A Surgeon in Arms

by R. J. Manion

For instance, one man asks another to have a drink, and he, having put himself, or having been put, on the Indian list, replies, "na poo for mine." Then there is the sense in which it is used meaning "killed." Bill Jones is killed, and somebody says, "Well, they na poo'd Bill Jones last night. Poor Bill, he wasn't such a bad old —— —— —— after all." (In the air service, when a man is killed, they often employ the expression that "so-and-so is gone east.") The above will illustrate, but by no means exhaust, the versatility of "na poo," for in variety of meaning it is almost in a class by itself.

"Compree" is another sample of broken—one could not say Anglicized—French, and it is employed with the signification, "do you understand?" or, in slang-Canadian, "do you get me, Steve?" And here it may be remarked that a Tommy possessing the above three expressions, na poo, no bon, and compree, with some additions from the sign language, although he knows no other word of French, is able to do anything with the French peasant from using his cook-stove to heat a tin of pork and beans to making love to his daughter. Of course the latter effort is no doubt helped by the fact that love is much the same in all languages.

Then all the different shells and types of trench-mortar ammunition have their nicknames, such as pineapples, rum jars, flying pigs, Jack Johnsons, fish tails, and whizz-bangs, all according to their shape, their sound, or the fuss they make when landing.

"To put on a show," is to make an attack on the enemy. "To get pipped" means to get wounded. If the wound is severe enough to cause the recipient to be sent to England, it is called a "Blighty," in which case, if the wound is not dangerous to life or limb, the others stand about looking enviously at the wounded man, and telling him he is a lucky devil. But if the wound is fatal, they say "he got his R.I.P."

The above will serve to illustrate the more common slang phrases used by the soldier and officer alike, for what Tommy does today his officers do tomorrow. There are, of course, many other slang expressions, some being more vulgar than expressive. Occasionally a group of men will impress you with the idea that they are so accustomed to slang and swearing that to call each other "a blank liar" is a password, as Kelly expressed it to me one time. And in passing it may be said that though words which would be fighting words in western Canada are common enough, fighting among the men is exceedingly uncommon. Good nature and good fellowship are universal, and it is rare indeed that even the hottest argument leads to blows. Probably the boys have instinctively decided that blows are for your enemies, not for your friends, and that fighting enough is to be had on the other side of No Man's Land.

But slang, swearing, or general "toughness" is no proof that a man is not an excellent soldier. Out there we have found that cool courage and self-sacrifice are as common among the denizens of the slum or the employees of the workshop or factory as among those who spend their time following the hounds or adorning drawing-rooms. Education and culture may develop the virtues, but they do not create them. By the same token poor or unhealthy surroundings may stultify the same virtues, but do not kill them.

I well recall a rough, uneducated, Irish-Canadian boy from Griffintown, who was in charge of a group of machine-gunners, and who was afraid of nothing on the earth, under the earth or over the earth. Fagan—that name will do as well as another—went up with his company to go over the top in an attack, but at the last moment they were ordered not to advance. A company of Oxford and Bucks just to Fagan's right were going over, and he, being disappointed at the cancellation of his order, pretended that he had not received it, joined the British with his section and went into the fight with them. He was such a bonnie fighter, and was so useful to the British that they were loud in their praises of the work of him and his men; for with his machine-gun he did much useful slaughter which he described on his return as "some beautiful pickin's."

On account of his good work and the high praise that it received from the British he was given a special leave of a couple of weeks to the white lights—or what remains of them—in London. As he left his little group of the men of his unit, all of whom loved him and all of whom his generous, brave heart held as brothers, instead of the usual "Good-by, boys, and good luck," he turned to them with a broad grin on his face and said:

"To hell wid yez all! May yez have to go over the top every damn noight whoile Oi'm away;" and with a wave of the hand, and amidst the laughter of his "byes," he started for the railhead.

But slangy sayings and swearing are not limited in use to the boys. A Major Garwell was somewhat noted for this habit, and sometimes spat out remarks quite thoughtlessly in company in which it were better he had not done so. On one occasion he had to interview a staid, dignified Major General Osborne of an English Corps to our left, and, differing in opinion with the latter, to the horror of the other officers present, he exclaimed vehemently without even knowing that he said it: