Our Despatches from the Front (No. 117).
Page 16
If you've noticed an error in this article please click here to report it so we can fix it.
Night Driving with Loads of Ammunition and Subject to Shell Fire.
WITH A TUNNELLING CO.,
November, 1916.
The driver's life up-country just now has brought us to earth with a vengeance. There is no brasscleaning competition in this new lot of ours, and -the inspectors warily keep clear. I am driving a Peerless lorry now, and the change is quite interesting. We are of short acquaintance, but exciting, active service soon makes one feel ceniradeship towards the machine one is driving, which mere grooming competitions never give.
Water ; and then Water.
Our abiding trouble is not shells. It is : firstly, water ; and lastly, water. We drive in a storm of dust, every pore.of one's dry, dusty skin clamouring for water. We can get a wash on return—by walking many kilometres with a can. A day or two after the sky changes, and our Watery troubles are more insistent than ever—insistent far a 24-hour stretch—giving one a shower-bath all the time. However, the feelings towards rain are more kindly, when by putting out a can one can save a walk of four kilometres. It's a philosophic life.
Roa4s Fit Only for Tanks.
At -night we miss the dust—not the rain—but have other troubles. We are then busily taking up ammunition to the advanced shell dumps, and over roads which are more suitable for tanks ; also through traffic which looms up suddenly in the darkness and wants an undue amount of the road. On passing, one braces shoulders together and waits for the bump. It does not come, but the sensation is experienced all the same.
Dangers of Getting Stuck.
An actual bump is almost a welcome relief. On the days when the roads are slimy and slippery, it is being " stuck" that matters; unseen eyes are following and waiting for your helpless moment with a high-explosive shell, and one feels their presence.
The Terrors of Night Driving.
At night, one passes along in the darkness unseeing and unseen, until suddenly the whole is lighted up dramatically with a star shell. The open country stretches away, with pock-marked surface. The fields look as though prepared for transplanting a, fully grown farest—the holes being prepared to receive the trees. Ghostly-koking remains of Sprees stand acritinels of the silence —nothing more. You will agree with me that this sort of scenery is not calculated to cheer the unfortunate driver who is stuck, knowing as he does that the star shells silhouette him to watchful eyes.
Stuck with a Load of Shells. On the way one night I passed a machine that was stuck. The driver had done the job thoroughly, and extensive digging alone would release him. He was grimly and humorously cheerful, as, pointing to his heavy load of shells, he If I go up before the help comes, it will be a costly funeral. My King and country won't want me then. If they do, they won't find me." The rest of his history I know not. This life gives Us the commencement of a story. It is a life .of serial stories, which are never finished, except to one's own unit.
Risks Run by M.T., A.S.C. Men. Luckily I can finish my own story. My star must be a lucky One, and death having passed me "SO close helps me• to treat him the more lightly. He did his best, but I won, as you will hear. We had been given orders to take an officer and 30 engineers to a certain place. My driving mate was a corporal, and we did not rub together well owing to his over-estimating the giddy height to which he had risen. He has made the supreme sacrifice, my heart feels tender to him now.
It was late in the afternoon. We started gaily, the corporal driving, and the officer sitting in front between us. Everything was in the usual routine, until reaching a particularly warm piece of road.