Chapter VIII: Part 8

"Got it pretty rotten in the leg," he added.

"Will it put paid to your comedy act, Sammy?" I asked.

"Dunno," he replied with a sigh in his voice--"I'm tryin' to fink 'art a one-legged step dance."--_G. W. Turner (late 11th London Regt.), 10 Sunny View, Kingsbury, N.W.9._

4. HIGH SEAS

The Skipper's Cigar

Bradley (a Deptford flower-seller before joining up) was the "comic" of the stokers' mess deck.

He was always late in returning from shore leave. One Monday morning he returned half an hour "adrift," and was promptly taken before the skipper.

The skipper, a jovial old sort, asked him his reason for being adrift again, and Bradley replied:

"Well, sir, Townsend and me were waiting for the liberty boat, and I was telling him that if ever I sees the skipper round Deptford I'll let him 'ave a 'bob' bunch of flowers for a 'tanner,' and we looked round and the blinkin' boat was gorne."

The skipper smiled and dismissed him. On Christmas Day Bradley received a packet containing a cigar in it, with the following written on the box:

"For the best excuse of the year.--F. H. C., Capt."

I saw Bradley three years ago and he told me he still had that cigar in a glass case with his medals.--_F. H. (late Stoker, R.N.), 18 Little Ilford Lane, Manor Park, E.12._

Breaking the Spell

We were in a twelve-inch gun turret in a ship during the Dogger Bank action. The ship had been hit several times and big explosions had scorched the paint and done other damage. There came a lull in the firing, and with all of us more or less badly shaken there was a queer silence. Our captain decided to break it. Looking round at the walls of the turret he remarked in a Cockney, stuttering voice: "Well, lads, this blinking turret couldn't 'arf do with a coat of paint."--_J. Bone, 84 Victoria Road, Surbiton._

A V.C.'s Story of Friendship

A transport packed with troops and horses for the Dardanelles was suddenly hailed by a German cruiser and the captain was given a few minutes in which to abandon ship.

One young soldier was found with his arms round his horse's neck, sobbing bitterly, and when ordered to the boats he stubbornly refused to move. "Where my white-faced Willie goes _I_ goes," he said proudly.

His loyalty to his dumb friend was rewarded, for the German cruiser fired twice at the transport, missed each time, and before a third effort British destroyers were on the scene to chase her away. It was then the young soldier had the laugh over his friends, for they in many cases arrived back on the ship half frozen and soaked to the skin!--_A Colonel, who wishes to remain anonymous: he holds the V.C., D.S.O., and M.C._

The Stoker Sums it Up

I was on a large transport (normally a freighter), which had just arrived at a port on the East African coast, very rusty, and with a very un-naval-looking crew. We were taken in charge by a very small but immaculate gun-boat.

Orders were shouted to us by megaphone, and our men were leaning over the side watching the gun-boat rather enviously, when a Poplar stoker came up from below for a "breather," and summed up his mates' feelings in eight words.

Cupping his hands about his mouth, he shouted in a voice of thunder: "_Do yer stop aht all night in 'er?_"--_R. N. Spence (late Lieutenant, R.N.V.R.), 214 Croydon Road, Beckenham._

Channel Swimming his Next Job

During the war I had to fly a machine over to France. I had as passenger a Cockney Tommy who had recently transferred from the infantry to the R.F.C., and was joining his unit overseas.

Half-way over the Channel my engine failed and I glided down towards the nearest boat I could see. The landing was not very successful; the under-carriage struck the crest of a wave and the aeroplane hit the water almost vertically.

We were both thrown out, my passenger being somewhat badly knocked about in the process. We clung to the almost submerged wreckage and gazed hopefully towards the vessel I had sighted. She continued on her course, however.

The machine soon sank and we were left bobbing about in our life-belts. Things began to look far from bright, especially as my Cockney observer was in a pretty bad way by now. Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds, and the white cliffs of Grisnez, about eight miles away, stood out clearly.

"What's them hills, sir?" asked Tommy.

"Cape Grisnez, where Burgess landed after his Channel swim," I replied.

"Blimey," he said, "if we ever gets out of this perishing mess, and I can't get me old job back after the war, I'll be a blooming Channel swimmer. I know the ruddy way across nah."--_"Pilot R.F.C.," London, W.1._

It _Was_ a Collapsible Boat

I was one of the survivors of the transport ship _Leasowe Castle_. Just before she took her final plunge, I was standing on deck when an empty boat was seen drifting near by. Our section officer called for swimmers, and five or six men went overboard in a jiffy and brought the boat alongside.

There was a bit of a scuffle to get over the rail and into the boat, and one man jumped straight into her from a height of about thirty feet. To our dismay he went clean through--it was a collapsible boat!

No sooner had this happened than a typical Cockney voice said: "Blimey, he's got the anchor in his pocket, I'll bet yer!"--_G. P. Gregory (late 272 M.G. Company), 107 Tunkar Street, Greenwich._

Luck in Odd Numbers

We were on board H.M.S. _Sharpshooter_, doing patrol off the Belgian coast. The signalman on watch, who happened to be a Cockney, suddenly yelled out: "Aeroplane on the starboard bow, sir."

The "old man," being fairly tired after a night of rain, said: "All right, it's only a friendly going back home."

About two minutes later the plane dropped three bombs, the last of which was much too close to be comfortable.

After our friend the signalman had wiped the splash off his face he turned round to the First Lieutenant and casually remarked: "Strike! It's a thundering good job he wasn't hostile or he might have hit us."--_R. Walmsley, D.S.M., 47 Watcombe Road, South Norwood, S.E.25._

"Your Barf, Sir!"

We were a mixed crowd on board the old _Archangel_ returning "off leave" from Southampton to Havre on the night of January 6, 1917. The sea was calm, and a moon made conditions ideal for Jerry's "skimmers."

When we were well under way I chummed up with a typical son of the Mile End Road, one of the Middlesex men, and we talked for some time whilst watching the long, white zig-zag wake.

Then he suggested looking for a "kip." After nosing around several dark corners, a strip of carpet along the alley between the first-class cabins appealed to us, and quietly unslinging kit and putting our packs for a pillow, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible. During the process my pal jerked his thumb towards the closed doors and whispered "Orficers."

How long we had been asleep I don't know, but we were rudely awakened by a dull booming thud and a sound of splintering wood, and at the same time we were jolted heavily against the cabins. We hurriedly scrambled to our feet, looked at each other (no need to ask what had happened!), then grabbed our kit and made for the deck.

As my companion passed the last cabin he banged on the door with his fist and called out: "Oi, yer barf'll be ready in a minute, sir!"--_A. E. Ulyett, 41 Smith Terrace, King's Road, Chelsea, S.W.3._

"Mind My Coat"

Middle watch, H.M.S. _Bulldog_ on patrol off the Dardanelles: a dirty and a black night. A shout of "Man overboard!" from the fore-gun crew.... We located an A.B. in the water, and with a long boat-hook caught his coat and pulled him towards the boat. As he drew nearer he cried: "Don't pull so bloomin' hard; you'll tear my blinkin' coat!"

Then we knew it was our "Ginger," from Poplar. Now "Ginger" has the life-saving medal. A few weeks after his ducking the ship struck a mine and the after-part went west: "Ginger" was discovered in the water, having gone in after a wounded sub-lieutenant who had been blown overboard.--_Henry J. Wood, D.S.M., 19 Gracechurch Street, E.C.3._

"Wot's the Game--Musical Chairs?"

It was a bitterly cold day in December, somewhere in the North Sea. A section of mine-sweepers were engaged clearing an area well sown by Jerry's submarines. Suddenly the expected happened, and in a few minutes one of the sweepers was settling down fast by the stern.

Those who did not "go west" in the explosion were with difficulty picked up; among them was a Cockney stoker rating. He arrived on board, wet, cold, and pretty well "pumped," and the bo'sun's peg of rum had almost disappeared between his chattering teeth when there was another explosion, and once again he was in a sinking ship.

His reply to the order "abandon ship," which he had heard for the second time within half an hour, was: "Wot blinkin' game's this--musical chairs?"--_H. Waterworth, 32 Grasmere Road, Muswell Hill, N.10 (late Engineer-Lieutenant, R.N.R. (retired))._

A Voice in the Dark

Dawn of a day in March 1917 found Submarine F3 on patrol near the Terschelling lightship. As we broke surface two German destroyers were seen only a few hundred yards away. We immediately dived again, and shortly afterwards the depth charges began to explode. Lower and lower we went until we touched the bottom.

Bangs to the right of us, bangs to the left of us, bangs above us--then one glorious big bang and out went the lights.

Deadly silence, and then out of the darkness came the voice of our Battersea bunting-tosser--"Anyone got six pennorth o' coppers?"--_Frederick J. H. Alsford, 78 North Street, S.W.4._

Why the Stoker Washed

H.M.Q. ship 18 was sinking sixty miles off the French coast as the result of gun-fire, after destroying a German submarine.

After getting away we had a hurried call-over and found that a Cockney fireman was missing. We hailed the ship which seemed about to take the plunge any minute, and at last the stoker appeared, spotlessly clean and dressed in "ducks."

He had to jump and swim for it. As we hauled him to our boat we asked him why he had waited to clean himself.

"Well," he explained, "if I am going to hell there's no need to let the blighter know I'm a stoker."--_Wm. C. Barnaby (late Chief Coxswain, R.N.), 7 Seville Street, Knightsbridge, S.W.1._

Accounts Rendered

The First-Lieutenant of a warship I was in, though a first-class sailor, had no great liking for clerical work, consequently the ship's store-books were perhaps not quite as they should have been.

He therefore got an Able Seaman (who had been a London clerk in civil life) to give him a hand in his "off watches" in putting the books in order.

Shortly afterwards the ship stopped a torpedo and sank in eight minutes. Before the First-Lieutenant had very much time to look round he found himself in the "ditch."

As he was clambering out of the water on to the bottom of an upturned boat, he saw his "Chief Accountant" climbing up the other side, and the first thing he did was to reach out and shake hands with the A.B. across the keel of the boat, at the same time remarking, "Well, _that_ clears up those blessed accounts anyhow."--_John Bowman (Able Seaman, R.N.V.R.), 19 Handel Mansions, W.C.1._

An Ocean Greyhound

On one occasion when the _Diligence_ was "somewhere in the North Sea," shore leave was granted.

One of the sailors, a Cockney, returned to the ship with his jumper "rather swollen." The officer of the watch noticed something furry sticking out of the bottom of his jumper, and at once asked where he had got it from, fearing, probably, that he had been poaching.

The Cockney thought furiously for a moment and then said: "I chased it round the Church Army hut, sir, until it got giddy and fell over, and so I picked it up and brought it aboard to nurse it back to 'ealth and strength."--_J. S. Cowland, 65 Tylney Road, Forest Gate, E.7._

Margate In Mespot.

October 29, 1914--England declares war on Turkey and transports laden with troops sail from Bombay.

One evening, within a week, these transports anchor off the flat Mesopotamian coast at the top of the Persian Gulf. In one ship, a county regiment (95 per cent. countrymen, the remainder Cockney) is ordered to be the first to land. H.M.S. _Ocean_ sends her cutters and lifeboats, and into these tumble the platoons at dusk, to be rowed across a shallow "bar."

Under cover of an inky darkness they arrive close to the beach by midnight. It is very cold, and all feel it the more because the kit worn is shorts and light khaki shirts.

In the stone-cold silence a whisper passes from boat to boat--"_Remove puttees; tie boots round the neck; at signal, boats to row in until grounded; platoons to disembark and wade ashore_."

So a shadowy line of strange-looking waders is dimly to be seen advancing through the shallow water and up the beach--in extended order, grim and frozen stiff. As dawn breaks they reach the sandy beach, and a few shots ring out from the distant Fort of Fas--but no one cares. Each and all are looking amazedly at the grotesque appearance of the line--silent, miserable figures, boots wagging round their necks, shorts rolled as high as possible, while their frozen fingers obediently cling to rifles and ammunition.

It is too much for one soul, and a Cockney voice calls out: "'Ere, wot price this fer Margate?"

The spell is broken. The Mesopotamian campaign begins with a great laugh!--_John Fiton, M.C., A.F.C., 9 High Grove, Welwyn Garden City, Herts._

Urgent and Personal!

The ss. _Oxfordshire_, then a hospital ship, was on her way down from Dar-es-salaam to Cape Town when she received an S.O.S. from H.M.T. _Tyndareus_, which had been mined off Cape Agulhas, very near the spot where the famous _Birkenhead_ sank.

The _Tyndareus_ had on board the 26th (Pioneer) Battalion, Middlesex Regiment, under the command of Colonel John Ward, then on their way to Hong Kong.

As the hospital boat drew near it was seen that the _Tyndareus_ was very low in the water, and across the water we could hear the troops singing "Tipperary" as they stood lined up on the decks.

The lifeboats from both ships were quickly at work, every patient capable of lending a hand doing all he could to help. Soon we had hundreds of the Middlesex aboard, some pulled roughly up the side, others climbing rope-ladders hastily thrown down. They were in various stages of undress, some arriving clad only in pants.

On the deck came one who, pulled up by eager hands, landed on all fours with a bump. As he got up, hands and toes bleeding from contact with the side of the vessel, I was delighted to recognise an old London acquaintance. The following dialogue took place:

MYSELF: Hallo, Bill! Fancy meeting you like this! Hurt much?

BILL: Not much. Seen Nobby Clark? Has he got away all right?

MYSELF (_not knowing Nobby Clark_): I don't know. I expect so; there are hundreds of your pals aboard.

BILL: So long. See you later. Must find Nobby; he collared the "kitty" when that blinking boat got hit!--_J. P. Mansell (late) 25th Royal Fusiliers._

Victoria! (Very Cross)

While I was an A.B. aboard H.M.S. _Aboukir_ somewhere in the North Sea we received a signal that seven German destroyers were heading for us at full speed. We were ordered at the double to action stations.

My pal, a Cockney, weighing about 18 stone, found it hard to keep up with the others, and the commander angrily asked him, "Where is your station?"

"Victoria--if I could only get there."]

To which the Cockney replied, "Victoria--if I could only get there."--_J. Hearn, 24 Christchurch Street, S.W.3._

He Saw the Force of It

In February 1915 we beat out our weary patrol near the Scillies. Our ship met such heavy weather that only the bravest souls could keep a cheery countenance. Running into a growing storm, and unable to turn from the racing head seas, we beat out our unwilling way into the Atlantic.

Three days later we limped back to base with injured men, hatches stove in, winch pipes and boats torn away. Our forward gun was smashed and leaned over at a drunken angle.

Early in the morning the crew were taking a well-earned rest, and the decks were deserted but for the usual stoker, taking a breath of air after his stand-by watch. A dockyard official, seeing our damage, came on board, and, after viewing the wrecked gun at close quarters, turned to the stoker with the remark: "Do you mean to say that the sea smashed a heavy gun like that, my man?"

The stoker, spitting with uncanny accuracy at a piece of floating wood overside, looked at the official: "Nah," he said, "it wasn't the blinking sea; the ryne done it!"--_A. Marsden (Engineer-Lieutenant-Commander, R.N.), Norbrook Cottage, Leith Park Road, Gravesend._

New Skin--Brand New!

Two mines--explosion--many killed--hundreds drowned. We were sinking fast. I scrambled quickly out of my hammock and up the hatchway. On deck, leaning against the bulkhead, was a shipmate, burned from head to foot. More amazing than fiction was his philosophy and coolness as he hailed me with, "'Cher, Darby! Got a fag? I ain't had a 'bine since Pa died." I was practically "in the nude," and could not oblige him. Three years later I was taking part at a sports meeting at Dunkirk when I was approached by--to me--a total stranger. "What 'cher, Darby--ain't dead yet then. What! Don't you remember H.M.S. _Russell_? Of course I've altered a bit now--new skin--just like a two-year-old--brand new." Brand new externally, but the philosophy was unaltered.--_"Darby," 405 Valence Avenue, Chadwell Heath, Essex._

A Zeebrugge Memory

During the raid on Zeebrugge, one of our number had his arms blown away. When things quietened a little my chum and I laid him on a mess table and proceeded to tend his wounds. My chum tried to light the mess-deck "bogey" (fire), the chimney of which had been removed for the action. After the match had been applied, we soon found ourselves in a fog. Then the wounded man remarked: "I say, chum! If I'm going to die, let's die a white man, not a black 'un." The poor fellow died before reaching harbour.--_W. A. Brooks, 14 Ramsden Road, N.11._

Another Perch in the Roost

On the morning of September 22, 1914, when the cruisers _Aboukir_, _Hogue_, and _Cressy_ were torpedoed, we were dotted about in the water, helping each other where possible and all trying to get some support. When one piece got overloaded it meant the best swimmers trying their luck elsewhere.

Such was my position, when I saw a piece of wreckage resembling a chicken coop, large enough to support four men. I reached it just ahead of another man who had been badly scalded.

We were both exhausted and unable to help another man coming towards us. He was nearly done, and my companion, seeing his condition, shouted between breaths: "Come along, ole cock. Shake yer bloomin' feavers. There's a perch 'ere for anover rooster."

Both were stokers on watch when torpedoed, and in a bad state from scalds. Exposure did the rest. I was alone, when picked up.--_W. Stevens (late R.M.L.I.), 23 Lower Range Road, Denton, near Gravesend._

Uncomfortable Cargo

(_A 12-in. shell weighs about 8 cwt. High explosives were painted yellow and "common" painted black._)

In October 1914 H.M.S. _Venerable_ was bombarding the Belgian coast and Thames tugs were pressed into service to carry ammunition to ships taking part in the bombardment.

The sea was pretty rough when a tug came alongside the _Venerable_ loaded with 12-in. shells, both high explosive and common. Deck hands jumped down into the tug to sling the shells on the hoist. The tug skipper, seeing them jumping on the high explosives, shouted: "Hi! dahn there! Stop jumping on them yaller 'uns"; and, turning to the Commander, who was leaning over the ship's rail directing operations, he called out: "Get them yaller 'uns aht fust, guvnor, or them blokes dahn there 'll blow us sky high."--_A. Gill, 21 Down Road, Teddington, Middlesex._

Good Old "Vernon"

Several areas in the North Sea were protected by mines, which came from the torpedo depot ship, H.M.S. _Vernon_. The mines floated several feet below the surface, being kept in position by means of wires attached to sinkers.

In my submarine we had encountered very bad weather and were uncertain of our exact position. The weather got so bad that we were forced to cruise forty feet below the surface.

Everything was very still in the control room. The only movements were an occasional turn of the hydroplanes, or a twist at the wheel, at which sat "Shorty" Harris, a real hard case from Shadwell.

Suddenly we were startled by a scraping sound along the port side. Before we could put our thoughts into words there came an ominous bump on the starboard side. _Bump!_ ... _bump!_ ... seven distinct thuds against the hull. No one moved, and every nerve was taut. Then "Shorty" broke the tension with, "Good old _Vernon_, another blinkin' dud."--_T. White, 31 Empress Avenue, Ilford._

Any Time's Kissing Time!

A torpedo-boat destroyer engaged on transport duty in the Channel in 1916 had been cut in two by collision whilst steaming with lights out. A handful of men on the after-part, which alone remained afloat, were rescued after several hours by another destroyer, just as the after-part sank.

A howling gale was raging and some of the survivors had to swim for it.

As the first swimmer reached the heaving side of the rescuing ship he was caught by willing hands and hauled on board.

When he got his breath he stood up and, shaking himself to clear the water somewhat from his dripping clothes, looked around with a smile at the "hands" near by and said: "Well, ain't nobody a-goin' ter kiss me?"--_J. W., Bromley, Kent._

The Fag End

The captain of the troopship _Transylvania_ had just called the famous "Every man for himself" order after the boat had received two torpedoes from a submarine.

The nurses had been got off safely in a boat, but our own prospects of safety seemed very remote. Along came a Cockney with his cigarettes and the remark, "Who'll 'ave a fag afore they get wet?"--_A. W. Harvey, 97 Elderfield Road, Clapton, E.5 (late 10th London Regiment)._

"Spotty" the Jonah

On board the s.s. _Lorrento_ in 1917 with me was one "Spotty" Smith, A.B., of London. He had been torpedoed five times, and was reputed to be the sole survivor on the last two occasions. Such a Jonah-like reputation brought him more interest than affection from sailormen.

Approaching Bizerta--a danger spot in the South Mediterranean--one dark night, all lights out, "Spotty" so far forgot himself as to strike matches on deck. In lurid and forcible language the mate requested him "not to beat his infernal record on this ship."

"Spotty," intent on turning away wrath, replied, "S'elp me, sir, I've 'ad enough of me heroic past. This next time, sir, I made up me mind to go down with the rest of the crew!"--_J. E. Drury, 77 Eridge Road, Thornton Heath._

He Just Caught the Bus!

After an arduous spell of patrol duty, our submarine had hove to to allow the crew a much-needed breather and smoke. For this purpose only the conning-tower hatch was opened so as to be ready to submerge, if necessity arose, with the minimum of delay.

Eager to take full advantage of this refreshing interlude, the crew had emerged, one by one, through the conning-tower and had disposed themselves in sprawling attitudes around the upper deck space, resting, reading, smoking.

Sure enough, soon the alarm was given, "Smoke seen on the horizon."

The order "Diving stations" was given and, hastily scuttling down the conning-tower, the crew rapidly had the boat submerging, to leave only the periscope visible.

The commander kept the boat slowly cruising with his periscope trained on the approaching smoke, ready for anything. Judge of his amazement when his view was obscured by the face of "Nobby" Clark (our Cockney A.B.) at the other end of the periscope. Realising at once that "Nobby" had been locked out (actually he had fallen asleep and had been rudely awakened by his cold plunge), we, of course, "broke surface" to collect frightened, half-drowned "Nobby," whose only ejaculation was: "Crikey! I ain't half glad I caught the ole bus."--_J. Brodie, 177 Manor Road, Mitcham, Surrey._

Dinner before Mines!

"Somewhere in the North Sea" in 1917, when I was a stoker on H.M.S. _Champion_, there were plenty of floating mines about.

One day, several of us were waiting outside the galley (cook house) for our dinners, and the cook, a man from Walworth, was shouting out the number of messes marked on the meat dishes which were ready for the men to take away.

He had one dish in his hand with no number marked on it, when a stoker rushed up and shouted: "We nearly struck a mine--missed it by inches, Cookey." But Cookey only shouted back: "Never mind about blinkin' mines nah; is this _your_ perishin' dish with no tally on it?"--_W. Downs (late stoker, R.N.), 20 Tracey Street, Kennington Road, S.E._

A Philosopher at Sea

We were a helpless, sorry crowd, many of us with legs in splints, in the hold of a "hospital" ship crossing from Boulogne. The boat stopped dead.

"What are we stopping for, mate?" one man asked the orderly.

"The destroyers wot's escortin' of us is chasin' a German submarine. I'm just a-goin' on deck agin to see wot's doin'." As he got to the ladder he turned to say: "Nah, you blokes: if we gits 'it by a torpedo don't go gettin' the ruddy wind up an' start rushin' abaht tryin' ter git on deck. It won't do yer wounds no bloomin' good!"--_E. Bundy (late L/Corporal, 1/5th L.F.A., 47th Division), 4 Upton Gardens, Barkingside, Ilford, Essex._

Extra Heavyweight

Amongst the crew of our mine-sweeper during the war "Sparks," the wireless operator, was a hefty, fat chap, weighing about 18 stone. One day while clearing up a mine-field, laid overnight by a submarine, we had the misfortune to have four or five of the mines explode in the "sweep."

The explosion shattered every piece of glass in the ship, put the engines out of action, and nearly blew the ship out of the water.

"Bill," one of our stokers--a Cockney who, being off watch, was asleep in his bunk--sat up, yawned, and exclaimed in a sleepy voice: "'Ullo, poor ole 'Sparks' fallen out of 'is bunk again! 'E'll 'urt 'isself one of these days!"--_R.N.V.R., Old Windsor, Berks._

Three Varieties

The boat on which I was serving as a stoker had just received two new men as stokers.

On coming down the stokehold one of them seemed intent on finding out what different perils could happen to him.

After he had been inquiring for about an hour a little Cockney, rather bored, got up and said, "Now look here, mate. The job ain't so bad, looking at it in this light--you've three ways of snuffing it: one is _burnt_ to death, the other is _scalded_ to death; or, if you're damn lucky, _drowned_. That's more chances than they have upstairs."--_B. Scott (late Stoker, H.M.S. "Marlborough"), 29 Stanley Road, Southend-on-Sea, Essex._

He was a Bigger Fish

The battleship in which I was serving was picking up survivors from a torpedoed merchantman in the North Atlantic. They had been drifting about for hours clinging to upturned boats and bits of gear that had floated clear of the wreckage.

Our boat had picked up three or four half-drowned men and was just about to return to the ship when we espied a fat sailor bobbing about with his arms around a plank. We pulled up close to him and the bow-man leaned out with a boat-hook and drew him alongside.

He seemed to have just strength enough left to grasp the gunwale, when we were surprised to hear him shout, in an unmistakable Cockney voice: "All right, Cockey, un'itch that boat 'ook. Wot d'yer fink I am--a blinkin' tiddler?"--_Leslie E. Austin, 6 Northumberland Avenue, Squirrels Heath, Romford, Essex._

The "Arethusa" Touch

During the action off Heligoland in August 1914 the light cruiser _Arethusa_ came under a hot fire. A shell penetrated the chief stoker's mess, knocked a drawer full of flour all over the deck, but luckily failed to explode.

A Cockney stoker standing in the mess had a narrow escape, but after surveying the wreckage and flour-covered deck all he said was: "Blowed if they ain't trying to make a blinkin' duff in our mess!"--_C. H. Cook (Lieut., R.N.V.R.), 91 Great Russell Street, W.C.1._

His Chance to Dive

During the early part of 1917, whilst I was serving with one of H.M. transports, we had occasion to call at Panama for coaling purposes before proceeding to England via New York.

One of our many Cockney sailors was a fine swimmer and diver. He took every opportunity to have what he termed "a couple of dives."

Owing to the water being rather shallow immediately along the quay, his diving exhibitions were limited to nothing higher than the forecastle, which was some 30 ft. His one desire, however, was to dive from the boat-deck, which was about 60 ft. Whilst steaming later in the front line of our convoy, which numbered about forty-two ships, we became the direct target of a deadly torpedo. Every soul dashed for the lifeboats.

After things had somewhat subsided I found our Cockney friend--disregarding the fact that our ship was badly damaged and was now listing at an almost impossible angle--posing rather gracefully for a dive. He shouted, "Hi! hi! Wot abaht this 'un? I told yer I could do it easy!" He then dived gracefully and swam to a lifeboat.--_Bobbie George Bull (late Mercantile Marine), 40 Warren Road, Leyton, E.10._

Wot Abaht Wot?

In 1917 our job on an armed merchantman, H.M.A.S. _Marmora_, was to escort food ships through the danger zone. One trip we were going to Sierra Leone, but in the middle of the afternoon, when about two days out from Cardiff, we were torpedoed.

The old ship came to a standstill and we all proceeded to action stations. Just as we were training our guns in the direction of the submarine another torpedo struck us amidships and smashed practically all the boats on the port side.

"Abandon ship" was given, as we were slowly settling down by the bows. Our boat was soon crowded out, and there seemed not enough room for a cat. The last man down the life-line was "Tubby," our cook's mate, who came from Poplar.

When he was about half way down the boat was cut adrift and "Tubby" was left hanging in mid-air. "Hi!" he shouted. "What abaht it?"

Another Cockney (from Battersea) replied: "What abaht what?"

"Abaht coming back for me."

"What do you take us for," said the lad from Battersea; "do yer fink we all want the sack fer overcrowdin'?"

"Tubby" was, of course, picked up after a slight immersion.--_C. Phelps (late R.M.L.I.), 36 Oxford Road, Putney, S.W.15._

Water on the Watch

I was one of the crew of a patrol boat at the Nore in the winter of 1915. Most of the crew had gone to the dockyard to draw stores and provisions, and I was down in the forecastle when I heard a shout for help. I nipped up on deck and discovered that our Cockney stoker had fallen overboard. He was trying to swim for dear life, though handicapped by a pair of sea boots and canvas overalls over his ordinary sailor's rig. A strong tide was running and was carrying him away from the boat.

I threw a coil of rope to him, and after a struggle I managed to haul him aboard. I took him down to the boiler room and stripped off his clothes.

Around his neck was tied a bootlace, on the end of which was hanging a metal watch, which he told me he had bought the day before for five shillings. The watch was full of sea water, and there was an air bubble inside the glass. As he held it in his hand he looked at it with disgust. When I said to him what a wonderful escape his wife had had from being left a widow, he replied, "Yes, it was a near fing, ole' mate, but wot abaht me blinkin' bran' noo watch? It's gone and turned itself into a perishin' spirit level, and I've dipped five bob."--_W. Carter, 55 Minet Avenue, Harlesden, N.W.10._

A Gallant Tar

An awe-inspiring sight met the eyes of the 29th Division as they came into view of Gallipoli on the morning of April 25, 1915. Shells from our ships were bursting all over that rugged coast, and those from the enemy bespattered the water around us.

While I gazed at the scene from the deck of the _Andania_, carried away by the grandeur of it all, my reverie was broken by a Cockney voice from the sailor in charge of the small boat that was to take us ashore. "'Op in, mate," said the sailor. "I've just lorst three boats. I reckon I'll soon have to take the blooming island meself."

His fourth trip was successfully accomplished, but the fifth, alas! was fatal both to this gallant tar and to the occupants of his boat.--_G. Pull (late 1st R. Innis. Fus.), 20 Friars Place Lane, Acton, W.3._

A Cap for Jerry

Dawn, September 1, 1917, H.M. destroyer _Rosalind_ was engaged with enemy ships off Jutland. I was serving on one of the guns, and we were approaching the enemy at full speed. The ship was vibrating from end to end, and the gun fire, the bursting of shells, and the smell of the cordite had got our nerves at high tension.

When we were very near the enemy one of the German ships blew up completely in a smothering cloud of smoke.

At this time something went wrong with our ammunition supply, and we had used up all that we usually carried on the gun platform. One of the gun's crew, a Cockney, put his cap in the breech, and said "Quick! Send 'em this to put the lid on that blinkin' chimney." We all had to laugh, and carried on.--_W. E. M. (late H.M.S. "Rosalind"), 19 Kimberley Road, Leytonstone, E.11._

Give 'im 'is Trumpet Back

After the _Britannia_ was torpedoed in November 1918, and the order "Abandon Ship" had been given, the crew had to make their way as best they could to a destroyer which had pulled up alongside.

Hawsers were run from the _Britannia_ to the destroyer, down which we swarmed. Some got across. Others were not so lucky. One of the unlucky ones who had a free bath was a Cockney stoker nicknamed "Shorty," who, after splashing and struggling about, managed to get near the destroyer.

To help him a burly marine dangled a rope and wooden bucket over the side, this being the only means of rescue available. The marine, who was puffing at a large meerschaum pipe, called out: "Here y'are, Shorty, grab 'old o' this bucket an' mind yer don't drown yerself in it."

"Shorty" makes sure of bucket, then wipes the water from his eyes, looks up to the marine, and says: "Garn, give the kid 'is trumpet back."--_G. Lowe (ex-R.M.L.I.), 18 Brocas Street, Eton, Bucks._

Getting the Range

It was on H.M. monitor _General Wolfe_, my first ship, and this was my first taste of actual warfare.

We were lying anchored off the Belgian coast, shelling an inland objective with our 18-in. gun, the ammunition for which, by the way, was stowed on the upper deck.

All ratings other than this gun's crew were standing by for "action stations." Just then the shore batteries opened fire on us. The first shot fell short, the next went over.

A Cockney member of my gun's crew explained it thus: "That's wot they calls a straddle," he said. "They finds our range that way--one short, one over, and the next 'arf way between. Got a 'bine on yer before it's too late?"--_Regd. W. Ayres (late A.B., R.N.), 50 Lewisham High Road, New Cross, S.E. 14._

Coco-nut Shies

Early in 1915 I was attached to one of our monitors in the Far East. We had painted the ship to represent the country we were fighting in. The ship's side was painted green with palm trees on it, and up the funnel we painted a large coco-nut tree in full bloom.

When we went into action, a shell penetrated our funnel, and a splinter caught my breech worker in the shoulder. After we had ceased fire we carried him below on a stretcher. Looking at the funnel, he said, "Blimey, Tom, 'appy 'Ampstead and three shies a penny. All you knock down you 'ave."

Later I went to see him in Zanzibar Hospital, and told him he had been awarded the D.S.M. He seemed more interested to know if the German had got his coco-nut than in his own award.--_T. Spring (late Chief Gunner's Mate, R.N.), 26 Maidenstone Hill, Greenwich, S.E.10._

"Any more for the 'Skylark'?"

Passing through the Mediterranean in 1916, the P. & O. liner _Arabia_, returning from the East with a full complement of passengers, was torpedoed.

I was in charge of a number of naval ratings returning to England, who, of course, helped to get the boats away.

While some of my boys were getting out one of the port boats a woman passenger, who had on a Gieves waistcoat, rushed up, holding the air tube in front of her, and shouting hysterically, "Oh, blow it up somebody, will somebody please blow it up?" A hefty seaman with a couple of blasts had the waistcoat inflated, and as he screwed up the cap said, "Look 'ere, miss, if yer 'oller like that Fritzy will 'ear yer and he _will_ be angry. 'Ere you are, miss, boat all ready; 'op in."

Then, turning round to the waiting passengers, he said, "Come on, any more for the 'Skylark'?"--_F. M. Simon (Commander, R.N., retd.), 99 Lower Northdown Road, Margate._

Still High and Dry

Whilst patrolling on an exceptionally dark night, the order being "No lights showing," we had the misfortune to come into collision with a torpedo boat. Owing to the darkness and suddenness of the collision we could not discover the extent of the damage, so the officer of the watch made a "round," accompanied by the duty petty officer.

Upon reaching a hatchway leading down to the stokers' mess deck, he called down: "Is there any water coming in down there?" In answer a Cockney stoker, who was one of a number in their hammocks, was heard to reply: "I don't fink so; it ain't reached my 'ammock yet."--_J. Norton (late Ldg. Stoker, R.N.), 24 Lochaline Street, Hammersmith, W.6._

Trunkey Turk's Sarcasm

We were serving in a destroyer (H.M.S. _Stour_) in 1915, steaming up and down the East Coast. As we passed the different coastguard stations the bunting-tosser had to signal each station for news.

One station, in particular, always had more to tell than the others. One day this station signalled that a merchant ship had been torpedoed and that German submarines were near the coast.

My Cockney chum--we called him Trunkey Turk because of his big nose--asked the bunting-tosser for his news as he was coming down from the bridge, and when he was told, said, "Why didn't you ask them if they saw a tin of salmon in their tot of rum to-day?"--_J. Tucknott, 2 Wisbeach Road, West Croydon._

Running Down the Market

On board a destroyer in the North Sea in 1916. Look-out reports, "Sail ahead, sir."

The captain, adjusting his glasses, was able to make out what at first appeared to be a harmless fisherman.

As we drew nearer we could see by her bow wave that she had something more than sails to help her along: she had power.

"Action Stations" was sounded, the telegraphs to engine-room clanged "Full speed ahead." Our skipper was right. It was a German submarine, and as our foremost gun barked out we saw the white sails submerge.

Depth charges were dropped at every point where we altered course. Imagine our surprise to find the resulting flotsam and jetsam around us consisted of trestles, boards, paint-brushes, boxes, and a hat or two, which the crafty Germans had used to camouflage their upper structure.

The scene was summed up neatly by "Spikey" Merlin, A.B., a real product of Mile End Road: "Lor' luv old Aggie Weston, we've run dahn the blinkin' Calerdonian Markit."--_A. G. Reed (late R.N.), 15 William Street, Gravesend, Kent._

Five to One against the "Tinfish"

H.M.S. Morea, on convoy duty, was coming up the Channel when the silver streak of a "tinfish" was seen approaching the port side. The _Morea_ was zig-zagging at the time, so more helm was given her to dodge the oncoming torpedo.

The guns' crews were at action stations and were grimly waiting for the explosion, when a Cockney seaman gunner sang out, "I'll lay five to one it doesn't hit us."

This broke the tension, and, as luck would have it, the torpedo passed three yards astern.--_J. Bowman (R.N.), 19 Handel Mansions, Handel Street, W.C.1._

A Queer Porpoise

In September 1914 I was in H.M.S. _Vanguard_, patrolling in the North Sea. One day four of us were standing on the top of the foremast turret, when all of a sudden my pal Nobby shouted to the bridge above us, "Periscope on the port bow, sir." At once the captain and signalman levelled their telescopes on the object. Then the captain looked over the bridge and shouted, "That's a porpoise, my man."

Nobby looked up at the bridge and said, "Blimey, that's the first time I've seen a porpoise wiv a glass eye."

He had no sooner said it than the ship slewed to port and a torpedo passed close to our stern, the signalman having spotted the wake of a torpedo.--_M. Froggat, 136 Laleham Road, Catford, S.E._

"Hoctopus" with One Arm

At the time when the German submarine blockade was taking heavy toll of all general shipping I was serving aboard a destroyer doing escort work in the Channel. One night three ships had been torpedoed in quick succession, and we understood they were carrying wounded.

We were kept pretty busy dodging from one place to another to pick up survivors, and during our "travels" a ship's boat was sighted close at hand. In the darkness we could just make out the figure of a soldier endeavouring to pull a full-sized oar.

After hailing the boat someone on our destroyer shouted, "Why didn't you get some more oars out?" A voice replied: "Don't be so funny. D'yer fink I'm a hoctopus? Our engines 'ave all conked aht." Which remark raised a laugh from the entire boatload.

On getting closer alongside the tragedy dawned on us. This Cockney was the only man (out of about thirty) who was sound enough to handle an oar, and he only had one arm and a half.--_H. G. Vollor (late Ldg.-seaman, R.N.), 73 Playford-Road, Finsbury Park, N.4._

Interrupted Duel

The C.O. of my ship had his own way of punishing men who were brought before him for fighting.

He would send for the gunner's mate and tell him to have the two men up on the upper deck, in view of the ship's company, armed with single-sticks. The gunner's mate would get them facing each other, give them the first order of "Cutlass practice"--"Guard!" then "Loose play." At that order they would go for each other hammer and tongs till one gave in.

Such a dispute had to be settled one day while we were patrolling the North Sea. The combatants were just getting warm to it when the alarm buzzers went--enemy in sight.

The gunner's mate, who was refereeing the combat, said: "Pipe dahn, you two bounders. Hop it to your action stations, and don't forget to come back 'ere when we've seen them off."

Fortunately they were both able to "come back."--_John M. Spring (late P.O., R.N.), Bank Chambers, Forest Hill, S.E.23._

Enter Dr. Crippen

Our ship, the s.s. _Wellington_, was torpedoed on August 14, 1917, and we were a despondent crew in the only two boats. The U-boat that had sunk our ship appeared and we were wondering what was going to happen to us.

As the U-boat bore down upon us my mate, Nigger Smith (from Shoreditch) spotted its commander, who wore large spectacles, on its conning tower bridge. "Blimey," said Nigger, "'ere's old Crippen!"--_J. Cane (late Gunner, R.M.), 73 Rahere Street, E.C.1._

The All-seeing Eye

My pal Pincher and I volunteered out of the destroyer _Vulture_ for the Q-boats, and got detailed for the same mystery ship. After a lot of drills--"Abandon ship," "Panic crews away," etc.--we thought we were hot stuff.

Knocking about the Channel one fine day the order came, "Panic crews to stations." Thinking it was drill, Pincher and I nipped into our boat, when the after fall carried away, letting Pincher, myself, and crew into the "drink."

Pincher must have caught sight of the periscope of a U-boat, for on coming up (although he couldn't swim much) he said when I grabbed him: "Lumme, I'm in for fourteen penn'orth!" (14 days 10A, i.e. punishment involving extra work). "There's the skipper lookin' at me through 'is telescope, and they aven't piped 'ands to bathe yet."--_P. Willoughby (late R.N.), 186 Evelyn Street, S.E.8._

The Submarine's Gamps

While patrolling in the Sea of Marmora a British submarine came across several umbrellas floating in the sea, presumably from a sunken ship. Some of them were acquired by the crew.

On the passage down the Dardanelles the submarine was damaged in the conning tower by gun-fire from the Turkish batteries, and water began to come in.

At this critical stage I overheard one sailor remark to another, "I say, Bill, don't you think it is about time we put those blinkin' umbrellas up?"--_Naval officer retired, Hampstead, N.W.3._

Polishing up his German

About January 15, 1915, we were on patrol duty in the North Sea. Near daybreak we came across a number of German drifters, with carrier pigeons on board, that were suspected of being in touch with submarines.

We were steaming in line abreast, and the order was signalled for each ship to take one drifter in tow. Our Jerry objected to being towed to England, and cut our tow-rope, causing us a deal of trouble.

Our captain was in a rage and shouted down from the bridge to the officer of the watch, "Is there anyone on board who can speak German?"

The officer of the watch called back, "Yes, sir; Knight speaks German"--meaning an officer.

So the captain turned to the bos'n's mate and said, "Fetch him." The bos'n's mate sends up Able Seaman "Bogey" Knight, to whom the captain says, over his shoulder: "Tell those fellows that I'll sink 'em if they tamper with the tow again."

With a look of surprise Bogey salutes and runs aft. Putting his hands to his mouth. Bogey shouts:

"Hi! there, drifterofsky, do yer savvy?" and makes a cut with his hand across his arm. "If yer makes de cut agin, I makes de shoot--(firing an imaginary rifle)--and that's from our skipper!"

Bogey's mates laughed to hear him sprachen the German; but Jerry didn't cut the tow again.--_E. C. Gibson, 3 Slatin Road, Stroud, Kent._

5. HERE AND THERE

Answered

We were a working party of British prisoners marching through the German barracks on our way to the parcel office. Coming towards us was a German officer on horseback. When he arrived abreast of us he shouted in very good English: "It's a long way to Tipperary, boys, isn't it?" This was promptly answered by a Cockney in the crowd: "Yus! And it's a ruddy long way to Paris, ain't it?"--_C. A. Cooke, O.B.E. (late R.N.D.), 34 Brandram Road, Lee High Road, S.E._

A Prisoner has the Last Laugh

Scene: A small ward in Cologne Fortress, occupied by about twelve British prisoners of war.

Time: The German M.O.'s inspection. Action: The new sentry on guard in the corridor had orders that all must stand on the M.O.'s entry. Seeing the M.O. coming, he called out to us. We jumped to it as best we could, except one, a Cockney, who had just arrived minus one leg and suffering from other injuries.

Not knowing this, the sentry rushed over to him, yelling that he must stand. Seeing that no notice was being taken, he pointed his rifle directly at the Cockney. With an effort, since he was very weak and in great pain, the Cockney raised himself, caught hold of the rifle and, looking straight at it, said: "Dirty barrel--seven days!"

The M.O., who had just arrived, heard the remark, and, understanding it, explained it to the sentry, who joined in our renewed laughter.--_A. V. White, 35 Mayville Road, Leytonstone, E.11._

Not Yet Introduced

We were prisoners of war, all taken before Christmas 1914, and had been drafted to Libau, on the Baltic coast.

Towards the end of 1916 a party of us were working on the docks when a German naval officer approached and began talking to us.

During the conversation he said he had met several English admirals and named some of them.

After a little while a Cockney voice from the rear of our party said, "'Ave you ever met Jellicoe, mate?"

The officer replied in the negative, whereupon the Cockney said, "Well, take yer bloomin' ships into the North Sea: he's looking for yer."--_F. A. F. (late K.O.Y.L.I.), 4 Shaftesbury Road, W.6._

On the Art of Conversation

In 1916 the British R.N.A.S. armoured cars, under Commander Oliver Locker-Lampson, went from Russia to Rumania to help to stem the enemy's advance.

One day, at the frontier town of Reni, I saw a Cockney petty officer engaged in earnest conversation with a Russian soldier. Finally, the two shook hands solemnly, saluted, and parted.

"Did he speak English?" I asked when the Russian had gone away. "Not 'im," said the P.O.

"Perhaps you speak Russian?" I asked, my curiosity aroused. "No bloomin' fear!" he said, for all the world as if I had insulted him.

"Then how do you speak to each other?"

"That's easy, sir," he said. "'E comes up to me an' says 'Ooski, kooski, wooski, fooski.' 'Same to you,' says I, 'an' many of 'em, ol' cock.' 'Bzz-z-z, mzz-z-z, tzz-z-z,' says 'e. 'Thanks,' I says. 'Another time, ol' boy. I've just 'ad a couple.' 'Tooralski, looralski, pooralski,' 'e says. 'Ye don't say!' says I. 'An' very nice, too,' I says, 'funny face!'

"'Armony," he explained. "No quarrellin', no argifyin', only peace an' 'armony.... Of course, sir, every now an' again I says 'Go to 'ell, y' silly blighter!'"

"What for?"

He looked at me coldly. "'Ow do I know but what the blighter's usin' insultin' words to me?" he asked.--_R. S. Liddell, Rosebery Avenue, E.C.1._

Down Hornsey Way

Here is a story of the Cockney war spirit at home. We called him "London" as he was the only Londoner in the troop. Very pale and slight, he gave the impression of being consumptive, yet he was quite an athlete, as his sprinting at the brigade sports showed.

We had been on a gunnery course up Hornsey way, and with skeleton kit were returning past a large field in which were three gas chambers used for gas drill. No one was allowed even to go in the field unless equipped with a gas-mask. Suddenly a voice called out, "Look, there's a man trying to get in yon chamber."

We shouted as loud as we could, but beyond waving his arms the figure--which looked to be that of a farm labourer--continued to push at the door. Then I saw "London" leap the gate of the field and sprint towards the chamber. When he was about 50 yards off the man gave a sudden lurch at the door and passed within. We called to "London" to come back, but a couple of seconds later he too was lost from view.

One minute--it seemed like an hour--two, three, five, ten, and out came "London." He dragged with him the bulky labourer. Five yards from the chamber he dropped. Disregarding orders, we ran to his assistance. Both his eyes were swollen, his lip was cut, and a large gash on the cheek-bone told not of gas, but of a fight.

He soon came to--and pointing to his many cuts said, "Serves me right for interfering. Thought the fellah might have been gassed, but there's none in there; and hell--he _can_ hit."--_"Selo-Sam," late Yorks Dragoons._

"... Wouldn't Come Off"

He hailed from Walworth and was the unfortunate possessor of a permanent grin.

The trouble began at the training camp at Seaford when the captain was inspecting the company.

"Who are you grinning at?" said he. "Beg parding," replied Smiler, "but I can't help it, sir. I was born like it."