Part 13 (1/2)

CHAPTER XIV

CHRISTMAS, 1916

Taking some wounded Germans to No. 14 hospital one afternoon we were stopped on the way by a road patrol, a new invention to prevent joy-riding. Two Tommies rushed out from the hedges, like highwaymen of old, waving little red flags (one of the lighter efforts of the War Office). Perforce we had to draw up while one of them went into the _Estaminet_ (I noticed they always chose their quarters well) to bring out the officer. His job was to examine papers and pa.s.ses, and sort the sheep from the goats, allowing the former to proceed and turning the latter away!

The man in question was evidently new to the work and was exceedingly fussy and officious. He scanned my pink pa.s.s for some time and then asked, ”Where are you going?” ”Wimereux,” I replied promptly. He looked at the pa.s.s again--”It's got ”_W_imer_oo_,” here, and not what _you_ said,” he answered suspiciously. ”Some people p.r.o.nounce it 'Vimerer,'

nevertheless,” I could not refrain from replying, rather tartly.

Again he turned to the pa.s.s, and as it started to snow in stinging gusts (and I was so obviously one of the ”sheep”), I began to chafe at the delay.

As if anyone would joy-ride in such weather without a wind screen, I thought disgustedly. (None of the cars had them.)

”Whom have you got in behind?” was the next query.

I leant forward as if imparting a secret of great importance, and said, in a stage whisper: ”Germans!”

He jumped visibly, and the two flag-wagging Tommies grinned delightedly.

After going to the back to find out if this was so, he at last very reluctantly returned my pa.s.s.

”Thinks we're all bloomin' spies,” said one of the guards, as at last we set off to face the blinding snow, that literally was blinding, it was so hard to see. The only method was to shut first one eye and then the other, so that they could rest in turns!

On the way back we pa.s.sed a motor hea.r.s.e stuck on the Wimereux hill with four coffins in behind, stretcher-wise.

The guard gave a grunt. ”Humph,” said he, ”They makes yer form fours right up to the ruddy grave, they do!”

We were not so far from civilization in our Convoy as one might have supposed, for among the men in the M.T. yard was a hairdresser from the Savoy Hotel!

He made a diffident call on Boss one day and said it would give him great pleasure to shampoo and do up the ”young ladies' hair” for them in his spare time ”to keep his hand in.” He was afraid if the war lasted much longer he might forget the gentle art!

We rose to the occasion and were only too delighted, and from then onwards he became a regular inst.i.tution up at the Convoy.

News was brought to us of the torpedoing of the ”Suss.e.x,” and the terrible suffering the crew and pa.s.sengers endured. It was thought after she was struck she would surely sink, and many deaths by drowning occurred owing to overcrowding the lifeboats. Like the ”Zulu,” however, when day dawned it was found she was able to come into Boulogne under her own steam. After driving some cases over there, I went to see the remains in dry dock. It was a ghastly sight, made all the more poignant as one could see trunks and clothes lying about in many of the cabins, which were open to the day as if a transverse section had been made. The only humorous incident that occurred was that King Albert was arrested while taking a photo of it! I don't think for a moment they recognized who he was, for, with gla.s.ses, and a slight stoop, he does not look exactly like the photos one sees, and they probably imagined he was bluffing. He was marched off looking intensely amused! One of the French guards, when I expressed my disappointment at not being able to get a photo, gave me the address of a friend of his who had taken some official ones for France, so I hurried off, and was lucky to get them.

The weather became atrocious as the winter advanced and our none too water-tight huts showed distinct signs of warping. We only had one thickness of matchboarding in between us and the elements, and, without looking out of the windows, I could generally ascertain through the slits what was going on in the way of weather. I had chosen my ”cue”

looking sea-ward because of the view and the sunsets, but then that was in far away Spring. Eva's was next door, and even more exposed than mine. When we happened to mention this state of affairs to Colonel C., he promised us some asbestos to line the outer wall if we could find someone to put it up.

Another obliging friend lent us his carpenter to do the job--a burly Scot. The fact that we cleaned our own cars and went about the camp in riding breeches and overalls, not unlike land-girls' kit, left him almost speechless.

The first day all he could say was, ”Weel, weel, I never did”--at intervals.

The second day he had recovered himself sufficiently to look round and take a little notice.

”Ye're one o' them artists, I'm thinkin',” he said, eyeing my panthers disparagingly. (The hunting frieze had been taken down temporarily till the asbestos was fixed.)

”No, you mustn't think that,” I said apologetically.

”Ha ye no men to do yon dirty worrk for ye?” and he nodded in direction of the cars. ”Scandalizing, and no less,” was his comment when he heard there were not. In two days' time he reported to his C.O. that the job was finished, and the latter overheard him saying to a pal, ”Aye mon, but A've had ma outlook on life broadened these last two days.” B.

'phoned up hastily to the Convoy to know what exactly we had done with his carpenter.