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By Root 113 0

‘Ginger’ Roberts lay on his back, blood spurting from his neck. “Put digital pressure on,” he shouted to a Gunner who was trying to stench the bleeding, but the wound was too huge, he started to lose consciousness. “I want to write to my wife.” We hurried for paper and pencil. “The bastards,” he said, “The terrible bastards.” He still thought it was a German shell, we let him. He started to dictate a letter but lapsed into unconsciousness half way through. Gunner Glanville lay face down, his entire back blown away, he couldn’t have felt a thing. Others lay dead, Nicholls, Wood, Glanville…the only one unhurt was Smudger Smith but he was staggering about in a state of shock. To stop any decline in morale, the remaining guns were immediately given Gun Fire and soon were blazing away, while, under their muzzles lay the blanket covered figures of the dead. It was bloody awful. I went straight to Beauman-Smythe.

“I’ve never drunk whisky but if you have any, I’d bloody well like some.” He looked at me “Of course,” he said, went to his bivvy and came back with a bottle. “Try that,” he said, handing me a stiff tot and consuming his from the bottle. The ambulance had arrived and the Medics had bandaged up the injured which included Sgt Wilson, Bdr Marston, Bdr Powell, Gunners Convine, McCourt, Wisbey and Howard, and carted them off to the Hospital. What a terrible day.

There was to be a ‘Short Arm’ Inspection. How Bombardier Morton berated it. “It shouldn’t be allowed.” he said, in heavy Welsh tones, starting to undress.

“Why not?” I said, looking forward to the occasion for a laugh.

“What’s down there is a man’s private affair.”

“They’re not going to make it a limited company, it’s a medical inspection, that’s all.”

“No! that down there is only for the eyes of the woman you love.”

“Only for her eyes? Is she a dwarf?”

He paced up and down holding his trousers up with one hand, and gesticulating with the other, his face set grim. Occasionally he’d gesticulate with both hands and the trousers fell down. All this because someone was going to have a quick ‘butchers’ at his Wedding Tackle.

“I don’t see any harm in a Doctor lookin’ at yer tool’ said Gunner Farminer, “I think a bit of air does it good and let’s face it, it’s no bleedin’ holiday for the Doctor either.” Still grim and grey Morton continued ‘You have no pride boyo.”

“No pride?” said Farminer. “How can you be proud of an ‘orrible lookin’ thing like that? I mean, if it was beautiful, people would do an oil paintin’ of it, but I ain’t seen a Portrait of a Prick signed Picasso?” Morton dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

We stood in a queue. “Drop ‘em.” was the instruction, a professional eye would scrutinise the honeymoon area, a gesture to turn round—“Bend Down,” I couldn’t resist it, “Good morning sir,” I said through my legs, “nice day.”

“Not from where I am.” said the M.O. There was a round of applause when ‘Plunger’ Bailey dropped his trousers revealing God’s answer to lovely women, even the laconic M.O. was given to nodding his head in approval. A worried Gunner, who we will call ‘X’, asked to see the M.O. ‘privately’. What follows was told me by Medical Orderly Watts.

‘X’ had been married just before we came overseas, but, his wife had never written him since. He had been harbouring a fear, which he confessed to the doctor.

“I think sir, perhaps my private is undersized and my wife will go off with a Polish airman.”

The M.O. assured him, ‘Lots of men have this phobia but it’s all in the mind’.

Gunner ‘X’ insisted.

“Very well, ‘X’ let’s have a look.”

The surprised M.O. saw that Gunner ‘X’ had indeed been sold short.

“Yes,” he said, “Mother Nature hasn’t been very kind to you. Does it hurt you?”

“No sir.”

“It doesn’t pain or anything?”

“No sir.”

“Can you pass water all right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well I should use it just for that then.”

7.2 Gun at Longstop firing on enemy Battery

May the 1st

Battery Diary:

Battery still engaged on Counter Battery Targets. The Offensive launched at end of April has ground to a halt. What now?

I didn’t have