I was grabbed for a pivot man to set the pace and maintain the alignment on the right flank of the leading a company. Any old soldier will know that it is a very ticklish job on rough ground especially when the company in line swings around a corner as a gate swings on it’s hinges. I never saw the movie or the still pictures of that parade so never knew how we looked. Sam Hughes did wonders in the short period at Valcartier. I remember there were some U.S military observers present.
It was at one of these early parades that I witnessed an amusing incident. Arthur Currie was at that time in command of what was then called The First British Columbia Rifles. The different units were all formed up and ready to swing into alignment for the march past. Currie was a big man in stature as well as in many other ways. He had a big voice with great carrying power. On this occasion he stepped forward and reeled of a long rigmarole preliminary to the command for his unit to move. This oration ended with (First British Columbia Rifles slope arms). Col. Lessard commanding a Quebec unit at that time. I think it was the old (Vandoos 22nd) cocked his roguish head on one side and listened very attentively to Currie’s lengthy command until it was finished. He then stepped up and drawing in all the breath he could manage, he rolled out a command to his own unit the major part of which he invented on the instant in mimic of Currie’s effort. Vandoos 22nd Quebec, Ross rifles etc.- etc. slope arms. This was a severe strain on the dignity and sobriety of all ranks present and within hearing of these remarkable vocal efforts. The four companies of the overseas units were getting in shape fast, promising to be a fine outfit and later lived up to the promise at St. Julien. October saw us ready to embark at Quebec City. We had a pretty stiff training during our two months in camp and were in far better condition in October than we were at the close of the year after the shower bath in Salisbury Plains.
Crossing The Atlantic
We were shipped into Quebec City by rail, shown aboard a small steamer that had seen better days and was fresh from the cattle trade. Officers great and small, the rank and file began to size up the prospects of 15 days aboard this craft coming to the decision that the conditions would not be practical or sanitary. Figured out by the strength of troops on board, if we lined up, waited our turn each man would be able to use the latrine etc. about once in four days. Other accommodation a par and very short of practical requirements. Somebody kicked just in time and we were transferred to the (Canarder Franconia) together with div. head quarters staff, nursing staff, hospital staff and on this fine ship we had a pleasant and not too crowded passage.
The river below Quebec City was a fine sight in the bright October weather, with the brilliant coloring of the hardwood bush on the flanking hills making a background of villages with white painted cottages and patches of cultivated lands. There were to be 33 steam ships in the fleet of transports going in addition to an escort of light cruisers something after the style of the Rainbow and Niobe. The meeting point of this fleet was at Gaspe Bay, a landlocked, beautiful sheet of water enclosed by a ring of hills and having a narrow outlet to the sea. The ships come here from all points on the east coast.
Our training was kept up as much as possible while on board ship. The weatherman seemed to be on our side that trip, for the old Atlantic was as calm as a pond during the whole 15 days of the crossing. On the morning we sailed out of the bay it was fun to see some of the boys convincing themselves and one another they had to be seasick. Before we were well out of the harbor some of them had begun to rush to the rail to feed the fish. But strange to say they forgot about it in about an hour when other things claimed their interest and took them away from the idea.
The Franconia was one of the latest and biggest ships in the Cunard Fleet at that time. It was like a city afloat. The fleet was formed in three lines of 11 ships each with the escort in front making an imposing sight when all were underway. The speed was tied down to eight or nine knots on account of some of the smaller ships not being able to make more than that speed. The big liners loafed along with banked fires with scarcely a whiff of smoke from their funnels all day except when the fires were cleaned or freshened up. They did not have way enough to enable them to steer properly and some of them rolled badly on this account. This applied especially to the Royal Edward just ahead of us and to the light cruisers. These two rolled so badly in the light swell we thought they would snap off their tall masts with the old fashioned cross spar rigging.
After I began to know the way around a bit, I used to go up to the lookout or crow’s nest on the mast, spending a lot of time there taking in the view of the whole fleet. There was no excitement of any kind during the trip with the exception of a day when a deck hand on a scaffold slung over side for painting, fell into the ocean from the ship next ahead. This ship blew her whistle, turned her nose out of line and reversed her engines. Our ship followed suit and a boat was dropped from us manned by a mixed crew including one of our lieut’s Shorty Weld or (Pinky Weld). A lifebuoy was thrown that lit up when it hit the water with a white light and a trail of white smoke to guide the swimmer. One of the light cruisers noted the disturbance in the center of the fleet and spinning around came back between the lines at a surprising rate of speed with guns searching low looking for a submarine. The cruiser could turn a nasty wheel and went whisking around us at about 35 knots looking for trouble.
From the crow’s nest you could see a smudge of smoke for a few days in mid-Atlantic off to the north in line with us, sometimes we caught a glimpse of top masts. I was told that it was the Battle Cruiser Lion on the flank but she never came nearer.
When nearing the British coast we would occasionally see a smudge of smoke, and a cloud of spray coming our way, and in a couple of minutes the cause of it would be in close and signaling at lightning speed with a set of semaphore arms on the bridge. These were destroyers. Our signalers, who had begun by now to fancy their ability a little tried to read the messages but this navy stuff was too fast for our amateurs as yet.
The night before landing we broke away from the fleet and went at nearly full speed. The next day we dropped anchor in the harbor that the Mayflower sailed out of with the Pilgrim Fathers aboard. It was a strange feeling I had when I looked on this old England that I had heard so much of and studied about in school days. It was a feeling of coming home after a long journey. Some of the old (wooden walls) frigates lay in the inner harbor that had been scrappers in Nelson’s day. They were now used as training ships for boys and some as a sort of prison. You may have heard of the (prison hulks).
Our first impression of an English town was the chimney pots. They stick right out at you and the rest of the scenery is subordinate in every way. Rows upon rows of elaborate chimney pots stretching away into mists and smoke with absurdly narrow streets between leading up steep inclines away from the water front. Inland through the mist we could hear shrill piping whistles frequently, and inquiry brought the information that these were locomotive whistles on the railway. Shrill thin notes.
We of the scout section were not as yet a unit in the real sense. We were kept on the strength of our respective sections, platoons and companies and under their officers, drawing our rations etc. from them. I was on the strength of a co. under the command of Capt. Watson who was a good sport, efficient in most things and well liked. He was later to go through some remarkable experiences, of which you will hear more later.
England
That evening we disembarked with all our worldly goods on our poor backs. We didn’t know how to spare them yet and loaded ourselves with tons of unnecessary junk till we were staggering under a pile like a coolie with the sweat trickling down in our eyes. A feeling of bursting with heat and the pressure of the leather straps in the old Oliver equipment. In this shape we started to climb the steep hills on wet slippery cobblestones. We wanted to make friends with the English folk that crowded in on either flank to express their hearty welcome but, we were too short in the puff and too busy keeping our feet and pawing the sweat out of our eyes, but not too busy to take note of the red-cheeked lassies that rushed in to steal the first Canadian kiss.
We
