Tommy's Ark: Soldiers and Their Animals in the Great War. Richard Van Emden (35 page)

When the war was over, Allied forces moved to the Rhineland to begin an occupation that would continue for more than a decade. Elsewhere, soldiers, with the enforced help of German POWs, helped with battlefield clearance and wondered at their freedom to move over a terrain that had kept them underground or in trenches for so long. The sullen grey that covered the Ypres and Somme battlefields slowly turned to green, animals reappeared and the battlefield pilgrims began to arrive in their hundreds and then their thousands.

Soldiers’ Memories

It took a full year’s service in France before a spell of leave was granted to an other rank or NCO, while officers had a more generous leave allowance owing to their greater responsibilities. Such were the numbers on the Western Front that even 1 per cent of soldiers receiving leave would correspond to 20,000 men being processed and shipped to England and back again each week. The administrative process was convoluted but thorough and, if nothing else, men were supposed to be free from vermin before setting foot on the leave boat. Even those who were given permission to proceed away from the front line for leave in France were checked over, men such as Sergeant William Rigden who received a three-day pass on Christmas Eve 1917.

Sgt William Rigden, 196th Siege Batt., RGA

The 24th was a glorious day, cold but bright. I had been keeping away from the [gun] pit and the last week I tried hard to keep a thick wall between myself and any possible shell splinters. I received passes and went to the ADS [Advanced Dressing Station] to pass the doctor. We had to be certified free from disease and lice.

He was a jolly stick and after sounding me said, ‘Any livestock, sergeant?’ – ‘No, sir’, I said. ‘Bet you a bob you have,’ he smiled and I bet he would have won, although I had new clothes and had had a jolly cold bath.

On his return there was a new addition to the battery, a pig bought as food for some unspecified time in the future. Its home was a dugout where it was nearly drowned in a flood and slightly gassed before the battery was ordered to move. At this point a carpenter ‘knocked up’ a wooden pen and the pig, squealing its objections, was loaded on to a lorry for transfer to a muddy farm where the battery would be billeted.

Sgt William Rigden, 196th Siege Batt., RGA

The lorries could not get within half a mile of the farm so everything had to be carried over a field. The pig was a bit of a nuisance and we all took turns, sometimes pulling in front, sometimes pushing behind until at last we got him into an old stable.

We were troubled somewhat by Boche planes dropping bombs in the evenings. Several fell in the fields near our farm but none did us any harm. The poor old pig had another narrow escape: the Boche dropped a bomb one evening which destroyed the building next to his stable. He was not hurt but managed to get out of a hole made in the wall. We chased him half over Belgium before we caught him again.

Bringing him back across one field, we found our way barred by a dyke full of water. We could not find a way over in the dark and we didn’t want to go around if we could help it. We found a narrow plank that just reached over. I went over first and caught the end of a rope we had attached to his lordship. I hauled on this while others pushed the pig from behind. We almost got him over when he slipped over into the dyke. It cost no end of labour to get him out and when we finally got him to his stable, he squealed all night. In the morning the major said, ‘If you don’t soon kill that pig then I shall.’ We managed to get permission to keep him until he got a little fatter by bribing the officers with a promise of a big joint when we did kill him.

Just as men were not supposed to go on leave with any wildlife, pets or lice included, so they were not meant to return with any, either. After a fortnight’s leave in England, Major Hardwick was on his way back to his unit. He was not, however, travelling alone.

Maj. A.G.P. Hardwick, 57th Field Ambulance, RAMC

With much trepidation and misgivings, I left Newquay this morning by the 9.30 train – the aforesaid fears being on account of a pair of ferrets that I was taking back to France to fight the rats. I had arranged by wire for Alan [his brother] to meet me at Paddington if he got leave from the gunner school at Weedon. I could not get a carriage to myself at Truro, and so I had to put the ‘menagerie’ out in the corridor, as their smell was a bit stronger than their bite!

Alan was at Paddington all right, resplendent in a white band around his cap and a new pair of spurs, and so he was eminently fitted for the post of 1st whip and I allowed him to carry the pets. We then took a taxi to the Regent’s Palace and found that a double room had been reserved for us – but, oh, no! No animals were allowed in the hotel. However, by going round to another door and walking in as if we were carrying ‘a present for a good boy’ we managed to smuggle the beasts up to the bedroom. I had a pocket full of bread saved from lunch and so we gave them a good feed of bread and tooth-water at once and strapped them down again.

Alan was called at 5 a.m. as he had to catch a dashed early train at Euston and so he had his breakfast upstairs: I bagged all his milk and so the ferrets had a grand breakfast. They made a devil of a row during the night, scratching away at the box and squeaking so much that I quite expected to hear of a complaint from the next-door neighbour.

Major Hardwick managed to conceal his ferrets all the way to France, where he found his Division near Cambrai.

Maj. A.G.P. Hardwick, 57th Field Ambulance, RAMC

We went to the ‘Aux Huitres’ and had a gorgeous dinner of oysters and lobster whilst waiting for the car. Arrived at Péronne; we decided to stay the night with the MAC [Motor Ambulance Convoy] people. They were delighted with the ferrets which they persuaded me to let loose in the mess – but they were not quite so pleased when the little beggars ‘forgot themselves’ in all four corners of the room!

It was an inauspicious start. However, two days later the ferrets made amends.

Maj. A.G.P. Hardwick, 57th Field Ambulance, RAMC

Beautiful weather. Had the ferrets out for a trial run amongst the shell-holes. The old buck is dashed good and almost immediately got first blood. He killed a decent-sized rat in a blind hole and we had to dig them out. It was only a trial run, as they had had a huge breakfast, but it shows that they are all right.

It was March 1918 when Major Hardwick returned to France. In stark contrast to just twelve months before, the weather was beautiful and unseasonably warm. The British Army was on tenterhooks for the German offensive, long anticipated, was expected at any time. There was an uneasy peace before the inevitable storm. While preparations were being completed to withstand the enemy onslaught, normal routine was observed, and orders correcting any perceived slackness in the ranks were issued.

Pte Frederick Voigt, Labour Corps

The sergeant major blew his whistle and shouted: ‘Listen to the Orders.’ He held a bundle of papers in his hand and read with the help of a torch:

‘Every man must shave once in twenty-four hours. Buttons’ (he pronounced it ‘boottons’, for he came from the North Country), ‘cap badges and numerals must be cleaned thoroughly once a day. Box respirators and steel helmets will always be carried. Except when it is raining, greatcoats or waterproofs will not be worn when men are working. Men are forbidden to smoke while at work. Pigs in camp are army property and will eventually be consumed by this Coomp’ny. It is therefore not only, er, reprehensible, but also against their own interest if men tease these pigs and pull them about by tails and ears or feed them with unsuitable food. Offenders will be severely dealt with.’

Sgt William Rigden, 196th Siege Batt., RGA

We killed the old pig and had pork for breakfast, pork for dinner, pork for tea, pork for supper, pork before retiring, all night and all day. I never dreamed there was so much meat on a pig, for there were ten of us at him, and, besides, the officers had a large joint. And this for a solid week.

Pte Frederick Voigt, Labour Corps

Our lives had become unspeakably monotonous, but the coming of warm days banished much of our dreariness. The hazy blue sky was an object of real delight. I often contrived to slip away from my work and lean idly against a wall in the mild sunshine. At times I was so thrilled with the sense of physical wellbeing, and so penetrated by the sensuous enjoyment of warmth and colour, that I even forgot the war.

At the bottom of the woodyard was a little stream, and on the far bank clusters of oxlips were in bloom. Here we would lie down during the midday interval and surrender to the charm of the spring weather. It seemed unnatural and almost uncanny that we should be happy, but there were moments when we felt something very much like happiness. Moreover, it was rumoured that leave was going to start. How glorious it would be to spend a sunny May or June in England!

A/Capt. Kenneth Jones, 1/5th Welsh Rgt

The sunsets have become very remarkable lately, and we have all turned out to view them. A few days ago I was watching a fine one, which suddenly struck me by its resemblance to something I had seen before. Looking carefully, I saw it all clearly. By some freak of nature there lay before us a perfect image of the Severn as viewed from Doverow or Frocester, and one of our officers from Gloucestershire saw it too. There was a long bluish purple stratus cloud, just like the hills of the Forest of Dean, and then some light-coloured twisting clouds, touched with silver, made a perfect river, whilst the land in front of us was level and low. What more could one want, save the reality?

We have been having the most gorgeous summer weather for nearly a month now. In fact, it is almost like August. The larks are singing their hearts out up above, and nature is bursting with pride and delight down below. The willow catkins light up the small copses, and the bees are working as hard as we are. Long may it last! No doubt ‘big things’ are in the air, but unless the Hun is quick, he won’t get much chance. He is very quiet at present, although our guns are hammering away all day and every day with their eternal thunder. I often pity him! All the same, quiet on the Hun’s part is not nice, and so we are all on the
qui vive
. Something will have to go bang this year.

Pte Frederick Voigt, Labour Corps

Once a fortnight we paraded for our pay outside one of the bigger sheds of the yard. As a rule, I was filled with impatience and irritation at having to wait in a long queue and move forward step by step, but now it had become pleasant to tarry in the sunshine. One day, when we were lined up between two large huts, a deep yellow brimstone butterfly came floating idly past. It gave me inexpressible delight, a delight tempered by sadness and a longing for better times. I drew my pay and saluted perfunctorily, being unable and unwilling to think of anything but the beauty of the sky, the sun and the wonderful insect.

It was time to go back to work. But I cursed the work and decided to take the small risk and remain idle for an hour or two. I went to an outlying part of the yard and sat down on a patch of long grass and leant back against a shed. The air was hot and several bees flew by. Their buzzing reminded me of summer holidays spent in southern France before the war. I thought of vineyards and orchards, of skies intensely blue, of scorching sunshine, of the tumultuous chirping of cicadas and grasshoppers, and then of the tepid nights crowded with glittering stars and hush except for the piping of tree frogs.

‘Before the war, before the war,’ I repeated the words to myself. They conveyed a sense of immeasurable remoteness, of something gone and lost for ever. But I wouldn’t think about it. I would enjoy the present. But the calm waters of happiness had been ruffled and it was beyond my power to restore their tranquillity. I began to think of many things, of the war itself, of the possible offensive, and soon the fretful rebellious discontent, that obsessed all those of us who had not lost their souls, began to reassert itself . . .

Some distance ahead was a farm of the usual Flemish type, a thatched roof, whitewashed walls and green shutters. Nearby was a little pond with willows growing round it. In the field beyond, a cow was grazing peacefully. The sky seemed a deeper blue through the willow branches. The tender green of the grass was wonderfully refreshing to the eyes. The cow had a beautiful coat of glossy brown that shone in the sunlight. I abandoned myself to the charm of the little idyll that was spread out before me and forgot the war once again.

And then all at once a gigantic, plume-shaped, sepia-coloured mass rose towering out of the ground. There was a rending, deafening, double thunderclap that seemed to split my head. For a moment I was dazed and my ears sang. Then I looked up; the black mass was thinning and collapsing. The cow had disappeared.