500 of the Best Cockney War Stories

A member of the outgoing company, observing a pal of his with one of these sheets on his head, bawled out: "'Ullo, 'Arry, what'cher doing of?" to which came the laconic reply: "Selling muffins, but I've lost me blinkin' bell." —H. O. Harries, 85 Seymour Road, Harringay, N.8.

The Holiday Resort

Early in October 1915 a half company of the 3rd Middlesex Regiment occupied a front-line sector at Givenchy, known as the "Duck's Bill," which ran into the German line.

In spite of our proximity to the enemy our chief annoyance was occasional sniping, machine gunning, rifle grenades, and liquid fire, for the area had been given over mainly to mining and counter-mining.

It was expected that the "Duck's Bill" would "go up" at any moment, so it was decided to leave only one officer in charge, with instructions to keep every available man engaged either in furiously tunnelling towards the enemy to counter their efforts, or in repairing our breast-works, which had been seriously damaged in a German attack.

My men worked like Trojans on a most tiring, muddy, and gruesome task.

At last we were relieved by the Leicestershire Regiment, and one of my men, on being asked by his Leicester relief what the place was like, replied: "Well, 'ow d'yer spend yer 'olidies, in the country or at the seaside? 'Cos yer gits both 'ere as yer pleases: rabbit 'unting (pointing to the tunnelling process) and sand castle building (indicating the breastwork repairs), wiv fireworks in the evening."

The Leicesters, alas! "went up" that evening. —S. H. Flood (late Middlesex Regiment and M.G.C.), "Prestonville," Maidstone Road, Chatham, Kent.

The "Tich" Touch

We had survived the landing operations at Murmansk, in North Russia, and each company had received a number of sets of skis, which are very awkward things to manage until you get used to them.

On one occasion when we were practising, a "son of London," after repeated tumbles, remarked to his pals, who were also getting some "ups and downs": "Fancy seein' me dahn Poplar way wiv these fings on; my little old bunch of trouble would say, 'What's 'e trying ter do nah? Cut aht Little Tich in the long-boot dance?'" —C. H. Mitchell (late Staff-Sergt. A.S.C.), 7 Kingsholm Gardens, Eltham, S.E.9.

Smart Men All

One of the usual orders had come through to my battalion of the Middlesex Regiment for a number of men to be detailed for extra regimental duties which would be likely to take them away from the battalion for a considerable time. The company I commanded had to provide twenty men.

It was a golden opportunity to make a selection of those men whose physical infirmities were more evident than the stoutness of their hearts. Together with my company sergeant-major I compiled a list of those who could best be spared from the trenches, and the following day they were paraded for inspection before moving off.

As I approached, one of the men who had been summing up his comrades and evidently realised the reason for their selection, remarked in a very audible Cockney whisper, "What I says is, if you was to search the 'ole of Norvern France you wouldn't find a smarter body o' men!" —"Nobby" (late Captain, Middlesex Regiment), Potters Bar, Middlesex.

"You'd Pay a Tanner at the Zoo!"

During the floods in Palestine in 1917 I had to be sent down the line with an attack of malaria. Owing to the roads being deep in water, I was strapped in an iron chair pannier on the back of a camel. My sick companion, who balanced me on the other side of the camel, was a member of the London Regiment affectionately known as the Hackney Gurkhas.

The Johnnie patiently trudged through the water leading the camel, and kept up the cry of "Ish! Ish!" as it almost slipped down at every step.

I was feeling pretty bad with the swaying, and said to my companion, "Isn't this the limit?"

"Shurrup, mate!" he replied. "Yer don't know when yer well orf. You'd 'ave to pay a tanner for this at the Zoo!" —Frederick T. Fitch (late 1/5th Batt. Norfolk Regt.), The Gordon Boys' Home, West End, Woking, Surrey.

Smoking Without Cigarettes

Most ex-soldiers will remember the dreary monotony of "going through the motions" of every movement in rifle exercises.

We had just evacuated our position on the night of December 4-5, 1917, at Cambrai, after the German counter-attack, and, after withstanding several days' severe battering both by the enemy and the elements, were staggering along, tired and frozen and hungry, and generally fed up.

When we were deemed to be sufficiently far from the danger zone the order was given to allow the men to smoke. As practically everyone in the battalion had been without cigarettes or tobacco for some days the permission seemed to be wasted. But I passed the word down, "'C' Company, the men may smoke," to be immediately taken up by a North Londoner: "Yus, and if you ain't got no fags you can go through the motions." —H. H. Morris, M.C. (late Lieut., 16th Middlesex Regt.), 10 Herbert Street, Malden Road, N.W.5.

An Expensive Light

Winter 1915, at Wieltje, on the St. Jean Road. We were on listening post in a shell-hole in No Man's Land, and the night was black.

Without any warning, my Cockney pal Nobby threw a bomb towards the German trench, and immediately Fritz sent up dozens of Verey lights. I turned anxiously to Nobby and asked, "What is it? Did you spot anything?" and was astonished when he replied, "I wanted ter know the time, and I couldn't see me blinkin' watch in the dark." —E. W. Fellows, M.M. (late 6th Battn. D.C.L.I.), 33 Dunlace Road, Clapton, E.5.

Modern Conveniences

A Tommy plugging it along the Arras-Doullens road in the pouring rain. "Ole Bill," the omnibus, laden with Cockneys going towards the line, overtakes him.

Tommy: "Sitting room inside, mate?"

Cockney on Bus: "No, but there's a barf-room upstairs!" —George T. Coles (ex-Lieut., R.A.F.), 17 Glebe Crescent, Hendon, N.W.4.

The Trench Fleet

A certain section of the line, just in front of Levantie, being a comparatively peaceful and quiet spot, was held by a series of posts at intervals of anything up to three hundred yards, which made the task of bringing up rations an unhappy one, especially as the trenches in this sector always contained about four feet of water.

One November night a miserable ration party was wading through the thin slimy mud. The sentry at the top of the communication trench, hearing the grousing, splashing, and clanking of tins, and knowing full well who was approaching, issued the usual challenge, as per Army Orders: "'Alt! 'Oo goes there?"

Out of the darkness came the reply, in a weary voice: "Admiral Jellicoe an' 'is blinkin' fleet." —W. L. de Groot (late Lieut., 5th West Yorks Regt.), 17 Wentworth Road, Golders Green, N.W.11.

The Necessary Stimulant

On the St. Quentin front in 1917 we were relieved by the French Artillery. We watched with rather critical eyes their guns going in, and, best of all, their observation balloon going up.

The ascent of this balloon was, to say the least, spasmodic. First it went up about a hundred feet, then came down, then a little higher and down again.

This was repeated several times, until at last the car was brought to the ground and the observer got out. He was handed a packet, then hastily returned, and up the balloon went for good. Then I heard a Cockney voice beside me in explanatory tones: "There! I noo wot it was all the time. 'E'd forgotten his vin blong!" —Ernest E. Homewood (late 1st London Heavy Battery), 13 Park Avenue, Willesden Green, N.W.2.

A Traffic Problem

A dark cloudy night in front of Lens, two patrols of the 19th London Regt., one led by Lieut. R – , the other by Corporal B – , were crawling along the barbed wire entanglements in No Man's Land, towards each other.

Two tin hats met with a clang, which at once drew the attention of Fritz.

Lieut. R – sat back in the mud, while snipers' and machine-gun bullets whistled past, and in a cool voice said, "Why don't you ring your perishing bell?" —L. C. Pryke (late 19th London Regt.), "Broughdale," Rochford Avenue, Rochford, Essex.

Scots, Read This!

On the afternoon of Christmas Day, 1915, three pipers, of whom I was one, went into the trenches at Loos, and after playing at our Battalion H.Q., proceeded to the front line, where we played some selections for the benefit of the Germans, whose trenches were very close at this point. Probably thinking that an attack was imminent, they sent up innumerable Verey lights, but, deciding later that we had no such intention, they responded by singing and playing on mouth-organs.

Having finished our performance, my friends and I proceeded on our way back, and presently, passing some men of another regiment, were asked by one of them: "Was that you playin' them bloomin' toobs?" We admitted it.

"'Ear that, Joe?" he remarked to his pal. "These blokes 'ave bin givin' the 'Uns a toon."

"Serve 'em right," said Joe, "they started the blinkin' war." —Robert Donald Marshall (late Piper, 1st Bn. London Scottish), 83 Cranley Drive, Ilford.

Met His Match

A London Tommy was standing near the leave boat at Calais, which had just brought him back to France on his way to the firing line. It was raining, and he was trying to get a damp cigarette to draw.

Just then a French soldier approached him with an unlighted cigarette in his hand, and, pointing to Tommy's cigarette, held out his hand and exclaimed "Allumette?"

The Tommy sadly shook hands and replied "Allo, Mate." —A. J. Fairer, Mirigama, Red Down Road, Coulsdon, Surrey.

Why Jerry was "Clinked"

On August 8, 1918, as our battery began the long trail which landed us in Cologne before Christmas we met a military policeman who had in his charge three very dejected-looking German prisoners. "Brummy," our battery humorist, shouted to the red-cap: "'Ullo, Bobby, what are yer clinkin' those poor old blokes for?"

"Creatin' a disturbance on the Western Front," replied the red-cap. —Wm. G. Sheppard (late Sergeant, 24th Siege Bty., R.A.), 50 Benares Road, Plumstead, S.E.18.

Stick-in-the-Mud

We were in reserve at Roclincourt in February 1917, and about twenty men were detailed to carry rations to the front line. The trenches were knee-deep in mud.

After traversing about two hundred yards of communication trench we struck a particularly thick, clayey patch, and every few yards the order "Halt in front!" was passed from the rear.

The corporal leading the men got very annoyed at the all-too-frequent halts. He passed the word back, "What's the matter?" The reply was, "Shorty's in the mud, and we can't get 'im out."

Waiting a few minutes, the corporal again passed a message back: "Haven't you got him out yet? How long are you going to be?" Reply came from the rear in a Cockney voice: "'Eaven knows! There's only 'is ears showin'." —G. Kay, 162 Devonshire Avenue, Southsea, Hants.

"If That can stick it, I can!"

Owing to the forced marching during the retreat from Mons, men would fall out by the roadside and, after a rest, carry on again.

One old soldier, "Buster" Smith, was lying down puffing and gasping when up rode an officer mounted upon an old horse that he had found straying.

Going up to "Buster" the officer asked him if he thought he could "stick it."

"Buster" looked up at the officer and then, eyeing the horse, said: "If that can stick it, I can," and, getting up, he resumed marching. —E. Barwick, 19 St. Peter's Street, Hackney Road, E.2.

Wheeling a Mule

In November '15 we were relieved in the early hours of the morning.

It had been raining, raining most of the time we were in the trenches, and so we were more or less wet through and covered in mud when we came out for a few days' rest.

About two or three kilometres from Béthune we were all weary and fed-up with marching. Scarcely a word was spoken until we came across an Engineer leading a mule with a roll of telephone wire coiled round a wheel on its back. The mule looked as fed-up as we were, and a Cockney in our platoon shouted out, "Blimey, mate, if you're goin' much furver wiv the old 'oss yer'll 'ave to turn it on its back and wheel it." —W. S. (late Coldstream Guards), Chelsea, S.W.3.

Three Brace of Braces

While I was serving with the 58th Siege Battery at Carnoy, on the Somme, in 1916, a young Cockney of the 29th Division was discovered walking in front of three German prisoners. Over his shoulders he had three pairs of braces.

A wag asked him if he wanted to sell them, and his reply was: "No, these Fritzies gets 'em back when they gets to the cage. But while I got their 'harness' they can't get up to any mischief." —E. Brinkman, 16 Hornsey Street, Holloway Road, N.7.

"Bow Bells" Warning

At the beginning of March 1918, near Flesquières, we captured a number of prisoners, some of whom were put in the charge of "Nipper," a native of Limehouse.

I heard him address them as follows: "Nah, then, if yer wants a fag yer can have one, but, blimey, if yer starts any capers, I'll knock 'Bow Bells' aht of yer Stepney Church." —J. Barlow (20th London Regt.), 18 Roding Lane, Buckhurst Hill, Essex.

"'Ave a Sniff"

My father tells of a raw individual from London Town who had aroused great wrath by having within a space of an hour given two false alarms for gas. After the second error everyone was just drowsing off again when a figure cautiously put his head inside the dug-out, and hoarsely said: "'Ere, sergeant, yer might come and 'ave a sniff." —R. Purser, St. Oama, Vista Road, Wickford, Essex.

The Dirt Track

While my regiment was in support at Ecurie, near Arras, I was detailed to take an urgent message to B.H.Q.

I mounted a motor-cycle and started on my way, but I hadn't gone far when a shell burst right in my path and made a huge crater, into which I slipped. After going round the inside rim twice at about twenty-five miles an hour, I landed in the mud at the bottom. Pulling myself clear of the cycle, I saw two fellows looking down and laughing at me.

"Funny, isn't it?" I said.

"Yus, matey, thought it was Sanger's Circus. Where's the girl in the tights wot rides the 'orses?"

Words failed me. —London Yeomanry, Brixton, S.W.

Babylon and Bully

After a dismal trek across the mud of Mespot, my batman and I arrived at the ruins of Babylon. As I sat by the river under the trees, and gazed upon the stupendous ruins of the one-time mightiest city in the world, I thought of the words of the old Psalm – "By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept – "

And this was the actual spot!

Moved by my thoughts, I turned to my batman and said, "By Jove, just think. This is really Babylon!"

"Yes, sir," he replied, "but I'm a-wonderin' 'ow I'm goin' to do your bully beef up to-night to make a change like." —W. L. Lamb (late R.E., M.E.F.), "Sunnings," Sidley, Bexhill-on-Sea.

Twice Nightly

An attack was expected, and some men were kept in reserve in an underground excavation more closely resembling a tunnel than a trench.

After about twenty hours' waiting in knee-deep mud and freezing cold, they were relieved by another group.

As they were filing out one of the relief party said to one of those coming out, "Who are you?"

"'Oo are we?" came the reply. "Cahn't yer see we're the fust 'ouse comin' aht o' the pit?" —K. Haddon, 379 Rotherhithe New Road, North Camberwell, S.E.16.

In Shining Armour

A horrible wet night on the Locre-Dranoutre Road in 1914. A narrow strip of pavé road and, on either side, mud of a real Flanders consistency.

I was on my lawful occasions in a car, which was following a long supply column of five-ton lorries.

I need scarcely say that the car did not try to forsake the comparative security of the pavé, but when a check of about a quarter of an hour occurred, I got down from the car and stumbled through the pouring rain, well above the boot-tops in mud, to the head of the column.

Impasse barely describes the condition of things, for immediately facing the leading lorry was a squadron of French Cuirassiers, complete with "tin bellies" and helmets with horse-hair trimmings.

This squadron was in command of a very haughty French captain, who seemed, in the light of the lorry's head-lamps, to have a bigger cuirass and helmet than his men.

He was faced by a diminutive sergeant of the A.S.C., wet through, fed up, but complete with cigarette.

Neither understood the other's language, but it was quite obvious that neither would leave the pavé for the mud. Did the sergeant wring his hands or say to the officer, "Mon Capitaine, je vous en prie, etc."? He did not. He merely stood there, and, removing his cigarette from his mouth, uttered these immortal words:

"'Ere, ally off the perishing pavé, you son of a knight in shinin' armour!"

And, believe me or believe me not, that is what the haughty one and his men did. —"The Ancient Mariner," Sutton, Surrey.

"A Blinkin' Paper-Chase?"

One pitch black rainy night I was bringing up the rear of a party engaged in carrying up the line a number of trench mortar bombs known as "toffee-apples."

We had become badly tailed-off during our progress through a maze of communication trenches knee-deep in mud, and as I staggered at last into the support trench with my load I spied a solitary individual standing on the fire-step gazing over the parapet.

"Seen any Queen's pass this way?" I inquired.

"Blimey," he replied, apparently fed-up with the constant repetition of the same question, "wot 'ave you blokes got on to-night – a blinkin' piper-chise?" —W. H. Blakeman (late Sergt., Queen's R.W.S. Regt.), 22 Shorts Road, Carshalton.

Biscuits – Another Point of View

In April 1915 my battalion was on the way up to take over a line of "grouse-butts" – there were no continuous trenches – in front of a pleasure resort by the name of Festubert.

Arrived at Gore, a couple of miles or so from the line, we ran into some transport that had got thoroughly tied up, and had a wait of about half-an-hour while the joy-riders sorted themselves out. It was pitch dark and raining hard, and the occasional spot of confetti that came over added very little to the general enjoyment.

As I moved up and down my platoon, the usual profane but humorous grousing was in full spate. At that time the ration arrangements were not so well organised as they afterwards became, and for some weeks the bulk of our banquets had consisted of bully and remarkably hard and unpalatable biscuits. The latter were a particularly sore point with the troops.

As I listened, one rifleman held forth on the subject. "No blinkin' bread for five blinkin' weeks," he wound up – "nothin' but blinkin' biscuits that taste like sawdust an' break every tooth in yer perishin' 'ed. 'Ow the 'ell do they expect yer to fight on stuff like that?" "Whatcher grousin' about?" drawled another weary voice. "Dawgs lives on biscuits, and they can fight like 'ell!" —S. B. Skevington (late Major, 1st London Irish Rifles), 10 Berkeley Street, W.1.

His Bird Bath

A battalion of the Royal Fusiliers (City of London Regiment) was in support, and a private was endeavouring to wash himself as thoroughly as possible with about a pint of water in a mess-tin.

A kindly disposed staff officer happened to come along, and seeing the man thus engaged, said, "Having a wash, my man?"

Back came the reply, "Yus, and I wish I was a blinkin' canary. Could have a bath then." —R. G. Scarborough, 89 Tennyson Avenue, New Maiden, Surrey.

Ducking 'em – then Nursing 'em

After the Cambrai affair of November 1917 our company came out of the line, but we had to salvage some very large and heavy shells.

We had been carrying the shells in our arms for about an hour when I heard a fed-up Cockney turn to the sergeant and say: "'Ere 'ave I been duckin' me nut for years from these blinkin' fings – blimey, and nah I'm nursin' 'em!" —Rfn. Elliott (late 17th K.R.R.C.), 9 Leghorn Road, Harlesden, N.W.

Salonika Rhapsody

Three of us were sitting by the support line on the Salonika front, conditions were fairly bad, rations were short and a mail was long overdue. We were fed-up. But the view across the Vardar Valley was some compensation.

The wadis and plains, studded with bright flowers, the glistening river and the sun just setting behind the distant ridges and tinting the low clouds, combined to make a perfect picture. One of my pals, with a poetic temperament, rhapsodised on the scene for several minutes, and then asked our other mate what he thought. "Sooner see the blinkin' Old Kent Road!" was the answer of the peace-time costermonger. —W. W. Wright, 24 Borthwick Road, E.15.

A Ticklin' Tiddler

In January 1915, near Richebourg, I was one of a ration-party being led back to the front line by a lance-corporal. The front line was a system of breast-works surrounded by old disused trenches filled with seven feet or so of icy-cold water.

It was a very dark moonless night, and near the line our leader called out to those in the breast-works to ask them where the bridge was. He was told to step off by the broken tree. He did so and slid into the murky depths – the wrong tree!

We got him out and he stood on dry (?) land, shining with moisture, full of strange oaths and vowing vengeance on the lad who had misdirected him.

At stand-down in the dawn (hours afterwards) he was sipping his tot of rum. He had had no chance of drying his clothes. I asked how he felt.

"Fresh as a pansy, mate," was his reply. "Won'erful 'ow a cold plunge bucks yer up! Blimey, I feel as if I could push a leave train from 'ere to the base. 'Ere, put yer 'and dahn my tunic and see if that's a tiddler ticklin' me back." —F. J. Reidy (late 1st K.R.R.s), 119 Mayfair Avenue, Ilford.

Biscuits and Geometry

During a spell near St. Quentin our company existed chiefly on biscuits – much to the annoyance of one of our officers, who said he detested dogs' food.

One evening he met the Cockney corporal who had just come up in charge of the ration party.

Officer: "Any change to-night, corporal?"

Corporal: "Yessir!"

Officer: "Good! What have we got?"

Corporal: "Rahnd 'uns instead of square 'uns, sir." —R. Pitt (late M.G.C.), 54 Holland Park Avenue, W.11.

All that was Wrong with the War

Taking up ammunition to the guns at Passchendaele Ridge, I met a few infantrymen carrying duckboards.

My mule was rather in the way and so one of the infantrymen, who belonged to a London regiment, gave him a push with his duckboard.

Naturally, the mule simply let out and kicked him into a shell-hole full of water.

We got the unlucky fellow out, and his first action was to shake his fist at the mule and say: "There's only one thing I don't like in this blinking war and that's those perishin' mules!" —H. E. Richards (R.F.A.), 67 Topsham Road, Upper Tooting, S.W.17.

Not a Single Cockney

In 1917, when we were acting as mobile artillery, we had halted by the roadside to water and feed our horses, and were just ready to move off when we were passed by a column of the Chinese Labour Corps, about 2,000 of them.

After they had all passed, a gunner from Clerkenwell said: "Would yer believe it? All that lot gorn by and I never reckernised a Townie!" —C. Davis (late Sergeant, R.A., 3rd Cavalry Division), 7 Yew Tree Villas, Welling, Kent.

Sanger's Circus on the Marne!

On the way from the Marne to the Aisne in September 1914 the 5th Cavalry Brigade passed a column of Algerian native troops, who had been drawn up in a field to allow us to continue along the nearby road.

The column had all the gaudy appearance of shop windows at Christmas. There were hooded vehicles with stars and crescents blazoned on them, drawn by bullocks, mules, and donkeys. The natives themselves were dressed, some in white robes and turbans, others in red "plus four" trousers and blue "Eton cut" jackets; and their red fezzes were adorned with stars and crescents. Altogether a picturesque sight, and one we did not expect to meet on the Western Front.

On coming into view of this column, one of our lead drivers (from Bow) of a four-horse team drawing a pontoon wagon turned round to his wheel driver, and, pointing to the column with his whip, shouted, "Alf! Sanger's Circus!" —H. W. Taylor (late R.E.), The Lodge, Radnor Works, Strawberry Vale, Twickenham.