Fanny Goes to War | Page 7

was not at such a high pressure, two of us
went out riding in turns on the sands with one of the Commandants.
Belgian military saddles took some getting used to with the peak in
front and the still higher one behind, not to mention the excessive
slipperiness of the surface. His favourite pastime on the return ride was
to play follow my leader up and down the sand dunes, and it was his
great delight to go streaking up the very highest, with the sand
crumbling and slipping behind him, and we perforce had to follow and
lie almost flat on the horse's backs as we descended the "precipice" the
other side. We felt English honour was at stake and with our hearts in
our mouths (at least mine was!) followed at all costs.
If we were off duty in the evening we hurried back to the "shop
window" buying eggs en route and anything else we fancied for supper;
then we undressed hastily and thoroughly enjoyed our picnic meal
instead of having it in the hospital kitchen, with the sanded floor and
the medley of Belgian cooks in the background and the banging of
saucepans as an accompaniment. Two of the girls kept their billet off
the Grand Place as a permanency. It was in a funny old-fashioned

house in a dark street known universally as "the dug-out"--Madame
was fat and capable, with a large heart. The French people at first were
rather at a loss to place the English "Mees" socially and one day two of
us looked in to ask Madame's advice on how to cook something. She
turned to us in astonishment. "How now, you know not how to cook a
thing simple as that? Who then makes the 'cuisine' for you at home?
Surely not Madame your mother when there are young girls such as
you in the house?" We gazed at her dumbly while she sniffed in disgust.
"Such a thing is unheard of in my country," she continued wrathfully.
"I wonder you have not shame at your age to confess such
ignorance"--"What would she say," said my friend to me when she had
gone, "if I told her we have two cooks at home?"
This house of Madame's was built in such a way that some of the
bedrooms jutted out over the shops in the narrow little streets.
Thompson and Struttie who had a room there were over a Café
Chantant known as the "Bijou"--a high class place of entertainment!
Sunday night was a gala performance and I was often asked to a
"scrambled-egg" supper during which, with forks suspended in mid air,
we listened breathlessly to the sounds of revelry beneath. Some of the
performers had extremely good voices and we could almost, but not
quite, hear the words (perhaps it was just as well). What ripping tunes
they had! I can remember one especially when, during the chorus, all
the audience beat time with their feet and joined in. We were evolving
wild schemes of disguising ourselves as poilus and going in a body to
witness the show, but unfortunately it was one of those things that is
"not done" in the best circles!
CHAPTER III
THE JOURNEY UP TO THE FRONT
Soon my turn came to go up to the trenches. The day had at last arrived!
We were not due to go actually into the trenches till after dark in case
of drawing fire, but we set off early, as we had some distance to go and
stores to deliver at dressing stations. Two of the trained nurses, Sister
Lampen and Joynson, were of the party, and two F.A.N.Y.'s; the rest of

the good old "Mors" ambulance was filled with sacks of shirts, mufflers,
and socks, together with the indispensable first-aid chests and packets
of extra dressings in case of need.
Our first visit was made to the Belgian Headquarters in the town for
our laisser passers, without which we would not be allowed to pass the
sentries at the barriers. We were also given the mots du jour or
pass-words for the day, the latter of which came into operation only
when we were in the zone of fire. I will describe what happened in
detail, as it was a very fair sample of the average day up at the front.
The road along which we travelled was, of course, lined with the
ubiquitous poplar tree, placed at regular intervals as far as the eye could
see. The country was flat to a degree, with cleverly hidden
entrenchments at intervals, for this was the famous main road to Calais
along which the Kaiser so ardently longed to march.
Barriers occurred frequently placed slantwise across the roads, where
sentries stood with fixed bayonets, and through which no one could