad? Why, at home we have trains as big as this running up and
down the floors of our restaurants carrying flapjacks." Of course
every one roared at this, and Bob said, "Never mind, you can laugh now,
but wait till we start and see the speed we have." They argued on this
for a while, and then Bob said, "Why, the locomotives over here pick up
water on the fly." "Aw, that's nothing," said Baldy; "they pick up
hoboes on the fly in the States." Bob had nothing to say to this, and
conversation lagged for a while. Some time later Bob called our
attention to the really lovely scenery we were passing through. Said
he, "Look at those lovely old trees with the creepers on them; where in
the States would you find anything to compare with them?" But Baldy
was ready, "Aw, I can see you were never in a lumber camp." "What
difference does that make?" says Bob. "All the difference in the
world," answered Baldy; "if you were ever in a lumber camp, you'd know
without my telling you that we have men there with creepers on them."
This was too much for Bob, and he quit;--we played cards the rest of
the way to London, but when we reached it we became interested again in
the outside world. London was a place we had all heard of, but few of
us had seen. Bob was nearly crazy, for we passed in sight of his home.
Of course he had been away for several years, but his people still
lived there; it sure was hard for him to be so near and not be able to
stop and see them. He showed us all the points of interest that were
in sight; but our first impression of London was rather disappointing,
for we were either going through suburbs or smoky tunnels. We went
through some crowded districts, and the people all ran out and cheered
us as we passed. England was going wild over Canadians then, for it
was just after the Second Battle of Ypres, where our boys had made such
a name for themselves. On one street there were about five hundred
kids, and Baldy remarked, "No race suicide here."
Pretty soon we left London and we all went back into the train. There
was great speculation as to what camp we were bound for, but no one
knew, and when at last the train came to a halt we were glad to get off
and stretch our legs,--we stretched them a whole lot more than we
intended before the night was out,--for we had to hike about four miles
with full pack and then climb a long steep hill. We had nothing to eat
all day and we were just like ravening wolves, but after we reached
camp we had to wait for the cooks to prepare some "mulligan" (stewed
beef) and tea; then we were lined up and bundled into our tents, about
ten men in each. Next morning some of us were sent down to unload the
transport and the rest were put to work setting things to rights at the
camp. I was with those that went down to the depot, and here the
battalion suffered its first casualty--the pet of the whole regiment
was lying dead in the box-car--and though to an outsider he was only a
bulldog, to us he was our beloved "Sandy," the mascot of our battalion.
He had shared all our route marches, no matter what the weather, and as
I saw him lying there I thought of the fun we used to have with him.
Scores of times I have seen him, when the bugle sounded for us to fall
in, go and take his little blanket from the low nail where it always
hung, and beg one of the boys to put it on for him. He would wag
himself almost to pieces trying to attract attention, and of course the
boy wouldn't let on to notice him; so he would go from one to the
other, till at last some one's good nature overcame the desire for
further sport, and his blanket was fastened on. Then, with a glad
bark, he would dash out and take his place at the head of the
battalion. He knew the other bugle calls too, and the call to mess was
answered by mad jumping and much showing of teeth. He responded with
the officers to the Colonel's Parade, and as the officers formed a
circle round Colonel Embury to receive their orders for the day, it was
funny to see old Sandy right in the centre gazing up into the Colonel's
face. Our O. C. loved him and always gave him his share of attention
after the officers were dismissed--it was our Colonel who insisted on
Sandy having his own bunk and blankets just like any of the men--so,
after being such a pet, you can imagine how we felt when we saw him
lying there dead, and we realized that we were to blame for his death.
All dogs entering England have to spend several weeks in quarantine,
and to save him from this some of the boys had boxed him up and placed
him in the baggage car, but whoever had done the job was not careful to
place him right side up, and when we opened the box poor old Sandy was
lying on his back dead. The whole battalion mourned his loss, and our
Colonel most of all. Well, after we got everything loaded up, we went
back to camp, and there we found the boys as busy as bees--we were
telling them about Sandy when suddenly we heard a humming sound--every
one gazed skyward, and across the camp flew one of the British
dirigibles. What a sight it was to us! The big cigar-shaped,
silver-coloured airship dipped and climbed, and finally came down so
low that we could plainly see the men in it. You should have heard the
cheer we gave them. We watched it till it disappeared out across the
sea. After awhile we got used to seeing airships of all kinds and we
took no notice of them, but at first they were very interesting.
Another thing that happened on our first day in camp (by the way, we
were quartered in Shorncliffe, right on the seacoast)--a few of us were
standing looking across the Channel to France, and wondering what was
happening there, when _boom-boom-boom_! we heard the guns in Belgium.
We could hardly believe our ears. I don't know about the other
fellows, but it sent a queer feeling through me to know that only fifty
or sixty miles away our boys were fighting and dying. Before this the
war had seemed very unreal, but the sound of the guns made me realize
that it was a grim reality, and I wondered how I would face it when the
time came.
Well, the next few days saw us settled in camp and then our training
commenced in real earnest. We thought the six months' training in
Canada had made us hard, but what we went through for the next two
months made us like nails. We had shooting, skirmishing, night
marches, trench-digging, besides all the special courses. Three other
battalions were in the same camp--the 27th from Winnipeg, 31st from
Calgary, and the 29th from Vancouver--and the four of us were formed
into what was called the "Sixth Brigade"; after the Battle of St. Éloi
they were known as the "Iron Sixth." The only thing we objected to in
the training was the length of time it took. It seemed as hard to get
to France as it had been to get to England. We didn't eat from tables
as we had in Canada, but each of us was provided with exactly the same
equipment as they have in France,--namely, a mess tin. When the meal
was called we would all line up, and meat and potatoes and everything
would be dished into our can; then we would hike off to our tents and
eat it sitting on the ground. Each day an orderly officer went the
rounds to ask if there were any complaints, the usual procedure being
to stick his head in the tent flap and say, "Any complaints, boys?" and
walk on without waiting for an answer. One day he came to our tent and
standing in the tent door asked the usual question. One of the boys
was a college-bred Englishman, and he spoke up and said, "Oh, I say,
old chap, there's no complaint, but, deah boy, I wish you would take
your foot out of my mess tin--you are spoiling all my dinnah." The
officer and the boys just roared. I suppose most of us compared it
with the picturesque language we would have made use of.
Bob went home on leave about this time, and while in London he ran
across an old schoolmate of his who was also home on leave. The lad's
name was Harold Rust. He had spent several years in Canada, but
happened to be in England when the war broke out and he had joined up
with a London regiment. He had been one of Kitchener's "Contemptible
Little Army" and had seen considerable service in France--he had been
wounded and at the time Bob met him was home on sick leave--but he had
been in America too long to enjoy the discipline of the British Army,
and as he said himself he was "fed up" with it. So he asked Bob if
there was any chance of getting into our brigade. He had tried several
times to get a transfer into the Canadians, but each time he was turned
down, so he said if Bob could get him in he would desert his own
regiment and so save all the trouble of a transfer. Bob told him to
send in an application to our Colonel, and shortly after Bob returned
Colonel Embury sent for him. He said: "Goddard, I have here a letter
from a man in London; he says he is a Canadian, and as all his chums
are here, he wants to join the 28th. Do you know him?" "Yes, Sir, I
knew him in Winnipeg," says Master Bob. "Well," said the Colonel, "we
are one or two under strength, so I'll see what I can do." Bob came
back tickled to death and told Tommy, Bink, and me all about it. If he
got in we saw where we would have no end of fun having a fellow with us
who had seen service in France and no one knowing it but ourselves.
Well, a few nights later we were sitting in our tent foot-sore and
dog-tired after an all-day route march when in walks Rust. Bob jumped
up and made the introduction; he had been sent for to come down and
take his medical examination. We wondered how he would ever get
through without the Doctor seeing his wounds, but when he came up for
his examination he got through by keeping his hand over the old scar.
Next day he was attested, put into uniform, and then he was given leave
to go home and fix up his business affairs. This is what he did--he
changed on the train from khaki into civies, went home, put on his
Imperial uniform, and went up to draw his regimental pay. He drew all
that was coming to him, and tried to get an advance but failed. Then
he went home, changed into his Canadian uniform, and leaving his other
in a bundle, he came away without even letting his father know where he
was going. He came down to Shorncliffe and we got him into our platoon
and into our tent, and then the fun started. The boys thought him a
greenhorn, and they were all showing him how to do things. He would
let them help to put his puttees on, show him the hundred and one
things that a soldier needs to know; we would almost burst trying to
keep from laughing. When we were out drilling, he was just as clumsy
as though he had never held a rifle--after him meeting the Germans in
the open and firing till his rifle jammed. The Sergeant would take him
out and give him private lessons, showing him how to slope arms and
present arms, and all the time Rust was looking innocent and acting as
awkward as the greenest of the green. Those of us who knew nearly
killed ourselves laughing. Then they gave him another leave, and we
didn't see any more of him till we were ready to leave for France.
Leave to London was very hard to get, and of course we were all crazy
to go there; but we were all allowed late leave on Sundays, and of
course we always had our Saturday afternoons, so if we could dodge the
military police we took the train at noon on Saturday and spent Sunday
in London. There was an early morning train which got us in before
reveille on Monday. We worked this successfully several times, but one
Sunday almost our whole platoon was in London, and as luck would have
it we all missed the early tram. When our platoon lined up there were
only ten present, and of course this gave the whole thing away. We
arrived on the noon train and we sure did get a calling down--of course
we were forbidden to do it again. However, before going to France each
of us had a week in London, and that wonderful old city was surely an
eye-opener to us Western boys. In fact, England itself is like a big
garden; and so beautiful that it's little wonder that its people would
fight to the last man to save it. We had only been in England a short
time when they started giving instruction in special courses, such as
bombing, signalling, and machine gun work. Any one who took one of
these courses was exempt from all fatigue duty, and they did not report
so early in the morning. Steve and I joined the bombers, known in
France as the "Suicide Club," and Bob, with two or three others, took
up the machine gun work. I found the bomb throwing very interesting,
and in our six weeks' course we learned to handle the "Mills" bomb,
"hair-brush," and the "jam tin." There was just enough danger in it to
make it exciting and there was some sport as well. For instance, the
"jam tin" bomb is a real jam tin packed with explosive, and we had to
make as well as throw them, and for practice we were allowed to bomb
the trenches dug by our battalion. They would spend two or three weeks
digging and fixing up a nice trench and then along would come the
bombers and blow it all to smithereens--no wonder the boys were sore at
us; but then, they were getting practice, and we were only doing what
"Fritzie" would do for them later on. Steve and I stuck with the
bombers, but one morning as I watched our battalion line up I was
surprised to see Bob and his pals in the ranks. When we met that night
I asked him why he had given up the machine gun work, and I sure did
laugh at what he told me. He said: "Aw, I liked the work well enough,
and it was fun to see how mad our Sergeant got when he came after us
for picket or guard duties; we thought we had a snap sitting down
listening to the machine gun officer's lectures, but what do you think
he told us yesterday? Why, that in the event of a retirement machine
guns were left behind to cover the retreat, and were sacrificed to save
the main body of the Army! Now, wouldn't that be a devil of a fix to
be in? No sacrifice stuff for mine--I don't mind taking my chance with
the other boys, but I won't stay out there alone." Poor old Bob, we
all roasted him about it, but he never went back. Shortly before
leaving England almost the entire 10th platoon got leave, and we all
went up to London, and I assure you the time we had wasn't slow. Bob
and a few of the others whose homes were in London spent part of the
time there, but we had a whole week and we spent the last few days
together. Among other places of interest, we visited Madame Tussaud's
Waxworks, and it was here that Scottie slipped one over Bink. We were
all standing at the entrance and Scottie said, "Bink, go and ask the
attendant for a program." Bink walked up to the lady at the table, and
in his most polite tone said, "Can you let me have a program?"
Evidently the attendant didn't hear, for there was no answer, so Bink
said in a louder tone, "Say, look here, I want a program"; still there
was no response and Bink was beginning to look sore when Scottie yells
out, "Come away from there, you darn fool; are you going to talk to
that wax figure all day?" Scottie would have "cashed in" right there
if Bink could have caught him.
The same day we had a good joke on Steve--he had heard that Leicester
Lounge was a favourite meeting-place for Canadians, and he decided to
go there and see if he could find any of the boys, so he hailed a taxi
and gave the man orders to drive him to Leicester Lounge. The driver
took him round a couple of blocks and then said, "Here's the place,
Sir." Steve paid him and then looked around to find himself in the
very spot he started from--he had been standing in front of Leicester
Lounge when he took the taxi, and it is just as well that he does not
know what that driver thought of him--however, he was sport enough to
tell the joke on himself. Well, the week slipped by and we took a
couple of extra days on our own account--of course we expected to pay
up for it, but we thought it was worth it. Our next leave would be
from France, and anything might happen before then. Well, we got back,
and to our joy, we found that the Orderly Sergeant had got "soused" and
forgot to mark us absent, so maybe we were not glad that we had those
two extra days--the only crimes you are sorry for in the Army are the
ones that are found out. Several times after this we took "French
leave" and went up to London, and then we had our work cut out dodging
the military police. Sometimes we were caught and then we had to pass
a day or two in "Clink"--or, in other words, guard-room. We had
bathing parade once or twice a week, and we would all go down and have
a swim in the sea. Oh, it was great sport, and we were surprised to
find it so easy to swim in the salt water. The country around our camp
was very hilly and most of our route marches were made with full kit,
so a long route march was anything but fun. Our two Americans took a
delight in guying Bob about his love for scenery--poor old Bob would be
sweating along under his heavy pack and one of the boys would call out,
"Well, Bob, how do you like your scenery now?" Bob was silent, perhaps
because he needed all his breath for walking, like the small steamboat
that put on such a big whistle that it hadn't power enough to navigate
and blow its whistle at the same time. But we did enjoy being sent on
ahead as scouts to find out the lay of the country. We would travel
till we came across some out-of-the-way "pub" or village inn, and there
we would stay till it was time to go back to camp; then we would rejoin
the battalion and give a lot of information that we had made up between
us.