BACK TO THE FRONT.
The Ypres Times.
43
In 1915, my Battalion, after a gruelling time at the Bluff in the Ypres Sector,
was sent back to a nice little village behind the lines for a rest, and whilst we were there,
I had the good fortune to be granted leave to England after having been away from home
some sixteen months.
After a very pleasant and all too short six days in Town, I presented myself at
Folkestone to embark for France. I do not remember whether it was an Army or civilian
official who inspected the return portions of leave warrants in those days, but one of these
gentlemen requested me to satisfy him that I really was one of the troops," and not a
boche in disguise, and straightway, like a good soldier, I proceeded to produce from
my tunic pocket.the necessary evidence of my loyalty to the cause (Remember Belgium,
etc.), when, to my astonishment, I found it had evidently overstayed its leave somewhere.
I tried mv hardest to persuade him that my sole ambition in life was to return to
my unit in France! and to carry on the good work of sharpening my teeth on Army
biscuits and bully-beef, and also that I was most anxious to judge whether the French
beer had deteriorated during my long absence from the land of its birthmy friends
had always said that this was an impossibility.
I pointed out that it was not a penance for me to return and that I should feel very
aggrieved should he decide to send me home again.
As you know, these gentlemen were always very obliging and to save me any in
convenience which might have been entailed in my getting back to Bondon, he took
my name and address (sorry, I mean my name and number, etc.), and sent me to join
the merry throng (I don't think) on the the decks of the good ship which was to bear us
part of the way on our Tour-de-luxe.
My thoughts on the voyage were very sweet I thought of those kindly little attentions
of the R.S.M. which I had missed so much at home, and I thought of the wonderful mud
baths it was so easy to obtain in the trenches, gratis. Then there were also the brilliant
firework displays and the cheery words of the Q.M.S. when one asked for a new shirt or
a pair of boots.
Eventually, I regained my battalion without further mishap and now, no doubt,
you are wondering what the deuce all this rot is about. Well the joke is this After I
had been back some days, I was ordered before the Company Commander, and after
thinking over my misdeeds for the past twenty-four hours, I gave it up. The Captain
looked very stern, and in cutting tones, said "I have a communication here from the
War Office telling me to debit your pay book with £1 odd (I do not remember the exact
amount) as you refused to pay your fare. Have you anything to say
You can imagine my astonishment I couldn't understand what he was driving at,
and then it dawned on me what the fare was for. I explained the circumstances of my
lost return leave warrant and suggested that the reason the War Office had asked him
to debit my account was to save me the trouble of remitting the money to them. I was
almost tempted to ask if that was all, or whether they had also charged me for rations
and equipment loaned to me for the previous sixteen months.
I have always remembered the Captain's final words on that occasion (poor fellow,
he was killed on the Somme later on). He raved and stormed, and just as I was getting
the last piece of cotton-wool into my ears, he said Scandalous, fancy having to pay
to come back to thisgaff. I will write to the War Office at once."
Whether he wrote I do not know, but the fact remains, I paid my fare to go to war.
H. R. COCKFRTON.
