Part 9 (2/2)
When you've finished rubbing eye-wash, On your engine, comes a ”Kibosch.”
As the Section-leader never looks at it, But a grease-cap gently twisting, She remarks that it's consisting,-- ”Half of grit.”
Then as seated on a trestle, With the toughest beef you wrestle, That in texture would out-rival stone or rock, You are told you must proceed, To Boulogne, with care and speed At two o'clock.
As you're whisking through Marquise (While the patients sit at ease) Comes the awful sinking sizzle of a tyre, It is usual in such cases, That your jack at all such places, Won't go higher.
A wet, cold rain starts soaking, And the old car keeps on choking, Your hands and face are frozen raw and red, Three sparking-plugs are missing, There's another tyre a-hissing, Well--! 'nuff said!
You reach camp as night's descending, To the bath with haste you're wending, A hot tub's the only thing to save a cough, Cries the F.A.N.Y. who's still in it, ”Ah! poor soul, why just this minute, Water's off!”
_N.B._--It was a popular pastime of the powers that be to turn the water off at intervals, without any warning, rhyme or reason--one of the tragedies of the War.
CHAPTER XII
THE Pa.s.sING OF THE LITTLE LORRY, ”OLD BILL” AND ”'ERB” AT AUDRICQ
A mild sensation was caused one day by a collision on the Boulogne road when a French car skidded into one of ours (luckily empty at the time) and pushed it over into the gutter.
”Heasy” and Lowson were both requested to appear at the subsequent Court of Enquiry, and Sergeant Lawrence, R.A.M.C. (who had been on the ambulance at the time) was bursting with importance and joy at the antic.i.p.ation of the proceedings. He was one of the chief witnesses, and apart from anything else it meant an extra day's pay for him, though why it should I could never quite fathom.
As they drove off, with Boss as chaperone, a perfect salvo of old shoes was thrown after them!
They returned with colours flying, for had not Lowson saved the situation by producing a tape measure three minutes after the accident, measuring the s.p.a.ce the Frenchman swore was wide enough for his car to pa.s.s, and proving thereby it was a physical impossibility?
”How,” asked the Colonel, who was conducting the Enquiry, ”can you declare with so much certainty the s.p.a.ce was 3 feet 8 inches?”
”I measured it,” replied Lowson promptly.
”May I ask with what?” he rasped.
”A tape-measure I had in my pocket,” replied she, smiling affably the while (sensation).
The Court of Enquiry went down like a pack of cards before that tape measure. Such a thing had never been heard of before; and from then onwards the reputation of the ”lady drivers” being prepared for all ”immersions” was established finally and irrevocably.
It was a marvel how fit we all kept throughout those cold months. It was no common thing to wake up in the mornings and find icicles on the top blanket of the ”flea bag” where one's breath had frozen, and of course one's sponge was a solid block of ice. It was duly placed in a tin basin on the top of the stove and melted by degrees. Luckily we had those round oil stoves; and with flaps securely fastened at night we achieved what was known as a ”perfectly glorious fug.”
Engineers began to make frequent trips to camp to choose a suitable site for the huts we were to have to replace our tents.
My jobs on the little lorry were many and varied; getting the weekly beer for the Sergeants' Mess being one of the least important. I drew rations for several hospitals as well as bringing up the petrol and tyres for the Convoy, rationing the Officers' Mess, etc.; and regularly at one o'clock just as we were sitting at Mess, Sergeant Brown would appear (though we never saw more of him than his legs) at the aperture that served as our door, and would call out diffidently in his high squeaky voice: ”Isolation, when you're ready, Miss,” and as regularly the whole Mess would go off into fits! This formula when translated meant that he was ready for me to take the rations to the Isolation hospital up the ca.n.a.l. Hastily grabbing some cheese I would crank up the little lorry and depart.
The little lorry did really score when an early evacuation took place, at any hour from 4 a.m. onwards, when the men had to be taken from the hospitals to the s.h.i.+ps bound for England. How lovely to lie in bed and hear other people cranking up their cars!
Barges came regularly down the ca.n.a.ls with cases too seriously wounded to stand the jolting in ambulance trains. One day we were all having tea, and some friends had dropped in, when a voice was heard calling ”Barges, Barges.” Without more ado the whole Mess rose, a form was overturned, and off they scampered as fast as they could to get their cars and go off immediately. The men left sitting there gazed blankly at each other and finally turned to me for an explanation--(being a lorry, I was not required). ”Barges,” I said; ”they all have to hurry off as quickly as possible to unload the cases.” They thought it rather a humorous way of speeding the parting guest, but I a.s.sured them work always came before (or generally during) tea in our Convoy! Major S.P.
never forgot that episode, and the next time he came, heralded his arrival by calling out at the top of his voice, ”Barges, Barges!” with the result that half the Convoy turned out _en ma.s.se_. He a.s.sured his friends it was the one method of getting a royal welcome.
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