We - 100 men and four officers - were warned to be ready to start on February 1st. No orders came that day, and as an epidemic had broken out slightly in the Regiment, we all agreed that our send-off would be postponed for a fortnight at least. The surprise came when we were told on February 1st that we were going to start off on February 3rd. All Monday evening and most of Tuesday night we spent in getting arrears of letters written off. On Tuesday evening, most of my pack was put together. I prided myself it must be the smallest taken out up to date; as it proved after, if that was so, the others must have been mighty heavy.
I gave orders for my servant to wake me at 6 a.m., so that I could get up for early service with a few of the men. Of course, he came late. That knocked the idea of the service on the head for me. Up at seven and started finishing packing. This took much longer than I thought, and so it happened that I had only time for "Just a pair of pretty little sausages" - by the way, my usual breakfast, because I have always cut this meal fine - before I had to be on parade. It was rather a disgrace to be late for parade for the first time at Warley, yet so it was, and the C.O. didn't mind when he saw how much I had to get on. While the poor men were inspected about for times, called to 'tion, stood at ease ad nauseam, we had to bear up metaphorically and physically. After over thirty minutes' wait, we were still hanging about, quite jovial and joking, until I thought it was about time to ask some Ensigns to support me, which they did secretly behind my back, and so relieved my aching shoulders. (I was so glad to hear that at least one of my brother officers said he felt then more tired than at any other time in the day.) It seemed we were getting mightily close to moving off time, so round we went again shaking hands. Surely this must have been the second time, and the 'Bhoys' we left behind certainly looked much more sorry for themselves than we did. I remember how wretched I used to feel when previous drafts had gone off, and this was the eighth from Warley.
At last 'Form fours, right!' and we were off to the tune of 'Auld Lang Syne.' So far everything had been quite in order: the men had remained quiet under the eyes of the thousand onlookers. But on the first beat of the drum, volleys of cheers were raised, followed by those peculiar Irish calls, more like cat calls. The other men of the Battalion were rushing into the ranks shaking hands were they could. Everyone seemed to be saying 'Good-bye, Bill'; and the draft appeared to be carried along but the cheers, nearly off their feet. The whole scene was extraordinarily moving and nearly touching, when one heard from an extra excited man shouting amongst the din 'Good-bye, Sorr.' A gulp came up, not of sorrow, but of the sheer thrill of the emotion of it all. And so it came - a last look from the Adjutant and Quartermaster, both the best of fellows, and we were outside the barrack gates. Even then lines of recruits were on the road, cheering wildly. At length we got away from them all. But it seemed no time to settle down. The weirdest flags were being flown by the younger soldiers - a combination of the Irish and Union Jack. These I dared not notice, as such extra turns were all against order.
On the way to the station I had two of the jolliest and playful Sergeants, both been out before. One of them had been Army boxing champion, the other a bayonet fighter of some merit. I couldn't have hit on two jollier souls, and they were cracking the most comical jokes all the time. There was flag wagging and handkerchief wagging galore all the way to the station. One old lady, a publican's wife, deserves special mention. She stood on the steps of her home solemnly waving an awful old flag slowly in large circles.
It was a bit of a scrum at the station, as the express train was already in, and of course there weren't enough reserved carriages.
Who minds as long as we got to Liverpool Street? There I was put in charge of the transport, ammunition boxes, officers' luggage, etc., which we all took on the Inner Circle to Westminster. There the transport should have met us. You will have rightly guessed it didn't. Three taxis were chartered, and just as the last S.A.A. box was being put in the transport wagon came, half an hour late. There were the usual excuses and angry words, and he was sent on his way - not rejoicing.
A burly P.C. escorted us to the station, and the step he set, slow and ponderous, couldn't be ours, so he wasn't a guardsman.
There was a half-hour's wait at Waterloo, time for a glass of .... with Pease, as we were already feeling the effects of the weight of the pack. Our Sergeants found us, and insisted on us having drinks with them. (Not certain whether it was correct for the Brigade to be seen drinking with the N.C.O.'s but could we refuse?) And outside, who should we meet but the Brigade-Major - but the doors were not of glass.
The train did not take long to bring us to Southampton. We drew up alongside the boat.
I got an hour's leave from Capt. Young to go on shore, so 'phoned up the Willis Flemings and suggested that they should send someone to see me. Dick arrived: he is cramming at home for 'Smalls' and in March, whether he passes or not, he will go into the Hampshire R.H.A.
After buying a few knick-knacks for others, I returned and found all on board. And what a boat it was! - and old cattle boat, stalls up - luckily they were white washed. The only royal feeling it had was that we heard it had been used to bring the King of the Belgians' stables over from Ostend. With us were drafts of the Coldstream Guards, Leinster, Middlesex, A.S.C. and Dublin Fusiliers. There was no shadow of doubt our men knocked spots off any of them.
Within half an hour we were under steam and away. Our quarters would have done well for a third class passenger liner, and there was little room for ten officers and ship's staff (Hon. C. Agar Robartes, MP for St Austell, was in our party)
Young, being senior, was Captain in charge on deck. The I.G. got the use of the Captain's room, as he was on deck all night. Young on the bed, me on the sofa (with no right to it), and the two others, gentlemen that they were ... and Pease on the floor.
(I should have told you what Dick Fleming to ld me that on our course there were supposed to be six German submarines cruising about, so he had heard from a Naval officer.) At supper we did not dare try the ship's fish and brown stew, but preferred our own mess which had been packed for us, and washed it down with whisky and port, thoughtfully provided. We had not been going long when the engine broke down, and we perspired a bit when we thought of being at anchor with those lurkers about. However, after a time we picked up a friendly pair of t.b.d.'s and were soon under way again, much too slowly I thought.
Then we turned in, but no sleep came, nor would it, and the boat began to rock and pitch. I lay low - we all did - felt uncertain like; Young dozed. Then came a frightful bang. Young shot up. 'What's that?' We listened, thought of submarines - nothing doing. Turned over again, but couldn't sleep. Tried counting, thought of hymns, comic songs, methods of Naval attack, especially for submarines, life-saving etc., for eight hours, when I got tired of it and the sea having calmed, I popped up on deck. It was a brilliantly clear moonlit night, with just a gentle swell on the sea. And there on either side of us, perhaps 300 yards away, were our two black, belching, low lying t.b.d.'s. They looked magnificent, and I felt our ship must be safe as a house on a rock. Every few minutes they would turn in and out of the course, now sliding ahead, now behind, sometimes nearly crossing our bows, and they kept up by morse a running conversation with us or between themselves. Away, far away on the horizon, a lightship was blinking. So, feeling more composed inwardly and outwardly, I turned in again and snatched a couple of hours sleep.
When we awoke we were stopping. Just off the lighthouse in the Channel, the t.b.d.'s left soon and our guard was left in the hands of tiny French t.b.'s who gambolled round us while we lay at anchor. And so we stayed for four hours. They went quick enough in superintending the men's rations, and watching a most glorious purple and golden sunrise. As day broke I recognised the port at which I used to arrive on my visits to the Pilters.
There was any amount of shipping lying in the roads waiting for high tide. At last a tug came out, which took us to our breath. We passed on the way a sunken cargo boat which had been torpedoed two days before in the roads and hurriedly run into port. She missed her haven by inches.
At the disembarkation I was in charge of the guard to see no men got loose. Of course, as the luggage came on shore the Irishmen had to let one bale overboard, otherwise it would have been so dull. Four men immediately went after it, and I though they would never get it out, until one man got his teeth into the sacking. Again the comforts were brought up in triumph.
Ammunition (120 rounds) was served out, and away we went to our camp - a four and a half mile trudge with a hill at the end of it, and didn't we all feel the packs? Oh, not a bit!
We went through a sludgy, muddy street, which would have been a disgrace to an Irish lane, past many French guards and troops. The sentries amused us by standing at the present, smoking or with one leg curled over the other or talking to a pal next door - generally committing all three offences. Our men were delighted.
Then girls came along dancing by our side - only three-year-olds - all crying 'Bisque' (biscuit), which our men showered on them though we thought them short of rations. And so we wound our way to camp, pulled ourselves together at the end, and soon were allotted tents.
We are in a valley facing west, overlooking a river, and the whole terrain is a sea of dried mud. Mostly tin huts, and where no huts, tents with floorboards. Everything most uncannily orderly, telegraph poles, streets, notice boards, Y.M.C.A. tents, all on the side of a steepish hill - a very well chosen spot.
It did not take us long before we were in the Officers' mess having some excellent Bovril. Before long it got dark, so we changed for mess, which we had altogether with about twenty other officers of drafts in our Division. Opposite sat a South Stafford: beyond Pease sat a New College don, Johnson by name, who knew me more than I knew him (and O.B.M. man, friend of Arthur Winser's), he is in the Oxford and Bucks L.I.
A look at today's Times, and with difficulty did not disgrace myself: within half an hour, Pease and I were getting to bed. My servant had put everything carefully out. I made various notes of things wanted to be sent off, and so into my sleeping bag with just one rug above me and the door flaps wide open. I was asleep before the candle was out, and slept like a log on the hard floor (blessings on my air cushion) till six, without feeling at all cold. A cold bath in the open (blessings likewise) and a waddling dressing made me enjoy breakfast more than most mornings, and 'Everything in the garden was lovely.'
After breakfast, a cursory examination by a C.O. and a Medical Officer, who were highly pleased with our men, and who wouldn't be? You can't help being proud of them
The men were very slack about not shaving, but we are having no slacking at all in these details, in fact, we are to be stricter than usual, to keep the best discipline, and the men up to the mark. They like it, and are all the better for it.
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