Part 6 (2/2)

And this is what the khaki lads all answered with a roar:

_Chorus_

”Ca.s.sidy, Sergeant Michael Ca.s.sidy, He's of Irish nationality.

He's a lad of wonderful audacity, Sergeant Michael Ca.s.sidy (bang), V.C.”

_Last Verse_

”Who was it met a dainty little Belgian refugee And right behind the firing line, would take her on his knee?

Who was it, when she doubted him, got on his knees and swore He'd love her for three years or the duration of the War?”

_Chorus_, etc.

This was encored loudly, and someone called out for _Who's your lady friend?_ As there were not any within miles excepting ourselves, and certainly none in the audience, it was rather amusing.

We plunged through the mud again after it was all over and were taken to have coffee and sandwiches in the Mess. We were just in time to see some of the men and wish them Good Luck, as they were being lined up preparatory to going into the trenches. Poor souls, I felt glad we had been able to do something to cheer them a little; and the guns, which we had heard distinctly throughout the concert, now boomed away louder than ever.

We had a fairly long walk back from the Mess to where the Mors car had been left owing to the mud, and at last we set off along the dark and rutty road.

One facetious French sentry insisted on talking English and flas.h.i.+ng his lantern into the back of the ambulance, saying, ”But I _will_ see the face of each Mees for fear of an espion.” He did so, murmuring ”_jolie--pas mal--chic_,” etc.! He finally left us, saying: ”I am an officer. Well, ladies, good-bye all!” We were convulsed, and off we slid once more into the darkness and rain, without any lights, reaching home about 12, after a very amusing evening.

Soon after this, we started our ”Pleasant Sunday Evenings,” as we called them, in the top room of the hospital, and there from 8 to 9.30 every Sunday gave coffee and held impromptu concerts. They were a tremendous success, and chiefly attended by the English. They were so popular we were often at a loss for seats. Of real furniture there was very little.

It consisted mostly of packing cases covered with army blankets and enormous _tumpties_ in the middle of the floor--these latter contained the reserve store of blankets for the hospital, and excellent ”pouffs”

they made.

Our reputation of being able to turn our hands to anything resulted in Mr. Sitters--rus.h.i.+ng in during 10 o'clock tea one morning with the news that two English divisions were going south from Ypres in a few days'

time, and the Y.M.C.A. had been asked by the Army to erect a temporary canteen at a certain railhead during the six days they would take to pa.s.s through. There were no lady helpers in those days, and he was at his wits' end to know where to find the staff. Could any of us be spared? None of us _could_, as we were understaffed already, but Lieutenant Franklin put it to us and said if we were willing to undertake the canteen, as well as our hospital work, which would mean an average of only five hours sleep in the twenty-four--she had no objection. There was no time to get fresh Y.M.C.A. workers from England with the delay of pa.s.sports, etc., and of course we decided to take it on, only too pleased to have the chance to do something for our own men.

A shed was soon erected, the front part being left open facing the railway lines, and counters were put up. The work, which went on night and day, was planned out in s.h.i.+fts, and we were driven up to the siding in Y.M.C.A. Fords or any of our own which could be spared. Trains came through every hour averaging about 900 men on board. There was just time in between the trains to wash the cups up and put out fresh buns and chocolates. When one was in, there was naturally no time to wash the cups up at all, and they were just used again as soon as they were empty. Canteen work with a vengeance! The whole of the Highland division pa.s.sed through together with the 37th. They sat in cattle trucks mostly, the few carriages there were being reserved for the officers. It was amusing to notice that at first the men thought we were French, so unaccustomed were they then to seeing any English girls out there with the exception of army Sisters and V.A.D.s.

”_Do chocolat, si voos play_,” they would ask, and were speechless with surprise when we replied sweetly: ”Certainly, which kind will you have?”

I asked one Scotchman during a pause, when the train was in for a longer interval than usual, how he managed to make himself understood up the line. ”Och fine,” he said, ”it's not verra deefficult to _parley voo_. I gang into one o' them Estaminays to ask for twa drinks, I say 'twa' and, would you believe it, they always hand out three--good natured I call that, but I hae to pay up all the same,” he added!

Naturally the French people thought he said _trois_. This story subsequently appeared in print, I believe.

One regiment had a goat, and Billy was let out for a walk and had wandered rather far afield, when the train started to move on again.

Luckily those trains never went very fast, but it was a funny sight to see two Tommies almost throttling the goat in their efforts to drag it along, pursued by several F.A.N.Y.s (to make the pace), and give it a final shove up into a truck!

Towards the end of that week the entire staff became exceedingly short tempered. The loss of sleep combined with hospital work probably accounted for it; we even slept in the jolting cars on the way back. We were more than repaid though, by the smiles of the Tommies and the grat.i.tude of the Y.M.C.A., who would have been unable to run the canteen at all but for our help.

It was at this period in our career we definitely became known as the ”F.A.N.N.Y.s”--”F.A.N.Y.,” spelt the pa.s.sing Tommy--”f.a.n.n.y,” ”I wonder what that stands for?”

”First anywhere,” suggested one, which was not a bad effort, we thought!

The following is an extract from an account by Mr. Beach Thomas in a leading daily:

”Our Yeomanry nurses who, among other work, drive, clean, and manage their own ambulance cars, are dressed in khaki. Their skirts are short, their hats (some say their feet), are large! (this we thought hardly kind). They have done prodigies along the Belgian front. One of their latest activities has been to devise and work a peripatetic bath. By ingenious contrivances, tents, and ten collapsible baths, are packed into a motor car which circulates behind the lines. The water is heated by the engine in a cistern in the interior of the car and offers the luxury of a hot bath to several score men.”

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