Pushed and the Return PushNichols, George Herbert Fosdike
History
Pushed and the Return Push
Nichols, George Herbert Fosdike
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, English
By five o'clock I had joined the colonel and Hubbard at the new
positions. Our only possible mess was a roofless gun-pit not far from a
road. The colonel and Hubbard were covering it with scrap-heap sheets
of rusty iron, and a tarpaulin that was not sufficiently expansive.
Further down the road was a dug-out into which two could squeeze. The
colonel said Hubbard and I had better occupy it. He preferred to sleep
in the gun-pit, and already had gathered up a few armfuls of grasses
and heather to lie upon. Manning and the cook had discovered a hole of
their own, and the two clerks and the orderlies had cramped themselves
into a tiny bivouac.
The final fastening-down of the gun-pit roof was enlivened by heavy
enemy shelling of a battery four hundred yards north-east of us.
Several splinters whistled past, and one flying piece of iron, four
inches long and an inch wide, missed my head by about a foot and buried
itself in the earthen floor of the mess. "That's the narrowest escape
you've had for some time," smiled the colonel.
Ten minutes later the brigade clerk brought me the evening's batch of
Divisional messages and routine orders. This was the first one I
glanced at:--
"Wire by return name of war-tired captain or subaltern, if any,
available for temporary duty for administration and training of
R.A. malaria convalescents. Very urgent."
XVII. WITH THE AMERICANS
Sept. 27: Our meetings with the Americans had so far been pretty
casual. We had seen parties of them in June and July, training in the
Contay area, north of the Albert-Amiens road; and one day during that
period I accompanied our colonel and the colonel of our companion
brigade on a motor trip to the coast, and we passed some thousands of
them hard at work getting fit, and training with almost fervid
enthusiasm. It used to be a joke of mine that on one occasion my horse
shied because an Australian private saluted me. No one could make a
friendly jest of like kind against the American soldiers. When first
they arrived in France no troops were more punctilious in practising
the outward and visible evidences of discipline. Fit, with the perfect
fitness of the man from 23 to 28, not a weed amongst them,
intelligent-looking, splendidly eager to learn, they were much akin in
physique and general qualities to our own immortal "First Hundred
Thousand." I came across colonels and majors of the New York and
Illinois Divisions getting experience in the line with our brigadiers
and colonels. I have seen U.S. Army N.C.O.'s out in the field receiving
instruction from picked N.C.O.'s of our army in the art of shouting
orders. Their officers and men undertook this training with a certain
shy solemnity that I myself thought very attractive. I am doing no
lip-service to a "wish is father to the thought" sentiment when I say
that a manly modesty in respect to military achievements characterised
all the fighting American soldiers that I met.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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