500 of the Best Cockney War Stories

Orderlies from each platoon were collecting blankets from their company pack mules. Last of them all was a diminutive Cockney, who staggered off in the darkness with his load perched on his head. Slowly and laboriously, slipping backwards at almost every step, he stumbled and slithered up hill in the ankle-deep mud. Presently he paused for breath, and took advantage of the opportunity to relieve his feelings in these well-chosen words: "All I can say is, the bloke as christened this 'ere perishin' place Greece was about blinking well right." —P. H. T. (26th Division).

Gunga Din the Second

After the battle of Shaikh Sa'Ad in Mesopotamia in January 1916 more than 300 wounded were being transported down the Tigris to Basra in a steamer and on open barges lashed on either side of it. Many suffered from dysentery as well as wounds – and it was raining.

There appeared to be only one Indian bhisti (water-carrier), an old man over 60 years of age, to attend to all. He was nearly demented in trying to serve everyone at once. When my severely wounded neighbour – from Camberwell, he said – saw the bhisti, his welcome made us smile through our miseries.

"Coo! If it ain't old Gunga Din! Wherever 'ave yer bin, me old brown son? Does yer muvver know yer aht?" —A. S. Edwardes (late C.S.M., 1st Seaforth Highlanders), West Gate, Royal Hospital, Chelsea, S.W.3.

A Fag fer an 'Orse

Late one afternoon towards the end of 1917, on the Cambrai sector, enemy counter-attacks had caused confusion behind our lines, and as I was walking along a road I met a disconsolate-looking little Cockney infantryman leading a large-size horse. He stopped me and said, "Give us a fag, mate, and I'll give yer an 'orse."

I gathered that he had found the horse going spare and was taking it along with him for company's sake. —H. J. Batt (late Royal Fusiliers), 21 Whitehall Park Road, W.4.

Put to Graze

It was at the siege of Kut, when the 13th ("Iron") Division was trying to relieve that gallant but hard-pressed body of men under General Townshend. Rations had been very low for days, and the battery had been digging gun-pits in several positions, till at last we had a change of position and "dug in" to stay a bit. What with bad water, digging in, and hardly any food, the men were getting fed up generally. An order came out to the effect that "A certain bunchy grass (detailed explanation) if picked and boiled would make a very nourishing meal." One hefty Cockney, "Dusty" Miller, caused a laugh when he vented his feelings with "'Struth, and nah we got ter be blinking sheep. Baa-Baa!" —E. J. Bates (late R.F.A.), 37 Ulverscroft Road, E. Dulwich.

Smith's Feather Pillow

The boys had "rescued" a few hens from a deserted farm. The morning was windy and feathers were scattered in the mud.

Picquet officer (appearing from a corner of the trench): "What's the meaning of all these feathers, Brown?"

Brown: "Why, sir, Smiff wrote 'ome sayin' 'e missed 'is 'ome comforts, an' 'is ma sent 'im a fevver piller; an' 'e's so mad at our kiddin' that 'e's in that dug-out tearin' it to bits." —John W. Martin, 16 Eccles Road, Lavender Hill, S.W.11.

Bombs and Arithmetic

We were in the trenches in front of Armentières in the late summer of 1916. It was a fine, quiet day, with "nothing doing." I was convinced that a working party was busy in a section of the German trenches right opposite.

Just then "O. C. Stokes" came along with his crew and their little trench gun. I told him of my "target," and suggested that he should try a shot with his Stokes mortar. Glad of something definite to do, he willingly complied.

The Stokes gun was set down on the floor of the trench just behind my back, as I stood on the fire-step to observe the shoot.

I gave the range. The gun was loaded. There was a faint pop, a slight hiss – then silence. Was the bomb going to burst in the gun and blow us all to bits? I glanced round apprehensively. A perfectly calm Cockney voice from one of the crew reassured me:

"It's orl right, sir! If it don't go off while yer counts five —you'll know it's a dud!" —Capt. T. W. C. Curd (late 20th Northumberland Fusiliers), 72 Victoria Street, S.W.1.

Help from Hindenburg

I was serving with the M.G.C. at Ecoust. Two men of the Middlesex Regiment had been busy for a week digging a sump hole in the exposed hollow in front of the village and had excavated to a depth of about eight feet. A bombardment which had continued all night became so severe about noon of the next day that orders were given for all to take what cover was available. It was noticed that the two men were still calmly at work in the hole, and I was sent to warn them to take shelter. They climbed out, and as we ran over the hundred yards which separated us from the trench a high explosive shell landed right in the hole we had just left, converting it into a huge crater. One of the men turned to me and said, "Lumme, mate, if old Hindenburg ain't been and gone and finished the blooming job for us!" —J. S. F., Barnet, Herts.

Raised his Voice – And the Dust

In the early part of 1917, while the Germans were falling back to the Hindenburg line on the Somme, trench warfare was replaced by advanced outposts for the time being. Rations were taken up to the company headquarters on mules.

Another C.Q.M.S. and I were going up with mules one night and lost our way. We wandered on until a voice from a shell-hole challenged us. We had passed the company headquarters and landed among the advanced outposts.

The chap implored us to be quiet, and just as we turned back one of the mules chose to give the Germans a sample of his vocal abilities.

The outpost fellow told us what he thought of us. The transport chap leading the mule pulled and tugged, using kind, gentle words as drivers do.

And in the midst of it all my C.Q.M.S. friend walked up to the mule, holding his hands up, and whispered: "S-sh! For 'eaven's sake be quiet." —F. W. Piper (ex-Sherwood Foresters), 30 The Crescent, Watford, Herts.

Mademoiselle from – Palestine

After the fall of Gaza our battalion, on occupying a Jewish colony in the coastal sector which had just been evacuated by the Turks, received a great ovation from the overjoyed inhabitants.

One of our lads, born well within hearing of Bow Bells, was effusively greeted by a Hebrew lady of uncertain age, who warmly embraced him and kissed him on each cheek.

Freeing himself, and gesticulating in the approved manner, he turned to us and said: "Strike me pink! Mademoiselle from Ah-my-tears." —Edward Powell, 8 °Cavendish Road, Kentish Town, N.W.

"Ally Toot Sweet"

At the latter end of September 1914 the 5th Division was moving from the Aisne to La Bassée and a halt was made in the region of Crépy-en-Valois, where a large enemy shell was found (dud).

A Cockney private was posted to keep souvenir hunters from tampering with it. When he received his dinner he sat straddle-legged on the shell, admired by a few French children, whom he proceeded to address as follows: "Ally! Toot sweet, or you'll get blown to 'ell if this blinkin' shell goes orf." —E. P. Ferguson, "Brecon," Fellows Road, S. Farnborough, Hants.

Luckier than the Prince

In the autumn of 1916, while attending to the loading of ammunition at Minden Post, a driver suddenly exclaimed, "'Struth, Quarter; who's the boy officer with all the ribbons up?"

Glancing up, I recognised the Prince of Wales, quite unattended, pushing a bicycle through the mud.

When I told the driver who the officer really was, the reply came quickly: "Blimey, I'm better off than he is; they have given me a horse to ride." —H. J. Adams (ex. – B.Q.M.S., R.F.A.), Highclare, Station Road, Hayes, Middlesex.

A Jerry he Couldn't Kill

During a patrol in No Man's Land at Flesquières we were between a German patrol and their front line, but eventually we were able to get back. I went to our Lewis gun post and told them Jerry had a patrol out. I was told: "One German came dahn 'ere last night – full marchin' order." "Didn't you ask him in?" I said. "No. Told him to get out of it. You can't put a Lewis gun on one man going on leave," was the reply. —C. G. Welch, 109 Sayer Street, S.E.17.

"Q" for Quinine

In the autumn of 1917, on the Salonika front, we were very often short of bread, sugar, etc., the reason, we were told by the Quartermaster-Sergeant, being that the boats were continually sunk.

At this time the "quinine parade" was strictly enforced, because of malaria, which was very prevalent.

One day we were lined up for our daily dose, which was a very strong and unpleasant one, when one of our drivers, a bit of a wag, was heard to say to the M.O.: "Blimey! the bread boat goes dahn, the beef boat goes dahn, the rum and sugar boat goes dahn, but the perishin' quinine boat always gets 'ere." —R. Ore (100 Brigade, R.F.A.), 40 Lansdowne Road, Tottenham, N.17.

Blinkin' Descendant of Nebuchadnezzar

While stationed at Pozières in 1917 I was mate to our Cockney cook, who, according to Army standards, was something of an expert in the culinary art.

One day a brass hat from H.Q., who was visiting the unit, entered the mess to inquire about the food served to the troops.

"They 'as stew, roast, or boiled, wiv spuds and pudden to follow," said cook, bursting with pride.

"Do you give them any vegetables?" asked the officer.