From Marseilles to armentieres.

The incidents of the railway journey from Marseilles to Etaples, en route to Armentieres, told in detail, would fill a book. It was made in ordinary cattle trucks, in which, packed forty to a truck, we spent four days and a half at one stretch. Yet was it a bright and merry trip, for our spirits were raised to the highest by the thought that we were going into action, and we were at all sorts of expedients to make ourselves comfortable. For instance, before we started the Stationmaster’s Office was ransacked, and every available nail pulled out to make coat and hat pegs of in the cattle trucks. We had to sleep on the floor. Our corporal, who was an old soldier of many campaigns, of iron physique and a perfect Goliath, and the life and soul of our party, was so tired when he got aboard the train, after strenuous efforts, that he fell dead asleep on the floor, and there was so little available space, and his massive form took up so much of what there was, that no fewer than nine men, as they became tired and dropped down from the walls of the truck, fell on him and went to sleep on the top of him. However, that corporal slept the sleep of the just for four or five hours, and even then did not awaken until, the train halting and somebody mentioning wine, there was a scuffle, and another man stepped on his head, whereupon he flung him off and made a good first out of the train.

We were regaled at each station by the populace, who brought us cakes and wine, small flags, toys, tin trumpets, oranges, and other fruits, and we parted with nearly all our buttons as souvenirs.

TUB, TEA AND A HALT.

At one stopping place a large leathern hose was depending from a water main for giving the engine water, and somebody turning this on, we all took shower baths under it, or plunged into the huge tub alongside, some being so keen on not missing their chance that they took their baths in their clothes, tunics and all. Try to imagine our feelings after being cooped up in the train for just on three days and nights and then getting a wash or prehistoric bath!

We had a two hours’ wait here, and the “dixies” (about a dozen in all) were filled with water, and a huge fire was lighted, and soon a “long felt want” was satisfied in the form of tea. Though it was like Indian ink, it went down with a rare relish (I think my little lot was the best drink of tea I ever enjoyed); but unfortunately there was no second edition.

After our “tub” we made a line for the station, the train being so long that only a portion of it was in it. We received a pleasant surprise in the form of a stall, where there were cakes, buns, bottles of red wine, fruit and many other luxuries.

After we had cleared out the whole lot, the French people living in the town came to the railings at the side of the station and bombarded us with all kinds of food and dainties. Just as we were all thoroughly stretching our legs and enjoying ourselves, the order was given to board train, so, with much cheering, singing and shouting, we resumed our seats or rather our “standing room only.”

“Doomsday book.”

Our corporal (behold him with an open book of Family Bible dimensions) often busied himself with expounding his views on the French language, in which he was labouring to become proficient. His linguistic ambitions did not end at self-proficiency, for he was solicitous to instruct his fellows, and we had quite a number of French lessons from him, although it must be admitted that they suffered many interruptions in good old plain English from the Tommies, provoked by the jolting of the train. They nicknamed this huge French dictionary the “Doomsday Book,” because it was their doom to have its contents thrown at them every day.

THE LAST STAGE.

The weather set in very cold and snowy, and as the cracks in the bottom of the truck measured three inches in width, it can be guessed what a draught there was. But in spite of everything and the general discomfort of things, jam and biscuits were “lowered” in plenty. I amused the boys by making sketches on biscuits and throwing them out of the window at the various stations we passed through to the crowds of French civilians, soldiers, and Red Cross nurses. Perhaps some of my comrades will find some of these biscuit souvenirs at their homes if they ever get there for not a few were kept to the end of the journey and posted to friends in England.

We passed over several bridges which the Germans had destroyed, but which had been made temporarily good again by the French engineers. Over these our train had to travel gingerly. As we neared the fighting zone the booming of the guns could be heard, and a little further on things became more warlike. We noticed the devastated stations, villages, and large shell holes in the embankment of the line.

All this seemed to bring to the surface our fighting spirits, and we only wanted to be out and at the Huns.

On arrival at Etaples, after a rest of two hours or so in the station yard and street adjoining same, we marched in full pack and kit, including blankets and our waterproof sheets, to a fishing village, where we struck a camp and turned in for the night. We were under canvas for four days the only four days under canvas during the whole time I was in France. The Colonel gave orders that all the men’s heads were to be shaved, as we were proceeding to the trenches.

LADY ANGELA FORBES’S SOLDIERS’ HOME AT ETAPLES.

A never fading recollection of Etaples will be that of the kindness and hospitality we received at the hands of Lady Angela Forbes and the “very gallant gentlewomen” who assisted her in the management of her Soldiers’ Home there. The warmest of welcomes and the best of cheer awaited every soldier who crossed its threshold. Nothing that thoughtfulness could suggest and liberality could provide was lacking. Tact and an understanding sympathy characterised the administration of every department. We left behind us blessings and thanks we could not express in words.

ON THE ROAD TO THE TRENCHES

We had a three days’ march (most of the way on cobble stones) from camp to Armentieres, via Aire, Hazebruck and Bailleul, things getting hotter and hotter. In the course of the first day the enemy’s aircraft dropped bombs on our route. We scattered in the hedges and ditches, lying flat and getting what cover we could. We had several men wounded by the splinters of the bombs, but fortunately nothing serious occurred, and all went well that day.

The third day we reached a village and were billeted in some barns. We had just “got down to it comfortable” when a shell took the roofs off, and a loud cheer went up as it was realised that the enemy had missed the mark. They put about twelve of these huge shells in the place, but they all went high. After three hours the order was given to creep out and get into some cottages further down the road. These cottages were inhabited, and the terrified people made us welcome indeed had not we come to protect them from the Germans? We had a short rest here and then had to push on and make the most of the darkness.

As the firing grew heavier we made a circular route over fields, etc., to the trenches, for the rest of the way. The enemy made an attack on our second night in them and their loss was pretty heavy.