The splendid attack on April 9th gave us possession of the entire Vimy Ridge with the exception of its extreme northwest point. This the Germans held on to stubbornly and were not finally ejected until April 11th. Southward the British passed on down the backward slope of the ridge and seized Farbus and its woods. On April 12th, our army being fairly established on the ridge Sir Douglas Haig pressed home the attack upon Lens. On that day and the following day, despite bad weather, the advance was steadily continued. The villages behind the ridge, Vimy, Givenchy, Angres, Bailleul, Willerval, were taken one after the other and our lines began to close in upon Lens from the northwest. One factor which contributed to our success was undoubtedly the co-operation of the tanks which accompanied the advance. The first appearance of the tanks caused great excitement amongst us, as it also caused consternation and dismay amongst the Germans.

The tank is a factor of the great war and is emblematic of Britain's purpose, slow but relentlessly sure. It lumbers out over the waste of No Man's Land toward the German line, mowing down the enemy with its deadly machine guns and is undeterred by the rifle or machine gun fire of the enemy. It goes crashing on to and over the enemy trenches, going down one side of the shell or mine craters, and up the other, trampling down the strongest of barbed wire entanglements, trees, etc.

As this monster goes on, few Germans are brave enough to face an advancing force. In our advance on Lens the artillery preparation was so perfect that the wire barriers were everywhere swept aside. The German high command made a desperate attempt to divert our advance on Lens by a heavy counterattack along the Cambrai-Bapaume Road, which was delivered by about four divisions. We repulsed it, taking 300 prisoners and inflicting a casualty of some 10,000 of which 1500 were killed; our success was largely due to the artillery.

All officers and men look forward to the delivery of the mail. In the early stages of the war, it was a very common practice for both officers and men that had no lady relatives to write to the "Agony or Personal Column" of one of the London daily papers, asking for some lady to correspond with them. The ads would read, "Lonely Officer, or Lonely Soldier, would like to correspond with some Young Lady for period of War." Invariably a nom de plume and designation of battalion were used, and the result was that a large number of letters were received.

I remember a young officer who put an ad in the paper, and for some days there was no result. The officers all began to tease him and I think he regretted having informed us what he had done. However, one day the mail corporal brought three full mail bags all for the "Lonely Officer." Things began to look lively. He was now in a dilemma. Could he read and answer them all before he would have to go in to the front line? It seemed a stupendous task. He had a few volunteers to help him to read his correspondence, but no one was willing to answer it. For three weeks afterwards there were no letters, then one day Brigade Headquarters post office sent word that there was a transport car coming along with Lieutenant K.'s mail. The car was completely loaded down with his correspondence, so they wished to know what he wanted done with the balance. It was not long afterwards that correspondence from the Agony Column ceased.

The censoring of the mail is sometimes very amusing. Yet it has its pathetic side. I censored a letter from a boy to his mother. He had run away from home, and enlisted under an assumed name. He just had begun to realise that if he was killed in action, his mother would never know, so it was a very penitent son that sent a very loving letter to his mother at home. The war brings out all that is best in the "boys," though some of them are sad rogues as they vow eternal love to many girls at the same time. No harm is meant, I am sure, it is probably to break the monotony of the life in the trenches. Some of the letters have quite a number of crosses on them, like this xxxxxxx, denoting kisses, and probably stuck away in one corner we will see one small x with "For the Censor," marked above it.

The reason why all letters in France are censored is to prevent any information of military importance reaching the enemy.

While out at rest our battalion received orders from brigade headquarters to prepare a small raiding party with the object of putting out of action a German machine gun that had given the troops that were then holding the line considerable trouble.

Aerial photographs and map location of the small sector of the German line where the machine gun emplacement was located had been sent us. I was detailed to take charge of the party and was given instructions to destroy this machine gun emplacement and if possible to bring back some prisoners for purpose of information.

I selected ten men including one sergeant and one corporal and for three days we practiced for this raid by going over the tapes and also making use of some previously dug trenches, so that every man would know exactly what part he would take when the actual raid would be pulled off.

These men were equipped just as they would be when the actual raid would take place, four men were armed with rifles and bayonets, the others were armed with bombs and knobkerries and in addition all had their wire cutters.

It is usual for us and also the enemy to have a narrow zig-zag passageway through the barbed wire entanglements to afford us an exit for a party going out into No Man's Land. Our battalion scout officer the night previous to the raid had been out doing special reconnaissance along the sector of the German line that we had to raid, and while he was crawling along the edge of their barbed-wire he had discovered the opening. This very valuable information I had received from him.

The second night we were in the front line trenches I received orders that I was to make the raid that night.

I gave the sergeant the necessary instructions to have the men prepared and ready to leave our line at one A.M. Part of the instructions were that the men were to have their faces blackened and a small white chalk mark on the front of their steel helmets. On the back of each man was a small piece of bright tin about two inches in diameter, fastened on their tunic.

Notices had been sent to the units on our flanks that a raiding party was going out at one A.M.

Two hours' time was allowed us to accomplish this. I took my compass bearings and at one A.M. led the boys in single file through our barbed-wire entanglements into No Man's Land.

The German barbed-wire entanglements were about two hundred and fifty yards away from us. I headed right for where I estimated the opening in the German wire entanglements would be.

As the German flares went up we would try to get into shell holes if possible before they burst. We were not very conspicuous as long as they were bursting ahead of us. The great danger of being observed was when the flares burst behind us.

Our progress over No Man's Land was very slow. Not a word was spoken. I signalled back as pre-arranged to my boys by throwing small clods of earth to the man in rear who passed back the signals to those behind him.

In a previous counterattack the Huns had lost this part of No Man's Land. The result was that quite a number of German dead lay on this particular sector unburied. This was due to the continual artillery activity on both sides.

As we reached the middle of No Man's Land, I raised my head carefully above the lip of a shell hole while a German white flare was up. To my consternation I saw what was evidently a German battle patrol coming crouching through their barbed-wire. I counted in all twenty-five men.

Things looked ominous for my party, as they outnumbered us over two to one. I had no desire to go back, without accomplishing my mission. Neither did I wish to engage my men in personal conflict with such odds against them. So I sent my scout with a message to the officer who was on duty in our sector of the line and informed him what I had observed. At the same time I asked him to pass the word along to open up a machine gun fire at a point that would get the approaching Hun battle patrol.

It was with mixed feelings of pleasure that I heard our Lewis guns open fire in the required direction, and I had the satisfaction of seeing the approaching Huns beat a hasty retreat, leaving a number of dead and wounded behind them. We waited for what seemed to be hours, in reality it was only fifteen minutes, and then we crawled carefully forward towards the German barbed-wire entanglements. The Huns in their somewhat hasty retreat had forgotten to haul in their white tape line and this was the means that guided us through their barbed-wire. As soon as I got almost through the barbed-wire, I immediately jumped up, my boys doing likewise, and made a rush for the German trench.

Here I discovered a German sentry in the act of loading a pistol to send up a flare. He was so taken by surprise and fear that he immediately held up his hands, mumbling "Kamerad." We at once gagged him. As previously arranged my party divided in two, one-half going to the right under my command and the other to the left in charge of the sergeant. We had no time to lose as their trench mortars might open up at any moment.

I surprised a machine-gun crew and quickly put them out of business with a few Mills bombs. On the left my sergeant surprised and captured two prisoners. We then quickly got out of the trench, pushing our prisoners ahead of us as we crawled back over No Man's Land. By this time the Germans had discovered the result of our raid and began at once to send up their white flares with great rapidity. In addition their "flying-pigs," "fish-tails," "rum-jars" and "Minenwerfers" made things very lively for us in No Man's Land. Our prisoners were just as keen to reach our trenches safely as we were. However, we had to remain out on our stomachs in No Man's Land until the white flares had ceased to go up with such rapidity. It seemed a lifetime for me since I had left our trenches, and I began to wonder if I would ever get back to them again. As I heard some of my men moan, I knew that they had been hit, but I knew that our stretcher bearers would soon be out to give them their required attention once we got safely back to our line.

We slowly wormed our way back, and it was very sweet music to my ears to be challenged by our own sentry as we approached the trench. I made myself known, and very soon we were all in and gave the necessary information for stretcher bearers to be sent out. Our casualties were one killed and two slightly wounded.

The information gained from the prisoners was of great importance.

CHAPTER VII

BEHIND THE LINES

All front line infantry units in France are, like gypsies, moving all the time. It is seldom we are out at rest at the same place twice inside of six months. Rests are named according to the units that are out of the trenches for that time. Battalion rests may be for seven or ten days; brigade rest may be as long as two weeks; division rest may last one month.

We call the time we are out of the line rest, but in reality we have a strict period of training to undergo. At the same time there is a great deal of amusement, without the danger attached to it that we have when in the trenches.

The boys may start P.T. and B.F. (Physical Training and Bayonet Fighting) for one hour. Then squad and company drill until noon or, if an attack is to take place in the near future, they may be practicing for the same by going over the tapes. In the afternoon they may be given lectures, rifle practice, bombing, or Lewis gun drill. This may continue until about 4:00 P.M., and then they are dismissed for the balance of the day.

The Y.M.C.A. usually has moving picture theatres nearby for the benefit of the troops in that vicinity. Football, baseball and boxing also play a prominent part in keeping the men fit. In the evening there may be a good concert given by the Y.M.C.A., probably winding up by a church service. Thus the spiritual welfare of the boys is looked after. Spare moments are spent writing letters.

During one of our rests at the little village called Villers-au-Bois, the Town Major, who was a captain in one of the Imperial battalions, after he had his staff get our officers and men the necessary accommodation, informed us that the Middlesex battalion had been in these billets a short time after the First Expeditionary Force had landed in France.

When the First British Expeditionary Force landed in France, some famous regiments came over with it. Among these were the Middlesex regiment and the famous Scotch regiment, "The Black Watch." As the Black Watch marched through the small French village, the following dialogue took place between two old Frenchmen who saw them approaching. The elder of the two turned to his companion and said in the patois of the region: "Then it is true that Angleterre has no men! So she is sending out the womans to fight!" The other Frenchman replied: "No, no—they are not womans—for they have got moustaches." "Sacré, Sacré," replied his friend, "I have it! This is the famous Middlesex regiment."

During our rest at this small village, we had Canadian corps sports, which were organised by the Y.M.C.A. The 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th divisions had all their representatives. The latter division had only a few units in the field, but it seemed to pull down the most honours. This division has since been broken up and used to reinforce the other four. Major-General Currie and his staff were present, as were all the Canadian troops that were out of the line and not on duty. Our sports consisted of running, short and long distance, baseball, and football, the usual athletic performances. It was here that I saw Tom Longboat, the famous Indian runner, compete, but he was beaten for first place in a five-mile race by another Indian.

About six o'clock the same evening I noticed our observation balloons were up. These balloons were about four miles behind our trenches and three miles or so apart. They were taking advantage of the very clear weather for observation purposes along the German lines and back areas.

It may not be out of place to describe an observation balloon. This is a captive balloon fastened sometimes to a motor truck by long stout ropes, and may be hauled along the road, if the Germans commence to shell them with their explosive shells. The balloon is composed of one elongated ballonette, inflated with hydrogen or some other kind of light gas. A second internal ballonette is inflated with air, which is required in order to maintain the shape of the balloon. By means of the keel at the end, the balloon is oriented to the wind. On a clear day the observation balloon rises to a height of 200 to 400 yards and remains up for several hours, being occasionally pulled down to relieve the observation officer who takes his position in the nacelle or basket beneath the balloon. From there he reports enemy movements by telephone to headquarters.

I was watching an aeroplane flying very high in our direction and, as our anti-aircraft shells were bursting beneath it, the little white puffs of smoke of the shells' burst indicated to us that the aeroplane was a Hun machine. Nothing seemed to daunt the aviator and as he hovered over the observation balloon on my right I heard his machine gun firing. A few bombs were dropped and the balloon took fire.

The observation officer in the meantime had jumped out of his basket. He began to fall through space until his parachute opened. Then we witnessed a thrilling race as the burning balloon and the officer in his parachute began to descend to the ground, pursued by the Hun aviator who was using his machine gun on the unfortunate observation officer. Luckily the observation officer got safely to the ground.

The next target of this daring Hun aviator was the observation balloon in front of where we were standing. The observation officer immediately jumped out of his basket and got safely down to the ground. The Hun aviator, however, destroyed this balloon and then retired back to his lines, evidently having used up all of his bombs. He came back an hour later and destroyed a third balloon, but this time his daring was nipped in the bud as he was brought down by one of our anti-aircraft shells somewhere near one of our rear support lines. One of his hands had been shattered so that he was unable to manipulate his levers. The boys had no sooner taken him prisoner and got him clear of his machine than the German artillery opened up and with a shell blew his aeroplane to pieces. It must be understood that our aeroplanes cannot be everywhere at the same time. They had evidently gone on a mission to some other locality and the Huns had probably been aware of this fact. Hence the audacity of this aviator.

Later the same evening I was walking along the Villers-au-Bois and Carency Road when I heard the drone of an aeroplane behind me. I turned round and saw an aeroplane flying very fast and low. I was at that time in the centre of the road. On both sides were tents occupied by the men of an artillery battery who were also out at rest. Suddenly I heard three loud reports and knew at once the Hun was dropping bombs. As I imprudently glanced up in the air I could see the aviator leaning over the side of his plane and the Maltese Cross on the wings, as he turned his machine gun upon the tents around me. The observation officer was firing what we called a "chaser" bullet. These bullets at dusk or night show a reddish streak as they travel through the air, giving the aviator an idea of the direction of his fire. There is usually one chaser bullet to every five cartridges. However, this aviator was soon brought down by our anti-aircraft picket, which was waiting for him. As he was flying low they had no trouble in bringing his machine down.

In the early part of July I arrived at a little place called Bully-Grenay. This town had a population of about 2,000 and was almost four miles from Lens. We had to be very careful how we approached it as we were within easy shelling distance from the Germans as well as easily observable by them. This town had not suffered very much from shell fire. One of our Majors, whose turn it was to remain out of the line, had been sent with an advance party to see about our billets. I was left behind in charge of the rear party with instructions to have all billets cleaned up that we had occupied so that the next battalion that came in would find them all right.

Later on, when I reached this town, I saw the Major surrounded by a crowd of women. I approached to see what was the matter and then saw one woman gesticulating and shaking her fist at the Major. He, poor fellow, could not understand the reason of this unnecessary excitement.

After saluting, I asked him what was the matter. He informed me that the Town Major had given him the names of the various civilians who could accommodate officers and men, and as this lady's name was on the list he had asked her to clean up her room for an officer. She had resented this very much, as she thought her rooms were extra clean. The Major's poor French had evidently been misunderstood. I spoke to the lady in French and tried to smooth matters over. She kept a little store which was named "Le Pauvre Diable" or "Poor Devil."

After I had bought a few postcards Madame told me that I could have the room. She also informed me that the Germans often shelled the railway station which was not more than 150 yards away from her store.

That same afternoon we were informed that our battalion was coming out of the line. As it is customary for us to buy extra rations for the boys when they come out of the trenches and as I was secretary of the canteen, the Colonel authorised me to have something good ready for the tired and weary men when they would arrive at about 3:00 A.M. in the morning. A sufficient number of names had not been given of the civilians who had accommodation for officers. Therefore, the battalion being short of one billet for an officer, I volunteered to give up my billet to this officer when he should come out of the line. I therefore told my hostess I would be obliged to leave, saying that Lieutenant S—— would take over my room. Madame would not hear of this, insisting upon my accepting her room. So she and her daughter slept downstairs. Later on, when the battalion arrived in the small hours of the morning, and after each officer had seen that his men had received a good meal and all been accommodated properly in their billets, they in turn had something to eat, afterwards going to bed.

There was very little to do the next day, but we had three men wounded as they were in the street near the railway station. The Huns were aiming at this station in the expectation of probably hitting some French coal and ammunition trains as they came into it. The following night as I lay awake in bed I could hear a whistling noise as the German shells passed over our house. I judged they were going in the direction of Les Brébis, about half a mile beyond Bully-Grenay.

Suddenly, when everything was quiet, I heard a loud explosion. A crump had struck the railway station. Madame from downstairs shouted to the other officer and me that there was no danger as the Germans were only firing at the usual target, the railway station.

On July 10th, as we were out on our training ground practising for an attack, we observed some German aeroplanes. But our anti-aircraft pickets had also observed them and soon drove them away.

In the afternoon as we marched back to the billets, I noticed that during our absence several batteries of artillery had come into this little town and were then busy firing at the Boche line. When I returned to my billet that evening Madame told me that one of the guns that had been firing was situated in the rear of her house. This appeared to frighten her very much.

About 2:00 A.M. in the morning we were all awakened by a very loud explosion. All the window panes were blown out and the glass of the small conservatory was smashed to atoms. Madame, in a very excited tone of voice, shouted to us to come downstairs at once, not forgetting to bring our gas helmets. We went outside to see about our men's safety, then returned. After dressing very hastily we descended the stairs and were led by Madame and her daughter to the cellar which was rather shallow, not more than ten feet deep and about ten feet wide. There were some provisions stored in the cellar and in the corner a small stove and a coal bin, a few chairs and a bed.

In the course of conversation Madame informed us that her husband and another daughter had been prisoners in the hands of the Germans since 1914. At the time they had been taken prisoners they had been on a visit to Lille. They were returning to Bully-Grenay when they were cut off by the Germans. She had not received any news and did not know whether they were alive or dead at that time. There are many families in France in this predicament, and the torture of these poor people is quite pitiful.

The shelling ceased about daybreak and I was glad to get out of the cellar, as it really afforded very little protection. If a shell had struck the house one was liable to be killed by the falling masonry. Lieutenant S—— and myself went over to the billets that our men were in and found them all safe, after which we returned to our own billet.

The inhabitants of little villages and towns near the firing line all take risks of this kind. Many of them are killed, but they seem to cling to their homes whilst they have a possible chance to do so. The children when they go to school carry gas masks, which they use when required, as they never know when the Germans will send over gas shells.

CHAPTER VIII

THE "BULL RING"

Near a certain town "somewhere in France" there is a large training ground that is called the "bull ring." Here men from the Imperial, Canadian, Australian and Newfoundland Forces are trained and instructed in the various branches of the service.

The "bull ring" is about two miles square and is divided into sections. Each section is allotted for the purpose of training a large number of men in special branches of the service such as bayonet fighting, physical training, bombing, trench warfare, musketry, wiring, machine gunnery, topography, military engineering and the use of the gas mask.

The training for the gas masks is very simple. Each man is trained to adjust his mask in a few seconds. After that he is tested, with the gas mask on, by going through a small hut that is filled up with lachrymatory gas about four times the strength of any gas that the Huns would be likely to send over.

During the summer of 1917 the camp contained about 80,000 men of the first British Army. In the morning each depot battalion would send its men to the "bull ring" for training. They would usually arrive about 8:30 A.M. and would work up till noon. Then would break off to fall in again probably about two. After that, an hour and a half was devoted to lectures, etc. They would be marched back again about 3:30 P.M. to their respective headquarters.

The training camp was admirably arranged, as it brought in close contact the soldiers of the Commonwealth and the Dominions with those of the Motherland.

Discipline plays a very important part in the training of the soldier. Great care is taken to teach the men to salute properly. The officers in turn must return the soldier's salute in the prescribed manner. Each officer salutes his senior. A well disciplined battalion is easily recognised by the smart manner in which the members salute.

The men must be shaved every morning, shoes shined and buttons polished. Everything about them must be spick and span. They must also appear in full fighting order. Standing steady in the ranks must be strictly adhered to and all movements in drill must be done with snap and precision. The small box respirators and P.H. helmets (gas helmets) are often used during the P.T. and B.F. (physical training and bayonet fighting). We also march on the training ground wearing small box respirators and P.H. helmets alternately. This accustoms the men to the use of the gas helmet.

Boxing plays a prominent part in the training of our soldiers, and is a great help in the bayonet fighting, as it teaches the men the quickness of eye and movement, which is as essential for a good boxer as it is for a good bayonet fighter.

One of the many games that is a source of amusement and very popular with the boys is known by the name of "McGrady." It is very simple but it affords the boys a great deal of pleasure. The instructor forms the men in a circle around him, each man being armed with his rifle and bayonet with scabbard on. He then explains to them this very simple game which gets their interest and also causes them to concentrate their minds. The instructor will then say, "McGrady says, 'Do this'" and he then makes a point with the bayonet, all his class doing the same.

If, however, he says, "McGrady says, 'Do that,'" he will probably make a short point and no one must move. If any man has made a short point he must come out in the centre, take the instructor's place and try to catch someone else off his guard. It is just the difference in the words "This" and "That," and all depends upon the cleverness of the instructor in being able to tell the tale to divert the men's minds and be able to catch them off their guard.

Many of the soldiers who were undergoing training here had been wounded and, after being passed as physically fit for the front again, were trained with men who had never been up the line.

In some cases they were given instruction by an instructor who had never been in the front line. Now when a soldier is wounded his name appears on the casualty list. He is allowed to put on his left sleeve a narrow gold stripe for each time he has been wounded, and the Tommy is very sensitive about taking instructions from anyone who has not these stripes. One incident that was brought to my notice will show how sensitive Tommy is as to whom he has instructing him.

A certain sergeant, who had been gassed at Ypres, had also been fighting in various other battles but, luckily for him, he had never been wounded. Therefore, he could not wear the stripe. He was giving instruction to the class on gas drill. Nearly all the class were wearing a gold stripe for wounds received.

I was in the lecture room when the sergeant commenced his lecture, but subsequently I was called away for a few minutes. Upon my return I discovered that the lecture was practically at a standstill. All the Tommies had turned their backs on the sergeant and would not listen to him. They thought he had never been up the line and they resented very much taking instruction from one who, in their opinion, had had a bomb-proof job. I asked the sergeant what was the matter, and he told me that he thought his class was under the impression that he had not been up the line. I therefore allowed him, before proceeding with the lecture, to relate some of his experiences at the front. After that he had no further trouble with that class.

After a certain length of time training at the "bull ring," the men are drafted and ordered to go up the line to reinforce battalions at the front. I was given charge of a draft of 200 men. The men selected were duly warned to fall in on the following morn at 7.00 A.M. at their respective parade grounds. They were all delighted and, as most of them had never heard a shot fired, they were anxious and keen to go up the line. By 7:30 the next morning I had inspected the men carefully. Afterwards they were inspected by the adjutant and the colonel. Each man, I may say, had his full fighting kit on.

After a brief speech by the Colonel we marched to the railway station. As we approached the station the French soldiers, who were guarding the German prisoners that were working on the railway tracks, sprang to attention and shouted, "Bon Voyage, Bon Voyage." When I arrived at the station the railway transport officer met me and pointed out the cars that we were to occupy. There was a canteen at the station run by some English ladies, who were serving the men with cakes and dainty slices of bread and butter and tea or cocoa. The ladies were all very refined and were not paid for their services. They seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in making the soldiers happy and contented.

As we would proceed along the railway and approach a nearby town the little French children would shout out, "Bon Voyage, Bon Voyage, Bully Beef, Bully Beef, Biscuit, Biscuit."

Our boys would throw them out the rations, which would be picked up quickly by the poor French children. Upon arrival at the railhead each man would turn in all the extra food he had not eaten and would then be marched to the depot to be assigned to billets for the night. In the morning the various drafts would be sorted out and sent to reinforce their fighting units.

Here is an incident that occurred whilst I was in charge of a party at the "bull ring." A sergeant was giving a lecture on musketry to a class. He began in this strain: "The rifle is a soldier's best friend on active service." After that he described the length of the rifle, the length of the barrel, the muzzle velocity, the calibre of the ammunition used, the width of the lands, the depth of the grooves, and the mechanism of the bolt. He began to describe the care of arms. To emphasize his point, he repeated: "The rifle is the soldier's best friend and I want you to treat it as such. Treat it as you would treat your wife. Rub it well over with an oily rag." This caused a decided grin on the faces of the married men in the ranks.

We take great pains to train our men in machine gunnery. A barrage of machine guns on any part of the line is always dangerous to the enemy and is advantageous to us. Usually a barrage may be laid at distances from a thousand to five hundred yards. The cone of fire is very deadly, but when it gets as near as five hundred yards the trajectory, being flat or low, is then dangerous to us if we stand up, so that we have to be very careful how we work under it.

No soldiers in the world are fit to cope with the British soldier in bayonet fighting. Their training is intensive, and a man must be physically fit in every respect to be good at this element of warfare. A good boxer is usually a good bayonet fighter, and I notice that in the U.S. National Army there is great attention being paid to boxing as a means of making the men proficient at this game.

I remember an amusing incident which took place in the "bull ring." We had our bags suspended from horizontal bars by strong cords. These cords had a thin piece of twine tied between each bag. The bayonet fighters were placed in a trench, and at the word "Go," they had to run a distance of about fifty yards, jump over another trench, and make a lunge with a bayonet at the bag. One man, who did not notice this twine which was between the bags, made his lunge, then ran between the bags and did not stoop. The twine caught him right on the point of the nose, taking all the skin off it, and throwing him back into the trench. He could not realise how he had been thrown there, and it was only after he had been assisted out of the trench and was led up to the bags that he believed he had not been assaulted by some of his fellow soldiers. He said afterwards he never noticed the string between the bags.

I do not use the term yards, because it is understood that 1050 means 1050 yards and 1150 means 1150 yards. We would thus have a range of a hundred yards between each platoon's fire, so we would be almost sure to get the enemy in the intervening range.

I was taking my class in instruction and asked each man in his turn to give "Fire Order." I was rather surprised when I heard a voice describe very minutely the target, but giving the range as follows:—

No. 1 and 2. Platoons at half past ten.

No. 3 and 4. Platoons at half past eleven. Five rounds rapid fire.

I looked round at my pupil and asked him if he meant No. 1 and 2 to fire at half past ten, and numbers 3 and 4 at half past eleven. He said, "Yes, sir. You gave your fire order 10:50 and 11:50." I then had to explain to him that my order meant yards, not time, and that his time scheme would give the enemy time to retreat to Berlin before firing commenced.

Physical training or, as it is called in the army, P.T., is the first thing that a soldier has to undergo to make him fit for the arduous life of a soldier.

One of the soldiers who was at the "bull ring" was a rather stout block of a man. His comrades called him "Shorty." He weighed over 200 pounds and his flesh was very soft, and when at P.T. I heard him groan many a time when he had to get down on his hands and feet, stretch himself full length without allowing his chest to touch the ground, and then raise himself up and down on his hands. Poor "Shorty" must have been in physical torture, but we had to reduce him in flesh, and he was game. When he had to lie flat on his back, and raise his feet into the air, keeping his hands on the ground without moving the body, it was very trying. It looked simple and it is simple, but when a man weighs over 200 pounds, raising the feet from the thighs upwards and keeping the other portion of the body level on the ground is no sinecure. However, "Shorty" stuck to it. Then we had races one day for money prizes. Someone asked "Shorty" to enter the race. He said, "Yes, all right, I will, if I can get the limit in your handicap." This was assented to, and "Shorty" entered.

When the time for the race arrived, he came out on the track in his canvas slippers and a pair of old khaki overalls. Everyone laughed at the idea of "Shorty's" running in this race. Certainly his appearance was against him as a sprint runner. I asked him how he fancied his chances were in his heat, and he said, "Fine, sir, I can win easy." I believed him, although others laughed uproariously.

When the heat was ready to be run, just as they were getting on their marks, "Shorty" shouted out, "You fellows behind can get a good view of me as I break the tape." "Rats, Rats," his fellow competitors shouted, "get on your mark."

When they were all on their marks, the starter told them to get set. "Shorty" got down in a very professional manner. He had made two small toe holes in the ground, and with his body bent to the ground he was all ready when the pistol went off. "Shorty" was away like a shot out of a gun.

Run! Why he seemed to fly for a short distance! All at once he slowed down and placed his hand to his side, but all the same he painfully got home first. Then he collapsed. The other runners were all curious and could not understand how he had beaten them, but he laid it down to the physical training, expressing grave doubts as to whether he would be fit for the final. The final heat came along, and "Shorty" turned out in his overalls. Somehow or other he had managed to dig up a pair of running pumps and he sprinted around on them quite lively. Eventually all the competitors got on their marks, but just before the starter got them away "Shorty" shouted out, "Halloa, you fellows in the rear, have you any news to send to your friends? Because if you have I would like to carry it along for you."

This time there was a growl from the other finalists, who told him that he would see their dust. After a lot of badinage they all got set, and the pistol cracked. "Shorty" came home an easy winner, looking around at the other competitors. He could have given a start to any one of them and beaten them badly.

Later on we found out he was an old time champion sprinter.

In the training for "bombing" many people think that baseball players are the best men for this kind of work. This is not so. The man who has been used to bowling at cricket is the better man. Bombs are thrown in what we would call a lobbing or overhead throw. I have seen many baseballers throw the bombs in the same manner in which they would throw the baseball, and have in a few instances seen their shoulders dislocated in throwing. The cricketer on the other hand had the natural and easiest manner of throwing the ball. Great attention should be paid to bombing.

Every soldier should have the rudiments of learning in this branch of the service, as it is essential that all soldiers should learn to read a map and be able to draw a sketch of any trench or sector of the line which they may occupy.

I remember examining some sketches that had been made by men who had been given an outpost scheme in which they had to place what we call our sentry groups, picquets, etc. One sketch that was submitted to me showed a tree here and there on the sketch, but nowhere could I see anything that looked like a road or even like an outpost. I had the sketcher brought to me and asked him where his outpost was. His reply was rather staggering. He said, "Isn't it true, sir, that outposts must keep under cover, so that no one can observe them." I said, "Yes, certainly, that is true, but still I cannot see your outposts." He said, "No, sir, it is under cover, I did not put it on the paper as I did not want it to be observed."

CHAPTER IX

THE RED CROSS AND THE Y.M.C.A.

What is the Red Cross?

It is the world's international ideal of mercy. It knows no bounds of racial, religious or political separation. Wherever and whenever war, pestilence, storm, flood or disaster has wrought suffering, want or distress, there it has gone and brought relief, with the ready hands of unselfish aid.

Who first organised relief for those wounded, sick, or neglected on the field of battle? The Knights Hospitallers first had the idea, which had its birth in the Hospital of St. John at Jerusalem. Although driven out of the Holy Land by the Moslems, this institution re-established itself at Malta and is still in existence.

What nation first organised such relief? Great Britain, during the Crimean war, sent Florence Nightingale in 1854 to the hospitals of Scutari. When Miss Nightingale with thirty-eight other nurses reached Scutari she found pest houses, rather than hospitals, with open sewers beneath the buildings. Contagious cases were taken in by the thousands. So successful was Miss Nightingale in bringing order out of chaos that she is recognised to-day as one of the greatest individual organisers of war relief.

Who first conceived such service on an international basis?

Henri Dunant, a Swiss physician on the battlefield of Solferino, Italy, in 1859 organised a group of volunteers to help administer to the wounded. At that time great confusion and consequent inefficiency prevailed because of the multiplicity of relief flags. As a result of these experiences and under the inspiration of the work of Florence Nightingale, Doctor Dunant formulated the first proposals for an international organisation to care for the sick and wounded in time of war. He suggested two years later to the Geneva Society of Public Utilities a single and uniform hospital flag for all nations. In 1864 an international conference of 14 nations was held in Geneva, Switzerland. The outcome of this was the treaty of Geneva, known as the Red Cross Treaty.

What in brief does the Red Cross Treaty provide?

That hospital formations and their personnel should be treated as neutrals. That each nation signing the treaty should have an association of volunteers to assist and supplement the medical services of its army. But the emblem of service coming to all nations should be a cross of red on a field of white. This emblem, which is the Swiss flag with the colours reversed, was adopted in recognition of the fact that Dr. Dunant was Swiss and that the Red Cross was founded at Geneva.

What is the Red Cross doing in France for the soldiers?

There are two distinct phases of Red Cross relief work for soldiers on duty. The operating of rolling canteens and the maintaining of stationary canteens back of the fighting line is one. It is a most daring yet essential work, this of operating rolling canteens. Often a soldier leaves the trench utterly exhausted. The rolling canteen goes right down to the communicating trenches, where the soldiers passing in and out receive their quarts of steaming bouillon or coffee in winter, and cold drinks in summer.

At junction points on the French railroads troops going on leave from the battle front often have to spend hours waiting for trains. Since there are probably not more than half a dozen important junctions and an average of 20,000 men pass each one per day, only a small fraction of them could be accommodated. Formerly thousands had to sleep in the open, often in the rain. These men come from the fighting zone tired, hungry and infected. It is for such emergency that the stationary canteen is conducted. At the canteen the men can obtain at cost price substantial hot meals that have been prepared by the ladies. They can have hot baths and get their clothes cleaned and sterilised, so that they take the train refreshed in body and spirit. As the number of soldiers in France grows, the canteen will necessarily become a greater factor and will be most potent in maintaining the morale of our army.

If you can't go to war, you can pay to alleviate the sufferings of those who are fighting. I want you to take an imaginary journey over the battle front with me.

We are now in the midst of the most fierce fighting of this great war. Think of the worst earthquakes and floods that would shock you at home, multiply the horror of your impressions a hundredfold, and you will come near to the horrors of the Marne. Multiply this a thousandfold and you have the ferocity of the battles of the Ancre and Somme. At the present time we are in the midst of the great big battle of the war.

Think of the devastation by fire in France, where villages and woods and pasture lands are completely wiped out of existence. Not a house, church or tree is left standing where once there were thousands of families living in a condition as prosperous and happy as anywhere in the world. Think of the ruins by floods and shell fire in Flanders, and think of the stench of thousands of carcases, human and animal, poisoning the atmosphere for miles around for those who must stay in the trenches. Then turn your mind to some great engagement and try to realise long trenches of men, writhing in torture from poisonous gas or liquid fire, of soldiers smashed and disfigured by shell wounds, their lacerations as indescribable as their heroism is undaunted. If you think of these things, you will not refuse to pay your contributions to the Red Cross. For the Red Cross relieves this suffering.

Now leave the trenches, and retire behind the firing line with me. Here we are on roads that are lined with men on stretchers—some dead, scores mortally wounded, hundreds and hundreds of casualties in all states of collapse. The middle of the roadway is filled with dozens of ambulances after every action. There is perhaps a mile's length of hospital trains waiting in the siding to convey the wounded to base hospitals.

And all this purgatory of pain is dependent for relief upon the skill of our doctors, the tenderness of our nurses, the efficiency of our equipment; all of which means is dependent upon the generosity of the public.

May I not take it for granted that, just as the fighting manhood of the United States is soon to be with us in the trenches, so you of the Red Cross who have done so much for us in the past are now eager to be mobilised in the Allied Army of Mercy. I assume that your organisation is coming with us in increased numbers, and with increased equipment, if necessary to the mountains above and around Salonika, to the Plains of Egypt, to East Africa, to the waterless waste of Mesopotamia, to France, Flanders, and Italy.

I have left untouched all the work of caring for the homeless and starving population now being daily released from the bondage of over three years' servitude. It is, of course, for your great hearted public to decide whether and when and how they can best intervene in this area of human desolation. I can, however, specify in detail a few of the objects in which your money can usefully be spent. We have base hospitals running into hundreds in France and England, advance base hospitals and special hospitals for convalescents, for cripples, or the blind, for face cases and homes for the permanently disabled. We have hospital ships on the English Channel, in the Mediterranean, on the Adriatic and on the Tigris. We have hospital trains in England, France and Egypt; hundreds of motor ambulances in all our theatres of war, with repair cars and other necessary equipment. There are thousands of doctors, nurses, orderlies, etc., to be clothed and fed. There are canteens of Red Cross men, rest homes for nurses, worn out by hard work and ceaseless activity. We provide, of course, hospital clothing, drugs, dressings all in enormous quantities for equipment and reserve. These reserves are for ever being replenished at an ever rising price and cost.

When a man is wounded the Red Cross is immediately with him.

The stretcher bearer takes him from the front line trenches to the regimental aid post, where the battalion or medical officer is stationed. The next step leads to the advanced dressing station. Sometimes during a battle this may be the Y.M.C.A. hut. At the advanced dressing station he passes out of the hands of his regiment into the care of the R.A.M.C. (Royal Army Medical Corps). Here he may stay in a farm house, barn or a bomb-proof structure.

From here he will be taken by an ambulance a few miles away to a field ambulance station. This station may be in huts or tents, and is probably receiving wounded from four or five dressing stations. After that the wounded man goes to the casualty clearing station and finally, if the case is bad enough, to the base hospital. When he is fit to move again, he will be placed on board ship and brought over to a hospital in England. As he slowly recovers he is taken out for pleasant drives, and everything is done to make his time in the hospital pass quickly. The attention given by the Red Cross nurses is simply splendid and it is no wonder that the boys often sing the song, "I don't want to get well."

A kind old lady was visiting one of the hospitals in England. She was shown through a ward, where a number of wounded soldiers were lying in bed. Being of an inquisitive turn of mind, she asked one of the soldiers how he felt. His reply to her was, "I am not so bad, Lydy." She then asked him if he had accounted for many Germans, and his reply was: "I dunno, I did my best."

She then went to the next cot and asked the soldier in it the same questions. His reply to her first question was: "I feel damn rotten." This did not appear to shock the old lady, as she had previously heard of some of this kind of soldierly language. However, she was not deterred, and asked him how many Germans that he had accounted for. His reply was very startling. "When I was in my first attack, I was very savage, and all at once my pal, Bill, shouts out, 'Shike your bynet (bayonet), Tom! Shike your bynet, Tom! You have got five of the Bleeders on.'"

The old lady left the hospital highly delighted with the prowess of the cockney soldier.

The Y.M.C.A. is doing wonderful work for the boys at the front. It not only looks after the spiritual, moral and physical welfare of the boys, but it also provides amusements and sports, moving pictures and good concerts in which the fair sex are represented by a few of the boys dressed up in very attractive and lady-like costumes. The reason boys are substituted for the part of girls is due to the fact that no ladies are allowed to come within the danger zone. However, we try to fool ourselves into believing that these imitations are the real thing, and at a distance they certainly look it. But your illusion is quickly dispelled on a closer examination of their hands and feet, which are too large and muscular for pretty young girls.

The Y.M.C.A. officials give good advice to the "boys" at all times. Here they are supplied with pen, ink and note paper to write home. In one particular Y.M.C.A. that I visited I noticed an inscription which read as follows: "Write home to Mother to-day. She is anxiously awaiting your letter."

The officials of the Y.M.C.A. have not always what we call a "bomb-proof job"; that is to say, one that is immune from shell fire. In the town of Bully-Grenay, a distance of four and one half miles from Lens, the Y.M. C.A. officials occupy a house in which they have a club for officers. A short distance from it they have two large camouflaged tents for the boys. The Boche very often shells this town, and the inhabitants who still persist in remaining there, together with the Y.M.C.A. staff, are in constant danger. One day a shell exploded in the garden of the Y.M.C.A. Officers' Club. It broke every window in the building near by, and a large piece of the shell is hung over their counter as a memento of the occasion.

It was in this town Captain Campbell, our quartermaster, and his batman were killed by a German H.E. shell (high explosive). Captain Campbell was quietly eating his dinner in a room of his billet, quite close to the Y.M.C.A.

There is a town called Lievin about two miles from Lens, which, previous to the war, had a population of over twenty-two thousand inhabitants. It was taken by the Germans who held it until the month of April, 1917. We recaptured it from them at that time. Nothing remains of Lievin at the present time but a few bare walls here and there to show that a town existed at one time. In the middle of one of the streets we had a support trench. In the basement of a large building, close to a corner which we called "Whizz Bang Corner," on account of the number of shells that the Huns fired in this locality, was the entrance to the Y.M.C.A. hut.

This particular Y.M.C.A. had been used as a regimental aid post for the wounded. We had several batteries of our artillery in Lievin, so it is needless to say that strafing was going on continually between them and the enemy.

Under the circumstances you will see that it is unjust to think that the Y.M.C.A. secretaries hold down "bomb-proof jobs."

CHAPTER X

SOME TRENCH SONGS

When the singing soldiers of the First British Expeditionary Force marched to the slaughter at Mons in the fall of 1914 singing "Tipperary," they established a precedent which the troops from all parts of the British Empire have maintained. The Canadians were quick to learn the value of songs to fighting men, and some of the many they have given voice to in Flanders are here set down. Most of the parodies were acquired from that redoubtable soldier, Tommy Atkins. Some of them are the invention of Canadian soldier-minstrels.

When the first Canadian division landed in France they marched to Armentières singing, to the tune of "Marching Through Georgia":

"Hurrah, hurrah, we'll get you, Kaiser Bill;
Hurrah, hurrah, your cup of joy we'll spill;
The day that you have toasted will be hell let loose when we
All go marching through Germany."

Moving west from Fleurbaix to Ypres they sang to the air of "Good-Bye, My Bluebell," as they marched:—

"Good-bye, old Germany, farewell to you,
You'll have no Kaiser when the war is through.
You'll have no army, no shot and shell,
Good-bye, old Germany—and go to——"

There they switched—to please the padre—and chorused gleefully:—

"You're in the army now,
You're in the army now,
You son of a gun, you'll never be done,
You're in the army now."

What happened to the first Canadian division at Ypres during the two weeks following the first gas attack made by the Germans (April 15-22) is an old, and glorious story in the annals of Canadian bravery. The Highland brigade went into the blood-drenched salient to the lilt of:—

"Sing a song of bonny Scotland."

They sang little during the slaughter-pregnant, fight-full days and nights which followed; but at the first halt following their departure from that section of the line (May 5-15), one brave heart sang:—

(Air—Sing Me to Sleep.)

"Far, far from Ypres, I want to be,
Where German snipers cannot get me;
Think of me crouching, where the shells shriek,
Praying for sergeant to sing me to sleep."

During the fierce fighting at Festubert, towards the end of that month, they had learned the trench classic:—

(Sung mock seriously.)

"I want to go home, I want to go home,
The bullets they rattle, the cannon they roar,
I don't want to go up any more.
Take me over the seas,
Where the Alleman' cannot get me,
Oh, my, I don't want to die,
I want to go Home."

About that time they realised that there was little good in the jam issued to the troops in the field, so they joined in with the soldiers of the Imperial Army when those cheery fellows sang:—

"Tickler's Jam, Tickler's Jam,
How I love old Tickler's Jam;
Sent from England in one pound pots,
Packed it is in ten ton lots;
Every night when I'm asleep,
I'm dreaming that I am
Forcing my way through the Dardanelles,
With a pot of Tickler's Jam."

Next month they dared to carol (from the "Duck's Bill" salient at Givenchy) with "Fritz" only forty yards away:—

(Air—Hold Your Hand Out, Naughty Boy.)

"Keep your head down, Alleman'; keep your head down, Alleman',
Last night in the pale moonlight, I saw you, I saw you;
You were fixing up your barbed wire, when we opened up rapid fire;
If you ever want to see your dear Germany, keep your head down, you Alleman'."

The first brigade of the first division got badly mauled there. One battalion has been reported as singing the Canadian National Anthem while waiting to go "over the top." What they did sing was a song which has the singer bewailing that there is "No booze to-day."

After the fighting of April-May-June, 1915, the Canucks were moved to a fairly quiet section of the line. Old Ploegstreet Woods have oft re-echoed to the songs they sang there. One of them is still untruthfully sung. It has a mournful refrain, and these are the words of the ditty;—

"If the Sergeant steals your rum, never mind;
If the Sergeant steals your rum, NEVER MIND;
(loudly wailed)
He's had a son of a gun of a time, since they chased him up the line.
If the Sergeant steals your rum, NEVER MIND."
(With great feeling and a well simulated air of
resignation.)

Songs the folks were singing back home began to come to the boys in the trenches about that time, and for a while it seemed that the days of the trench song proper had almost departed. There was one faint-hearted attempt at rhythm about the insect pests, and another to immortalise the "Minnie" (Minenwerfer shell, trench mortar, noiseless in flight, and very destructive), but the minstrel boys came into their own again when the new and old divisions went back again to Ypres. "Blighty" (a word derived from the Hindustani, and having a wide meaning covering wounds, hospitals, home, and Paradise) was much in the mouths of the Canucks, so they sang:—

"Blighty, in dear old Blighty, fair land across the foam,
Some people call it England, some people call it home,
But we just call it Blighty, dear land across the sea,
Where Kaiser William hopes some day his hymn of Hate he'll live to play,
In Blighty, so dear to me."

At the Somme a year ago they had a rollicking song to the air of "Chesapeake Bay," wherein they told of hunting Fritz to the Hindenberg line, and they still find time to warble parodies and limericks such as:

"There was a young lady of 'Wipers,'
Who was awfully fond of the pipers.
At the very first sound,
She would follow them round,
In spite of the shells and the snipers."

And:

"Sing a song of five francs, Tommy feeling dry,
Four and twenty 'Kamerads' standing all close by;
When the place was opened, Tommy shouts 'Hooray,'
Up comes an M.P.,[3] and orders them away."

Another typical song the British troops sang was:

"Standing in the trenches on a cold winter's night,
Aw Gawblimey, ain't it cold?
Wiring party working and we darn't show a light,
Aw Gawblimey, ain't it cold?
Pity the poor old soldier,
Pity the poor young soldier,
Pity the poor old soldier,
Standing in the rain and the cold.

Going reconnoit'ring on a cold winter's night,
Aw Gawblimey, ain't it cold?
When we meet with Fritzy then there'll be a fight,
Aw Gawblimey, ain't it cold?
Pity the poor old soldier,
Pity the poor young soldier,
Pity the poor old soldier,
Standing in the rain and the cold.

Burying stiff 'uns on a cold winter's night,
Aw Gawblimey, ain't it cold?
When the big 'un hit 'em, don't they look a sight,
Aw Gawblimey, ain't it cold?
Pity the poor old soldier,
Pity the poor young soldier
Pity the poor old soldier,
Standing in the rain and the cold.

Going back to Blighty on a cold winter's night,
Aw Gawblimey, ain't it cold?
When we get to Blighty, then we'll be all right,
Aw Gawblimey, ain't it cold?
Pity the poor old soldier,
Pity the poor young soldier,
Pity the poor old soldier,
Standing in the rain and the cold."

The popularity of "My Little Grey Home in the West" brought to birth a dismal parody entitled "My Little Wet Home in the Trench," and many other popular songs have had striking parodies composed on them by the singing Britishers in Flanders.

Those songs have saved many a man from nervous exhaustion, they have cheered the wounded, they have been heard by the dying wherever the British Army has grappled the foe, and they have inspired the mildest mannered man with courage abnormal.

Who would not go "over the top" with men who could sing "I Want to Go Home" as they crouched for the charge across No Man's Land. Who would not fight like knights of old when comrades could sing in face of the foe, "Keep your head down, Alleman'."

America's sons in Flanders will fight all the better when they learn the songs which Britain's sons have sung from Ypres to Gallipoli, in Macedonia and Mesopotamia, India and Egypt; on sinking transports at sea, and in shell-torn trenches on land.