THE LANGUAGE OF THE LINE
Talleyrand once wittily said that
language was given us to hide our
thoughts, and this saying might be enlarged by
adding that slang was given us to hide our
language. The Frenchman, in making this
witticism, was referring not only to the beautiful
language of Corneille and Molière, but to
speech in general. However, if he visited the
lines of the Canadian or British troops today,
even though his knowledge of English were
perfect, he would hear many words and expressions
not found in the dictionaries of any country
or heard in polite society.
Necessity is the mother of invention. It
seems that in all national or international
games, such as the sport of our American
allies--baseball--or the sport of kings and
emperors--war--necessity demands that a special
language shall evolve. And so, around each
and in the midst of each, an expressive, though
sometimes inelegant, slang has grown up,
understood and employed only by the initiated.
In the case of the present war this slang is
made up of a mixture of English, French,
pantomime, and American or Canadian.
Some people give North America credit for
a language of its own. On a visit to Paris some
years ago I was passing the entrance of a
theater on the Boulevard des Capucines when
a grisette approached me with a "bon soir,
cheri"; and proceeded to ask if I were lonely.
Not desiring to be bothered, I replied shortly
that I did not speak French.
"Oh, zat ees tres bien, monsieur," she
replied coyly, "I spik zee A-mer-ee-can."
And many of our own brothers of the
motherland do not admit that we Canadians speak
the same language as they, but an accented
modification of it, though they admire the
pointedness of many of our expressions. I
well remember the amusement caused in an
English officers' mess by one of them telling
the others that he had heard a Canadian say
that he liked "the Englishman's accent." And
with that charmingly bantering way that
Englishmen have, he said with a smile to a couple
of us Canadians present:
"Rawtha a jolly bit of side! Cawnt you see
it, you priceless old things?" And at his
request we all filled our glasses again; while one
of the Canadians, for the sake of argument,
expressed the opinion that the term accent might
as truly be applied to the Englishman's
"rawtha," as to our rather; or to the English
"bawth," as to our harder-sounding and not
so euphonious, but probably equally correct
pronunciation of the word, bath. Of course,
he was met by good-natured smiles of tolerance
and pity, and the reply that since we
think their pronunciation shows more euphony,
why do we not pronounce as they do?
"Because if we did someone at home would
probably hand us an over-ripe egg," was the
answer.
The slang of the lines resembles a new system
of Esperanto, since it takes in, in a cosmopolitan
manner, all the languages of the neighborhood,
as well as some whose existence may
be doubted. For example, "no bon" means
no good, and is a mixture of English, French,
and a disgusted look.
"Na poo" (which is probably a mutilated
form of the French "il n'y en a plus,"--there
is no more) has a most versatile meaning, and
is used in many different senses. Sometimes
it signifies that some article of the rations is
finished, as "the rum is na poo"--a not
uncommon state of affairs. At other times it is
used as we employ the slang phrase, "nothing
doing."
For instance, one man asks another
to have a drink, and he, having put himself,
or having been put, on the Indian list, replies,
"na poo for mine." Then there is the sense in
which it is used meaning "killed." Bill Jones
is killed, and somebody says, "Well, they na
poo'd Bill Jones last night. Poor Bill, he
wasn't such a bad old ---- ---- ---- after all." (In
the air service, when a man is killed, they
often employ the expression that "so-and-so is
gone east.") The above will illustrate, but by
no means exhaust, the versatility of "na poo,"
for in variety of meaning it is almost in a class
by itself.
"Compree" is another sample of broken--one
could not say Anglicized--French, and it
is employed with the signification, "do you
understand?" or, in slang-Canadian, "do you
get me, Steve?" And here it may be remarked
that a Tommy possessing the above three
expressions, na poo, no bon, and compree, with
some additions from the sign language,
although he knows no other word of French, is
able to do anything with the French peasant
from using his cook-stove to heat a tin of
pork and beans to making love to his daughter.
Of course the latter effort is no doubt
helped by the fact that love is much the same
in all languages.
Then all the different shells and types of
trench-mortar ammunition have their
nicknames, such as pineapples, rum jars, flying
pigs, Jack Johnsons, fish tails, and whizz-bangs,
all according to their shape, their sound,
or the fuss they make when landing.
"To put on a show," is to make an attack
on the enemy. "To get pipped" means to get
wounded. If the wound is severe enough to
cause the recipient to be sent to England, it
is called a "Blighty," in which case, if the
wound is not dangerous to life or limb, the
others stand about looking enviously at the
wounded man, and telling him he is a lucky
devil. But if the wound is fatal, they say "he
got his R.I.P."
The above will serve to illustrate the more
common slang phrases used by the soldier and
officer alike, for what Tommy does today his
officers do tomorrow. There are, of course,
many other slang expressions, some being more
vulgar than expressive. Occasionally a group
of men will impress you with the idea that
they are so accustomed to slang and swearing
that to call each other "a blank liar" is a
password, as Kelly expressed it to me one
time. And in passing it may be said that
though words which would be fighting words in
western Canada are common enough, fighting
among the men is exceedingly uncommon.
Good nature and good fellowship are universal,
and it is rare indeed that even the hottest
argument leads to blows. Probably the boys
have instinctively decided that blows are for
your enemies, not for your friends, and that
fighting enough is to be had on the other side
of No Man's Land.
But slang, swearing, or general "toughness"
is no proof that a man is not an excellent
soldier. Out there we have found that cool
courage and self-sacrifice are as common
among the denizens of the slum or the
employees of the workshop or factory as among
those who spend their time following the
hounds or adorning drawing-rooms. Education
and culture may develop the virtues, but
they do not create them. By the same token
poor or unhealthy surroundings may stultify
the same virtues, but do not kill them.
I well recall a rough, uneducated,
Irish-Canadian boy from Griffintown, who was in
charge of a group of machine-gunners, and
who was afraid of nothing on the earth, under
the earth or over the earth. Fagan--that
name will do as well as another--went up with
his company to go over the top in an attack,
but at the last moment they were ordered not
to advance. A company of Oxford and Bucks
just to Fagan's right were going over, and he,
being disappointed at the cancellation of his
order, pretended that he had not received it,
joined the British with his section and went
into the fight with them. He was such a
bonnie fighter, and was so useful to the British
that they were loud in their praises of the work
of him and his men; for with his machine-gun
he did much useful slaughter which he
described on his return as "some beautiful pickin's."
On account of his good work and the high
praise that it received from the British he was
given a special leave of a couple of weeks
to the white lights--or what remains of
them--in London. As he left his little group of
the men of his unit, all of whom loved him
and all of whom his generous, brave heart held
as brothers, instead of the usual "Good-by,
boys, and good luck," he turned to them with
a broad grin on his face and said:
"To hell wid yez all! May yez have to go
over the top every damn noight whoile Oi'm
away;" and with a wave of the hand, and
amidst the laughter of his "byes," he started
for the railhead.
But slangy sayings and swearing are not
limited in use to the boys. A Major Garwell
was somewhat noted for this habit, and
sometimes spat out remarks quite thoughtlessly in
company in which it were better he had not
done so. On one occasion he had to interview
a staid, dignified Major General Osborne of
an English Corps to our left, and, differing in
opinion with the latter, to the horror of the
other officers present, he exclaimed vehemently
without even knowing that he said it:
"But, damn your eyes, Osborne, that trench
should run the other way."
To everyone's surprise the Major General
only stared at him, seeing no doubt that it was
a slip of the tongue, and not intentional
disrespect. He also probably took into account
the fact that the Major was a Canadian, from
whom Englishmen hardly ever know what to
expect in the line of discipline.
But a week later the English General
showed that beneath a serious and dignified
exterior he had a well-developed sense of humor.
He was again discussing some engineering
problem with our gallant Major before much
the same group of officers, and turning
suddenly he blurted out:
"But, damn your eyes, Garwell, I want this
done my way." The General himself and even
Garwell joined in the roar of laughter which
followed. And now you have the reason that
from that day to this the Canadian Major is
always spoken of as "damn-your-eyes-Garwell."