trench life. We passed the morning sitting in the dug-out, reading a
few old papers and smoking and talking. By eleven the sun was high
enough to peep in over the top of the parapet and warm us, and it all
seemed to me a very pleasant, lazy sort of existence. There was no
firing except for an occasional "ping" from a sniper Goyle kept posted
at the corner of the trench, and an answering shot or two from the
German side. Rifle fire seemed a matter of tacit arrangement. When our
sniper was joined by a friend, or fired two or three times in a minute
instead of once every three or four, the German fire grew brisker and
life in the trench less tranquil. Our sniper was thereupon reproved by
Goyle and was silent, whereupon the German fire died down.
At midday Goyle suggested we should lunch, and Evans pulled the wooden
box towards him. He gave us out each two large square army biscuits
and opened a small tin of bully beef, which he turned out on a piece
of paper and cut into three portions. The beef and biscuits did not
make a bad meal at all, but the best was to follow. Goyle produced
from his haversack a tin cup, and from the box a wine-bottle about a
third full. He then mixed a tot of rum with the same quantity of water
in the cup and drank, passing on the emptied cup to Evans, who took
his share; after I had had mine there was just enough left for us each
to have half a cup more. How delicious that rum was! I rolled myself
a cigarette, lay back in the straw, and basked contentedly. I felt
comfortable and warm and drowsy.
Away in the distance one could hear the booming of big guns which
went on all day, but this was the only thing to remind one that one
was in the middle of the battle of the Aisne. I saw Evans opposite me
lean back and close his eyes, and remember thinking Goyle was rather
energetic to sit so bolt upright all the time.
It was a sound of firing that woke me. Phizz--Phizz--Phizz! through the
leaves above and some sharp cracks from our men. Goyle and Evans were
still sitting where they had lunched, listening intently. I sat up,
too, wondering what was going on. "Were we being attacked or what was
happening?" I asked Goyle, who replied briefly that he did not know.
"Just take No. 8 platoon and line that trench along the end there," he
said to Evans. Evans got up and crept out of the dug-out along towards
the sound of firing.
"Very exposed here," muttered Goyle to himself. "C.O. said if this
point went the whole line would go too."
"Um!" I thought to myself, now quite alive to being in the middle of a
battle.
"Are you all right?" a voice called. We looked out and saw the C.O.
standing in the wood behind us. He had come running up as soon as he
heard the firing. I have always remembered him running up like that to
see if all was well. Many commanding officers would have thought it
best to remain at their headquarters and let reports come in to them
from the different companies.
It gave one great confidence to see him standing there calmly. Then
suddenly the firing died down.
"Don't think it was anything," said Goyle, "but it is rather a nasty
place this; we could not do much if they tried to rush us. I'll keep
that platoon out along the flank there for a bit."
"You're going to be relieved to-night," said the C.O. "The Gloucesters
are taking over from us."
* * * * *
At ten o'clock that night the company of the regiment which was
relieving us filed slowly into our trenches. As each of the new
platoons got into position the old platoon made its way out to the
place where it had been directed to halt. There could be no talking or
asking of questions as the enemy were two hundred yards away, but the
simple and explicit instructions which Goyle had given to the platoon
commanders in the afternoon enabled the whole movement to be carried
out correctly. The section-commander of the leading section of each
platoon had to keep in touch with the section commander of the rear
section of the platoon in front of him, and by this plan of following
my leader the whole company moved as one man in the darkness along the
intricate paths which intersected the wood.
By eleven o'clock we had arrived safely at our destination--a clearing
in the wood about half a mile behind the front trenches. There we
found a series of little straw houses made by the last regiment, wide
enough to hold six men laying down and high enough to allow a man to
sit up in them. We selected one of these bivouacs for ourselves and
distributed the men among the remainder. I so far had escaped having
to spend a night in the trenches, but to the men, who had been where I
joined them that morning for three days and nights, the bivouacs were a
great comfort. The mere relief of tension, which the extra six hundred
yards or so we had put between ourselves and the enemy afforded, was
appreciated by all, and being now well screened from view we could move
about as we liked. Evans told me that Goyle had hardly slept at all
any of the three nights, but spent the whole time going round seeing
that the sentries were alert and at their posts. After we had chosen
our bivouac and put down our haversacks and water-bottles to mark the
place where we proposed to sleep, the question arose of supper. We
had very little of our day's rations left--however, I saw a dim light
peeping from a bivouac which stood by itself, and guessing it meant a
party, went across to investigate. Here I found the other officers of
the regiment lying round on straw discussing a cold leg of mutton and
some bread which had been sent down from the transport. I claimed and
was given a share for Goyle, Evans, and myself, and also a small extra
tot of rum. Nothing tastes nicer than cold meat and bread when one is
hungry, and with the rum and mutton inside us and a few whiffs of a
pipe we were soon fast asleep.
We slept till well after six the next morning, and when we woke the sun
was breaking through the mist which always haunts the valley of the
Aisne at dawn. By nine a glorious autumn day had fully broken. We had
two canteens of steaming tea and cold bacon for breakfast. Goyle then
produced some cleaning traps and began a prodigious toilet. He shaved
himself, he washed his teeth, he soaped his head and plunged it into
a bucket of cold water; finally he took off his trousers and poured
the water over himself. Then he had a rub down with a tiny towel, put
on his trousers and shirt again, and sat down under a tree, saying he
felt better. Evans and I, unshaven, muddy, but feeling quite warm and
comfortable, watched all this rather cynically.
"Always wash when you get the chance," said Goyle, who, having been
through the South African War, played the role of old campaigner.
It seemed to me that it would be time enough to wash the next day
when we were to go back to billets. However, after half an hour Evans
sent for a bucket of water, washed himself, and declared he felt much
fresher. He then joined Goyle under the tree and combed his hair. I
began to feel a dirty fellow, and finally borrowing Goyle's soap and
towel, washed too.
We passed the day very happily sitting about and sleeping in the sun.
At dusk we got orders to move and go and improve some entrenchments.
* * * * *
As soon as it was dark the regiment paraded and moved off, with orders
to dig till midnight and then rest and cross the Aisne an hour before
dawn.
The place assigned to my company for digging was a ditch running along
a fence facing the hills on the enemy's side of the river. The enemy
had their trenches on the slopes of these hills, and it seemed funny
to be digging under their noses, as it were, under cover of darkness.
Evidently the night was good enough cover, for not a shot was fired
to disturb us at our work. I noticed, however, that Goyle ran no
risks, but made each man lay his equipment and rifle exactly in front
of him so that the different working parties could be transformed
into a firing-line at an instant's notice. The men worked away with a
will as unconcerned as if they were digging a potato patch. The only
thing which worried them a little was a searchlight which the enemy
continually flashed across the front of their lines. At first the men
could not get used to this light, but threw themselves flat on the
ground whenever it appeared in their direction, but as the enemy never
fired, apparently the searchlight revealed nothing to them. Evans and I
studied this light for a little while and then discovered that a knoll
lay between it and us, and hid us from its direct rays so that we were
all perfectly safe. As a matter of fact Goyle explained that if a man
did come into the direct ray of a searchlight, he would only look like
the stump of a tree or a shrub to the observer if he stood still. It
was by movement alone that he betrayed himself. However, it requires
a certain amount of confidence to stand quite still when caught by
a searchlight and not try to move away or hide behind a tree. This
confidence the men who were not hidden by the knoll lacked at first; in
fact, they had a great dislike for the searchlight and were inclined to
be reproachful because we had no searchlights ourselves. Thomas Atkins
is a keen critic of the art of war, and such things as well-placed
searchlights and the superior number of the enemy's machine-guns do
not escape his notice. He likes to feel that he has been given as good
a start as the man he is fighting against, and it would have been
interesting to have heard the comments of our men in the trenches when
the Germans first started to employ gas.
At midnight we knocked off digging and retired to a field to sleep.
It is extremely cold in the Aisne valley on autumn nights, and the
dew-drenched ground did not look inviting. The men were told to lie
down where they were, and as it began to dawn on them that no further
arrangements were to be made for their comfort, they grinned rather
expressively in a way they have when they wish to be quite pleasant but
at the same time feel they have a lot to put up with.
I happened to have noticed the field as we passed it on our way to
entrench, and to remember that at the top there were several sheaves
of corn. Accordingly, when all was quiet, I sent the men of my platoon
up two at a time to fetch some of these sheaves down and also to bring
me three for myself. Spreading out one underneath me and the other
two over my feet and chest I soon was as warm as if I'd been between
blankets. It was a glorious night, and it was grand to be there in
the warm straw looking up at the stars. About four I was awoken by
a sound of stamping, and looking sideways saw the men who had no
straw stamping to keep themselves warm and looking reproachfully at
my platoon who were all lying snug and comfortable like a litter of
puppies. Soon after this the order came to move and we crossed back
over the Aisne as day was breaking. The slow-running, mist-hung river
was a peaceful-looking object to give a name to a battlefield, but the
putting up of the pontoon bridge by which we crossed had cost many men
their lives and brought to one the V.C.
IV. IN BILLETS
The village where we were to billet lay a mile on the other side of the
river in a deep quiet valley. The Quartermaster and transport officer
met us half a mile from our destination. They were both unaffectedly
glad to see the regiment coming back into safety for a while, though,
alas, there were only two-thirds of the officers left who had crossed
the river a week before. It was a trying time for the Quartermaster and
transport subaltern, when the regiment went into action. They had to
stay behind, with only occasional fleeting visits to the firing-line,
often for as long as a week or ten days. When there was a big attack,
and the air for miles on either side was filled with one reverberating
crash of gun and rifle fire, they had to bear the strain which is
always more acute for those within sound but not in sight of fighting.
"I've got a fine breakfast for you," said the Quartermaster, "bacon and
eggs and sausages."
We were glad to hear it. Meals for the past week had been scrappy
affairs. Since we had parted company with our transport we had none
of us tasted a hot dish of any description. Cold bacon and bread for
breakfast, cold bully and cheese for lunch, cold bully and cheese again
for supper. Good enough nourishment, of course, for anyone, and nice
enough at the time to eat, but still a real steaming dish of bacon and
eggs did sound delicious.
We soon came to the village where the brigade was to be billeted in
reserve. It lay in a curve of a winding valley which ran down into the
main valley of the river. The billets were allotted by companies, so
much cottage and farm space being given to each company commander for
his company. To those who read these lines in England the quarters
allotted to men back for a few days rest from trenches may not
sound very grand. My company had, for instance, a stable, two farm
outbuildings, and a sort of underground cellar which was approached by
a narrow arch--to crawl through which the men had to go on hands and
knees--and which looked just like the kennels of a pack of foxhounds.
The stable, the cellar, and the outhouses were bare except for a layer
of straw. However, to the men these places seemed amply satisfying.
They meant warmth at night, shelter from rain, and soft dry lying. It
was the first rest the men had had for some while. Many of them had
lost their greatcoats, cardigans, and woollen underclothing, owing to
the exigencies of actual fighting, and had had nothing to add to their
scanty clothing as they lay out in the open during the cold nights.
They crowded joyfully into their billets as Goyle and I and Evans went
round allotting so much space to each platoon.
Having arranged for the men we now looked round for quarters for
ourselves. Goyle, whose natural inclinations for Spartan simplicity
were being rapidly fanned to a mania by active service, suggested that
he and Evans and I should share the stone-slabbed floor of the lower
room of a cottage which looked out on a manure yard. Evans, always
anxious to please, was quite agreeable to this, and set to work with a
broom to sweep out the yard, but I broke away from the arrangements and
went to look for quarters for myself.
After a short search I came on Mulligan, who had found some quite
good quarters in a cottage. He had got a small bedroom leading off the
owner's room, and suggested that the apple-loft on the same floor would
do for me if I had one of the mattresses from his bed. I therefore sent
Jenkins for my kit and set up house with him.
The 35-lb. kit which officers are allowed to keep with the transport
meets all requirements on active service. As first bought and taken
out from England it is a most immaculate and neatly arranged affair,
but after a fortnight's jolting around in the wagons and a few hurried
packings and unpackings it becomes a mere bundle containing a few
cherished necessities. My valise held a sleeping-bag, two shirts, two
pairs of socks, a pair of boots, a pair of trousers, some slippers,
a few sticks of chocolate and a tin of tobacco. However, as Jenkins
unpacked I watched it with the complacency of a man regarding his home.
A bucket of cold water and a canteen of hot were next produced, and
from the sleeping-bag my toilet set--razor, shaving brush, cake of
soap, comb, and toothbrush--wrapped in a towel; and removing my coat
and boots and puttees I sat down on the valise and shaved. A bath
followed in the bucket and then getting into clean socks and shirt and
putting on the slippers and trousers for greater comfort, I combed my
hair and surveyed myself with satisfaction in a small pocket mirror.
Burnt by the sun and hardened by outdoor life, I certainly have never
felt fitter in all my life.
It was now about noon, and Mulligan and I strolled across to the mess.
The mess consisted chiefly of "Black Maria," a small lumbering van
which the mess sergeant had bought for two pounds in Belgium at the
beginning of the war, and which carried all our provisions. We were
only able to gather round "Black Maria" at such times of comparative
peace as being in billets or on the march behind the firing-line, but
her presence on the scene always meant a scale of meals and comfort
undreamed of in the trenches. Bacon and eggs came from her inside, and
joints and vegetables, cocoa, tea, jam, bread, butter, biscuits, also
vermouth, whisky and other stimulating drinks. It was wonderful the
amount she held.
We found "Black Maria" had been drawn up in the yard of a farm. A long
trestle-table was set outside the front door of the farm, and several
officers were sitting round this untying parcels and reading letters
which had been sent out in a mail from England.
Over a fire on the far side of "Black Maria" the mess sergeant and his
assistants were cooking lunch.
With the parcels which had just arrived from England there was now a
plentiful supply of cigarettes, tobacco, socks, and underclothing for
everybody, and while we sat waiting for lunch various exchanges were
made between officers: a pair of socks for twenty-five cigarettes, an
electric torch for a new briar pipe, and so on. Others, who had more of
the same things sent than they wanted, put them into a box reserved for
general use, from which any officer could take anything that he wanted.
The parcels of officers who had been wounded and gone home were opened
unceremoniously and their contents divided among the survivors.
With letters from wives and sweethearts and friends in their pockets,
plenty of newspapers and parcels, and the thought of having nothing to
do for the next day or two, everybody was in the best of tempers at
luncheon. True, there were gaps now round the table, gaps which had not
been there a few days ago, and which each was causing its measure of
desolation to some English home, but by the men who had come through
and learnt to bow their heads to the laws of chance and feel thankful
that they too had not been taken, these gaps were not felt keenly--it
was all a part of war, just as being in billets was. A day or two
ago the men round the table had been in the woods across the river
fighting: then the gaps had been made: that had been no joke--now they
were sitting comfortably in the sun with food before them such as they
had not seen for a fortnight. It would be silly not to eat and be merry.
* * * * *
My apple-loft proved a most comfortable chamber, and I lost no time
after dinner in throwing off my clothes, getting into pyjamas, and
rolling myself up in my sleeping-bag. In the middle of the night as
it seemed--or to be precise, at 4 A.M.--I was woken by Jenkins. He
bore the unwelcome news that the regiment was to be on the march in
a quarter of an hour. He added that he had heard a report that the
Germans had broken through our line somewhere, and that the whole
brigade was turning out. It was an affair of three minutes to get into
my clothes and equipment, which I kept ready laid out beside me. While
I was dressing, Jenkins deftly rolled and strapped my valise, and off
he went with it to the transport wagon while I hurried to my company.
The company had already turned out when I arrived, and the men were
standing outside their billets. Five minutes later we had formed fours
and were swinging out of the village. It was quick work at night to
turn a whole brigade out of billets at twenty minutes notice, for to
wake 4000 sleeping men, scattered all over a village, and get each in
his proper place complete with arms and equipment in that space of
time, is no easy task. In peace time the operation would have taken at
least three hours, for the men would not have exactly lent themselves
to the project, but in war all is vastly different. The alarm proved
false, and after marching for a mile we were halted and finally marched
home again, this time for five days of unbroken rest.
The days passed pleasantly enough. There were so many little luxuries
which could be indulged in in billets. It was good to go about feeling
washed, and delightful to wake up in the morning feeling one had had a
good night's rest, drink a cup of tea in bed, and then roll a cigarette
and smoke it as one shaved squatting on one's mattress. Breakfast would
follow at the table outside the farm--breakfast of eggs and bacon and
as much tea and bread and butter and jam as one wanted. Then a visit to
the company and an inspection of the men's rifles or their kit, perhaps
a journey to the Quartermaster to try and get a man another pair of
boots or a coat which he wanted. The men nearly all needed one thing
or another renewed, and from where we were we could get fresh supplies
up from the base. It was a pleasure to see the joy a man took in a
new cardigan waistcoat or a clean pair of socks and a shirt. He had
probably worn his old ragged things uncomplainingly for three weeks,
but now he strutted about round the billets patting his chest and
showing off the new waistcoat or boots to his pals.
At midday a mail often came in with packets of letters and parcels for
everybody, and the letters had to be answered and the parcels opened
and their contents shown round.
Then we did a little entertaining with the other regiments of the
brigade, and staff officers would come down with bits of gossip and
information about the general situation which we never got a chance
of learning in the trenches. There was one fellow, an intelligence
officer--heaven knows what has become of him now--who came to dine
with us one night before going on to the trenches. His was most
difficult and dangerous work, as he used to go out at nights, crawl
out beyond our trenches and find out the position of the enemy's wire
entanglements and advanced posts. It was the joke to tell him that a
place would be laid for him at breakfast on his way back to general
headquarters the next morning, and glad we all were when he came back
to fill it.
Sometimes after tea we would go for short excursions to the country
round. It was very beautiful country, and from the high ground on
either side of the valley it was possible to get a far-reaching view of
the battlefield.