The lighter side of trench life.

That there was (and is) a lighter side, a social side, of trench life, as of the life generally of a soldier on active service, even in this war, merely incidental remarks of mine such as could not be omitted from any true and fair description of that life must furnish abundant evidence; but this lighter side was, in my experience, so very real and so pronounced that to illustrate a few set observations thereon I take a few sketches from my notebook out of the order in which I find them in it.

SING-SONGS.

Our concert parties were “immense,” and there was no forced gaiety in our enjoyment of them. Some of the best sing-songs were in “Leicester Lounge,” named after the luxurious resort (which it didn’t resemble) hard by the Empire Theatre. The reflection occurs to me for the first time that only men with whom high spirits were rampant would or could have been so fond of inventing such nicknames as in mood jovially ironic we coined for all sorts of places, persons and things. “Leicester Lounge” was a dug-out adjacent to “Hammersmith Bridge,” and the surroundings of “Hammersmith Bridge,” there being nothing in connection with them to suggest save by absence either a garden or a city, were “the Garden City.”

It was the biggest, roomiest, and most palatial dug-out we had. The top was just a small roof-garden, carefully planted and laid out. It had statuary, too, in groups. The statues were fashioned in clay by amateur hands, and the artistic effects were original and novel, to say the least. It was also the safest place, this “Lounge,” because it was sunk four feet below the level of the trench itself. It accommodated twelve easily. Impromptu concerts were frequent here; our far-famed mouth-organ band performed at such intervals as our own military duties and the enemy’s cascades of shells permitted. It was here the names of neighbouring streams and nullahs were chosen from which we drew our daily beverage of “Adam’s Ale” (untaxed, and rather thick), such as the portentous “Caesar’s Well.” In another spacious dug-out we had our “Times Book Club.” This “eligible tenement” had the special distinction of a stove and chimney (purloined from a ruined farm) that is, it had a chimney till the enemy spotted and so riddled it that it collapsed. It had a glass window (fixed in clay), statuary (modelled in clay), decorations (log-cabin order), one chair (also purloined, back broken off), one table (very treacherous); and I mustn’t forget the president’s bell (tobacco tin shell, and a cartridge for a clapper). It was lit by many candles, and as the fee for membership was a book or magazine from home, it served a good purpose.

“Dirty Dick’s”.

After a time the sing-songs in a trench some little distance away from “Leicester Lounge” knocked spots off all the others anywhere, thanks to the acquisition of a piano for them probably the only instrument of its kind which has ever been in the British trenches at the front. It came from “Dirty Dick’s.” The picture of “Dirty Dick’s” gives a rough idea of the devastation of war. The portion of a building to the right was all that remained of what, but a few weeks before, had been a handsome and prosperous hotel, and the wall with window and door spaces left, shown to the left, had been the residence of a prominent citizen. All that was left of the hotel was a shaky wall, though the sign-board remained, having escaped the enemy’s fire.

We were placed in the trench shown in the foreground, and the Germans were also entrenched in the space seen in the distance between the ruins. When we first took up our position the hotel was intact except that the roof had been destroyed. The wall towards our trench was standing, and when it fell the bricks came tumbling over us, and the dust of the red masonry turned us into copper-coloured men. But prior to this three “Jocks” and three of our own regiment crawled out of the trench and into the house, and we spotted a piano on the ground floor. The temptation was too great; we decided to remove it. The operation took us two and a half hours’ hard struggle. Eventually we got the instrument into our trench, somewhat battered about and minus one leg, but still answering to the keyboard. Unfortunately two of the party were wounded in doing this, but they didn’t mind. Night after night we had sing-songs accompanied on the piano in proper style, and used to give forth with the full strength of our lungs

“The Germans are coming
Hurrah! Hurrah!”

The “harmony” of this stunt used to be wafted on the silent night air to the German trenches, and we soon saw how it upset Fritz and Karl. They got so annoyed that they trained their artillery in the direction of the sounds, and used to shell us all along the line in the hope of silencing our concerts. However, they could never quite locate the exact spot in which the instrument was temporarily placed.

One night, while one of our concerts was at its height, the officers even joining in, the order came to advance. So we had to bid a hasty farewell to our much-prized “Johanna,” which had given us so much pleasure.

“Seventy-five hotel.”

Now I think of it, there was another ex-"pub” where we touched lucky in the matter of finding things though they didn’t include a piano. This was “Seventy-five Hotel.” We called it that because the enemy fired seventy-five shells into it in seventy-five minutes on one memorable occasion, and then only killed one man. The building, which had been the scene of fierce fighting even before our battalion arrived on the scene of action, still bore the sign “Estaminet,” and so we could safely conclude that it had been the village “pub,” or wine lodge. There were a few bottles of wine still in the cellar, which the Germans must have overlooked when they were in possession, or had not time to take away. We found many articles, some useful, some otherwise; amongst them a large warming-pan, which caused amusement. The article we put to the best use was the dinner bell. This was turned to great account. In front of the estaminet was our “listening post,” where we kept watch and guard at night. Well, by aid of the dinner bell we installed our own brand of telephone system. This was to connect the bell by string to the wrists of those out on the watch. Whenever they saw anyone approaching or any other indication of possible danger they gently pulled the string, the bell tinkled, it was heard by our companions in the trench, word was passed along, and everyone prepared for emergencies.

“Chicken farm.”

Here something really like a little bit of sport came in our way. When we arrived there the farm was deserted, its lawful owners having found the situation too hot for them. Cows roamed about at random, and so did pigs. But after we had dug ourselves in and made our position secure, the chickens were what interested us most. There were two hundred and fifty of these at the least, and they used to parade on the strip of ground shown in the picture and the bolder spirits peep over the edge of our trench. Catching them was good sport, but eating them was something finer. What a nice change from bully beef and biscuit! Cooking not quite a la Carlton or Ritz, but more on prehistoric principles. So many fowls were caught, killed and plucked for cooking and eating that the wet mud was completely covered with feathers, and resembled a feather bank. As for ourselves, the feathers, sticking to the wet mud on our uniforms and equipments, turned us into Zulus, wild men of the woods, or Chippeway Indians. The enemy presumably did fairly well also with a poultry farm in the distance. They appeared to have a portable kitchen. We often watched the funnel moving about their trench. One day a line was stretched from this funnel to a pole and German officers’ uniforms were hung out on the line to dry over the stove. It made us a lovely target. Shooting at officers’ uniforms was a pleasant diversion, and they had been well pierced with bullets before they were taken in.

A FRENCH COMEDIAN.

Later on, and farther on after our capture of a position I shall shortly have occasion to describe we made the acquaintance of a French “born comedian,” who was a tower of strength at our entertainments, and who in various other ways was a cause of constant amusement. He had been left behind by his regiment, and we found him hanging around the place. It had been his home, and it seemed that the magnet of life-long associations held him to it. He was very useful in taking us round to cottages which, to our surprise, we found to be still inhabited, and in giving us the tip where to find cheap, if very thin, beer and other refreshments. He was particularly proud of his German jack-boots made for legs very much bigger than his own. When we had concerts he used to give us clever imitations of the late Harry Fragson in his “Margarita” and other varieties, to the accompaniment of the mouth-organ band. He used to say: “Ze Engleesh soldier très bon ze French soldier bon maïs ze Allemand no bon!” On one occasion he told us: “Âpres la guerre, ze Engleesh soldier beaucoup admirers ladees! Ze French soldier admirers, too. Ze Allemand non!”

He got hold of peasants to wash our clothes for us and introduced us to a little mill-race, which we reached through a thicket which concealed us, and the spectacle of our men stripping and diving into the stream in cold weather amused him hugely. He jumped about in his big boots, exclaiming: “Vat your vife say if she see you in ze water? Vat she say if she see you ici?” The English replied, in the best French at their command, “beaucoup lave très bon,” at which our comical comrade-at-arms laughed more heartily than ever. When his regiment found out where he was a guard was sent up, and he was obliged to remain in charge of it, to his great regret, when we moved on. He wished us “bonne chance,” assuring us that it was his one desire after the war to get to Angleterre, where he had never been; but now that he knew the English he must visit us to make our further acquaintance. So much for our comical French friend, ever so amusing and ever so polite.

We found fun in all sorts of things, made fun of all sorts of things. That we could do so and did do so may appear strange it seems strange sometimes to me now. But ’twas a merciful thing that we were able to.