The 1st Bn. was to go in with the 1st London regiment. The officers of this brigade and regiment received me very cordially. Our proposed battalion sector was just outside Arras. The town itself was within the English lines, which ran along the eastern outskirts. The position was well organized, and the trenches were in good shape, as this part of the line had been practically stationary for a year. The outfit we were to relieve were in high glee, as they had been in the trenches for 8 months straight. It was a “quiet” sector, but Jerry buzzed a few shells quite unpleasantly close while I was roaming about.
I rode back in luxury in the staff car to find the battalion billeted and asleep. We had arranged for officers and platoon sergeants to go up in a couple of days to reconnoiter their respective positions.
Lattre St. Quentin was a village of some sixty houses, about 20 kilos from Arras. “B” Co. was billeted in the barn behind the house where Bn. Hdq. was located, and in the house next to it down the road.
During the next few days we had a platoon competition in the battalion. “B” Co. was represented by the 4th platoon. The event was won by the “C” Co. 3d platoon, but all the contestants did well.
There was a nice “vacant lot” by the billet, and we had some good fun kicking a football and staging several baseball matches there. The weather was fine, and we were in great fettle.
On August 14th orders arrived promoting Lt. Col. Myer to Colonel and putting him in command of the 129th Infantry. This was a great loss to the regiment. Myer was the best officer we had, thoroughly efficient, devoted to his profession, always on the job, an excellent judge of men, and an adept at picking out the essential things that counted. He placed the good of the service first, and himself last, and he had the trust and respect of every officer and man in the outfit.
The officers and platoon sgts. left on the evening of the 15th for the front line via a little narrow gauge railway, returning the next morning. All was now in readiness.
But at noon on the 16th, orders arrived postponing the relief. On the 17th, rumors began to fly that we were to go to another part of the front. Then we were ordered to turn in the Lewis guns, with which we had become quite familiar. Somehow it leaked out that we were to go South to the American sector. This rumor became a certainty when we turned in all our British rifles and ammunition, receiving instead American Enfields. Our overcoats and other supplies that we had left at St. Michel were brought over in motor trucks. The details guarding them said that Jerry had bombed the old billet to a fare-you-well the night after we left it.
Our joy at moving was heartfelt and unbounded. Those who had been south to schools or on other duties told us what a “bon secteur” it was. And the prospect of drawing American rations and being with American troops and transport again was welcomed with acclaim. To tell the truth, we were rather fed up with being under the wing of our British Allies. Their ways were not our ways; we would feel better when with our own kind. Theoretically, we were brothers in the great cause. Practically, in the mud and sweat and thousand petty aggravations and misunderstandings, we had undoubtedly gotten upon each other’s nerves. The average Tommy looked upon us as a bunch of greenhorn Yankees, who had all made fortunes during the first three years of the war and were now over in France three years late spending them and raising the price of vin rouge and “oofs.” We looked upon the average Tommy as a degenerate, tea drinking, saluting bellyacher. The Australians and Canadians were our sworn buddies, however, and we liked the Scotties. Maybe this was because the only British combat troops we had been in touch with were these organizations. To me, the few English combat troops that I encountered seemed a fairly decent bunch.
