RESERVE BILLETS
It was only the prospect of several days of comparative rest that held
us together at all as we floundered over the slippery cobble stones into
Vlamertinghe. At the cross-roads that formed the battalion rendezvous in
case of alarm, we got into some kind of military formation, for we spied
the gaunt figure of the colonel there sitting his horse like a centaur.
A grim man he was, who never spared his horses, himself or his men, and
his only comment as we hobbled past was, "Dress up those fours!"--and
tired as we were, the fours dressed up. When, however, Captain H----,
who had gone to the rear of the company to chase up stragglers, came by,
his greeting was a little more personal. "All well, H----?" he asked,
and our gallant skipper answered, "All present, sir." It showed rather
plainly the difference in feeling that existed for some time between
those who had been through the Second Battle of Ypres and those who had
not--a difference that it took much hard fighting to outweigh.
At last the company ahead turned down a side street, and we marched into
our billet alone. It was a deserted warehouse with plenty of straw and
quite comfortable, and, having got our men safely stowed away, the
officers walked across the road to an empty house that formed our
billets.
On the way H---- pointed out the coffee waggon of which mention has been
made. A sad-looking wreck it was, too, as a result of a stray shell. The
ladies who had been in charge of it had been swooped down upon and
gathered in by an irate provost-marshal some days before the shelling,
and were, I am told, sent back to England for venturing so near the
front line. The loss to the battalion was, however, immeasurable, as the
ladies had been most devoted, and no matter at what hour the troops came
in there was always a cup of coffee or soup awaiting them, and a
smile--a smile that means so much to men whose hearts are lonely. Truly
Raemaekers struck a key-note when, in his address in London, he asked
England to "keep on smiling."
Arriving at the house, we found coffee ready and breakfast in the
process of preparation. Bacon, an omelette, toast and marmalade (plum
jam being out of season), it was a feast for the gods, any minor
deficiencies being overcome by the keenness of our appetites. Then,
having satisfied the inner man, we climbed the crooked little stairs to
the bedrooms, where we found our bedding rolls stretched out on some
mattresses the owners had left in their haste, and in three minutes we
were asleep. Never did any bed seem more welcome.
We did not stay long in this billet, however, as we shifted the
following day to a farm on the Brielen road. It was well we did so, for
the enemy bombarded the town again and dropped one shell in our old
billet a few hours after we left.
The farm we moved into is worthy of a little description, as it was
typical of any farm in Flanders. The three buildings that constituted
the house, barn, and cowbyre were arranged in a hollow square around a
brick courtyard, the centre of which was graced by a large pile of
manure in an advanced stage of decomposition. Outside the square of
buildings was a moat full of green slime and mosquito larvae. Here the
men washed, and here, too, our buckets were filled each morning for the
"lick and a promise" that served as a substitute for a bath.
[Illustration: FIELD KITCHEN IN RESERVE BILLETS.]
Yet in spite of its unsanitary surroundings the house itself was
beautifully clean inside, and no one could be healthier than the two
buxom girls who formed part of the family that lived within. An exact
census of the family was never obtained, as they poured out from nooks
and crannies into the living-room occupied by us as sleeping quarters,
generally at such awkward moments as when we were dressing or
undressing. This was a matter of constant annoyance to Lyte, as the
people persisted in announcing themselves with a "Bon jour, monsieur,"
no matter what state of nudity they had caught you in.
We shared this room with an artillery officer, a young Irishman named
Lee, who had a battery hidden somewhere near. We saw little of him,
however, as we were generally falling in to move off when he came in for
the evening, and when we returned after a night dug in in rear of some
other troops, he was leaving to go up to his guns.
On some occasions we returned so late that the family were already up
and at work, and instead of unrolling our valises we popped right into
their beds. This was the subject of much joking of the simple peasant
sort on the part of the young ladies, and consequent blushing on the
part of poor Lyte. We all accused him of being their favourite, as he
had nicknamed them "Ox-eye" and "Freckleface," names much more
descriptive than the Marie and Jeanne their parents had chosen, and,
having taken "Ox-eye" into our confidence, told her that poor Lyte was
"_tres timide_." That was all she required, and from then on she
directed all her charms toward him.
The next morning, his servant being as usual somewhere else, he ventured
to ask for a little shaving water, in French of the first-steps variety.
"Oh, monsieur speaks French," she answered, quite ignoring the mess-tin
he held out. "Why did you not tell me?"--this last with an accusing
glance at A----, the senior subaltern. Lyte began to deny all knowledge
of the language, and she suddenly swung into English. "Nevair mind, I
speak bloody good English," and then amidst our whoops of applause she
demanded "It ees good? What!"
Lee came in one morning in a great state of excitement, his rich brogue
being augmented with the news he brought. It seemed that on going up to
his guns that morning he had found the farm there, till then occupied by
a Belgian family, vacated and the white half-door--so familiar in all
peasant countries where they keep pigs--placed lozenge-wise on the red
roof. A hasty search revealed a partly burnt map and other papers of a
military nature, and a German plane was already buzzing aloft. He had
hurriedly withdrawn his guns; but siege guns take time to move, and
before they could get away the shells were upon them and one gun crew
had been practically wiped out. He was much excited, as became a man who
had seen his first death.
We, too, had passed a very strenuous night. The Germans had commenced
another attack on our line, using the gas again. We were wondering how
much good the little respirators we were carrying would be, and the
answer came soon enough.
As we moved forward we met men falling back gasping, coughing and
sobbing, and the stink of their clothing was of hell's own reek, a choky
mixture of chlorine and sulphur. "It's not war, mate; it's bloody
murder!" was all one man gasped as he threw himself coughing on the
ground, where he died before we moved on. It was not a pretty sight, and
more than one rifle-butt was grasped the tighter and more than one oath
sworn to get at the fiends who had let loose this vile poison, against
which the only protection we had was a little pad of gauze to fasten
over the mouth and nose after soaking in water from our water-bottles.
These had been supplied by the thousand as soon as the authorities made
known their wants by the women and children of England, and, feeble
though this protection was, these simple little pads saved many lives
that week.
But it was not our fate to meet the enemy again while in the salient.
After continuing our march about another quarter-mile we lined a
roadside and commenced digging another trench.
Here we lay and shivered all night, the men crouching in the trench,
every fourth man alert and watching, the officers lying on the ground
behind in shell holes or walking up and down swinging their arms and
trying to keep warm. It was only one night of many.
The Germans continued to discharge gas against our line until May 15th,
when they retook Hill 60. The bitter struggle of the past three weeks
had begun as a mere counter-attack to our capture of this small but
important mound.
By this time, however, the Canadians had been withdrawn, and we left the
salient with few regrets. But somewhere on the German side of our trench
line there are thousands of graves of our fellow-countrymen, and when
the time comes for the balancing of accounts we shall expect these to
weigh heavy in the scales.
Our brigade was the first to be relieved, marching out on the night of
May 3rd, wondering vaguely where we were going, and also, perhaps, what
would become of our friends "Ox-eye" and "Freckleface," with their
stolid faces, their ample bosoms, and their square hips.