"BACK OF THE LINE"
Our tour in the front-line trench lasted four days, and then we were
relieved by the--Brigade.
Going down the communication trench we were in a merry mood, although
we were cold and wet, and every bone in our bodies ached. It makes a
lot of difference whether you are "going in" or "going out."
At the end of the communication trench, limbers were waiting on the
road for us. I thought we were going to ride back to rest billets, but
soon found out that the only time an infantry man rides is when he is
wounded and is bound for the base or Blighty. These limbers carried
our reserve ammunition and rations. Our march to rest billets was
thoroughly enjoyed by me. It seemed as if I were on furlough, and was
leaving behind everything that was disagreeable and horrible. Every
recruit feels this way after being relieved from the trenches.
We marched eight kilos and then halted in front of a French estaminet.
The Captain gave the order to turn out on each side of the road and
wait his return. Pretty soon he came back and told B Company to occupy
billets 117, 118, and 119. Billet 117 was an old stable which had
previously been occupied by cows. About four feet in front of the
entrance was a huge manure pile, and the odor from it was anything but
pleasant. Using my flashlight I stumbled through the door. Just before
entering I observed a white sign reading: "Sitting 50, lying 20," but,
at the time, its significance did not strike me. Next morning I asked
the Sergeant-Major what it meant. He nonchalantly answered:
"That's some of the work of the R. A. M. C. (Royal Army Medical
Corps). It simply means that in case of an attack, this billet will
accommodate fifty wounded who are able to sit up and take notice, or
twenty stretcher cases."
It was not long after this that I was one of the "20 lying."
I soon hit the hay and was fast asleep, even my friends the "cooties"
failed to disturb me.
The next morning at about six o'clock I was awakened by the
Lance-Corporal of our section, informing me that I had been detailed
as mess orderly, and to report to the cook to give him a hand. I
helped him make the fire, carry water from an old well, and fry the
bacon. Lids of dixies are used to cook the bacon in. After breakfast
was cooked, I carried a dixie of hot tea and the lid full of bacon to
our section, and told the Corporal that breakfast was ready. He looked
at me in contempt, and then shouted, "Breakfast up, come and get it!"
I immediately got wise to the trench parlance, and never again
informed that "Breakfast was served."
It didn't take long for the Tommies to answer this call. Half dressed,
they lined up with their canteens and I dished out the tea. Each Tommy
carried in his hand a thick slice of bread which had been issued with
the rations the night before. Then I had the pleasure of seeing them
dig into the bacon with their dirty fingers. The allowance was one
slice per man. The late ones received very small slices. As each Tommy
got his share, he immediately disappeared into the billet. Pretty soon
about fifteen of them made a rush to the cookhouse, each carrying a
huge slice of bread. These slices they dipped into the bacon grease
which was stewing over the fire. The last man invariably lost out. I
was the last man.
After breakfast, our section carried their equipment into a field
adjoining the billet and got busy removing the trench mud therefrom,
because at 8.45 A.M., they had to fall in for inspection and parade,
and woe betide the man who was unshaven, or had mud on his uniform.
Cleanliness is next to Godliness in the British Army, and Old Pepper
must have been personally acquainted with St. Peter.
Our drill consisted of close order formation which lasted until noon.
During this time we had two ten-minute breaks for rest, and no sooner
the word, "Pull out for ten minutes," was given, than each Tommy got
out a fag and lighted it.
Fags are issued every Sunday morning, and you generally get between
twenty and forty. The brand generally issued is the "Woodbine."
Sometimes we are lucky, and get "Goldflakes," "Players," or "Red
Hussars." Occasionally an issue of "Life Rays" comes along. Then the
older Tommies immediately get busy on the recruits, and trade these
for Woodbines or Goldflakes. A recruit only has to be stuck once in
this manner, and then he ceases to be a recruit. There is a reason.
Tommy is a great cigarette smoker. He smokes under all conditions,
except when unconscious or when he is reconnoitering in No Man's Land
at night. Then, for obvious reasons, he does not care to have a
lighted cigarette in his mouth.
Stretcher-bearers carry fags for wounded Tommies. When a
stretcher-bearer arrives alongside of a Tommy who has been hit, the
following conversation usually takes place-Stretcher-bearer, "Want a
fag? Where are you hit?" Tommy looks up and answers, "Yes. In the
leg."
After dismissal from parade, we returned to our billets, and I had to
get busy immediately with the dinner issue. Dinner consisted of stew
made from fresh beef, a couple of spuds, bully beef, Maconochie
rations and water,--plenty of water. There is great competition
among the men to spear with their forks the two lonely potatoes.
After dinner I tried to wash out the dixie with cold water and a rag,
and learned another maxim of the trenches--"It can't be done." I
slyly watched one of the older men from another section, and was
horrified to see him throw into his dixie four or five double handfuls
of mud. Then he poured in some water, and with his hands scoured the
dixie inside and out. I thought he was taking an awful risk. Supposing
the cook should have seen him! After half an hour of unsuccessful
efforts, I returned my dixie to the cook shack, being careful to put
on the cover, and returned to the billet. Pretty soon the cook poked
his head in the door and shouted: "Hey, Yank, come out here and clean
your dixie!"
I protested that I had wasted a half-hour on it already, and had used
up my only remaining shirt in the attempt. With a look of disdain, he
exclaimed: "Blow me, your shirt! Why in 'ell didn't you use mud?"
Without a word in reply I got busy with the mud, and soon my dixie was
bright and shining.
Most of the afternoon was spent by the men writing letters home. I
used my spare time to chop wood for the cook, and go with the
Quartermaster to draw coal. I got back just in time to issue our third
meal, which consisted of hot tea, I rinsed out my dixie and returned
it to the cookhouse, and went back to the billet with an exhilarated
feeling that my day's labor was done. I had fallen asleep on the straw
when once again the cook appeared in the door of the billet with:
{Photo: Facsimilie of the "Green" Envelope.}
"Blime me, you Yanks are lazy. Who in 'ell's a'goin' to draw the water
for the mornin' tea? Do you think I'm a'goin' to? Well, I'm not," and
he left. I filled the dixie with water from an old squeaking well, and
once again lay down in the straw.