OCR Text |
Show "ITT "T VXUHUaM H-HHM Blighty! "What Hopes?" "" By ""IT" Sergeant Arthur Guy Empey Author of "Over the Top," "First Call f.tc o-o-o Mr. Empey's Experi-encesDuringllis Experi-encesDuringllis Seventeen Seven-teen Months in the First Line Trenches of the British Army in France (tXniyrlg ill, l'Ji7, by Tho Madura Nuwspapor tiyndlcau,) The battle of the Somme was still raging. I had been hit by three rl tit; bullets, one through the left cheelc, the other two through the left shoulder, shoul-der, while engaged In a trench raid for prisoners, and was on my journey ; to Ullghty. ; I remember being carried down a light of steps and placed on a white table In a brightly lighted room, a doctor and a sergeant bending overj me a delicious drink of nle, then the whispered word "chloroform ;" something some-thing like a gas helmet being placed over my nose and mouth, a couple of long, Indrawn, gasping breaths, a rumbling in my ears; then the skyline of New York suddenly appeared. This was quickly followed by the Statue of Liberty shaking hands with the Singer building; a rushing, hissing sound In my ears, like escaping steam, and then blackness. I opened my eyes. I was lying on n stretcher, covered with blankets, in a low-roofed, wooden building. Across the way from me was a long row of stretchers, each stretcher holding a wounded Tommy, some lying flat, others oth-ers propped tip by folded blankets. Others were sitting on their stretchers tenderly caressing an arm bound up with white bandages. Occasionally a stretcher, reclining on which was a muddy and bloody soldier, would be carried down the aisle by two stretcher bearers. This stretcher would be placed In an open space In the row opposite. . I could hear a hum of conversation nil about me, and as my brain cleared snntches of It became intelligible. My right hand seemed to be In a vise. I could not release It. Squirming Squirm-ing in bed, which sent a sharp, shooting shoot-ing pain through my left shoulder, I tried with my unbandaged eye to 6ee what was holding my wrist A Royal Army Medical corps man was sitting on the floor at the head of my stretcher, and had my wrist In his grasp; He was about twenty years old, and looked dog-tired ; his chin would gradually sink to his chest, as if he were falling asleep ; then he would suddenly start, lift up his head with a jerk, and stare around the room. Pretty soon his eyelids would slowly close. I gave my arm a tug and he quickly opened his eyes; then across his face flashed a smile. To tne it appeared like the sun rising from behind a hill at daybreak. That smile sent a warm glow through me. I believe be-lieve that right then I was In love with his boyish face. Then he opened his mouth and, as Is usual in 6uch cases, spoiled It all : "Strafe me pink, but you do tyke jour own bloomin' time to come out c' chloroform. 'Ere I've been, bloody ell balmy, a 'oldin' your bloomin' 1 ulse." Out of the corner of my mouth I asked him: "Where am I?" Still smiling, he hailed' a stretcher hearer across the way. "I sye, 'Awkins, this blighter wants a bloomin' map of Frawnce; 'e wants to know where 'e Is." V.wkins, across the way, answered: "Tell 'im 'e's bloomin' well in Sam Isaac's fish 'ouse down Tottenham Court Road, awaitin' for 'Is order o' fish and chips." This brought a general laugh- from the Tommies opposite me and ion my right and left Somewhat Incensed at their merriment, merri-ment, I retorted : "Quit your kidding; for the love of Mike, have some sense. What's the matter? Am I wounded?" The stretcher bearer, still with the sunny smile on his face, which made me feel a little ashamed at my resentment, resent-ment, answered: "Saw, you ain't wounded. mte. You just 'appened to fall down in i the bloomin' road and one o' those blinkln' tanks crawled over you." This rather frightened me, and in a pleading voice I asked: "Please tell me; what Is the matter with me?" The stretcher bearer leaned over and read from a little tag pinned to my tunic: "G. S. W. left face(two) left shoulder. Cot." Then he carried on : "Il'It means that you 'ave a rifle bullet through the left side of our clock (face) and two bullets through your left shoulder, and that you're a ot case, which means that you won't 'ave to bloody well walk. Two of us poor blokes will 'ave to carry you on a stretcher. Ton 6ure are a lucky bloke ; pretty cushy, I calls it" I asked him If the wounds were good f r Wighty. He answered: "Yes, you're good for Blighty, and Lta a-thlnkln' that they're good for a discharge. That let: h'arni o' yn-r'n will be out o' commission for toe rest ' yuur life. Your wit"'1, if yon'e got one, will bloomin' well 'ave to cut I your meat for you, that is if you're ! lucky enough to get any blinkin' meat ' on the pension the Top 'Ats 'ome will 'and you." A feeling of pride surged through me. In a hospital of wounded soldiers a severely wounded case Is more or less looked up to, while a man with a superficial wound Is treated as an or-; dinary mortal. I could read respect, j perhaps Intermixed with a little envy, In the eyes of the surrounding Tommies Tom-mies and medical men. ' The door at the end of the ward opened. A howl came from the cot at rny right, and a gruff Irish voice shouted : "Close that damned door. You bloomin' hospital men have no sinse at all. Here I am, knocked about by a shell, and the likes o' youse puts me In a bloody draft. It's a good thing we have a navy; with the likes o' you blokes In the army, we certainly need one." A snicker went up from the patients. Then a Tommy on my left answered tills outburst with: "Bloody nerve, I call it 'Ere 'e is, a' covered with blankets, and grousln' about a little drawft, and not many hours back 'e was lyin' in a bloomin' shell 'ole, with the wind a-blowln' the whiskers off 'Im, and 'e a-prayln' for stretcher bearers. I'll wager a quid 'e belongs to the Royal Irish Rifles." The man on my right retorted : "Naw, I'm not in the Royal Irish Rifles, but I belong to a good outfit the Royal DubUi Fusiliers, and I can lick the man that says they ain't" Just then, from a corner of the ward, came the voice of a-stretcher bearer: "Jones, get the M. O. (medical officer). of-ficer). Hurry up quick this poor bloke's a-goin' west." The man holding my hand suddenly released his grip, and rising to his feet hurriedly left the ward. A dead si- "What's the Matter? Am I Wounded?" lence ensued. I tried to turn In the direction from which the first voice had come, but the sharp pain In my shoulder warned me that it was useless. use-less. In a few seconds the door opened and I could hear low voices down in the corner. I could see the Tommies j around jne intently gazing in the direction di-rection of the voices. After a few minutes the door opened again, then closed, and Jones came back. I looked up at him and he solemnly nodded. One more son of Britain had paid the toll of war. : My unbandaged eye suddenly became be-came cloudy and misty and a hot tear rolled down my cheek. The door at the other end of the ward opened and two stretcher bearers bear-ers entered, going in the direction of the dead man. Pretty soonthey left the ward, carrying a stretcher, on which was a still form covered with a blanket" The Irishman on my right was repeating to himself: "Poor bloke, poor bloke; he sure done his bit and it won't be long before be-fore he'll be pushin up the daisies somewhere in France. And before this war is over, there'll be lots more In the same fix." One of the Tommies, in an effort to be brave, addressed Jones: "What's 'is nyme, Mike? What battalion bat-talion is 'e from?" Jones answered: "James Collins, a lance corporal out of the Royal Warwlcks; five machine gun bullets through the right lung hemorrhage." : The door opened again and two stretcher bearers entered, carrying a Tommy, his Bead lying fiat, and a smell of ether pervaded the ward. We knew it was a case from the Pictures (operating room). The stretcher bearers bear-ers placed him on the right of the Irishman. Jones now left me, and, getting a little lit-tle white basin, went over to the new arrival. The Tommies turned inquiring inquir-ing looks In his direction. Answering these glances, he read from the tag pinned to the tunic of the patient: "Shell wound, left foot amputation." amputa-tion." Then and there I knew that I had lost my prestige. In a short while the form on the stretcher began to mumble. This mumbling 60on turned to singing; that Tommy sure could sing! He must have been a comedian in civilian life, because be-cause the Tommies were soon roaring with laughter; so was I, as much as my wounds would permit Harry Tate, the famous English comedian, In his palmiest days, never hud a more appreciative ap-preciative audience. After a while the singing ceased, and the Tommies began be-gan conversing among themselves. The main topic was "Blighty What Hopes?" Each cne was hoping his woct" was rrr.oiis ennun ;"o? him tj be scut to K.ngliind. The stretcher hearers were being postered wlrh questions ques-tions as to what chance the Tommies hail of reaching their coveted goal. I believe t hey all envied the man under ether, because, with a left foot missing, miss-ing, he was sure to be sent to BJlgbty. A sergeant major of the Royal Army Medical corps entered the ward. The medical men promptly stood at attention, atten-tion, except one or two who were taking cure of serious cases. The sergeant ser-geant major ordered: "(let this ward in shape. The M. O. is coming through In five minutes to Inspect cases and 'clear out' " The medical men went from cot to cot, carefully smoothing out blankets, tucking In loose ends and picking up "fag ends" (cigarette butts). The sergeant major left. In about ten minutes the door opened again and, with a smart "shun" from the sergeant major a dead silence si-lence reigned In the ward. Tha medical medi-cal men all came to attention, then the doctor entered, followed by a clerk and a R. A. M. C. sergeant. He stopped at each cot, " carefully read the tag on the wounded man occupying occupy-ing it, passed a few remarks which rhe clerk jotted down on a pad of paper, and as he left each wounded soldier he made a cheering remark to him. When he came to me he asked : "Well, how are you feeling, my lad?" at the same time stooping over my tag. "Hum three rifle bullets ; well, my lucky fellow, it means England for you." . :. I could have kissed that doctor. . Then he passed to the Irishman on my right.. Stooping over him, he said: "How are you, my lad?" The Irishman answered : "I'm d d sick and I want to get out of here ; I want to get out of here, out of this draft Every tin minutes they're openin' and a-shuttin' that door." The doctor, with a wink, turned to the R. A. M. C. sergeant and said : "Shrapnel, left foot, knee and right breast. I see no fearfi why this man won't be ready for duty in a couple of days." The Irishman, with a yell, answered an-swered : "Dooty ; how the h 1 can I do dooty when I can't walk?" The doctor answered : "That will be all right, my lad. We'll fix you up with a cushy job at brigade headquarters, . pounding a typewriter." The Irishman, with a groan of disgust dis-gust addressing nobody in particular, particu-lar, sighed : "Out since Mons, and I end up workln' a bloody typewriter at headquarters. head-quarters. Stick me in skirts and I'll go as a manicurist." The doctor, paying ho attention to this remark, went to the next case and soon left the ward. As soon as the door closed a string of oaths came from the Irishman : "Poundln' a typewriter at headquarters; just like the bloody British. army ; what in h 1 do I know about one of those writln' machines? Just my luck. Why couldn't that shell have hit me in the hands. But I s'pose if I'd lost my bloody hands they'd made a tight-rope walker out o' me. Win this war what hopes?" The Tommies were eagerly questioning ques-tioning each other: "What did he sye to you?" "Are you good for Blighty?" "He marked England on my tag!" "What does base hospital mean? Does it mean that I'm to stick It out in this bloody mud while you blokes are a-goin' to Blighty?" etc. . ' Pretty soon a stretcher bearer entered, en-tered, carrying a little oblong green box, which, we all knew, contained cigarettes. He was greeted with a chorus of: "Gimme a fag, mate; I'm all out. Come on, chum, don't forget me. That's a good fellow. Let's have one." Pretty soon every Tommy who was able had a lighted fag between his lips, and a sigh of content went up as he Inhaled deep drafts of the smoke. I certainly enjoyed mine. The sergeant major again entered. The medical men came to attention. In crisp tones he ordered: "Get the convoy for England ready. Look alive; the ambulances are expected ex-pected any minute." The stretcher bearers entered, bustling bus-tling about, and the ward was in an uproar. Then, outside, could be heard the chugging engines of the waiting ambulances. As each fortunate Tommy was car-rled car-rled out the more unfortunate ones, who were to be left behind at the base hospital, bravely wished him a "Good luck, mate ; give my regards to Trafalgar square. Be careful and don't lose your watch in Petticoat lane. Give 'er my love." As I was carried through the door the cold air sent a shiver through me and my wounds began to pain. The effect of the chloroform was wearing off. Outside it was dark and confusion confu-sion seemed to reign supreme. Lanterns Lan-terns were flashing to and fro and long lines of stretchers could be seen moving toward the ambulances. I was placed in an ambulance with three others. A rasping noise a3 the gears were shifted, and with a jerk the ambulance started. That jerk made me grind my teeth. But I was happy In the thought j that at last I was on my way to that longed-for heaven, Blighty ! |