We had about 300 young devils in the prime of life with coin in their pockets in a new and strange land raring to go. It was some responsibility on the hands of our O. C’s to hold them for the time of our stay here and keep them out of trouble. Some of us were detailed off to act as sentries at some of the more unsavory joints to steer the boys away. I was nailed for this, my first job in La Belle France. I only had to turn away a couple of them during the night.
The last one was a lance jack or one strip corporal out of my own platoon. He had gone into some place where the inmates were all busy, or sleeping, or out. At any rate he gravitated to the kitchen part of the house and ran up against a big sideboard or chest of drawers or shelves loaded with a variety of bottles with all kinds and all degrees of kick. Being primed to a jovial and devil may care stage he proceeded to load up all the pockets of his great coat, the inner clothing with the best that the house afforded before leaving. When he passed me he had a heavy cargo and was rolling some in a light ground swell but with all sails set. He promised to go directly to his tent and did so. I helped him a little with his cargo when off duty.
On the third day we took the train and were off on the long detour by rail, three days and three nights. We were very crowded in those stock cars and found difficulty in having enough room to stretch out for a nap at night. Most of the time we were hunched up with our knees under our chins, but occasionally found a place at the side door of our Pullman where we could get a glimpse of the country. We passed through some very beautiful valleys in what I was told was Normandy. Of course all troop movements were under a very heavy and strict censorship, and we had to guess at our route and destination at all times. We were often able to pick off information en route and take note of names. While passing through the towns and while stopped in rail yards we had a chance to view the people and donate bully beef and biscuits to the swarms of pinched looking children that crowded along side with their perpetual whine of Bulee- Bif- Biskee- Pennie-Anglais-Soldat-Plees. There must have been a lot of poverty and hardship even at that early stage of the war to judge by these Waifs. We must have passed over a height of land some where in mid-trip for we climbed for several hours on steep grades. After passing through a long tunnel we came out on a different sort of country, level and flat almost like our prairie. I suppose that was our entrance to the Flanders Plains.
Hazebrouck
We eventually arrived at Hazebrouck, France, and this was an important railway point from which troops were distributed to all parts of the Ypres Salient and points south.
Here I got my first taste of scout work. I was notified before our arrival here to report to the O. C. in full marching order. On reporting to him I was given a map and told to go to Strazeele, find the balance of the battalion, then report to the O. C. of transport, and have wagons sent to Hazebrouck to fetch the company’s baggage. During the absence of the wagons I was to hunt out our billets in the countryside by their numbers and map locations, and having located them come back on the road and guide the different platoons to their respective quarters. Another scout named Closett of Belgian Nationality was sent with me to act as an interpreter in case of need. We found our way there alright fulfilling the rest of the contract and the platoons were quartered in their billets ok. These billets were barns or stables with straw on the floors to sleep on. I was tired and hungry when that day’s work was done for it represented quite a number of miles of travel with many inquiries, and hustling to and fro to complete it.
When I hit the straw I found a large cotton sack of coffee beans under my pillow that some soldier had pinched. On arrival at Hazebrouck we noticed the tracks torn up in a couple of places by shells. Fritz had been shelling the railway junction at long range with naval guns.
Plug Street Wood
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
