Fanny Goes to War | Page 8

pass unless the laisser passer was produced. Some of those barriers
were quite tricky affairs to drive through in a big ambulance, and
reminded me of a gymkhana! It was quite usual in those days to be
stopped by a soldier waiting on the road, who, with a gallant bow and
salute, asked your permission to "mount behind" and have a lift to so
and so. In fact, if you were on foot and wanted to get anywhere quickly
it was always safe to rely on a military car or ambulance coming along,
and then simply wave frantically and ask for a lift. Very much a case of
share and share alike.
We passed many regiments riding along, and very gay they looked with
their small cocked caps and tassels that dangled jauntily over one eye
(this was before they got into khaki). The regiments were either French
or Belgian, for no British were in that sector at this time. Soon we
arrived at the picturesque entry into Dunkirk, with its drawbridge and
mediæval towers and grey city wall; here our passes were again
examined, and there was a long queue of cars waiting to get through as
we drew up. Once "across the Rubicon" we sped through the town and
in time came to Furnes with its quaint old market place. Already the

place was showing signs of wear and tear. Shell holes in some of the
roofs and a good many broken panes, together with the general air of
desertion, all combined to make us feel we were near the actual fighting
line. We learnt that bombs had been dropped there only that morning.
(This was early in 1915, and since then the place has been reduced to
almost complete ruin.) We sped on, and could see one of the famous
coastal forts on the horizon. So different from what one had always
imagined a fort would look like. "A green hill far away," seems best to
describe it, I think. It wasn't till one looked hard that one could see
small dark splotches that indicated where the cannon were.
A Belgian whom we were "lifting" ("lorry jumping" is now the correct
term!) pointed out to us a huge factory, now in English hands, which
had been owned before the war by a German. Under cover of the
so-called "factory" he had built a secret gun emplacement for a large
gun, to train on this same fort and demolish it when the occasion arose.
At this point we saw the first English soldiers that day in motor boats
on the canal, and what a smile of welcome they gave us!
Presently we came to lines of Belgian Motor transport drawn up at the
sides of the road, car after car, waiting patiently to get on. Without
exaggeration this line was a mile in length, and we simply had to crawl
past, as there was barely room for a large ambulance on that narrow
and excessively muddy road. The drivers were all in excellent spirits,
and nodded and smiled as we passed--occasionally there was an
officer's car sandwiched in between, and those within gravely saluted.
About this time a very cheery Belgian artillery-man who was
exchanging to another regiment, came on board and kept us highly
amused. Souvenirs were the aim and end of existence just then, and he
promised us shell heads galore when he came down the line. On
leaving the car, as a token of his extreme gratitude, he pressed his
artillery cap into our hands saying he would have no further need of it
in his new regiment, and would we accept it as a souvenir!
The roads in Belgium need some explaining for those who have not had
the opportunity to see them. Firstly there is the _pavé_, and a very
popular picture with us after that day was one which came out in the

Sketch of a Tommy in a lorry asking a haughty French dragoon to
"Alley off the bloomin' pavee--vite." Well, this famous _pavé_ consists
of cobbles about six inches square, and these extend across the road to
about the width of a large cart--On either side there is mud--with a
capital M, such as one doesn't often see--thick and clayey and of a
peculiarly gluey substance, and in some places quite a foot deep. You
can imagine the feeling at the back of your spine as you are squeezing
past another car. If you aren't extremely careful plop go the side wheels
off the "bloomin' pavee" into the mud beyond and it takes half the
Belgian Army to help to heave you on to the "straight and narrow" path
once more.
It was just about this time we heard our first really heavy firing and it
gave us a queer thrill to