500 of the Best Cockney War Stories

On one occasion when the Diligence was "somewhere in the North Sea," shore leave was granted.

One of the sailors, a Cockney, returned to the ship with his jumper "rather swollen." The officer of the watch noticed something furry sticking out of the bottom of his jumper, and at once asked where he had got it from, fearing, probably, that he had been poaching.

The Cockney thought furiously for a moment and then said: "I chased it round the Church Army hut, sir, until it got giddy and fell over, and so I picked it up and brought it aboard to nurse it back to 'ealth and strength." —J. S. Cowland, 65 Tylney Road, Forest Gate, E.7.

Margate In Mespot

October 29, 1914 – England declares war on Turkey and transports laden with troops sail from Bombay.

One evening, within a week, these transports anchor off the flat Mesopotamian coast at the top of the Persian Gulf. In one ship, a county regiment (95 per cent. countrymen, the remainder Cockney) is ordered to be the first to land. H.M.S. Ocean sends her cutters and lifeboats, and into these tumble the platoons at dusk, to be rowed across a shallow "bar."

Under cover of an inky darkness they arrive close to the beach by midnight. It is very cold, and all feel it the more because the kit worn is shorts and light khaki shirts.

In the stone-cold silence a whisper passes from boat to boat – "Remove puttees; tie boots round the neck; at signal, boats to row in until grounded; platoons to disembark and wade ashore."

So a shadowy line of strange-looking waders is dimly to be seen advancing through the shallow water and up the beach – in extended order, grim and frozen stiff. As dawn breaks they reach the sandy beach, and a few shots ring out from the distant Fort of Fas – but no one cares. Each and all are looking amazedly at the grotesque appearance of the line – silent, miserable figures, boots wagging round their necks, shorts rolled as high as possible, while their frozen fingers obediently cling to rifles and ammunition.

It is too much for one soul, and a Cockney voice calls out: "'Ere, wot price this fer Margate?"

The spell is broken. The Mesopotamian campaign begins with a great laugh! —John Fiton, M.C., A.F.C., 9 High Grove, Welwyn Garden City, Herts.

Urgent and Personal!

The ss. Oxfordshire, then a hospital ship, was on her way down from Dar-es-salaam to Cape Town when she received an S.O.S. from H.M.T. Tyndareus, which had been mined off Cape Agulhas, very near the spot where the famous Birkenhead sank.

The Tyndareus had on board the 26th (Pioneer) Battalion, Middlesex Regiment, under the command of Colonel John Ward, then on their way to Hong Kong.

As the hospital boat drew near it was seen that the Tyndareus was very low in the water, and across the water we could hear the troops singing "Tipperary" as they stood lined up on the decks.

The lifeboats from both ships were quickly at work, every patient capable of lending a hand doing all he could to help. Soon we had hundreds of the Middlesex aboard, some pulled roughly up the side, others climbing rope-ladders hastily thrown down. They were in various stages of undress, some arriving clad only in pants.

On the deck came one who, pulled up by eager hands, landed on all fours with a bump. As he got up, hands and toes bleeding from contact with the side of the vessel, I was delighted to recognise an old London acquaintance. The following dialogue took place:

Myself: Hallo, Bill! Fancy meeting you like this! Hurt much?

Bill: Not much. Seen Nobby Clark? Has he got away all right?

Myself (not knowing Nobby Clark): I don't know. I expect so; there are hundreds of your pals aboard.

Bill: So long. See you later. Must find Nobby; he collared the "kitty" when that blinking boat got hit! —J. P. Mansell (late) 25th Royal Fusiliers.

Victoria! (Very Cross)

While I was an A.B. aboard H.M.S. Aboukir somewhere in the North Sea we received a signal that seven German destroyers were heading for us at full speed. We were ordered at the double to action stations.

My pal, a Cockney, weighing about 18 stone, found it hard to keep up with the others, and the commander angrily asked him, "Where is your station?"

To which the Cockney replied, "Victoria – if I could only get there." —J. Hearn, 24 Christchurch Street, S.W.3.

He Saw the Force of It

In February 1915 we beat out our weary patrol near the Scillies. Our ship met such heavy weather that only the bravest souls could keep a cheery countenance. Running into a growing storm, and unable to turn from the racing head seas, we beat out our unwilling way into the Atlantic.

Three days later we limped back to base with injured men, hatches stove in, winch pipes and boats torn away. Our forward gun was smashed and leaned over at a drunken angle.

Early in the morning the crew were taking a well-earned rest, and the decks were deserted but for the usual stoker, taking a breath of air after his stand-by watch. A dockyard official, seeing our damage, came on board, and, after viewing the wrecked gun at close quarters, turned to the stoker with the remark: "Do you mean to say that the sea smashed a heavy gun like that, my man?"

The stoker, spitting with uncanny accuracy at a piece of floating wood overside, looked at the official: "Nah," he said, "it wasn't the blinking sea; the ryne done it!" —A. Marsden (Engineer-Lieutenant-Commander, R.N.), Norbrook Cottage, Leith Park Road, Gravesend.

New Skin – Brand New!

Two mines – explosion – many killed – hundreds drowned. We were sinking fast. I scrambled quickly out of my hammock and up the hatchway. On deck, leaning against the bulkhead, was a shipmate, burned from head to foot. More amazing than fiction was his philosophy and coolness as he hailed me with, "'Cher, Darby! Got a fag? I ain't had a 'bine since Pa died." I was practically "in the nude," and could not oblige him. Three years later I was taking part at a sports meeting at Dunkirk when I was approached by – to me – a total stranger. "What 'cher, Darby – ain't dead yet then. What! Don't you remember H.M.S. Russell? Of course I've altered a bit now – new skin – just like a two-year-old – brand new." Brand new externally, but the philosophy was unaltered. —"Darby," 405 Valence Avenue, Chadwell Heath, Essex.

A Zeebrugge Memory

During the raid on Zeebrugge, one of our number had his arms blown away. When things quietened a little my chum and I laid him on a mess table and proceeded to tend his wounds. My chum tried to light the mess-deck "bogey" (fire), the chimney of which had been removed for the action. After the match had been applied, we soon found ourselves in a fog. Then the wounded man remarked: "I say, chum! If I'm going to die, let's die a white man, not a black 'un." The poor fellow died before reaching harbour. —W. A. Brooks, 14 Ramsden Road, N.11.

Another Perch in the Roost

On the morning of September 22, 1914, when the cruisers Aboukir, Hogue, and Cressy were torpedoed, we were dotted about in the water, helping each other where possible and all trying to get some support. When one piece got overloaded it meant the best swimmers trying their luck elsewhere.

Such was my position, when I saw a piece of wreckage resembling a chicken coop, large enough to support four men. I reached it just ahead of another man who had been badly scalded.

We were both exhausted and unable to help another man coming towards us. He was nearly done, and my companion, seeing his condition, shouted between breaths: "Come along, ole cock. Shake yer bloomin' feavers. There's a perch 'ere for anover rooster."

Both were stokers on watch when torpedoed, and in a bad state from scalds. Exposure did the rest. I was alone, when picked up. —W. Stevens (late R.M.L.I.), 23 Lower Range Road, Denton, near Gravesend.

Uncomfortable Cargo

(A 12-in. shell weighs about 8 cwt. High explosives were painted yellow and "common" painted black.)

In October 1914 H.M.S. Venerable was bombarding the Belgian coast and Thames tugs were pressed into service to carry ammunition to ships taking part in the bombardment.

The sea was pretty rough when a tug came alongside the Venerable loaded with 12-in. shells, both high explosive and common. Deck hands jumped down into the tug to sling the shells on the hoist. The tug skipper, seeing them jumping on the high explosives, shouted: "Hi! dahn there! Stop jumping on them yaller 'uns"; and, turning to the Commander, who was leaning over the ship's rail directing operations, he called out: "Get them yaller 'uns aht fust, guvnor, or them blokes dahn there 'll blow us sky high." —A. Gill, 21 Down Road, Teddington, Middlesex.

Good Old "Vernon"

Several areas in the North Sea were protected by mines, which came from the torpedo depot ship, H.M.S. Vernon. The mines floated several feet below the surface, being kept in position by means of wires attached to sinkers.

In my submarine we had encountered very bad weather and were uncertain of our exact position. The weather got so bad that we were forced to cruise forty feet below the surface.

Everything was very still in the control room. The only movements were an occasional turn of the hydroplanes, or a twist at the wheel, at which sat "Shorty" Harris, a real hard case from Shadwell.

Suddenly we were startled by a scraping sound along the port side. Before we could put our thoughts into words there came an ominous bump on the starboard side. Bump! … bump! … seven distinct thuds against the hull. No one moved, and every nerve was taut. Then "Shorty" broke the tension with, "Good old Vernon, another blinkin' dud." —T. White, 31 Empress Avenue, Ilford.

Any Time's Kissing Time!

A torpedo-boat destroyer engaged on transport duty in the Channel in 1916 had been cut in two by collision whilst steaming with lights out. A handful of men on the after-part, which alone remained afloat, were rescued after several hours by another destroyer, just as the after-part sank.