A Rifleman Went to War

We would start out in the morning and climb up to the top of Tolsford Hill and take a look at France. Then we would scout down the other side and see what we could find in the way of live things — birds, bugs, snakes — anything. I always have been a sort of nut on all natural history subjects, so was able to boost the game along.

Redpath caught two young rooks which he took back and tamed so that they would fly to him whenever he called. McFarlin had a hedgehog for a while — a small and harmless edition of the porcupine. We found a wood pigeon’s nest and also some young lapwings. One day a couple of the boys brought me a snake. As most boys would do, they had killed it. Now, I do not approve of the promiscuous killing of snakes and was about to tell them so, when I happened to take a good look at the reptile — and held my peace. It was an adder, so far as I know, the only venomous snake found in the British Isles. I opened the mouth and showed them the fangs and also explained how they could tell a poisonous snake from a harmless one. Yes; we had great times during that quarantine period. If we got tired or the weather was inclement, we stayed in the hut and played poker. Hard lines for the poor soldier, eh, what?

But there was one thing about which we had a real grievance and that was the food. The time we spent in England was the only period during my Canadian service when we did not have plenty of good food. In Canada, and later in Flanders and France, we had an abundance and of the best quality, but while in England we had to put up with what the people there were accustomed to. It was pretty tough but some of us managed to get money from home and used it to supplement the meager fare. You see, the United States and Canada — and possibly the other British Colonies — have a standard of living that is undreamed of in Europe. We are just spoiled, that’s all. People can live and live comfortably, on much less than what we think is absolutely necessary. Anyway, we survived — and none the worse for it.

While we were in England many of the men were granted leave to visit relatives in various parts of the British Isles. As I had no relatives that I knew of and as I had no particular desire to go anywhere, I stayed at the camp. I had spent a good deal of time in England and Scotland, on previous visits, and had seen most of the prominent points of interest.

I did enjoy the little trips to points along the Channel coast, however. Much of the history of England is written there, from the time of the raids of the first sea rovers, on through the era of Roman domination and to the Conquest by the Normans. Nor does it end there, for all along the shore are the remains of the huge, stone towers, the Martello towers, erected as a defense against the threatened invasion by the French under Napoleon.

Then, Sandling Camp was located in the midst of a lot of the old and interesting places which have figured in the early history of England. Saltwood Castle, built in 499 by the Romans and enlarged later by the Normans, was about a mile from the camp. Here was where the conspirators met and planned the assassination of Thomas a Becket at Canterbury, which was only some sixteen miles away and which I visited many times. Hythe, one of the old “cinque ports” was only a few miles distant, and in it was the old church which dated from the time of Ethelbert, King of Kent. In this old church crypt lie the bones of hundreds of persons which have been there since the time of the Crusades, and in the church there were the arms and armour of some of those old-timers who had been on those same Crusades. But to me, the most interesting of all was a tablet on the wall, “To the memory of Captain Robert Furnis, Commanding H.M.S. Queen Charlotte. Killed at the Battle of Lake Erie: 1813.” Perry’s famous victory, and Camp Perry, so far away, both came to mind as I stood before it.

Only three or four miles away was Monk’s Horton, Horton Park and Horton Priory. This latter church dates from the twelfth century and looks just about as it did when built. There also was Lympne Castle, one of the old Roman strongholds, and Caesar’s Plain, and Caesar’s Camp, where Julius Caesar is supposed to have spent his time on that memorable expedition to England. Also there was Hastings and Battle Abbey, where William the Conqueror defeated Harold and conquered England. Many of the roads over which we marched had been built by the Romans and every town and village we came to had its history running back for centuries. To me it was all very interesting and for those who did not care for ancient history there were Sunday trips to Ramsgate, Margate, Deal, and Dover.

But we were all getting impatient. Hearing the rumble of the heavy guns, as we could often do — especially at night — and seeing the fast-increasing number of convalescent wounded who were domiciled in various establishments in our vicinity, we were anxious to get over there and get in it.

Along in September, we had a series of “Reviews.” The King looked us over, as did Lord Kitchener, and I believe we did it again for the benefit of someone or other — darned if I know who. It got rather monotonous after a while but the first time we went through the performance it was quite impressive. As a starter, every company was “sized up,” to give the appearance of uniformity in height. Then we marched to the reviewing field, which, in our case, was some three miles distant. The whole division was massed in one great field, the infantry in front and the artillery and trains following. All were massed as closely as possible and the spectacle of that great body of men, marching in column of companies, with no interval between the front rank of one company and the rear rank of the other, reminded me of nothing so much as a vast field of grain, bowing to the wind, as, on all such occasions, bayonets are fixed and rifles are carried at the slope.

By this time we knew that we were just about due to “shove off” for some unknown destination. We machine gunners got orders to load up every belt with a new lot of the Mark VII ammunition and we had a merry time that day. It takes quite a while to load eighty-four belts — even with the loading machines — and we put in the whole day at it. We had fourteen boxes, each holding a belt of 250 rounds, for each of our six guns. In addition to this, we drew ten thousand rounds, in boxes, for each gun. Then we got one hundred and twenty rounds per man for our rifles. In all, we had about ninety thousand rounds in the section. We took our bayonets over to the Armourer and had him sharpen them on his grindstone — and drew an issue of files with which to keep them sharp in the future.

The next orders were to pack up all surplus clothing and equipment, to be stored against the time of our return. (I have often wondered if anyone in that outfit ever got back there to claim the things he had left.)

We were to take, in addition to our guns, rifles, ammunition and such equipment, one ground sheet (a rubber sheet, similar to a poncho but without the hole in it), one extra suit of underwear, one extra pair of socks, one overcoat (great coat, they call it), and the numerous small articles that go to make up the kit. It was permitted to take one blanket. I am not sure whether or not any of our crowd did this. I know I did not, nor did any of the others with whom I was closely associated. We took no extra shoes and it was with regret that I left two pairs behind.

Then we got our “transport.” I will not tell you how many waggons we had. (Get that double g.) At any rate, the stuff we piled into the little limbers soon filled them to the top. We had to make our own drivers but, fortunately, had plenty of men who were familiar with horses.

Now, all these things were done during one day and the ensuing night and it was near morning when we had finished packing and loading. We had breakfast and then the orders came to move out. Everybody was jubilant. Here we were, on our way, at last. We formed on our own parade ground and then moved out on to the road. But, what the hell? Instead of turning toward the right and so on to Folkestone, we turned to the left. Oh, well, just some maneuver to get the division straightened out, we thought. Huh: we had another think coming — in fact, several thinks. We hiked all that day and camped in a great park (Hatch Park) with the deer scampering all around us. I say we camped. We simply lay down in formation and slept a few hours. If anyone cares to look it up, he will find that there was a beautiful, full moon at that time for I remember lying on my back and wondering what was up there, for an hour or so before going to sleep. That was about the 10th day of September, 1915.

Well, sir, we marched all over Southern Kent for three days. Of course it is plain now that this was simply to get the whole division licked into shape so that they could take the road over in France without using up the space that was needed for an army corps, but we could not fathom it at that time.

On the third night we arrived back at our Sandling camp but only halted for a short time — only until it became real dark, in fact — then moved out again. This time we did head for the coast and, after the usual confusion and delays, found ourselves aboard a train — going somewhere. By this time all hands were tired enough to sleep anywhere and in any position, so it was not until the next morning that we discovered that we (the Emma Gee Section) had the train to ourselves. Our horses and waggons, (again, don’t forget that extra g; that’s the English of it) were loaded in freight cars — and, by the way, they are called waggons, too, so, I guess we will have to call our conveyances carts or limbers from now on — and we, the men, were in the usual second class carriages.