Our Despatches from the Front (No. 82).
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The Caterpillar
Tandem. Life in the Vosges.
A Word for the Buses.
WITH A SERGE BATTERY.
15th March.
We are having some awful weather just now. We were out the other night with our " cabbageeater" to shift a gun. We had to hitch three Caterpillars on to it, so you can guess it was in a tight corner. There were two 75 h.p. and one 120 h.p. machines in the team. it made the old girl nod her head, but the gun had to come out, and in the end it did, Some people would think it an impossible task to get guns in the places that we have to at times. I think if these Caterpillars had a rope and a drum on them, there would be simply nothing to beat them.
IN THE VOSGES, 19t1i, March,
Since I last wrote we have had two local attacks to deal with, one delivered by one of our bombing parties and the second by Brer B, oche. The first was rather interesting as we could watch the artillery preparation, which took place one afternoon from 2 p.m. to 6.30 p.m. You can easily imagine the strings of camions which we met, and, as no lights are allowed, driv_ Mg down the mountain roads under such conditions is in itself quite exciting.
Firing on Convoy Roads.
In this district every road is well known to the Bache gunners, and, in replying to our fire. it is quite their game to make the road unpleasant. and hamper the supply of ammunition. At the time of this first attack, the snow was still lying on the ground and the bombing party made use of it by wearing white overalls. It was really surprising how quickly the eye lost them as they started off over the snow. So invisible were they that the casualties were very light and by midnight all was over so far as we ambulance people were concerned.
The German artillery preparation for their attack was also interesting, but as we were the recipients we did not exhibit the same interest and spent most of the time in the discomfort but comparative security of a dug-out.
A Dugout of Distinction.
Apropos dug-outs, we have one which represents the last word in that useful line. It is built in the lee of he chateau and at a push can accommodate the patients from the hospital and the whole of the staff. It is built of squared logs with a triple roof and almost a metre depth of earth and is lined with matchboarding. An estate agent might turn up his nose at it, until he had occasion to use it.
A Trip to a Village Under Fire.
Eventually an order came for nay car to fetch a couple of artillerymen, and I had to leave the dugout for the open. I was able to take a by-road, and, although we had no lights, the night was sufficiently light with the subdued radiance of a mist-wreathed moon, to allow us to put up a good speed, and we arrived at our destination with nothing worse than th6 scream of shells overhead. As we entered the village the few remaining civilians were all peering out of dugouts and cellars, a few of the more venturesome being in the open. Then there was a shriek and a bang as a shell arrived, and the ensuing scene was very reminiscent of rabbits taking to their burrows. Luckily it was the last, as we had to wait while a limb was dressed. An Englishman's Tribute to the Poilu.
As we waited we could hear the staccato barks of the 75s wiping out the German infantry attack, and, in the distance, behind the German lines we could see a huge column of smoke and the glare of a, big fire. Our return journey had to be made quietly, but our luck was in and we were back at the chateau before the firing recommenced. Every trip I make increases my admiration for the French, the wounded never complain and, if conscious, never groan. The roads are awful too in places; they carry incessant streams of heavy traffic, and once a pot-hole develops it rapidly increases to an enormous size.
Watching the Planes.
I was out at the chateau again yesterday for 24 hours of service. I ought perhaps to explain that the village of ME, outside which the chateau stands, is only about three miles from the trenches, hence the need of dug-outs. It was a lovely clay, quite hot, and I was stretched on the grass reading and watching the continuous aerial performance_ I saw over 100 shots fired at one plane, a Boche, but he was at a, great height and travelling at a terrific, pace, and although he rocked once as one burst alongside it did not seem to have done any damage and he kept on his course. Eventually with my companion in exile I strolled up to our billet in the village for some tea, after quite an interesting afternoon.
An Interrupted Feed of Sardines.
We were grousing at the lack of butter when a bang ! and a pattering like a gigantic hailstorm announced the arrival of a shrapnel shell. Not knowing how long the bombardment was to be—the Boches do not provide us with programmes—we unanimously decided to drink the precious tea before proceeding to cover. A second arrival hurried us up in this, and, dashing outside, we were starting to make tracks for the chateau when we heard the warning shriek of No. 3. I do not think either of us had moved so quickly before in our lives, it sounds almost incredible, but in the four or five seconds which elapsed before the shriek and the explosion we had flung ourselves back into the house and down the cellar. About 20 -women and children were there already, and the hurried entry of " les Anglais " rather amused them ; they are too used to shells to be alarmed. Then for 15 minutes we listened to the big 150 mm's blowing the village about, and getting nearer and nearer. Once we thought the house was hit, but it was next door. and an old man of eighty was slightly wounded. After five minutes silence we ventured out,. to find three or four houses demolished and various holes in the road and surrounding landscape. We then finished our tin of sardines, but who says the Automobile Service is a soft job ?
IrVITEir TILE BUSES.
6th March.
Being an interested reader of your "Despatches from the Feont" for the past twelve months I do not recall having read anything about " The Expeditionary (General) Omnibus Co., Unlimited," which in my estimation deserve a place in the sun. [We have actually published several such "despatches." —En.]
Orderly-Room Clerk to Steamwagon Driver.
I have served in nearly every branch of the vast M.T. organization, from orderly-room clerk to the
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workshops and even to the driving of a Foden steamer. My Army career commenced with one of the first Territorial M.T. Columns which about 18 months ago was thought to be of Russian origin, but your "One Hears" page informed "Dame Rumour" that the letters W.L.A.T.F. stood for West Lancashire Association Territorial Force.
Further Adventures.
After we had been re-enlisted in the Regular Forces I was detailed to an Ammunition Park, with which I served five months previous to the company being reduced to a Sub, Park.
My next branch was with art A.O.D. Workshop Unit. After this I returned with my Thornycroft to the base, and had about a month spare, in which month (October) I wrote a short article which you entitled "Lorry Dormitories."
Pigeon Service.
Since that date I have been with the R.E. (Signals) on lorry work. During my short period of "Signal" work 1 had .& week on the "Pigeon Service," as the driver of the Studebaker van was blessed with leave. For fear of vexing the Censor I cannot describe my work during the week referred to, but I can assure the vast number of M.T. men who think they go nearer the line than the remainder of the corps that the " Pigeon Service," if tried by them, would alter their opinion.
When I brought my Hanford lorry back to G.H.Q., I was lent to a Supply Column for a week in place of a man who spent that short period in hospital.
[think it will be agreed that even this synopsis of my active service experience is enough to justify my opening paragraph.
(To be continued).