Читать книгу History of Ambulance Company Number 139 - Various - Страница 7

We crawled out of our bunks just as dawn was breaking upon a new world for us, and went on deck, where we saw, on a cliff, "Spratt's Dog Food" printed in large white letters on a black background. Unpoetic and unromantic indeed was this first sight of England.

Here was where the "weary waiting" began, as we waited for the first transport to unload its human cargo. Old man "bon chance" was with us for the time being, for we were the second to dock. We stood on the deck, complying with the English boys request "'ave you any coins" by tossing them all the pennies we had. The men on the port side were first ordered to fall in, and then those on the starboard side, for the purpose of finding out if any of us had fallen overboard during our journey. Finally, half walking and half sliding, down the gang-plank, we stood on what was to us real land, only it was but one of the many floating docks of England.

On the side of the main street, Y. M. C. A. signs were seen, and incidentally three live American girls, who were soon serving the "to-be-heroes" with hot coffee, buns and cookies. Although they were war buns and war cookies, without sugar, we enjoyed them to the utmost.

A large, stately policeman stood guarding the gates to the street and the docks. Some of us, wondering what was on the other side of the gate, climbed up and peered over on a large, beautifully designed square, which was crowded with women and children. But, alas, we were in a big hurry, and did not get to parade before them, or to receive the embraces and kisses which we were told awaited us. The R. T. O.'s (Railway Transportation Officers) crowded us into a "miniature train," like the ones seen in the parks in "God's Country," and we were soon on our way.

We rode across streets and through buildings just like a runaway engine might do. All the time pretty girls, dressed in overalls, waved at us from factory windows. After numerous stops, and more tunnels, we passed through the suburbs, traveling at a speed which did not seem possible from the looks of the engine.

We will never forget the beauty of the English villages, nestled snugly between green hills, or the soothing effect of the winding brooks which spread their cool waters over the well kept gardens.

Three or four times the train stopped to take on water (or perhaps at the command of the "top-cutter" in order to give the boys a chance to open another can of "bully beef"). About midnight we grew weary of sitting in our little compartments, and having cosmopolitan ideas, we proceeded to make ourselves "at home." Some were packed upon the baggage racks and managed to get a little sleep, – being used to the bunks on the boat, it was not difficult to adjust ourselves to this situation.

Sometime early in the morning we were awakened by a pounding at the door, and thinking it was a fire call, or submarine drill, one chap immediately began to feel around for his life-belt. He stuck his fist in somebody's eye, and was soon told by that unfortunate person just where he was. We fell in at the side of our "vest pocket edition of a train" and marched off, and just as the sun was about to show his face, we arrived at Camp Woodley, Romsey, England. After waiting for sometime to be assigned to tents, which resembled a miniature Billy Sunday tabernacle, we stretched our tired bodies on the soft pine boards and listened intently for the "roar of cannon." Hearing nothing but the songs of the birds, we decided that an armistice had been declared and proceeded to make up for all the "couchey" we had lost.

We had always been told that England was famous for her bounteous feeds, and after all the bully beef we had consumed for our "Uncle," we thought we were entitled to one of those dinners of roast suckling pig and plum pudding. But alas, we were badly disappointed, because in place of the former we had a piece of cheese, the size of which wouldn't be an inducement even to a starved rat, and in place of the latter, we ate a bit of salt pork.

During our brief stay at Camp Woodley, we visited many historical buildings and places. Among these was the old Abbey at Romsey, built in the eleventh century, the walls of which plainly showed the ball marks of Oliver Cromwell's siege against it. The pews in the Abbey were the same old benches of old, and the altar was the work of an ancient artist. Around the walls were carved the epitaphs and names of those who were buried in its stately walls. Along with the tombs of the old forefathers who had fought with the armor and lance were the tombs of the late heroes, who fought with the methods of modern times. We signed our names in the visitors book, along with King George and Ex-Kaiser Wilhelm.

Our hikes in the morning were enjoyed by everyone, over well kept roads shaded from the hot sun by large over-hanging trees, the same old trees and the same old Sherwood forest that Robin Hood knew so well. But as Roger Knight says, "You can't eat scenery!"

After an enjoyable five days, spent in doing nothing much, we donned our packs again and started for the Channel, a distance of twelve miles. While walking thru the streets of Southampton, our throats parched and our feet sore, we were cheered time and again by the women and children, and many ran alongside of the marching column serving us cool water. We sighed as we had to pass Ale Shops just as if they weren't there. About noon we stopped at a Base Hospital to eat our picnic luncheon – (Bully beef).

Our first big thrill of "La Guerre" came when we saw some real live Boche prisoners working on the roads. We watched them as a little boy watches the elephant at the circus. One of the boys asked them, in German, how they liked England, and they said they liked it much better than fighting.

After our slight repast, we again took up our yoke, and did one hundred and twenty per until we reached the docks at Southampton.