The Retreat from Mons. Arthur Corbett-Smith
knew where the A.S.C. barracks were I got through on the telephone to H.Q.
"This is Captain Estcourt, R.F.A., speaking. I've got——"
The orderly evidently went to fetch someone else. It turned out to be an adjutant, who listened to me most politely.
"No, we've got no A.S.C. here. I don't think there are any in Bristol. But you might ring up—— Barracks and see." Prrr.
"Hallo! Is that—— Barracks? I'm Captain——"
The orderly went to fetch someone. This time, after a long wait, it was evidently an irascible senior officer.
"No. No A.S.C. here. Try Avonmouth." Prrr.
This looked like bedding down in the station waiting-rooms. Still we would try Avonmouth.
Avonmouth Headquarters received me over the telephone most politely, considering the time of night.
"No, we've got no A.S.C. here; but you might ring up the Embarkation Office." Prrr.
"Hallo! Embarkation Office? I'm——, etc."
The Embarkation Office was not quite so polite in its reception. It sounded very worried.
"No. We've got no A.S.C. here. You can come along down if you like in case the company should turn up."
Luckily the last train had not gone. When it drew up in the station the men greeted it as a long-lost friend. To the strains of "All aboard for Dixie" they clambered in, more cheery than ever.
At Avonmouth we came out into a wilderness of mighty sheds. The night breeze from the Bristol Channel carried with it the pungent, cleanly smell of tarred rope.
"This is Avonmouth," said I to the senior sergeant, "and we can't go any farther unless a ship is waiting for us. I'm going to see where we can bed down."
The Embarkation Office had had time to recover from its worries and received me very politely.
Eventually we got the men into one of the sheds where hundreds of sacks of oats lay about. In ten minutes they had made themselves amazingly comfortable and peace reigned.
But I'm glad we went to Avonmouth. It gave me my first real glimpse of the astonishing organisation under which the Expeditionary Force was to take the field; and also of the methods of supply.
Outside the dock gates, by all the approach roads into the little town, there were streaming in hundreds upon hundreds of great motor lorries, the majority of them built to carry three tons.
From all parts of England and Scotland dozens were arriving every hour. The organisation of it! Here was the third or fourth day from mobilisation and there were a couple of thousand ready for transportation.
You picture a vividly green lorry of a big whisky distillery up North axle to axle with the scarlet of a Brixton firm with its blatant advertisement of somebody's corsets. The cockney driver from a London furnishing house exchanged honeyed words with a colleague from "'twixt Trent and Tweed" in a polite inquiry as to why the hell he couldn't let his tail-board down without using his (the Londoner's) radiator to scrape his boots on.
"Can't you imagine Tommy's comments when he finds a 'Johnny Walker' van bringing up his ammunition in the wilds of Belgium," was the general remark, "but I suppose they'll give them a coat of paint first."
They didn't, as a matter of fact; at least not for several months, so that Tommy was able to indulge his gift of language to the full.
And so nearly two days passed. The men amused themselves by wandering about the docks, wondering at the shipping, and making sarcastic remarks about the lorry drivers who were being taught how to handle a rifle.
Then came a telegram from H.Q., Aldershot.
"Return and report here immediately."
"Good," said the senior sergeant to me, "I always did like Aldershot. But we've had quite a pleasant holiday seeing the country."
The draft duly paraded again, and when they learned their next destination their remarks were a joy to listen to.
We caught a 9.0 train in the evening into Bristol. Then we marched across the city, a matter of, say, three miles. It was a Sunday night, the good citizens were abed. But my lads were determined to show that they were by no means downhearted.
The march across was one long pageant of melody. "I'm going home to Dixie" was prime favourite, and splendidly they sang it in harmony. Then some evening hymns, then more rag-time—they were really excellent exponents of that difficult art—then "Onward, Christian Soldiers"; but never a note of "Tipperary." That immortal chorus had not yet "arrived."
The midnight train from Bristol to Reading. A wait of three hours. Finally, Aldershot (the wrong station) at 6.30 A.m. A march of four miles into camp somewhat took the spirit out of the men, breakfastless and carrying heavy kits. But we rallied them at the last post and came in singing "Somewhere the sun is shining," like a choir of Welsh colliers. We certainly looked the part.
"We've been looking for you for a week; where on earth have you been?" was hurled at us as we marched in.
The bombardier started upon a story which would have made that intrepid explorer Captain de Rougemont green with envy. I left him to his astonished audience and went off for a bath and shave before attending my own funeral at H.Q.
It will have been observed that there were varying degrees in the politeness with which successive H.Q.s greeted my touring company. The politeness with which Aldershot Headquarters now greeted me was well below freezing-point.
"I received your telegrams from Portsmouth and various other places," was the Chief's opening. "You appear to have been taking your men upon an extended holiday round the southern coast health resorts. May I inquire, without appearing too inquisitive, your authority for this expenditure of public money?"
"Will you allow me to explain, sir?"
"I am waiting for your explanation."
I began. When I had recounted the story of the A.S.C. major's arithmetical problem I saw that I had the Great Man's attention. As soon as I had caught the 5 P.m. train from Portsmouth——
"Sit down, won't you," said the Great Man; "cigarette?"
I took one from his proffered case and lit it carefully.
"If only I can hold him," thought I, "I shall pull through."
I did hold him, and I did pull through.
"I don't know that I can compliment you on your perspicacity," said the Great Man, "but I can see now where the blame lies. I had intended to withdraw your name from the Expeditionary Force, but——"
I got up, mouth open.
"Expeditionary Force?" It can only have been a feeble gasp which the Great Man heard. "Am I going out with the Force?"
The Great Man smiled and put his hand on my shoulder.
"We'll overlook it this time. Let's see how well you can do your job. And if you send in your claim for travelling expenses, send it to me and I'll countersign it."
I suppose I must have said something by way of thanks. I suppose I must have saluted, and closed the door behind me. I know that I cleared half a dozen or so of the stairs down at a bound and fell over an astonished sentry at the bottom. It must have looked most undignified in a Gunner captain, but—I had actually been selected to join the British Expeditionary Force with a command of my own and——
I leaped into the waiting taxicab in a state of delirium.
The driver touched his cap.
"Where to, sir?" said he.
"Where to? Where to? Oh! Brussels; anywhere."
The driver grinned in sympathetic understanding and got on to third speed in as many seconds.
And