Читать книгу In The Trenches 1914-1918 - Glenn Ph.D. Iriam - Страница 14

Immediately on detraining we could hear the rumble of guns away to the north and east. All night as we lay in our first field billets we could hear the dull thunder and grumble in the north. We continued our training for a short time at Strazeele. Then one day we were moved up near Armentieres, and were then sent into the front line in the Pleogstreete Wood sector to learn trench duties, routine and to get accustomed to the work. We were attached for this purpose to the Imperial units holding the sector at the time.

Writing of our stay in billets near Armentieres recalls to mind recent controversy re: the soldier’s song or ditty entitled (Mademoiselle from Armentieres). At that time, middle of February 1915, we were billeted in barns out in the country and used to walk into Armentieres in the evenings just to see what we might see. The song was apparently sprouting at that time or in the formative stage. I remember we invented several lines to fit the air while walking back to our billets at night after visiting the town. When I say (WE) I mean the old original eighth battalion scouts who were trained in Valcartier and on the Salisbury Plains. The fact that these particular lines are still in common use seems to indicate we may have been the originators of the main body of that soldier’s ditty. I have read several very misleading articles in current papers and periodicals in regards to this song. An Australian lieutenant laying claim in one instance to its having originated with his unit during 1916-1917. He even went so far as to name a particular lady of his acquaintance as being the original Mademoiselle of the song. Truth is stranger than fiction and there happens to be a slight error in his data of about two years in respect to this famous song. I do not claim that we were the originators of this song and I do not remember just how it came to us. I do know that quite a few of those lines were invented by us at that time while walking back to the billets at night, and those lines are still in common use by ex-soldiers who sing it at times when they obtain sufficient lubrication to cause them to bust loose.

Night winds across the great Flanders Plain moaning in the high elms, and Lombardy poplars, and with a drizzle of rain on wet cobble stones. Kitchener boots slosh sloshing through the mud. Intermittent flashes like summer thunder and lightning with it too.

Our detachment was assigned to the Somerset Light Infantry, and a fine body of men they were. They used us first rate, doing all they could to help us out and show us around. We had two days and nights in the line with them. Their breast’works and dugout shelters were in good repair, and their communication lines also, and every thing else was as clean as a new pin. There seemed to be a community feeling in that outfit and no wrangling among the rank and file with no excess show of authority and abuse of same by their officers.

We had a man badly wounded here. He went out on day light patrol in front of the line with some others and came under rifle fire. The first night on the line I was sent along with one of the Somersets on listening post. Ploegstreert Wood in winter time is a swamp. Standing in pools of water with a thick growth of good-sized hardwood timber, oak, elm, beech, willow and several other kinds of hardwoods. A glimpse here and there was all we got of the German trench owing to the density of the timber at that time. As soon as dusk thickened towards dark in the swamp we crept over the parapet and along a footpath crossing pools on a plank laid in the mud. You took a ground sheet with you to lie on. The listening post turned out to be a semi-circle of filled sand bags laid down to make a spot high enough to be just above water level. Here the two of you spread your ground sheets and lay quietly to listen and watch for two hours. There is a sort of cuckoo bird in that swamp that keeps up an incessant and never varying monotone Co-o, Co-o, and another swamp bird with a one-note whistle of a dreary mournful kind.

A few yards to the right front I could see two dead Scottish Kilties lying on their faces in the swamp. I got chilly after a bit and not being where I could have a smoke I took a chew of MacDonald Plug as a substitute. My mate requested a chew and bit off a generous hunk. In a few minutes he started to roll around groaning and grunting appearing to be in pain or feeling very sick. I asked what was the trouble” (Mon) he says that is an awful twist ye have. I gathered that twist meant tobacco and apparently he had swallowed some of it. He was a sick Somerset.

One of their sergeants showed me how to challenge and halt any person or persons unknown moving about at night. I still think this is the most sensible and effective method I have heard. The sentry called Halt! If the command was not obeyed it was repeated, if still disregarded the sentry shot without further parley. If the command was obeyed and the party halted, then the sentry commanded, “Advance one”, then one man of the party advanced close enough to be recognized or identified by the sentry. “Pass friend”. The sentry carried this out from cover or concealment when possible. I tried it out the next night and they certainly did not wait for a second command when challenged.

After two nights here we were sent in again with some of the London Rifle Brigade. Here was a contrast. Their breast’works were poorly built, there were no board walks in the bottom of their trench, and they slopped along through the water and stood ankle deep in it. Their shelters from the weather were very poor, leaky and wet. The men stood humped up shivering with wool scarf’s wound around their necks on sentry, snapping and snarling like husky dogs. The officers and sergeants prowled up and down steadily, every time they passed you could hear some poor private being browbeaten, lectured savagely always ending up with the old refrain. “Take that mans name sergeant, and the poor devil was put on the crime list ending up in the orderly room next morning for more browbeating or worse. They sure did love one another in that outfit. Holy Mackerel! It was all discipline and no brains there, with a vengeance.

Col. Lipsett had some of the boys build a log cabin in Canadian style about a quarter mile back of the line before we left the Plug Street Wood. We had lots of lumberjacks in our outfit and that was a treat for them.