To Fight Alongside Friends: The First World War Diaries of Charlie May. David Crane

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СКАЧАТЬ supply of chloride of lime, and 12lbs of nails. And thus armed we set forth, [illegible] is ordered, to produce four Ritz hotels replete with every comfort for the soldiers of the King. I ask you! Truly if it is accomplished, as I have no doubt it will be, my admiration for the Army will go up by leaps and bounds. If only we had some bundles of firewood and a screw or two the outlook might be more rosy. But 12lbs of nails, a hammer and 25yds of felt! I ask you!!!^xiv

      We have been to see D Company again tonight and have gambled. Naughty boys! Yet somehow I do not feel so naughty as I might have done had I not won 28 francs.

      9th December ’15

      The house building continues, but very slowly. Up to now it has been mostly talk. In a day or two, however, we really expect to do something, and, personally, I am consumed with a fiendish desire to use up those 12lbs of nails. I feel that to smite lustily upon a nail would furnish some outlet for the awful amount of energy which is fast accumulating within me and causing me, in common with the rest, to fret and fume at the idleness which is now being forced upon us.

      Rumour appears to be rife in Manchester that we, their darling ‘Pals’, have suffered heavy casualties. Save the mark. I should think it must have originated in some poor devil in another battalion dying of ennui. That is the only way I can account for it.

      It is raining again. It always rains here. For that reason I can never understand why they haven’t a river or two knocking around. But they haven’t, nor even a decent stream. I haven’t seen running water, save the Somme, since we landed. It is rather remarkable when one thinks of it. They seem quite content with their village ponds, which are apparently kept going by the drainage from the ‘middens’, and from which the horses and cattle drink, apparently thriving thereon and so producing a somewhat pleasurable example of perpetual motion.

      10th December ’15

      I am something of a hero today. When I have screwed up my courage to a point where it permits one to face officials, who present forms which I fill up and sign, always feel that I am. And today I have sent off a parcel to you. That entailed a three mile ride, which was joyous, and an interview with a postal official and yellow forms, which was not. And to think that all this writing and signing was all around nothing more offensive than the poor, little, shell-chipped and harmless statuette of St Joseph which I had brought from the old ruined château, of affectionate memory.

      And I got hot and excited about it, entered things in the wrong places and had to rewrite the forms, so that I feel sure I have aroused the suspicions of the post people and it is doubtful if the parcel will ever reach you after all. Oh, dear, it is terrible, this war.

      We have orders today that we are to split up as a Division and mix ourselves with others which have been out longer.^xv It is a good thing and shows wisdom in the higher command which decreed it. It means stiffening for us in action and the fillip for the older crowd which the introduction of young, fresh and keen troops always produces.

      We don’t know when we move yet, and it may not be for a long time but the news is something in that it shows we are not forgotten. It has bucked us all up wonderfully.

      I have just heard that I do not get my company back till Monday. Two more days of this sickening idleness. It does not suit me at all. I am like a childless wife, peevish and ill content through having nothing on my hands to look after.

      11th December ’15

      It has rained again today, the 10th day in succession. They say you can get accustomed to anything. Perhaps you can, I do not know. All I can vouch for is that we do not get used to the rain. We only strafe it the more with each succeeding day of humidity. I had your letter today in which you say you have not heard from me since Nov 30th. I cannot understand it unless the Censor has been busy at the Base and I have unwittingly been too communicative.

      Don Murray and I went out into the country by ourselves this afternoon and forgot building operations and rest billets and every other such objectionable thing in trying to shoot crows with our revolvers. Needless to say we did not succeed. But it took us completely out of ourselves and was therefore quite a success.

      12th December ’15

      The doctor came in to see me this morning on his way to Canaples and I decided to saddle up and go with him, the fresh breeze and stronger sunlight of the morning tempting me more strongly than the exhortations of the padre. So off we went, trotting along together down the open road, with the far-flung uplands on either side, the tempting curves of the road to lure us on, the buffeting breeze to set our blood a-tingling and the stronger sun to burn our spirits up with the joy of the morning. With such a morn as this was, with a good nag between his knees, a good friend at his side, with the merry clatter of hoofs in his ear and the open road before him, a man were surely but a common glutton if he asked more in an hour of his life?

      We rattled under the railway bridge, where a picturesque but unsoldierly French territorial stood on guard, through Montrelet and Fieffes and so down the valley road to Canaples.

      I found Prince there in good form but the others were out cutting wood.^xvi Canaples must be noted. It has a stream, let that sink in. Also it is the proud possessor of a railway station, two street lamps, a milk refinery and a château. Canaples is some village in these parts and is typically French in that it has a café wherein two young ladies dispense drinks or, just as readily, photographs of themselves in the nude. Truly it is a pleasing country.

      It was not possible for me to sample either of the chief wares of the café but I understand it has been overcrowded by my depraved company since the woodcutting commenced and the only reason any of its stock is still in the possession of its proprietors is the acute penury of my high-minded privates, who have not been paid for over a fortnight. I had intended paying them this morning but a wise providence decreed that I should forget the Acquittance Roll. Thus a prolonged moral depravity has by happy chance been avoided.

      I have just discovered one reason why streams are so scarce. There are no field drains here, nor any attempt at ditching. Hence when it rains the water just lies on the surface till, in good time, it soaks in. Very simple and very rotten. Even the uplands are a bog.

      13th December ’15

      The Coy has come back and I feel a happier man than I have done for days. They blew in this morning looking dirty and wet and were at once turned loose to clean up & have an easy. And not before they wanted it, I’ll be bound. The big majority have not had a half-hour to themselves since they landed in France. I think it a mistake. ‘All work and no play’ is a very true axiom and I certainly know the men do twice the work after a day’s holiday.

      Tomorrow I am going to let them have the day to themselves, even though the general is coming around. That may not be strictly military but it certainly is common sense, a factor one meets remarkably seldom in this game. I may be a heretic, certainly I am wrong to do so, but I cannot help but both see and feel that there is a vast wastage in this army of ours. Not, I mean, of materials or stores – for the distribution of such things is wonderfully organised – but of men and brains. Initiative is asked for, but woe to the man who displays it. Opinions are sometimes sought – but apparently with the sole idea of making an opportunity for the airing of some higher grade’s scheme, already settled in his own mind. So that one feels – and somewhat resents it – that there is humbug about and that one is being looked upon as more or less of a fool. One does not like being thought a fool, even though one has no claim to genius.

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