Part 10

A medical officer at the front declares that the British Expeditionary Force is, without doubt, the "best fed Army that has ever taken the field." That is a sweeping statement, but it is true. It is confirmed over and over again in the letters of Tommy Atkins. It is acknowledged by the French. Even the most sullen German prisoners agree with it. There has been universal praise for the quality and abundance of the food, and the general arrangements for the comfort of the British soldier.

One French description of the feeding says that the English troops "live like fighting cocks," another marvels at "the stupendous pieces of meat, and bread heavy with butter and jam," a third speaks of the "amazing Tommees" who "carry everything in their pockets and forget nothing at all." And so on.

But the most remarkable tribute of all to the perfect working of the transport and supply service is that given by the British officers and men themselves. Captain Guy Edwards, Coldstream Guards, says: "They have fed our troops wonderfully regularly and well up to the present; we have had no sickness at all, and every one is in splendid spirits." In another letter an officer refers to the generosity of the rations. "In addition to meat and bread (or biscuit)," he says, "we get 1/4lb. jam, 1/4lb. bacon, 3oz. cheese, tea, etc., while the horses have had a good supply of oats and hay." During the whole of the long retreat from Mons, says an officer of the Berkshires, "there was only one day when we missed our jam rations!"

And it is the same with the men. Here are some brief extracts from their letters:

Private ----, 20th Field Ambulance:

"Our food supply is magnificent. We have everything we want and food to spare. Bacon and tomatoes is a common breakfast for us."

Driver Finch: "I am in the best of health, with the feeding and the open-air life. The stars have been our covering for the last few weeks."

Sergeant, Infantry Regiment: "The arrangements are very good--no worry or hitch anywhere; it is all wonderful."

Cavalryman: "We live splendidly, being even able to supplement our generous rations with eggs, milk and vegetables as we go through the villages."

Gunner: "Having the time of my life."

Of course, the exigencies of war may not always permit of the perfect working of the supply machine. Already there have been many hardships to be endured. Incessant fighting does not give the men time for proper meals, sleep is either cut out altogether or reduced to an occasional couple of hours, heavy rains bring wet clothing and wetter resting places, boots wear out with prolonged marching, and men have to go for days and even weeks unwashed, unshaven, and without even a chance of getting out of their clothes for a single hour.

The officers suffer just as much as the men. After a fortnight or three weeks at the front one cavalry officer wrote that he "had not taken his clothes off since he left the Curragh." "For five days," another says, "I never took off my boots, even to sleep, and for two days I did not even wash my hands or face. For three days and nights I got just four hours' sleep. The want of sleep was the one thing we felt." Sleep, indeed, is just the last thing the officers get. Brigadier-General Sir Philip Chetwode outlines his daily program as "work from 4 a.m. to 11 p.m., then writing and preparations until 4 a.m. again." To make matters worse just at the start of the famous cavalry charge which brought Sir Philip such distinction, his pack-horse bolted into the German lines carrying all his luggage, and leaving him nothing but a toothbrush!

One of the Dorsets' officers reports that "owing to the continuous fighting the 'evening meal' has become conspicuous by its absence," but in spite of having carried a 1lb. tin of compressed beef and a few biscuits about with them for several days they are all "most beastly fit on it." "No one seems any the worse, and I feel all the fitter," writes an officer of a Highland Regiment, "after long marches in the rain going to bed as wet as a Scotch mist."

The men are just as cheerful as their officers. "You can't expect a blooming Ritz Hotel in the firing line," is how a jocular Cockney puts it. An artilleryman says they would fare sumptuously if it weren't for the German shells at meal times: "one shell, for instance, shattered our old porridge pot before we'd had a spoonful out of it!" Lieutenant Jardine, a son of Sir John Jardine, M.P., relates this same incident. Gunner Prince, R.F.A., has a little joke about the sleeping quarters: "Just going to bed. Did I say bed? I mean under the gun with an overcoat for a blanket." There is no sort of grumbling at all. As Lieutenant Stringer, of the 5th Lancers, expresses it, the A.S.C. "manage things very well, and our motto is 'always merry and bright.'"

Occasionally, when there is a lull in the operations, the men dine gloriously. Stories are told of gargantuan feeds--of majestic stews that can be scented even in the German lines. Occasionally, too, there is the capture of a banquet prepared for the enemy's officers as the following message from the Standard illustrates: "A small party of our cavalry were out on reconnaissance work, scouring woods and searching the countryside. Just about dusk a hail of bullets came upon our party from a small spinney of fir trees on the side of a hill. We instantly wheeled off as if we were retreating, but, in fact, we merely pretended to retire and galloped round across plowed land to the other side of the spinney, fired on the men, and they mounted their horses and flew like lightning out of their 'supper room.' They left a finely cooked repast of beef-steaks, onions and fried potatoes all ready and done to a turn, with about fifty bottles of Pilsner lager beer, which was an acceptable relish to our meal. Ten of our men gave chase and returned for an excellent feed."

Another amusing capture is that of an enterprising Tommy who possessed himself of a German officer's bearskin, a cap, helmet, and Jaeger sleeping bag. He is now regarded as the "toff of the regiment." The luxury of a bath was indulged in by a company of Berkshires at one encampment. Forty wine barrels nearly full of water were discovered here, and the thirsty men were about to drink it when their officer stopped them. "Well," said one, "if it's not good enough to drink it'll do to wash in," and with one accord they stripped and jumped into the barrels! Nothing has been more notable than Tommy's desire for cleanliness and tidiness. It is something fine and healthy about the British soldier. One wounded man, driven up to a hospital, limped with difficulty to a barber's shop for a shave before he would enter the building. "I couldn't face the doctors and nurses looking like I was," he told the ambulance attendant.

Of all the soldiers' wants the most imperative appears to be the harmless necessary cigarette. All their letters clamor for tobacco in that form. "We can't get a decent smoke here," says one writer. An army airman "simply craves for cigarettes and matches." From a cavalryman comes the appeal that a few boxes of cigarettes and some thick chocolate would be luxuries. "Just fancy," to quote from another letter, "one cigarette among ten of us--hardly one puff a-piece."

In the French hospitals the wounded men are being treated with the greatest kindness, and during convalescence are being loaded with luxuries. "Spoilt darlings," one Scottish nurse in Paris says about them, "but who could help spoiling them?" They are so happy and cheerful, so grateful for every little service, so eager to return to the firing line in order to "get the war over and done with." "We've promised to be home by Christmas," they say, "and that turkey and plum-pudding will be spoilt if we don't turn up."

Home by Christmas! That is Tommy Atkins' idea of a "Non-stop run to Berlin"--the facetious notice he printed in chalk on the troop trains at Boulogne as, singing "It's a long way to Tipperary," he rolled away to the greatest battles that have ever seared the face of Europe.

FOOTNOTES:

Vail-Ballou Co., Binghamton and New York