What the "Boys" Did Over There / By "Themselves"

by Unknown

THE SUNSHINE OF THE TRENCHES

BY SGT. E. D. G. AYLEN, NO. 475337, P.P.C.L.I. ("PRINCESS PATS") C.E.F.

I HAD just returned from a long summer's work on a surveying party, on the Canadian Pacific Railway, and everybody in my home town, Montreal (that is, the men), were all dressed in uniform, and the women seemed to be looking at me, and at first I felt uncomfortable and wondered why they stared at me. Then I realized that I had just returned from the brush of the great Canadian northwest. I knew, of course, that there was a war on, and the boys were going over, but for the moment, on my arrival in town, forgot.

The boy friends whom I chummed with were overseas, and my blood began to boil. I was then nineteen years of age, and was quite eligible for service. After a few days at home, I announced, to my mother and father, that I was going overseas. Both objected and said that I should take out a commission. That did not suit me, and I thought of the quickest way to get over.

On my way to "McGill" one morning I stopped to talk to two boys in uniform. I asked them how they liked the army and what unit they belonged to. One said:

"Army life is great. We are 'University' boys to reinforce the famous 'Princess Pats,' and I believe it is the quickest way over." That was just what I wanted, and I asked the boys to go with me to the recruiting office, which they did.

Corporal Coate was there to greet us, and it was not long before I was signed up. After all sorts of questions I was given a small slip of paper with my number on it (No. 475337) and a hat badge with "Universities Overseas Company," and on my shoulders were letters that read P.P.C.L.I. ("Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry"). I had heard all about the famous "Pats" and was of course glad that I was to be one of them.

It was September 28, 1915, that I was sworn in as a soldier and I felt fine. We trained in Canada, at McGill University, for two months and had it not been for the war I would have been well on my way as a student of that university. We had guard work to do, physical training and route marching; then word was passed around that we were to go overseas and we were all delighted, as none of us wanted to be "Home Guards."

On November the 15th, we left Montreal by train, amid the cheering crowds of our friends, sweethearts and mothers. Two days after we arrived at Halifax, where we embarked at 5 P.M. on the S.S. Lapland. The people in Halifax were there to mail letters or postal cards for us, which we threw from the steamer.

At 7 P.M. we set out on our long voyage, and, as the boat steamed out, the band on the deck played "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder I'll be There," but the funny part was, that every member of the band was about sixty years old, and we knew he "wouldn't be there."

We had eight good days going over and all enjoyed it, except a few who treated the fish in the ocean.

The latter part of November we arrived in England at Plymouth, and, in the rain, embarked on a train to our training camp at St. Martin's Plain near Shorncliffe. As you know, we trained there, but that will not interest you as much as our time in France, so I will skip that to the day we sailed for France.

At 4 A.M. we all fell in and the roll call was taken. We marched to the train, after having our pay book made up to date. We never forgot the pay book or the dinner call. A thing that all the boys noticed was that we were to cross the channel from Southampton on the S.S. Duke of Connaught, a fitting place for "Princess Pats." Other boys said that was luck. It was for some of us. We arrived at Havre, France, and in the rain marched seven miles to a camp called the Central Training Camp, where we spent a few days receiving instructions in modern warfare.

After the few days in camp we marched seven miles back again to Havre, and proceeded by train by Poperinghe in those beautiful Pullman cars, marked 40 men—8 horses.

We arrived at Poperinghe at 5 P.M., after spending all night, and part of the next day, in the cars. As we came nearer to our station we could hear the shells bursting and the booming of the guns. One could see nothing but heads stuck out of the car windows just as far as craning necks could stretch.

Arriving at Poperinghe we met a lieutenant who asked the sergeant:

"Are you for the 'Pats'?" the sergeant replying, "Yes, sir." In a very English way the lieutenant said:

"Oh, very well, follow me. I know where the 'Pats' are, as I was sent for you."

Well, we followed him. He took us four miles the wrong way and back again—then we had an extra two miles to the "Pats" quarters. He knew where the "Pats" were all right, all right.

Now we are with the regiment and I was put in No. 3 company under Major Charlie Stewart, who was one good fellow. The regiment was out for rest, but we worked every night going up the line to do work in the trenches, and help the engineers.

Now to tell of one or two little experiences in the front line, say about the time of the "Third Battle of Ypres." The regiment held the line at Hooge and we were all University men, as the old regiment was practically all wiped out, except a handful. Our major was well liked, and a word from him was well obeyed.

A few days before the big show I was sent out on a scouting party of twelve, with Lieutenant Fife in charge. We succeeded in getting over to the German wire, and I don't know whether the Germans got wise to our coming, through the sneezing of one of the party, or whether the clipping of the wire was heard. But we were greeted with, first a rifle shot from a sniper, then a bomb; then a dozen, but only two of the boys were killed. We moved further up the line and a little closer to "Fritzie's" line. There we remained quiet for a few seconds. I, being near Lieutenant Fife, was asked by him to follow, which I did. He went up to a part of the Hun's line that was built of old sand bags, where we could look right up the German line, as the star-shell burst and lit up the place.

MEMORIAL DESIGN IN HONOR OF LT. COL. FARQUAHAR, P.P.C.L.I.

As everything was quiet, the boys were anxious to start something, so a few bombs were hurled in, but in return we had the same amount, and had to return to our own lines minus two of the boys.

It was on a working party that some fun occurred, as it always does in the trenches. We were moving from the road, to proceed up the "China wall," in the Ypres salient, which led to the trenches, running through the shattered village of Hooge, when the sergeant-major said to me:

"Aylen, special duty, step out."

I thought, "I wonder what is coming now."

After he had the number of men he wanted, and all the other boys were up the line, he called me and pointing to twelve large thermos soup tanks, said:

"See those, Aylen?"

I said, "Yes, sir."

"Well," he said, "take them up the line."

I looked at him and then at the tanks and said:

"Shall I take them all up at once, or one at a time?"

He gave me one look and said, "Don't get funny, this is a soft job for you."

I said, "But I can't carry those up."

He said, "You must."

Now the soup tanks were about four feet high and about a foot in diameter.

I said again, "Sir, I can't carry that up."

He, a little angry, said, "You must."

I said, "I can't carry it—it is bigger than I am."

Then he said, "Well, a man is to help you."

So he sent a man, whose name was Cleary, an Irishman, about six feet two inches tall, and as I was only five feet five inches, it was going to be rather awkward for us both, as you have to put a long pole through the loops on each side of the tank, and put the pole on your shoulders. The tank hangs in the center. Cleary being taller than I, and the trench mats very slippery we had "one —— of a time." I was getting the worst of it. We slipped and stumbled and spoke about a hundred different kinds of "swear words." Now the "China wall" ends about half way up, and we then stepped down into the trench. Just about twenty feet away from the end of the "China wall" there was a large shell-hole and our trench mats, which are made of wood, went across one side of the shell-hole. When the shell-hole is full of muddy water the trench mats float. This night Cleary and I happened to pass it when it was full. It was very dark and I did not notice that the mat was loose, as I was leading, so upon putting my foot on the mat, down it went. The hole was about eight feet deep, and I felt it going from under me and pulled on the pole. Soup tank, pole, and Cleary and all followed me into that shell-hole. When we came up covered with that lovely, slimy mud, you couldn't tell which was the soup tank. Then I remembered what the sergeant-major had said, "This is a soft job for you,"—and, believe me, it was.

There is one thing I would like to say and that is the boys of the Princess Pats had wonderful courage, and always a good word for each other. I can picture plainly our trip over the top at Hooge, when I went over with the second wave. I could see the boys on our left going through a swamp up to their waists in filth; ploughing through, their rifles up over their heads, so they would not get blocked with dirt, and when a man met a bullet with "his number," he would fall backward or forward and disappear under this water and mud; just like quicksand.

It was after a terrific bombardment of our lines. I was detailed to fill sand bags in a shell-hole beside a communication trench, just back of the front lines. I was with five other chums, when a shell dropped on the far corner of the shell-hole, which I was facing, and the shrapnel penetrated my left shoulder, mouth, right eye and a small piece in my left leg. My chum, Nelson, was badly wounded in the back, and I believe the other four boys were buried. I never heard if they got them out, as I was unconscious, but when I was struck I can remember, first seeing a green light, felt a burning in my eye, and a blow on my shoulder as if struck with a sledge-hammer. I felt myself slide down in the mud and I knew nothing until I awoke in the major's dugout. I was told what had happened to the other boys.

I was then taken to the dressing station and in two days arrived at No. 3 Canadian General Hospital at Boulogne.

I was blind in both eyes for a month, had two operations in France, and was then sent to England to the 4th London General Hospital, Denmark Hill. After spending a few months there I was sent to the C.C.A.C. (Canadian Casualty Assembly Centre), better known as "Charlie Chaplin's." This was at Folkestone. After having two "boards" they found me unfit for further service in England or France, so I was billed for Canada.

Arriving in Canada on the S.S. Empress of Britain, at Quebec, I was sent to the convalescent home (Belmont Park) at Montreal, and after treatment was honorably discharged as physically unfit.

I trained in the McGill O. T. C. and later came to New York with the "British Canadian Recruiting Mission," where I lectured, and did recruiting work, through New York City. Since leaving the mission I have traveled to the West Indies and through the eastern part of the United States. Many of my experiences I have omitted on account of space, but I am proud to have belonged to a famous regiment, "The Princess Pats."