Part 8 (1/2)
We went on board at nine, after a good breakfast, and decided to stay on deck. A sailor went round with a megaphone, shouting, ”All lifebelts on,” and we were under way.
I confided ”Tuppence” to the care of the s.h.i.+p's carpenter and begged him to find a spare lifebelt for him, so that if the worst came to the worst he could use it as a little raft!
We watched the two destroyers pitching black against the das.h.i.+ng spray as they sped along on either side convoying us across.
We arrived at Boulogne in time for lunch, and then set off for our convoy camp thirty kilometres away, in a British Red Cross touring car borrowed from the ”Christol Hotel.”
We arrived there amid a deluge of rain, and the camp looked indeed a sorry spectacle with the tents all awry in the hurricane that was blowing.
Bell tents flanked one side of the large open s.p.a.ce where the ambulances stood. A big store tent occupied another and the cook-house was in a shed at the extreme corner, with the Mess tent placed about as far from it as possible! I fully appreciated this piece of staff work later.
There were also a lot of bathing machines, which made me vaguely wonder if a Snark had once inhabited the place.
”The fourth (viz. sign of a Snark) is its fondness for bathing machines Which it constantly carries about, And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes-- A sentiment open to doubt.”
My surmises were brought to an abrupt end.
”Pat, dear old Pat. I say, old bird, you won't mind going into the cook-house for a bit, will you, till the real cook comes? You're so good-natured (?) I know you will, old thing.”
Before I could reply, someone else said:
”That's settled then; it's perfectly ripping of you.”
”Splendid,” said someone else. Being the chief person concerned, I hadn't had a chance to utter word of protest one way or the other!
When I _could_ gasp out something, I murmured feebly that I _had_ thought I was going to drive a car, and had spent most of my leave sitting in a garage with that end in view.
”Oh, yes, of course you are, old thing, but the other cook hasn't turned up yet. Bridget (Laidlay) is worked off her feet, so we decided you'd be a splendid help to her in the meantime!”
There was nothing else for it.
I discovered I was to share a tent with Quin, and dragged my kit over to the one indicated. I found her wringing out some blankets and was greeted with the cheery ”h.e.l.lo, had a good leave? I say, old thing, your bed's a pool of water.”
I looked into the tent and there it was sagging down in the middle with quite a decent sized pond filling the hollow! ”What about keeping some gold fish?” I suggested, somewhat peevishly.
Whatever happened I decided I couldn't sleep there that night, and with Quin's help tipped it up and spread it on some boxes outside, as the sun had come out.
That night I spent at Lamarck on a stretcher--it at least had the virtue of being dry if somewhat hard.
When I appeared at the cook-house next morning with the words, ”Please mum, I've come!” Bridget literally fell on my neck. She poured out the difficulties of trying to feed seventeen hungry people, when they all came in to meals at different hours, especially as the big stove wouldn't ”draw.” It had no draught or something (I didn't know very much about them then). In the meantime all the cooking was done on a huge Primus stove and the field kitchen outside. I took a dislike to that field kitchen the moment I saw it, and I think it was mutual. It never lost an opportunity of ”going out on me” the minute my back was turned.
We were rather at a loss to know how to cope with our army rations at first. We all worked voluntarily, but the army undertook to feed and house (or rather tent) us. We could either draw money or rations, and at first we decided on the former. When, however, we realised the enormous price of the meat in the French shops we decided to try rations instead, and this latter plan we found was much the best. Unfortunately, as we had first drawn allowances it took some days before the change could be effected, and Bridget and I had the time of our lives trying to make both ends meet in the meantime. That first day she went out shopping it was my duty to peel the potatoes and put them on to boil, etc. Before she left she explained how I was to light the Primus stove. Now, if you've never lit a Primus before, and in between the time you were told how to do it you had peeled twenty or thirty potatoes, got two scratch breakfasts, swept the Mess tent and kept that field kitchen from going out, it's quite possible your mind would be a little blurred. Mine was.
When the time came, I put the methylated in the little cup at the top, lit it, and then pumped with a will. The result was a terrific roar and a sheet of flame reaching almost to the roof! Never having seen one in action before, I thought it was possible they always behaved like that at first and that the conflagration would subside in a few moments. I watched it doubtfully, arms akimbo. Bridget entered just then and, determined not to appear fl.u.s.tered, in as cool a voice as possible I said: ”Is that all right, old thing?” She put down her parcels and, without a word, seized the stove by one of its legs and threw it on a sand heap outside! Of course the field kitchen had gone out--(I can't think who invented that rotten inadequate grating underneath, anyway), and I felt I was not the bright jewel I might have been.
Our Mess was a huge Indian tent rather out of repair, and, though it had a bright yellow lining, dusk always reigned within. The mugs, tin plates, and the oddest knives and forks const.i.tuted the ”service.” It was windy and chilly to a degree, and one of the few advantages of being in the cook-house was that one had meals in comparative warmth.
My real troubles began at night when, armed with a heavy tray, I set off on the perilous journey across the camp to the Mess tent to lay the table. There were no lights, and it was generally raining. The chief things to avoid were the tent ropes. As I left the cook-house I decided exactly in my own mind where the bell-tent ropes extended, ditto those of the store tent and the Mess, but invariably, just as I thought I was clear, something caught my ankle as securely as any snake, and down I crashed on top of the tray, the plates, mugs, and knives scattering all around. Luckily it was months since the latter had been sharp, or a steel proof overall would have been my only hope. Distances and the supposit.i.tious length of tent ropes are inclined to be deceptive in the dark. Nothing will make me believe those ropes were inanimate--they literally lay in wait for me each night! When any loud crash was heard in camp it was always taken for granted it was ”only Pat taking another toss.”
The wind, too, seemed to take a special delight in doing his bit. Our camp was situated on the top of a small hill quite near the sea, and some of the only trees in the neighbourhood flourished there, protected by a deep thorn hedge. This, however, ended abruptly where the drive led down to the road. It was when I got opposite the opening where the wind swept straight up from the sea my real tussle began. As often as not the tin plates were blown off the tray high into the air! It was then I realized the value of a chin. Obviously it was meant to keep the lid on the soup tureen and in this acrobatic att.i.tude, my feet dodging the tent ropes, I arrived breathless and panting at the door of the Mess tent.
The oil lamp swinging on a bit of wire over the table was as welcome a sight as an oasis in the desert.
We had no telephone in those days, and orderlies came up from the Casino hospital and A.D.M.S. with buff slips when ambulances were wanted. At that time the cars, Argylls, Napiers, Siddeley-Deaseys, and a Crossley, inscribed ”Frank Crossley, the Pet of Poperinghe,” were just parked haphazard in the open square, some with their bonnets one way and some another--it just depended which of the two drives up to camp had been chosen. It will make some of the F.A.N.Y.s smile to hear this, when they think of the neat rows of cars precisely parked up to the dead straight, white-washed line that ultimately became the order of things!