500 of the Best Cockney War Stories

One night we were strengthened by reinforcements, including several Cockneys. The next morning one of our sentries saw a bomb coming over and shouted "Sausage right!" There followed an explosion which smothered two of our new comrades in mud and shreds of sandbag. One of the two got up, with sackcloth twisted all round his neck and pack. "'Ere, Bill, wot was that?" he asked one of our men.

"Why, one of those sausages," Bill replied.

"Lumme," said the new man, as he freed himself from the sacking, "I don't mind the sausages, but," he added as he wiped the mud from his eyes and face, "I don't like the mash." —H. Millard (late East Surrey Regt.), 3 Nevill Road, Stoke Newington, N.

Cheery to the End

We were lining up to go over in the Battle of Arras on April 9, 1917. Ours being a Lancashire regiment, there were only two of us Cockneys in our platoon. We were standing easy, waiting for the rum issue, and Tom, my pal (we both came from Stratford), came over to me singing "Let's all go down the Strand…"

Most of the Lancashire lads were looking a bit glum, but it cheered them up, and they all began to sing. I was feeling a bit gloomy myself, and Tom, seeing this, said: "What's the matter with you, Jimmy?"

"I suppose I'll see you in London Hospital next week, Tom," I said.

"Oh, shut up," says he. "If Jerry sends one over and it's got our names on it, why worry? And if we get a bad Blighty one, then I hopes they buries us at Manor Park. Here, Jim, tie this disc round me neck."

Then the rum came up, and he started them singing, "And another little drink wouldn't do us any harm!"

Off we went – and only ten minutes later he was gone. He was buried at Blany, Arras, not Manor Park. —J. Pugh (late 1st King's Own Royal Lancasters), 27 Lizban Street, Blackheath, S.E.5.

Souvenirs First

The following incident took place during the Battle of Loos, September 1915. I had been to Battalion H.Q. with a message and whilst awaiting a reply stood with others on "Harrow Road" watching our wounded go by.

We frequently recognised wounded pals on the stretchers and inquired as to the nature of their wounds. The usual form of inquiry was: "Hullo – what have you got?" In reply to this query one wounded man of our battalion, ignoring his wound as being of lesser importance, proudly answered: "Two Jerry helmets and an Iron Cross!" —A. H. Bell (late Private, 15th London Regt., T.F.), 31 Raeburn Avenue, Surbiton, Surrey.

Seven Shies a Tanner!

It was near Hebuterne and very early in the morning of July 1, 1916. A terrific bombardment by both the Germans and ourselves was in progress just prior to the launching of our Somme offensive. We were in assembly trenches waiting for the dread zero hour.

Away on our right some German guns were letting us have it pretty hot, and in consequence the "troops" were not feeling in the best of spirits.

With us was a very popular Cockney corporal. He took his tin hat from off his head when the tension was high and, banging on it with his bayonet, cried: "Roll up, me lucky lads! Seven shies a tanner! Who'll 'ave a go!" That bit of nonsense relieved the tension and enabled us to pull ourselves together. —A. V. B. (late 9th Londons), Guildford.

Bill Hawkins Fights Them All

Whilst on the Ypres front during the fighting in 1918 we made an early-morning attack across the railway line in front of Dickebusch. After going about fifty yards across No Man's Land my Cockney pal (Bill Hawkins, from Stepney), who was running beside me, got a slight wound in the arm, and before he had gone another two yards he got another wound in the left leg.

Suddenly he stopped, lifted his uninjured arm at the Germans and shouted, "Blimey, wot yer all firing at me for? Am I the only blinkin' man in this war?" —S. Stevens (late Middlesex Regt., 2nd Battn.), 7 Blenheim Street, Chelsea, S.W.

Hide and Seek with Jerry

To get information before the Somme offensive, the new idea of making daylight raids on the German trenches was adopted. It fell to our battalion to make the first big raid.

Our objective was the "brick-fields" at Beaurains, near Arras, and our orders were to take as many prisoners as possible, hold the trench for half an hour, do as much damage as we could, and then return. A covering barrage was put down, and over we went, one hundred strong.

We got into Jerry's trench all right, but, owing to the many dug-outs and tunnels, we could only find a few Germans, and these, having no time to bolt underground, got out of the trench and ran to take cover behind the kilns and brick-stacks.

And then the fun began. While the main party of us got to work in the trench, a few made after the men who had run into the brick-fields, and it was a case of hide and seek, round and round and in and out of the kilns and brick-stacks.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, one chap, a Cockney, entered so thoroughly into the spirit of the thing that when, after a lengthy chase, he at last clapped a German on the shoulder, he shouted, "You're 'e!" —E. W. Fellows, M.M. (late 6th D.C.L.I.), 35 Dunlace Road, Clapton, E.5.

Too Much for his Imagination

In the platoon of cyclists I was posted to on the outbreak of war was a Cockney – a "Charlie Chaplin" without the funny feet. If there was a funny side to a thing, he saw it.

One day, on the advance, just before the battle of the Marne, our platoon was acting as part of the left flank guard when a number of enemy cavalry were seen advancing over a ridge, some distance away. We were ordered to dismount and extend. We numbered about sixteen, so our line was not a long one.

A prominent object was pointed out to us, judged at about 150 yards away, and orders were given not to fire until the enemy reached that spot.

We could see that we were greatly outnumbered, and having to wait for them to reach that spot seemed to double the suspense. Our leader was giving commands one second and talking like a father the next. He said, "Keep cool; each take a target; show them you are British. You have as good a chance as they, and although they are superior in numbers they have no other superior quality. I want you just to imagine that you are on the range again, firing for your pay." Then our Cockney Charlie chimed in with: "Yes, but we ain't got no bloomin' markers." —S. Leggs (late Rifle Brigade and Cyclists), 33 New Road, Grays, Essex.

"Currants" for Bunn

After we had taken part in the advance on the Somme in August 1916 my battalion was ordered to rest at Bazentin.

We had only been there a day or so when we were ordered to relieve the Tyneside Scottish who were badly knocked about. Hardly had we reached the front lines, when a little Cockney named Bunn (we never knew how he carried his pack, he was so small) got hit. We called for stretcher-bearers.

When they put him on the stretcher and were carrying him down the line, a doctor asked him his name. The Cockney looked up with a smile and answered: "Bunn, sir, and the blighters have put some currants into me this time." This gallant Cockney died afterwards. —J. E. Cully (late 13th King's Royal Rifles), 76 Milkwood Road, S.E.24.

The Driver to his Horse

The artillery driver's affection for his own particular pair of horses is well known. Our battery, in a particularly unhealthy spot in front of Zillebeke, in the Salient, had run out of ammunition, and the terrible state of the ground thereabout in the autumn of 1917 necessitated the use of pack-horses to "deliver the goods," and even then it was accomplished with difficulty.

A little Cockney driver with a pair named Polly and Bill had loaded up and was struggling through the mire. Three times Bill had dragged him on to his knees and up to his waist in the slush when a big Fritz shell dropped uncomfortably near. Polly, with a mighty rear, threw the Cockney on to his back and, descending, struck him with a hoof.

Fed up to the teeth and desperate, he struggled to his feet, covered from head to feet in slime, and, clenching his fist, struck at the trembling and frightened horse, unloading a brief but very vivid description of its pedigree and probable future.

Then, cooling off, he began to pacify the mare, apologised, and pardoned her vice by saying, "Never mind, ole gal – I didn't mean ter bash yer! I fought the uvver one was hot stuff, but, strike me pink, you don't seem 'ooman!" —G. Newell (ex-Sergt., R.F.A.), 22 Queen Road, St. Albans.

Two Kinds of "Shorts"

August 1916, Delville Wood. We had been brought specially from rest camp to take the remainder of the wood, which was being stoutly contested by the Germans and was holding up our advance. The usual barrage, and over we went, and were met by the Germans standing on top of their trenches. A fierce bombing fight began. The scrap lasted a long time, but at last we charged and captured the trench.

One of our men, quite a small Cockney, captured a German about twice his own size. The German was so surprised at being captured by a person so insignificant looking that he stood and stared. Our Cockney, seeing his amazement, said: "Yus, yer needn't stare, I'm real, and wot's more, I got a good mind ter punch yer under the blinkin' ear fer spoiling me rest!" —F. M. Fellows, M.M. (late Corporal, 6th Batt. D.C.L.I), 33 Dunlace Road, Clapton, E.5.

Mespot – On 99 Years' Lease

I was in Mesopotamia from 1916 till 1920, and after the Armistice was signed there was still considerable trouble with the Arabs.

In the summer of 1919 I, with a party of 23 other R.A.S.C. men, was surrounded by the Arabs at an outpost that was like a small fort. We had taken up supplies for troops stationed there. There were about 100 Indian soldiers, and a few British N.C.O.'s in charge.

It was no use "running the gauntlet." We were on a hill and kept the Arabs at bay all day, also the next night.

The next day all was quiet again, but in the afternoon an Arab rode into the camp on horseback with a message, which he gave to the first Tommy he saw. It happened to be one of our fellows, a proper Cockney. He read the message – written in English – requesting us to surrender.

Our Cockney pal said a few kind words to the Arab, and decided to send a message back.

He wrote this on the back of the paper: "Sorry, Mr. Shake. We have only just taken the place, and we have got it on 99 years' lease. Yours faithfully, Old Bill and Co., Ltd., London." —W. Thurgood (late R.A.S.C., M.T.), 46 Maldon Road, Southend-on-Sea, Essex.