Month: March 2018

Jogged up through the ruins, to our guns.  A number of large guns were firing, some right close to us.  Fritz was lying low – but a number of wounded were brought down in stretchers running on bicycle wheels.  Some of our planes flying low, worth watching, their bright silvery bodies, the large circles on their wings, and coloured devices making them resemble huge noisy insects.  There were also many unpleasant sights and odours.

Daylight-saving commenced.  Occasionally, one hears a rather amusing remark – today when we were all solemnly cleaning harnesses and everything was warm and still, a very large gun went off near by, shaking the building.  Whereat one wag, turning on us a face of consternation, ejaculated “There, that’ll start the war all over again.  Some bastard must have pulled the trigger!”

Everyone madly cleaning gear, against the General’s inspection tomorrow.  General nuisance!  Saw a balloon falling this afternoon from a great height.  It came down very slowly, turning over and over in the air.

[Image: A 6 inch Mark VII gun of the Royal Garrison Artillery in action at Metz en Couture, 9 March, 1918.  Ref: Imperial War Museums, Q 8563]

Quack round early and after remarking that he could work up as good a cough for “purposes of demonstration” told me to keep indoors, so I cleaned the hut up whilst the rest paraded in marching order.  Pay day again and a half holiday, but I went to the dentist and had three fillings put in.  Carried all our belongings out into the paddocks and scrubbed out the huts with disinfectant to try to rid the camp of the influenza colds that are rampant.  Went to assistance of water-cart stuck in mud.  When it did get out the horses started off at such a pace that one of them struck his head in the ground and completely turned turtle and we left the concern in a worse mess than we found it.

Another day in bunk.  I let the mountain come to Mahomet.  Whilst I sat sucking thermometer, mountain made a tour of the hut, sniffing with evident satisfaction into W’s baccy tin.  Result, about a dozen pills poured down my throat out of his hand and told to report tomorrow.  Intrigued by my ability to push the pills down with my finger, he bent over me saying “Good God man, how do you do it?  Doesn’t it make you vomit?”

Weather black, raw and dismal – the kind when you expect to hear a stray cat howling round the house.

Went sick with a cough etc. and struck a queer little new quack.  When I started to detail my symptoms he cut me short with “In plain English, you have a cold”, jammed a thermometer in my gate and left me sucking it while he cross-examined the other cases like a lawyer in Court.  On reading my thermometer he gave me nine pills in one mouthful with the remark that they were “as good as a meal” and packed me off to bed.