500 of the Best Cockney War Stories

"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.

This particular bomb (weighing about 100 lb.), on its passage through the hut had torn the corner of a pillow on which the owner's head was lying and carried feathers for several feet into the ground.

We dug about ten feet down and then, as the hole filled with water as fast as we could pump it out, we gave it up, the tail, which had become detached a few feet down, being the only reward of our efforts.

While we were in the midst of our operations the owner of the pillow – very "bucked" at being unhurt after such a narrow shave – came to look on, and with a glance down the hole and a grin at me said, "Well, sir, if I'd known it 'ud give yer so much trouble, I'd 'a caught it!" —Arthur G. Grutchfield (late Major (D.A.D.O.S. Ammn.) R.A.O.C.), Hill Rise, Sanderstead Road, Sanderstead, Surrey.

Athletics in the Khyber Pass

During the Afghan operations I was resting my company on the side of the road at the Afghan entrance to the Khyber Pass. It was mid-day and the heat was terrific, when along that heat-stricken road came a British battalion. They had marched 15 miles that morning from Ali Musfd. Their destination was Landi Kana, five miles below us on the plain.

As they came round the bend a cheer went up, for they spotted specks of white canvas in the distance. Most of the battalion seemed to be on the verge of collapse from the heat, but one Tommy, a Cockney, broke from the ranks and had a look at the camp in the distance, and exclaimed: "Coo! If I 'ad me running pumps I could sprint it!" —Capt. A. G. A. Barton, M.C., Indian Army, "The Beeches," The Beeches Road, Perry Bar, Birmingham.

Jack and his Jack Johnsons

In September 1915 our battery near Ypres was crumped at intervals of twenty minutes by 18-in. shells. The craters they made could easily contain a lorry or two.

One hit by the fifth shell destroyed our château completely. Leaving our dug-outs I found a gunner smoking fags under the fish-net camouflage at Number One gun.

Asked sternly why he had not gone to ground, he replied, "Well, yer see, sir, I'm really a sailor and when the earth rocks with Jack Johnsons I feels at 'ome like. Besides, the nets keeps off the flies." —G. C. D. (ex-Gunner Subaltern, 14th Div.), Sister Agnes Officers' Hospital, Grosvenor Crescent, S.W.1.

Even Davy Jones Protested

Towards the final stages of the Palestine front operations, when Johnny Turk was retreating very rapidly, I was detailed with others to clear and destroy enemy ammunition that had been left behind.

When near the Sea of Galilee there was discovered a dump of aerial bombs, each approximately 25 lb. in weight. Thinking it quicker and attended by less risk than the usual detonation, I decided to drop them in the sea.

About ten bombs were placed aboard a small boat, and I with three others pushed out about two hundred yards. Two of the bombs were dropped overboard without ever a thought of danger when suddenly there was a heavy, dull explosion beneath us, and boat, cargo, and crew were thrown into the air.

Nobody was hurt. All clung to the remains of the boat, and we were brought back to our senses by one of our Cockney companions, who remarked: "Even Davy Jones won't have the ruddy fings." —A. W. Owen (late Corporal, Desert Corps), 9 Keith Road, Walthamstow, E.17.

"Parti? Don't blame 'im!"

One summer afternoon in 1915 I was asked to deliver an official letter to the Mayor of Poperinghe. The old town was not then so well known as Toc H activities have since made it. At the time it was being heavily strafed by long-range guns. Many of the inhabitants had fled.

I rode over with a pal. The door of the mairie was open, but the building appeared as deserted as the great square outside.

Just then a Belgian gendarme walked in and looked at us inquiringly. I showed him the buff envelope inscribed "Monsieur le Maire," whereupon he smiled and said, "Parti."

At that moment there was a deafening crash outside and the air was filled with flying debris and acrid smoke. In a feeling voice my chum quietly remarked, "And I don't blinkin' well blame 'im, either!" —F. Street, 13 Greenfield Road, Eastbourne.