In the deep recess over the wall we found a French rifle, a British rifle, several days’ rations, ammunition, and a warm blanket—which Jock and I snuggled under that night. It was a sniper’s post and afforded an excellent view of part of our lines, especially the spot at the brook where so many of our boys “went West” in the act of getting water, and where I had had a narrow escape.
The next morning, after reveille, a corporal and three men who had done guard over the sniper got orders to take him to a given place, which was about three miles behind our lines. Also they were ordered to report back within “fifteen minutes from starting time.”
We were promised a few days’ rest here, but the following day, toward nightfall, we were shelled out of the place by the boches’ heavy artillery, the “coal boxes” landing all around the place. We had scarcely time to get out of it. Luckily enough, no one “clicked.” We then moved to trenches near La Bassée. Here also was a great number of troops concentrating.
We had heard that our native troops from India were to hold part of the lines near us. Also we had been told of the great work the Canadians had done recently around this section, and we were looked upon to do the same. It was now December, and the sleet and rain poured on us for the first few days without cessation.
In the trenches here, in some parts we were knee deep in slush, and this had a very dispiriting effect. It, together with the continuous downpour of rain and sleet and Fritz’s shelling—which never ceased—reduced us to a state of positive misery. We fared badly enough, but we wondered how the native troops (who were now on our left flank), used to a warm climate, could stand it.
We got more tinned rations and in greater variety, here, than I can remember ever having before. There was “Maconochie”—a soup with directions to boil fifteen minutes before opening the tin;—which, of course, was merely satirical. The “Maconochie” was never warmed until it had reached our stomachs. However, it proved a very acceptable change from our “bully beef.” That is, it did when it came. It didn’t come often. We also had tins of muckin (butter) which Tommy says is a very good quality.
Another tinned product, but not a ration, reached us here. It was the famous jam-tin hand grenade which came into use at about that time.
Preparations were now in progress for an attack of greater magnitude than any we had yet taken part in. With a number of other scouts, I was sent out to examine the terrain over which our men would advance. The party was discovered by German snipers, and we ran back to our lines as fast as we could go. A piece of a ricochet shot struck my left ankle, but only slightly injured it on account of my heavy spats and leather shoes, so that by having a tight bandage applied at once I was able to take part in the attack.
Hitherto most of our engagements had been more or less surprise affairs—that is, we would get word of the enemy just about in time to be ready for him when the actual charge came. This time it was different. We had been told what time we would go over at them. We had to sit around and wait. Some of the men were carefully cleaning their rifles. Others ran their thumbs along the edges of their bayonets. Many were writing letters. But almost every face that I could see was pale. The greater part of them were nervously puffing away at fags, very often unlit.
Here and there a man would glance at his watch—furtively, as if afraid it would be thought that he was hoping the time had not yet come. Others were swearing softly and grumbling because they could not charge at once.