500 of the Best Cockney War Stories

"Abaht coming back for me."

"What do you take us for," said the lad from Battersea; "do yer fink we all want the sack fer overcrowdin'?"

"Tubby" was, of course, picked up after a slight immersion. —C. Phelps (late R.M.L.I.), 36 Oxford Road, Putney, S.W.15.

Water on the Watch

I was one of the crew of a patrol boat at the Nore in the winter of 1915. Most of the crew had gone to the dockyard to draw stores and provisions, and I was down in the forecastle when I heard a shout for help. I nipped up on deck and discovered that our Cockney stoker had fallen overboard. He was trying to swim for dear life, though handicapped by a pair of sea boots and canvas overalls over his ordinary sailor's rig. A strong tide was running and was carrying him away from the boat.

I threw a coil of rope to him, and after a struggle I managed to haul him aboard. I took him down to the boiler room and stripped off his clothes.

Around his neck was tied a bootlace, on the end of which was hanging a metal watch, which he told me he had bought the day before for five shillings. The watch was full of sea water, and there was an air bubble inside the glass. As he held it in his hand he looked at it with disgust. When I said to him what a wonderful escape his wife had had from being left a widow, he replied, "Yes, it was a near fing, ole' mate, but wot abaht me blinkin' bran' noo watch? It's gone and turned itself into a perishin' spirit level, and I've dipped five bob." —W. Carter, 55 Minet Avenue, Harlesden, N.W.10.

A Gallant Tar

An awe-inspiring sight met the eyes of the 29th Division as they came into view of Gallipoli on the morning of April 25, 1915. Shells from our ships were bursting all over that rugged coast, and those from the enemy bespattered the water around us.

While I gazed at the scene from the deck of the Andania, carried away by the grandeur of it all, my reverie was broken by a Cockney voice from the sailor in charge of the small boat that was to take us ashore. "'Op in, mate," said the sailor. "I've just lorst three boats. I reckon I'll soon have to take the blooming island meself."

His fourth trip was successfully accomplished, but the fifth, alas! was fatal both to this gallant tar and to the occupants of his boat. —G. Pull (late 1st R. Innis. Fus.), 20 Friars Place Lane, Acton, W.3.

A Cap for Jerry

Dawn, September 1, 1917, H.M. destroyer Rosalind was engaged with enemy ships off Jutland. I was serving on one of the guns, and we were approaching the enemy at full speed. The ship was vibrating from end to end, and the gun fire, the bursting of shells, and the smell of the cordite had got our nerves at high tension.

When we were very near the enemy one of the German ships blew up completely in a smothering cloud of smoke.

At this time something went wrong with our ammunition supply, and we had used up all that we usually carried on the gun platform. One of the gun's crew, a Cockney, put his cap in the breech, and said "Quick! Send 'em this to put the lid on that blinkin' chimney." We all had to laugh, and carried on. —W. E. M. (late H.M.S. "Rosalind"), 19 Kimberley Road, Leytonstone, E.11.

Give 'im 'is Trumpet Back

After the Britannia was torpedoed in November 1918, and the order "Abandon Ship" had been given, the crew had to make their way as best they could to a destroyer which had pulled up alongside.

Hawsers were run from the Britannia to the destroyer, down which we swarmed. Some got across. Others were not so lucky. One of the unlucky ones who had a free bath was a Cockney stoker nicknamed "Shorty," who, after splashing and struggling about, managed to get near the destroyer.

To help him a burly marine dangled a rope and wooden bucket over the side, this being the only means of rescue available. The marine, who was puffing at a large meerschaum pipe, called out: "Here y'are, Shorty, grab 'old o' this bucket an' mind yer don't drown yerself in it."

"Shorty" makes sure of bucket, then wipes the water from his eyes, looks up to the marine, and says: "Garn, give the kid 'is trumpet back." —G. Lowe (ex-R.M.L.I.), 18 Brocas Street, Eton, Bucks.

Getting the Range

It was on H.M. monitor General Wolfe, my first ship, and this was my first taste of actual warfare.

We were lying anchored off the Belgian coast, shelling an inland objective with our 18-in. gun, the ammunition for which, by the way, was stowed on the upper deck.

All ratings other than this gun's crew were standing by for "action stations." Just then the shore batteries opened fire on us. The first shot fell short, the next went over.

A Cockney member of my gun's crew explained it thus: "That's wot they calls a straddle," he said. "They finds our range that way – one short, one over, and the next 'arf way between. Got a 'bine on yer before it's too late?" —Regd. W. Ayres (late A.B., R.N.), 50 Lewisham High Road, New Cross, S.E. 14.

Coco-nut Shies

Early in 1915 I was attached to one of our monitors in the Far East. We had painted the ship to represent the country we were fighting in. The ship's side was painted green with palm trees on it, and up the funnel we painted a large coco-nut tree in full bloom.

When we went into action, a shell penetrated our funnel, and a splinter caught my breech worker in the shoulder. After we had ceased fire we carried him below on a stretcher. Looking at the funnel, he said, "Blimey, Tom, 'appy 'Ampstead and three shies a penny. All you knock down you 'ave."

Later I went to see him in Zanzibar Hospital, and told him he had been awarded the D.S.M. He seemed more interested to know if the German had got his coco-nut than in his own award. —T. Spring (late Chief Gunner's Mate, R.N.), 26 Maidenstone Hill, Greenwich, S.E.10.

"Any more for the 'Skylark'?"

Passing through the Mediterranean in 1916, the P. & O. liner Arabia, returning from the East with a full complement of passengers, was torpedoed.

I was in charge of a number of naval ratings returning to England, who, of course, helped to get the boats away.

While some of my boys were getting out one of the port boats a woman passenger, who had on a Gieves waistcoat, rushed up, holding the air tube in front of her, and shouting hysterically, "Oh, blow it up somebody, will somebody please blow it up?" A hefty seaman with a couple of blasts had the waistcoat inflated, and as he screwed up the cap said, "Look 'ere, miss, if yer 'oller like that Fritzy will 'ear yer and he will be angry. 'Ere you are, miss, boat all ready; 'op in."

Then, turning round to the waiting passengers, he said, "Come on, any more for the 'Skylark'?" —F. M. Simon (Commander, R.N., retd.), 99 Lower Northdown Road, Margate.

Still High and Dry

Whilst patrolling on an exceptionally dark night, the order being "No lights showing," we had the misfortune to come into collision with a torpedo boat. Owing to the darkness and suddenness of the collision we could not discover the extent of the damage, so the officer of the watch made a "round," accompanied by the duty petty officer.

Upon reaching a hatchway leading down to the stokers' mess deck, he called down: "Is there any water coming in down there?" In answer a Cockney stoker, who was one of a number in their hammocks, was heard to reply: "I don't fink so; it ain't reached my 'ammock yet." —J. Norton (late Ldg. Stoker, R.N.), 24 Lochaline Street, Hammersmith, W.6.

Trunkey Turk's Sarcasm

We were serving in a destroyer (H.M.S. Stour) in 1915, steaming up and down the East Coast. As we passed the different coastguard stations the bunting-tosser had to signal each station for news.

One station, in particular, always had more to tell than the others. One day this station signalled that a merchant ship had been torpedoed and that German submarines were near the coast.

My Cockney chum – we called him Trunkey Turk because of his big nose – asked the bunting-tosser for his news as he was coming down from the bridge, and when he was told, said, "Why didn't you ask them if they saw a tin of salmon in their tot of rum to-day?" —J. Tucknott, 2 Wisbeach Road, West Croydon.

Running Down the Market

On board a destroyer in the North Sea in 1916. Look-out reports, "Sail ahead, sir."

The captain, adjusting his glasses, was able to make out what at first appeared to be a harmless fisherman.

As we drew nearer we could see by her bow wave that she had something more than sails to help her along: she had power.

"Action Stations" was sounded, the telegraphs to engine-room clanged "Full speed ahead." Our skipper was right. It was a German submarine, and as our foremost gun barked out we saw the white sails submerge.

Depth charges were dropped at every point where we altered course. Imagine our surprise to find the resulting flotsam and jetsam around us consisted of trestles, boards, paint-brushes, boxes, and a hat or two, which the crafty Germans had used to camouflage their upper structure.

The scene was summed up neatly by "Spikey" Merlin, A.B., a real product of Mile End Road: "Lor' luv old Aggie Weston, we've run dahn the blinkin' Calerdonian Markit." —A. G. Reed (late R.N.), 15 William Street, Gravesend, Kent.

Five to One against the "Tinfish"

H.M.S. Morea, on convoy duty, was coming up the Channel when the silver streak of a "tinfish" was seen approaching the port side. The Morea was zig-zagging at the time, so more helm was given her to dodge the oncoming torpedo.