500 of the Best Cockney War Stories

When the news of the spy filtered through, Dan's comment was; "Once, when a rookie, I was crimed at the Tower for paradin' with a button missin', but I've got even now by havin' an orficer crimed for the same thing, even if he was only a blinkin' 'Un!" —H. G., Plaistow.

The Apology

A heavily-laden and slightly intoxicated Tommy, en route to France, entered the Tube at Oxford Circus. As the train started he lurched and trod heavily on the toes of a very distinguished "Brass Hat."

Grabbing hold of the strap, he leaned down apologetically and murmured: "Sorry, Sergeant!" —Bert Thomas, Church Farm, Pinner, Middlesex.

Too Scraggy

We were prisoners in the infamous Fort Macdonald, near Lille, early in May 1917, rammed into the dungeons there for a sort of "levelling down process," i.e. starvation, brutal treatment, and general misery. After eleven days of it we were on our way, emaciated, silent, and miserable, to the working camps close behind the German lines, when a Cockney voice piped up:

"Nah then, boys, don't be down 'earted. They kin knock yer abaht and cut dahn yer rations, but, blimey, they won't eat us – not nah!" —G. F. Green, 14 Alma Square, St. John's Wood, N.W.8.

So Why Worry?

The following, written by a London Colonel, was hung up in one of our dug-outs:

"When one is a soldier, it is one of two things. One is either in a dangerous place, or a cushy one. If in the latter, there is no need to worry. If one is in a dangerous place, it is one of two things. One is wounded, or one is not. If one is not, there is no need to worry. If the former, it is either dangerous or slight. If slight, there is no need to worry, but if dangerous, it is one of two alternatives. One dies or recovers. If the latter, why worry? If you die you cannot. In these circumstances the real Tommy never worries." —"Alwas," Windmill Road, Brentford, Middlesex.

Commended by the Kaiser

As prisoners of war we were unloading railway sleepers from trucks when a shell dump blew up. German guards and British prisoners scattered in all directions. Some of the Germans were badly wounded and, as shells continued to explode, no attempt was made by their comrades to succour them.

Seeing the plight of the wounded, a Cockney lad called to some fellow-prisoners crouching on the ground, "We can't leave 'em to die like this. Who's coming with me?"

He and others raced across a number of rail tracks to the wounded men and carried them to cover.

For this act of bravery they were later commended by the then Kaiser. —C. H. Porter (late East Surrey Regiment), 118 Fairlands Avenue, Thornton Heath, Surrey.

Only Fog Signals

We were resting in Poperinghe in December 1915. One morning about 4.30 a.m. we were called out and rushed to entrain for Vlamertinghe because Jerry was attacking.

The train was packed with troops, and we were oiling our rifle bolts and checking our ammunition to be ready for action. We had not proceeded far when Jerry started trying to hit the train with some heavy shells. Several burst very close to the track.

There was one young chap in our compartment huddled in a corner looking rather white. "They seem to be trying to hit the train," he said.

"Darkie" Webb, of Poplar, always cheerful and matter-of-fact, looked across at the speaker and said, "'It the train? No fear, mate, them's only signals; there's fog on the line." —B. Pigott (late Essex Regt.), 55 Burdett Avenue, Westcliff-on-Sea.

An American's Hustle

I was on the extreme right of the British line on March 22, 1918, and was severely wounded. I was picked up by the U.S. Red Cross.

There was accommodation for four in the ambulance, and this was apportioned between two Frenchmen, a Cockney gunner, and myself.

Anxious to keep our spirits up, the kindly Yankee driver said, "Cheer up! I'll soon get you there and see you put right," and as if to prove his words he rushed the ambulance off at express speed, with the result that in a few moments he knocked down a pedestrian.

A short rest whilst he adjusted matters with the unfortunate individual, then off again at breakneck speed.

The Cockney had, up to now, been very quiet, but when our driver barely missed a group of Tommies and in avoiding them ran into a wagon, the Londoner raised himself on his elbow and in a hoarse voice said, "Naw then, Sam, what the 'ell are you playing at? 'Aint yer got enough customers?" —John Thomas Sawyer (8th East Surreys), 88 Wilcox Road, S.W.8.

Truth about Parachutes

Most English balloon observers were officers, but occasionally a non-commissioned man was taken up in order to give him experience.

On one such occasion the balloon burst in the air. The two occupants made a hasty parachute exit from the basket. The courtesy usually observed by the senior officer, of allowing the other parachute to get clear before he jumps, was not possible in this instance, with the result that the officer got entangled with the "passenger's" parachute, which consequently did not open.

Fortunately the officer's parachute functioned successfully and brought both men safely to earth. Upon landing they were rather badly dragged along the ground, being finally pulled up in a bush.

The "passenger," a Cockney sergeant, was damaged a good deal, but upon being picked up and asked how he had enjoyed his ride he answered, "Oh, it was all right, but a parachute is like a wife or a toof-brush – you reely want one to yourself." —Basil Mitchell (late R.A.F.), 51 Long Lane, Finchley, N.3.

The Linguist

An Indian mule driver had picked up a German hand grenade of the "potato masher" type, which he evidently regarded as a heaven-sent implement for driving in a peg. Two Tommies tried to dissuade him, but, though he desisted, he was obviously puzzled. So one of the Cockneys tried to explain. "Vous compree Allah?" he asked, and raised his hand above his head. Satisfied that the increasing look of bewilderment was really one of complete enlightenment, he proceeded to go through a pantomime of striking with the "potato masher" and, solemnly pointing in turn to himself, to the Indian, and to his companion, said: "Moi, vous, and 'im – avec Allah." —J. F. Seignoir (Lt., R.A.), 13 Moray Place, Cheshunt, Herts.

Billiards isn't all Cannons

My regiment was in action on the Marne on September 20, 1914. We had been hammering, and had been hammered at, for some hours, until there were very few of us left, and those few, being almost all of them wounded or short of ammunition, were eventually captured and taken behind the German lines.

As we passed their trenches we saw a great number of German wounded lying about.

One of our lads, a reservist, who was a billiards marker in Stepney, although badly wounded, could not resist a gibe at a German officer.

"Strewth, Old Sausage and Mash," he cried, "your blokes may be good at the cannon game, but we can beat yer at pottin' the blinkin' red. Look at yer perishin' number board" (meaning the German killed and wounded). And with a sniff of contempt he struggled after his mates into captivity. —T. C. Rainbird (late Pte., 1st West Yorks), 41 Cavalry Crescent, Eastbourne, Sussex.

Run? – Not Likely

It was the beginning of the spring offensive, 1918, and the 2nd Army Gun School, Wisques, was empty, as the men had gone into the line. A handful of Q.M.A.A.C. cooks were standing by.

I sent two little Cockney girls over to the instructors' château to keep the fires up in case the men returned suddenly. I went to the camp gate as an enemy bombing plane passed over. The girls had started back, and were half-way across the field. The plane flew so low that the men leaned over the side and jeered at us.

I held my breath as it passed the girls – would they shoot them in passing? The girls did not hasten, but presently reached me with faces as white as paper.

"Why didn't you run?" I said.

"Lor', mum," came the reply, "yer didn't think as 'ow we was a-goin' ter run with them there Germans up there, did ye? Not much!" —C. N. (late U.A., Q.M.A.A.C.), Heathcroft, Hampstead Way, N.W.

At "The Bow Bells" Concert

Whilst having a short spell away from the front line I attended a performance given in Arras by the divisional concert party, "The Bow Bells."

During one of the items a long-range shell struck the building, fortunately without causing any casualties among the audience.

Although front-line troops are not given to "windiness," the unexpectedness of this unwelcome arrival brought about a few moments' intense silence, which was broken by a Cockney who remarked, "Jerry would come in wivvaht payin'." —L. S. Smith (late 1-7 Middlesex Regt., 56th Division, B.E.F.), 171 Langham Road, N.15.

A Bomb and a Pillow

During part of the war my work included salving and destroying "dud" shells and bombs in the back areas. On one occasion in an air-raid a "dud" bomb glanced through the side of a hut occupied by some fitters belonging to an M.T. section of R.E.'s.