500 of the Best Cockney War Stories

We were asleep in our dug-out at Bray, on the Somme, in November 1915. The dug-out was cut in the bank of a field where our horse lines were.

One of the horses broke loose and, taking a fancy to our roof, which was made of brushwood and rushes, started eating it.

Suddenly the roof gave way and the horse fell through, narrowly missing myself and my pal, who was also a Cockney.

After we had got over the shock my pal said, "Well, if that ain't the blinkin' latest. These long-eared blighters ain't satisfied with us looking after them – they want to come to bed with us." —F. E. Snell (late 27th Brigade, R.F.A.), 22 Woodchester Street, Harrow Road, W.2.

General Salute!

While "resting" at Bully-Grenay in the winter of 1916 I witnessed the following incident:

Major-General – and his A.D.C. were walking through the village when an elderly Cockney member of a Labour battalion (a typical London navvy) stumbled out of an estaminet. He almost collided with the general.

Quickly pulling himself together and exclaiming "Blimey, the boss!" he gave a very non-military salute; but the general, tactfully ignoring his merry condition, had passed on.

In spite of his pal's attempts to restrain him, he overtook the general, shouting "I did serlute yer, didn't I, guv'nor?"

To which the general hastily replied: "Yes, yes, my man!"

"Well," said the Cockney, "here's anuvver!" —A. J. K. Davis (late 20th London Regt., att. 73rd M.G.C.), Minnis Croft, Reculver Avenue, Birchington.

Wipers-on-Sea

Scene, "Wipers"; Time, winter of 1917.

A very miserable-looking R.F.A. driver, wet to the skin, is riding a very weary mule through the rain.

Voice from passing infantryman, in the unmistakable accent of Bow Bells: "Where y' goin', mate? Pier an' back?" —A. Gelli (late H.A.C.), 27 Langdon Park Road, Highgate, N.6.

He Rescued His Shirt

During the latter stages of the war, with the enemy in full retreat, supply columns and stores were in most cases left far behind. Those in the advance columns, when marching through occupied villages, often "won" articles of underclothing to make up for deficiencies.

Camberwell Alf had a couple of striped "civvy" shirts, and had lent a less fortunate battery chum one of these on the understanding that it would be returned in due course. The same evening the battery was crossing a pontoon bridge when a mule became frightened at the oscillation of the wooden structure, reared wildly, and pitched its rider over the canvas screen into the river.

Camberwell Alf immediately plunged into the water and rescued his unfortunate chum after a great struggle.

Later the rescued one addressed his rescuer: "Thank yer, Alf, mate."

"Don't yer 'mate' me, yer blinkin' perisher!" Alf replied. "Wot the 'ell d'yer mean by muckin' abaht in the pahny (water) wiv my shirt on?" —J. H. Hartnoll (late 30th Div. Artillery), 1 Durning Road, Upper Norwood, S.E.19.

A Smile from the Prince

One morning towards the end of May 1915, just before the battle of Festubert, my pal Bill and I were returning from the village bakery on the Festubert road to our billets at Gorre with a loaf each, which we had just bought.

Turning the corner into the village we saw approaching us a company of the Grenadier Guards in battle order, with a slim young officer at the head carrying a stick almost as tall as himself. Directly behind the officer was a hefty Guardsman playing "Tipperary" on a concertina.

We saluted the officer, who, after spotting the loaves of bread under our arms, looked straight at us, gave us a knowing smile and acknowledged our salute. It was not till then that we recognised who the officer was. It was the Prince of Wales.

"Lumme!" said Bill. "There goes the Prince o' Wales hisself a-taking the guard to the Bank o' England!" —J. F. Davis, 29 Faunce Street, S.E.17.

"Just to Make Us Laugh"

We were one of those unlucky fatigue parties detailed to carry ammunition to the forward machine gun positions in the Ypres sector. We started off in the dusk and trudged up to the line. The transport dumped the "ammo" at a convenient spot and left us to it. Then it started raining.

The communication trenches were up to our boot tops in mud, so we left them and walked across the top. The ground was all chalky slime and we slipped and slid all over the place. Within a very short time we were wet through and, to make matters worse, we occasionally slipped into shell-holes half full of water (just to relieve the monotony!).

We kept this up all night until the "ammo" had all been delivered; then the order came to march back to billets at Dranoutre. It was still pouring with rain, and when we came to Shrapnel Corner we saw the famous notice board: "Avoid raising Dust Clouds as it draws Enemy's Shell Fire."

We were new to this part of the line and, just then, the idea of raising dust clouds was extremely ludicrous.

I asked my pal Jarvis, who came from Greenwich, what he thought they put boards like that up for. His reply was typically Cockney: "I 'spect they did that just to make us laugh, as we cawnt go to the picshures." —Mack (late M.G.C.), Cathcart, The Heath, Dartford.

No Use Arguing with a Mule

Whilst "resting" after the Jerusalem battle, my battalion was detailed for road-making. Large stones were used for the foundation of the road and small and broken stones for the surface. Our job was to find the stones, assisted by mules.

A mule was new to Joe Smith – a great-hearted boy from Limehouse way – but he must have heard about them for he gingerly approached the one allotted to him, and as gingerly led him away into the hills.

Presently Joe was seen returning, but, to our amazement, he was struggling along with the loaded baskets slung across his own shoulders, and the mule was trailing behind. When I asked why he was carrying the load, he replied: "Well, I was loading 'im up wiv the stones, but he cut up rusty, so to save a lot of argument, I reckoned as 'ow I'd better carry the darned stones meself." —A. C. Wood, 56 Glasslyn Road, N.8.

Kissing Time

It was towards the end of '18, and we had got old Jerry well on the run. We had reached a village near Lille, which had been in German occupation, and the inhabitants were surging round us.

A corporal was having the time of his life, being kissed on both cheeks by the girls, but when it came to a bewhiskered French papa's turn the corporal hesitated. "Nah, then, corporal," shouted one of our boys, "be sporty! Take the rough with the smooth!" —G. H. Harris (late C.S.M., 8th London Regt.), 65 Nelson Road, South Chingford, E.4.

"Playin' Soldiers"

We were in the Cambrai Salient, in support in the old Hindenburg Line. Close to us was a road where there were a ration dump and every other sort of dump. Everybody in the sector went through us to get rations, ammunition, stores, etc.

There was just room in the trench for two men to pass. Snow had been on the ground for weeks, and the bottom of the trench was like glass. One night at stand-to the Drake Battalion crowded past us to get rations. On their return journey the leading man, with two sandbags of rations round his neck and a petrol can of water in each hand, fell over at every other step. Things were further complicated by a party of R.E.'s coming down the line with much barbed wire, in which this unfortunate "Drake" entangled himself.

As he picked himself up for the umpteenth time, and without the least intention of being funny, I heard him say: "Well, if I ever catch that nipper of mine playin' soldiers, I won't 'arf knock 'is blinkin' block orf." —A. M. B. (late Artists Rifles), Savage Club, W.C.2.

Per Carrier

During the occupation of the "foreshores of Gallipoli" in 1915 the troops were suffering from shortage of water.

I and six more, including Tich, were detailed to carry petrol cans full of water up to the front line. We had rather a rough passage over very hilly ground, and more than one of us tripped over stones that were strewn across the path, causing us to say a few strong words.

By the time we reached our destination we were just about all in, and on being challenged "Halt; who goes there?" Tich answered: "Carter Paterson and Co. with 'Adam's ale,' all nice and frothy!" —D. W. Jordan (late 1/5th Essex, 54th Division), 109a Gilmore Road, Lewisham, S.E.13.

"Enemy" in the Wire

I was in charge of an advanced post on the Dorian front, Salonica, 1917, which had been often raided by the Bulgars, and we were advised to be extra wary. In the event of an attack we were to fire a red flare, which was a signal for the artillery to put over a barrage.

About 2 a.m. we heard a commotion in our wire, but, receiving no answer to our challenge, I decided to await further developments. The noise was soon repeated in a way that left no doubt in my mind that we were being attacked, so I ordered the section to open fire and sent up the signal for the guns.