Читать книгу Q.6.a and Other places: Recollections of 1916, 1917 and 1918 - Francis Buckley - Страница 15

On Monday, January 10, 1916, I left England with three other officers, bound for the Base Camp at Havre. My companions were 2nd-Lieuts. Peters, O. Clarke, and Gregson. My final purchases at Southampton included an extra haversack and some morphia pills. The latter had been strongly recommended for certain kinds of wounds and they were still sold without a prescription.[2] The journey across the Channel was done at night. The transport left port about 8 P.M. and steaming slowly without lights reached Le Havre about 5 A.M. next morning.

My last view of England was the dreary wet dock, and later on a few distant and receding lights. Though we got into port at 5 A.M. we were not allowed to leave the vessel till 8 A.M. But, at last, as a cold and cheerless morning was breaking, I stepped ashore and set foot for the first time on foreign soil. We soon found an hotel (? Hôtel de Normandy) where they understood the English language and some of our ways, and we got breakfast in the English fashion. After a look round the shops and a shave in a small establishment in a side street, we reported at a large office in the town. Here we signed our names in a large register, and were given directions to proceed to a Camp, some distance from the town, where reinforcements for the 7th N.F. were collected and accommodated till they could be sent 'up the line.' Our stay here was a short one, for which I was thankful. They did not seem at all pleased to see us; it seems we had arrived a few days later than had been expected, and the Camp Commandant appeared to think it was our fault. We left Le Havre next day without having tasted the joys of the 'Bull Ring' or any other educational entertainment prepared for those staying on at the Camp. The train started about midnight, and like most troop trains in France moved along in a leisurely, dignified manner, with frequent stops and long waits between the stations. When we did arrive at Rouen, which was about midday on Thursday, we had to change. And feeling unrefreshed by our night in the train, we spent the time resting at an hotel instead of seeing the sights. But it is a fine looking old town and would be worth visiting in more peaceful times.

We left Rouen again at night and wandered along in the same dilatory fashion, arriving at Hazebrouck and eventually at Poperinghe.

The latter was railhead for the Ypres Salient. It was not surprising then to find the houses near the railway station looking shattered from the shells and bombs that had been aimed at the station. We had tea with the Y.M.C.A., who had with their usual dauntlessness selected a house close to the station. It had been struck by a bomb a few nights before, and there was a hole in the roof and in the ceiling and floor of one of the rooms; but I understood that no one had been hurt by the explosion. These shattered houses and the distant sound of gun fire, which we first heard about Hazebrouck, were the first signs of war that we noticed. After a long wait a limber arrived at the station to take ourselves and our valises to the camp of the 7th N.F. at Ouderdom. It was not really a very long journey, I believe, but it seemed so to us after our long and wearisome journey in the train.

To make matters worse the military police made us take a roundabout road, and the driver lost his way. Of course a limber is not quite the vehicle you would select for comfort, especially over roads that are stony or pavé. The German flare lights could be clearly seen all the way, and they seemed to be on three sides of us. A most brilliant and interesting sight the first time you see it.

Eventually we reached the camp at Ouderdom. It was called 'Canada Huts' and consisted of a cluster of wooden huts erected just off a narrow muddy road. At one time I am told, the mud was thigh deep; but now duck boards had been laid down, and though decidedly muddy the camp was quite passable. When we arrived it was quite late, and we found the camp in total darkness and every one asleep. But some of the batmen (or officers' servants) were roused, and they not only showed us a place to sleep in, but got us some tea and a scratch meal, very welcome after our uncomfortable ride from the station. What wonderful people these batmen are! Always so cheery and good to their officers. Inside the huts we found wooden bunks in two tiers round three sides and also a wooden table and forms in the middle. Not much room to move about perhaps, but fairly dry and warm. After two sleepless nights in the train we did not need rocking.

We found that we had arrived just in time to go with the battalion to the front line trenches next day. For the battalion had just spent three days in the rest area and was due to take over the line on the fourth day. There was not much time, therefore, to get acquainted with our fellow officers or to learn much about the platoons to which we were assigned. Several of the officers we had known well at home in the 3rd line battalion at Alnwick, and Major N.I. Wright and Capt. J. Welch and Lieuts. J.W. Merivale and Fenwicke Clennell were old friends. Also we had already met our new battalion commander Lieut.-Col. G. Scott Jackson at Alnwick when he was last on leave. It was nice to be greeted by friendly faces when our trials were so soon to begin.

The last few hours before going back to the line are always rather dreary and unprofitable, spent chiefly in packing up and deciding what to leave behind. Valises of course were left behind with all 'spare parts' in the Q.M.'s stores. But in winter a fairly heavy load of things was necessary, and the weather was wet and stormy. We had no steel helmets in these days and no gas box-respirators, only two cloth respirators of little weight. I found myself in charge of No. 4 Platoon in A Company, of which Capt. H.R. Smail was commander. There were two other 2nd-Lieuts. in the company besides myself. The fighting strength of a company did not much exceed 100 men, if as many.

Before we left Canada Huts, I was provided with a batman, coming of course from A Company. And a good fellow he was and much I owe to him. He has looked after me continuously from the day after I arrived until he was demobilised on December 24, 1918—nearly three years. A miner from Ashington, wounded at St. Julien in April 1915, he had rejoined the battalion some months before in France. At a later stage I had to rely much on his skill as a cook. A wonderfully cheerful person and a smart and handy man at improvising little comforts for me. His name was William Critchlow.