Great Britain. Army -- Military life; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, English
I did not go to sleep that night; booted and dressed I lay on the
hearthrug in front of the fire, and waited for the call. About four
o'clock in the morning a whistle was blown outside on the street;
I got to my feet, put on my equipment, fastened the buckles of my
haversack, bade adieu to my friends of the billet who had risen from
bed to see me off, and joined my company.
Five or six regiments were already on the move; transport wagons,
driven by khaki-clad drivers with rifles slung over their shoulders,
lumbered through the dimly-lighted thoroughfares; ammunition vans
stood at every street corner; guns rattled along drawn by straining
horses, the sweat steaming from the animals' flanks and withers;
an ambulance party sped through the greyness of the foggy morning,
accompanied by a Red Cross lorry piled high with chests and stretcher
poles, and soldiers in files and fours, in companies and columns, were
in movement everywhere--their legions seemed countless and endless.
Ammunition was given out from the powder magazine; each man was handed
150 rounds of ball cartridge--a goodly weight to carry on a long day's
march! With our ammunition we were now properly equipped and ready for
any emergency. Each individual carried on his person in addition to
rifle, bayonet (sword is the military name for the latter weapon)
and ball cartridge, a blanket and waterproof sheet, an overcoat, a
water-bottle, an entrenching tool and handle, as well as several other
lighter necessaries, such as shirts, socks, a knife, fork, and spoon,
razor, soap, and towel.
At eight o'clock, when the wintry dawn was breaking and the fog
lifting, we entered the station. Hundreds of the inhabitants of the
town came to see us off and cheer us on the long way to Tipperary: and
Tipperary meant Berlin. One of the inhabitants, a kindly woman who is
loved by the soldiers of my company, to whom she is very good, came
to the station as we were leaving, and presented a pair of mittens to
each of fifty men.
The train started on its journey, puffed a feeble cloud of smoke
into the air, and suddenly came to a dead stop. Heads appeared at
the windows, and voices inquired if the engine-driver had taken the
wrong turning on the road to Berlin. The train shunted back into the
station, and we all went back to our billets again, but not before
our officers informed us that we had done the work of entraining very
smartly, and when the real call did come we would lose no time on the
journey to an unknown destination.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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