Custom permitted us to sleep on till noon the next day, and then everybody had a grand clean up. A shower-bath was extemporised by the simple process of standing over a ditch naked and unashamed while a patient _batman_, with the aid of what is called, in official language, "one pail, collapsible canvas," poured water over until, breathless but refreshed, the victim shouted to stop. Later on sundry private soldiers whom one had known in civil life would approach and ask for the loan of the pail. Such is democracy in the "Colonials."

Bath being over, the razor was vigorously applied and a week's growth sc.r.a.ped painfully from sunburnt chins, on which talc.u.m powder was afterwards daubed in copious quant.i.ties till we smelt to heaven like a Gaiety chorus!

Then breakfast! Its fragrance had been tantalising our noses during all this gay preliminary, for dirty as we may get--and yet sit down to eat in the trenches--it was an unwritten law that no man who was not shaved, shorn, and washed after the manner of the Romans should sit down to mess when in reserve. Lyte one day in a burst of enthusiasm, while treasurer of the mess, decreed that the servants should also wash before starting to cook, but after one trial, dinner being thereby delayed a couple of hours, the mess rebelled and the cooks were allowed to revert to their former state of barbarism.

Breakfast over, there came the censoring of mail, so that it could be sent to battalion headquarters before 2 o'clock. This is supposed by some to furnish an endless amount of amus.e.m.e.nt to the officers, and often facetious remarks are introduced by the writer to this end, but to most of us censoring is a beastly bore, and one views with dismay the enormous pile of letters that your platoon sergeant dumps down on your bed each day at noon with the laconic announcement of "Mail, sir!"

One runs across people of many sorts while reading through this heap.

The first and commonest is the married man who sticks strictly to private affairs and perhaps says to to his wife: "You remember Jimmy D----who used to work at So-and-so's. He was killed by a sh.e.l.l, but you can tell his wife he didn't suffer none, as he died quick." Not a word you will notice of his own escape or of anything that would tend to aggravate the sorrow of the stricken family. Of the same affair he would probably write to a chum: "You know poor old Jimmy D----. He was all blew to h.e.l.l by a whizz-bang. A chunk of it just missed my napper by an inch. I come near going West that time, believe me!"

Then there is another type whose endless exaggerations make one wish to scribble the word "liar" at the end of each paragraph, but which you pa.s.s, after scratching out the numbers of our slain and some of the grosser statements.

Once in a while you may come across a guileless sort of man who, after extolling the virtues of his platoon commander, proceeds to tell his friend Bob: "No, I haven't been made a corporal yet, but our section has none now and I am the oldest soldier left." One feels great curiosity as to the state of this paragon's conduct sheet.

However, these are mere details. The great joy of being in reserve billets is the ability to go, after parades, of course, into the nearest town and spend the 125 francs that the paymaster exchanges once a month for a Bank of Montreal cheque. The private soldier, receiving a meagre 30 francs a month, has to content himself with simpler joys than champagne (vintage 1914) and hand-made lace. Instead he partakes of French beer at three sous a gla.s.s, and his friends overseas receive hand-embroidered postcards of brilliant but patriotic designs worked by the crippled children of Paris.

The greater part of the soldiers' money, however, is spent on food--dainties such as oatmeal, sardines, canned fruit, and so forth--and little shops close to the firing line welcome the twice-monthly visit of the paymaster.

Bethune, the town outside of which we were at this time billeted, was quite the gayest place we had visited since leaving Poperinghe.

"Business as usual" was its motto, in spite of the almost daily sh.e.l.ling it received by light guns, said to have been mounted on an armoured train.

This bombardment took place, as a rule, between 6 and 7 o'clock each evening, but the damage done was very slight, only one soldier being reported killed during our stay. There were civilians killed at various times, but from a military point of view the sh.e.l.ling was absolutely useless.

If, perchance, one was taking tea with Marie, or anyone else for that matter, and the sh.e.l.ling started, it was quite the thing to seek the shelter of the cellar and stay there "_en famille_" until the bombardment was over, when you would emerge, Mademoiselle perhaps pushing a loosened hairpin back in place, and continue to enjoy your tea.

It was not everyone's fortune to have this happen, however.

The bank took a more serious view of the affair, and, having sandbagged the cellar windows, posted notices stating that, in the event of sh.e.l.ling, customers could continue business in the cellar. And this was in a nation that we have always looked upon as effeminate and excitable!

Under these pleasant circ.u.mstances, plus a little setting-up drill and "physical jerks," we pa.s.sed a very pleasant fortnight before going into the trenches again--this time at Givenchy.

CHAPTER XVI

GIVENCHY, 1915

It was now the turn of the 1st Brigade to emulate the gallant deeds of the 2nd and 3rd Brigades at Ypres and Festubert, and right gallantly they did so.

Givenchy, while receiving but slight mention in Sir John French's dispatches, was perhaps only a minor affair; but the fact that, owing largely to a shortage of bombs, we were unable to hold the ground we had gained does not in any way detract from the gallantry of the attack.

Comparisons with Hulluch or Loos cannot be made, as we had nothing like the support of either infantry or guns that were available on those later occasions.

The Canadians relieved the Guards in the Givenchy trenches during the second week in June. Our brigade was still in reserve around Bethune when they pa.s.sed us; the Prince of Wales, a slim, tired-looking boy in khaki, marched by with his regiment. It wasn't often we had any of the Royal Family march past us; generally the boot was on the other leg!

We entered the trenches at night and, as usual, in a drizzling rain.

Except for the fact that it was miserable weather, that we had followed the La Ba.s.see Ca.n.a.l in, and that he had a jumping toothache, the writer has no vivid impressions of that night.

We lay in some trenches just in front of the ruined distillery, dug in a commanding mound that had been thrown up in building the ca.n.a.l, and stayed there till next night, when we moved forward again, two companies going into the front line and two, one of them the writer's, occupying a support trench.

Here we learned what work was, every bit of food, bombs, and ammunition required for the front line being carried up these narrow twisted communication trenches by the support companies, for the proximity of our line to the enemy would not permit of taking a single man from the front line. It was the one time we cursed the heavy mailbags that arrived with unceasing regularity every night.

The right of our trenches here rested on the ca.n.a.l, and could go no further forward owing to a small marsh that lay in front. But about the centre of the position the line swooped forward into a small and dangerous salient known as the "Duck's Bill."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DISTILLERY AT GIVENCHY.]

It was opposite here we proposed to attack, the actual objective being the high ground between points H2 and H3 on the map. If we and the 7th Division on our left could gain this high ground it would straighten out this dangerous salient and give us a footing on the Aubers Ridge.

Great preparation was made for this attack. A mine that had been under construction for months was to be sprung, and we were to give the Hun a bombardment such as he had never had before.

Two field-guns were brought up on the night of the 14th and placed in _epaulements_ that had been dug in rear of the front-line trench to receive them. They were to be kept masked till the last moment before the attack, when they would cut wire and silence machine-guns along the front over which we were to attack.

The Central Ontario Battalion was to make the attack, supported by the Toronto Battalion, while the Eastern and Western Battalions were to man the captured trench, consolidate it, and provide for any counter-attacks. On the left, the East Yorks and another battalion of that brigade were to co-operate.

Meanwhile the mine was being hastily completed, and by noon on the 15th it was ready for firing, the explosive being carried up by Lyte and his satellites from near the distillery. They had had rather a bad time of it crossing the Pont Fixe, a wrecked bridge that was under observation from the German position.

The Huns, seeing the first load of these white boxes being carried over the bridge, laid a gun on it and when the second party came across opened fire on them, wounding several men close to F----, the Quebecker, who as junior sub. was bringing up the rear. He, however, kept the men from dropping the explosive, and the party reached the mine shaft without any further casualties.

Our three days' bombardment, which had started on the night of the 13th, now died down slightly, and the Germans, having had ample time to bring up their reinforcements, waited for the attack.

At 3 o'clock our two companies in the front line drew off to the right and the men of the Central Ontarios took their places, while the communication trenches leading up were choked with the Toronto men who were to form their supports. Our artillery now tuned up again and caught the Germans by surprise. They, in turn, sh.e.l.led us heavily, causing many casualties owing to the crowding of the trench.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR SUPPORT TRENCHES AT GIVENCHY.]

A---- and the scout-corporal went up the trench and were caught by a sh.e.l.l and the corporal was killed, A---- being fortunate in escaping, though very severely wounded.

Another sh.e.l.l lit fairly on a bomb depot about this time and destroyed one of our reserves of these weapons, and a third sh.e.l.l killed Lieutenant-Colonel Beecher, the second in command of the attacking battalion.

The two guns in the front line had been unmasked and were cutting wire with desperate rapidity, though their crews were practically wiped out a few moments later, and in the midst of this turmoil the mine went up.

It was quite the largest mine that had been exploded along the front, and the tremor of the earth could only be compared to an earthquake.

So eager was the engineer officer to reach the German trench, that, finding he was striking water underground, he loaded in something like a ton and a half of explosive to make certain. Thus he achieved the double result of winning the Military Cross for his skill and blowing up a portion of our front line, from which fortunately our men had been withdrawn.

But a number of our own men were killed and wounded, and, what was far worse, another reserve depot of bombs was buried under the _debris_ of the explosion.

In the meantime, masked by the fountain of earth thrown up by the mine, the attack had been launched and was already in the first German line, the bombers were beginning to work along the trench to the right and left, and the little flags that marked their progress could be seen moving slowly to the left to link up with the East Yorks.

But the East Yorks had been unable to advance owing to the wire not having all been cut and the machine-gun fire that enfiladed them from their flanks.

Meanwhile the Canadians had gained the third German line, but already the shortage of bombs was beginning to be felt, and they were forced back to the second line, where they established blocks in the trench and were able to hang on until the following day, when the German counter-attack forced them to fall back to our own front line.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AFTER GIVENCHY.

Left to right: Capt. Birdsall, Winnipeg Brown, Ponton, Capt. Richardson, Gutty.]