Things were going badly with the town of Albert, and all day the
inhabitants had been streaming from the town. On horse, on foot, and in
all manner of conveyances they hastened onwards....
Towards evening, when the bombardment was at its height and the roads
were being plastered with shells, an old man tottered into sight
pulling a crazy four-wheeled cart in which, perched amidst a pile of
household goods, sat a tiny, withered lady of considerable age. As the
couple reached the point where I was standing, the old man's strength
gave out and he collapsed between the shafts.
It seemed all up with them, as the guns were already registering on the
only exit from the town when, thundering round a bend in the road, came
a transport limber with driver and spare man. On seeing the plight of
the old people, the driver pulled up, dismounted and, together with his
partner, surveyed the situation.
"What are we going to do with Darby and Joan?" asked the driver. "We
can't get them and all their clobber in the limber and, if I know 'em,
they won't be parted from their belongings."
"'Ook 'em on the back," replied the spare man. Sure enough, the old man
was lifted into the limber and the old lady's four-wheeler tied on the
back.
Off they went at the gallop, the old lady's conveyance dragging like
a canoe in the wake of the _Mauretania_. The heroic Cockney driver,
forcing his team through the din and debris of the bombardment, was
now oblivious to the wails of distress; his mind was back on his duty;
he had given the old people a chance of living a little longer--that
was all he could do: and so he turned a deaf ear to the squeals and
lamentations that each fresh jolt and swerve wrung from the terrified
antiquity he was towing.
Shells dropped all around them on their career through the town until
it seemed that they must "go under." However, they appeared again
and again, after each cloud cleared, and in the end I saw the little
cavalcade out of the town and danger.--_N. E. Crawshaw (late 15th
London Regt.), 4 Mapleton Road, Southfields, S.W.18._
"Why ain't the Band Playing?"
I served with the 11th London Regiment in Palestine. One day our
officer paid us a visit at dinner-time to find out if there were any
complaints. While we were endeavouring to find the meat at the bottom
of the spoilt water we heard a voice say: "Any complaints?" One of the
platoon, not seeing the officer, thought the remark was a joke, so he
replied, "Yes, why ain't the band playing?" On realising it was an
official request he immediately corrected himself and said: "Sorry,
sir, no complaints."
I rather think the officer enjoyed the remark.--_F. G. Palmer, 29
Dumbarton Road, Brixton, S.W.2._