Читать книгу Our Bit: Memories of War Service by a Canadian Nursing-Sister - Mabel B. Clint - Страница 8

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The Newfoundland Contingent of 500 men joined us on the 6th., their transport falling in at the rear of the northern column. The cruisers headed each line, while the Glory supervised the whole formation. On several occasions one or other darted off on some mysterious errand, after the wireless had sputtered a warning, or when a smudge of smoke appeared on the horizon. One or two tramp steamers were interrogated long before they became visible, and constant naval messages flashed from the Admiralty, and indeed the ends of the earth, few of which were communicated to the “passengers”. One day the cruiser “Good Hope” raced past at a great speed, signalling “Good luck, Canadians”. We were not to know till later that she was bound for the Falkland Islands, that within a few weeks she and her crew would have “paid the price of Admiralty”, meeting her fate gloriously, to be dramatically avenged.

It was the writer’s lot to do duty in several areas of the war, and to travel many thousands of miles by sea, so that one was able to understand a little of what the great “Silent Service”, so typically British, contributed to the salvation of the Empire, and the final outcome of the struggle. Many patriotic Canadians, previous to the war, had deplored the lack of support of the Navy from this Dominion, which owed so much to its protection, the essential defence of a sea-Empire, no outpost untouched by its efficient watchfulness. From Gaspé and Halifax to Plymouth, Glasgow and many other ports, from Boulogne to the Dardanelles, Canadians were constantly wards of the white Ensign, and on land the Navy’s magnificent personnel of all ranks performed every sort of service, inspiring perfect confidence, and compelling in all a tribute of admiration. Like the old army which made their bodies a wall till Britain was ready with her citizen soldiery, so the Royal Navy once again stood between a despot and the liberty of the world. Having kept the oceans free and peaceful for all nations during 100 years, it would have been to the general advantage to have this splendid police force maintained, irrespective of jealous rivalries; and the post-war period, with its endless International Conferences, shortsighted vision, and cutting down of this real, non-aggressive peace power, has not evolved anything that can take its place.

The voyage was mostly calm and weather mild for a week. Nearing the Channel vigilance was redoubled, and the greatest care taken that no gleam of light should escape from the darkened ships. The men had physical exercises on deck, and all the ships practised lifeboat and fire drill frequently. The Sisters had certain lectures on war-nursing, sanitation of camps, and military routine. Two impressive church services were held on deck, and as far as we could distinguish the other ships, Divine aid was being sought at the same moment. Concerts and sports were not neglected, and the last evening Officers and Sisters on the Franconia dined together, before the gallant ship’s company was scattered, few to meet again or return to Canada. An incident of the voyage which caused excitement was the falling overboard of a sailor of the Royal Edward, which was directly ahead of the Franconia in the centre line. He was rescued in a few minutes by one of the Franconia’s boats, the flotilla meanwhile reversing engines, and beginning to form a sort of floating hollow circle. Being a strong swimmer he was in no danger, but from the water viewed with much interest “the whole fleet balled up on account of me!” It was the only time the ships lost their alignment.

Entering the Channel on the evening of Oct. 13th, a choppy sea greeted us characteristically, and shortly before dinner a startling siren blast brought everyone scurrying on deck in all sorts of undress. In the thick dusk the long low shape of one of the cruisers loomed between the lines, which had drawn much closer that day, and the straining troopship abreast us had almost fouled it on its nightly tour of inspection. We had been warned of the various emergency whistles, and the threat of “Collision” caused many a minor one, as hundreds literally tumbled up in distinct haste!

Wireless was now very busy, and rumour gained strength and variety, the consensus of opinion being that we were heading for France. A cold gale blew and there was quite a sea on. The tossing ships, now obscured by mist, now visible on the crest of a wave, formed a different picture from that we had seen each morning since leaving the Gulf. But to those sailing the ocean for the first time, the scene was grand under the lowering sky. Certain ships went ahead, escorted by the Diana, and the other cruisers were constantly roving and circling the fleet, scouting especially to the south. Southampton was now supposed to be our destination, and the Franconia with three of the other troopships drew out of line, and steamed rapidly on, as faint coast lines first took shape. On Oct. 14th., about 1 P.M., as we came abreast of Plymouth Sound, orders were signalled to make port there. “They” said because two German submarines were believed to be off Southampton. Whether it was intended or not, surely Plymouth Harbour was the only and inevitable English end of our particular great adventure. Back from this western continent came a loyal body of Empire citizens, eager to aid in defence of the old home. Into the famous Devon seaport, which no enemy had ever penetrated, sailed a very different “Armada”, to add a significant episode to the long and memorable pageant it had witnessed down the centuries. Most of the First Contingent were born in “these Islands”, and as they crowded to the rigging, whatever emotions they felt were those of familiar sights, home reminders, and unchanging affection the beauty of England inspires. Among the Canadians who had never seen the land of their ancestors, there was curiosity, lively interest, and perhaps a desire to emulate a tradition and create one.

We had left Canada from a silent coast and with only the benediction of Nature. We anchored beside a crowded and animated shore, continuously roaring a welcome, spontaneous and proud. It was twelve hours before the 32 vessels had tied up, two by two in the winding reaches of the harbour. Who can forget that misty afternoon when one liner after another swung round Drake’s Island, and surprised and wondering groups began to gather on piers, fortifications, and the historic Hoe! Some one raised the cry “The Canadians!” and the echo leaped from point to point. Windows burst open, roof-tops were thronged, all traffic paused along “the Front”, cheers rolled from barracks and masthead, a naval training-brig manned yards, flags, handkerchiefs, shawls and tablecloths waved wildly in the breeze, bands and bugles mingled strains of national anthems with a mighty shout: “Are we downhearted?” to which the Canadians were not slow to respond with a “NO!” that shook the atmosphere. It was a not unfitting salute to Drake and the old sea-dogs “listenin’ down below”, or aloft, who had planted the Flag beyond the seas.

Canada was in possession of the harbour, and as one ship followed another, shouts of “Toronto”, “Montreal”, “Victoria” resounded... a new note in the orchestra of the centuries. It was a day to have lived for, even though Salisbury Plain and Flanders’ Fields lay ahead.

Destroyers had guided the Convoy into the harbour, and all about us lay defences seen and unseen, in the harbour mouth and on the headlands. After the acclamations of the afternoon, the singing of war songs, the local shipping as well as the transports and the town brilliantly lit at night, as for a general rejoicing, it was very sobering to read the bad war news, as soon as papers came on board. The sheets of casualties with which we were to become so tragically familiar, came as a shock. We learned with dismay that during two months since hostilities began, Britain’s small defence army had been decimated, and the flower of her youth were offering themselves for the great sacrifice. Even then no one imagined that four years from the day we landed the Empire would still be at war, and Canada would have put half a million men into the fight.

Next day crowds of motor boats filled with sight-seers circled the ships, cheering the battalions on each, official greetings came from the various Government authorities, and cables from Canada, we heard of acceptance of a second contingent; some Boy Scouts came on board, much elated at the opportunity. The English Press was unstinting in praise and welcome, though many editorials regretted that official secrecy had not allowed a great organized demonstration. Nor must we forget that, though it was our good fortune, as eldest and nearest daughter, to arrive first in a blaze of patriotic fervour, after a unique journey, during those same days, dotted over the surface of every ocean, were innumerable ships from “the uttermost parts of the earth” converging upon the central homeland of the Race, all animated by one sentiment and one purpose. We had no chance of seeing Plymouth’s ancient landmarks then, but ten years later I walked along the Hoe on a summer evening, and saw the townsmen playing bowls on the same green spot where Drake and his gallant friends heard tidings of the Spanish Armada in the Channel. By the grace of God peace with honour was again established, and I felt it was the one magic touch needed to complete the picture of 1914.

“Come the world against her, England yet shall stand.”

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