Fritz August Voigt - Combed Out
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Fritz August Voigt >> Combed Out
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Transcriber's notes:
The author is listed as F.A.V. on the original title page. His
full name was Fritz August Voigt, although he chose to be
called Frederick.
Footnotes, being quite brief definitions, have been moved
inline [like this].
COMBED OUT
by
F. A. V.
The Swarthmore Press Ltd.
72, Oxford Street, London, W.1.
1920
CONTENTS
PAGE.
I.--SQUAD DRILL 1
II.--THE FATIGUE PARTY 9
III.--ON DETACHMENT 42
IV.--THE CASUALTY CLEARING STATION 53
V.--WALKING WOUNDED 74
VI.--AIR-RAIDS 90
VII.--THE GERMAN PUSH 109
VIII.--HOME ON LEAVE 127
IX.--ACROSS THE RIDGES 143
X.--THE ARMISTICE 155
"The silent, colossal National Lie that is the support and confederate
of all the tyrannies and shams and inequalities and unfairnesses that
affect the peoples--that is the one to throw bricks and sermons at."
(MARK TWAIN).
COMBED OUT
I
SQUAD DRILL
Our Sergeant looked at us contemptuously and we looked anxiously back at
him. Then he gave his first instructions:
"Now I'm goin' ter show yer 'ow ter do squad drill. It's quite
heasy--yer've only got ter use a bit o' common sense an' do hexac'ly as
I tell yer. Now we'll start wi' the turns. When I gives the order Right
Turn, yer turn ter yer right on yer right 'eel an' yer left toe. When I
gives the order Left Turn, yer turn on yer left 'eel an' yer right toe.
Now just 'ave a try an' see if yer can do it.--Squad!--now when I shouts
Squad it's a word o' warnin', an' it means I want yer ter be ready ter
go through yer evverlutions. Now then, yer s'posed ter be standin' to
attention. That's not the way ter stand to attention--yer want ter use
some common sense--when yer stand to attention, yer stand wi' yer chest
out, yer stomach in, yer 'eads erect an' facin' to yer front, yer
shoulders straight, an' yer 'ands 'angin' down by yer sides wi' yer
thumbs along the seams o' yer trousers. Now then, Squad! Stand at
Ease!... When I gives the order Stand at Ease, yer places yer feet about
eighteen inches apart an' yer clasps yer 'ands be'ind yer backs, yer
right 'and inside yer left, but yer mustn't look round or talk until I
shouts Stand Easy! Now then, Stand at Ease!"
We obeyed the command with fair smartness, only a few stood awkwardly,
not quite knowing what to do with their hands or doubtful whether their
feet were really eighteen inches apart.
"That ain't so bad for a first shot," said the Sergeant, to our great
relief. "Now, remember what I told yer about standin' to attention--when
I gives the order Tshn! yer all springs smartly to attention. Now then,
Squad--Tshn!... No, no, I wants it done smarter'n that. Stand at Ease!
Now then, try agin: Tshn!--No, no, that ain't 'alf smart enough. Try
agin. Stand at Ease!--Tshn! That's a bit better, it wants a lot o'
improvin' though. Still, yer only a lot o' rookeys [recruits] an' yer can't
learn everythink all at once. Now we'll 'ave a bit of a change an' try
the turns."
We turned to the right, the left, and the right-about. We were all
depressed or resentful and thinking of home. We performed the movements
mechanically and repeated the same mistakes time after time. The
Sergeant was losing patience. He glared at us and bawled out his orders.
But the hour came to an end and we were dismissed for breakfast.
The breakfast interval seemed to pass like a flash. We were back on the
parade ground, standing at ease. Another Sergeant approached us and
yelled "Number Four Squad--Tshn!" We sprang to attention and stood
rigidly erect, not daring to move. The roll was called and then the
weary round of drill began again.
We marched up and down in response to commands that were barked at us in
a sharp ringing voice. As the minutes and hours crept along we became
sore-footed and thirsty, for the ground was hard and the sun very hot.
From time to time we were allowed a brief respite. We would then sit
down on the parched grass and feel the stiffness of our limbs and the
burning in our flushed faces.
We learned to "form fours" and to "form two deep." We formed fours again
and again, but someone was sure to make a mistake every time. Our
Sergeant shouted abuse at us, but no one cared. We passed on to other
movements. We "changed direction to the right" or to the left, we
"formed squad," we advanced, we retired, we wheeled and turned and
gyrated. The stultifying occupation dragged on as though it would never
cease. Our sore feet, our aching limbs, the burning sun, and our clothes
clammy with perspiration maddened us. Suddenly the man next to me began
to sniff and a tear rolled down his cheeks. Our Sergeant observed him
and shouted "Halt!" and said:
"Don't take it ter 'eart, yer'll soon get used to it. I know it's bloody
awful at first. Fall out an' sit down a bit."
The man--a tall, elderly fellow, with dark hair and bushy eyebrows--left
the ranks and flung himself down in the grass, sobbing violently.
"Pore bloke, 'tain't orften they're took as bad as that."
Five minutes ago we hated our Sergeant, but this sudden revelation of
humanity on his part changed our attitude so completely that we felt
ready to die for him. Moreover the interruption had distracted us, and
the next half-hour passed very quickly. But gradually our physical
discomfort reasserted itself. When at last the morning's drill was over
we were so dispirited that we hardly felt any relief. We received the
order "Dismiss," and flocked towards the mess-room where we formed a
long queue.
We filed slowly in and passed by a trestle on which three foot-baths
were standing. We held out our plates while a soldier in a grimy uniform
ladled cabbage, meat and a greasy liquid on to them. We sat down on
benches in front of tables that were littered with potato-peel, bits of
fat, and other refuse. We were packed so closely together that we could
hardly move our elbows. The rowdy conversation, the foul language, and
the smacking of lips and the loud noise of guzzling added to the horror
of the meal.
I was so repelled that I felt sick and could not eat. I sat back on the
bench and waited. I observed that the man sitting opposite was watching
me intently. Suddenly he asked: "Don't yer want it, mate?" I said "No,"
whereupon he exclaimed eagerly, "Giss it." A bestial, gloating look came
into his face as he seized my plate and splashed the contents on to his
own, so that the gravy overflowed and ran along the table in a thin
stream. He took the piece of meat between his thumb and his fork and,
tearing off big shreds with his teeth, gobbled them greedily down.
We washed our plates outside the mess-room in a metal bath that held two
or three inches of warm water. Others had used it before us, and it was
thick with grease and little fragments of cabbage and fat were floating
about in it. From a nail in the wall a torn shred of a disused woollen
pant was hanging. It was black and glistening, for it had already been
used times without number. Some of the men wiped their plates on it, but
others preferred to rub them with earth and then clean them with a bunch
of fresh grass from a patch of lawn near by.
Then, to our dismay, the bugle sounded. We were back on the parade
ground, but no Sergeant took charge of us. Instead there appeared a man
without a cap and wearing a jersey. He was of colossal size. He had
coarse, brutal features. He was our physical drill instructor.
He scowled darkly at us for a short while. Then he looked at one man
after the other. His eyes rested on me. I wondered what was the matter.
I was kept in suspense for a brief space and then he roared like a bull,
"Take those bloody glasses orf," as though the wearing of glasses were a
crime against humanity. I took them off and put them into my pocket. The
instructor gave me a savage look and then bawled out a number of
commands in rapid succession--so rapid that we were unable to follow any
of them. We stood still and felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to do.
There was an embarrassing pause, and then he thundered:
"Bloody lot o' fools--gorne to sleep 'ave yer? Don't try any o' yer
tricks on me. I ain't 'avin' any. _I'll_ smarten yer up a bit--by
Gawd--I'll break yer bleed'n' 'earts afore I've done wi' yer--by Gawd I
will. When I tells yer ter do a thing yer've got ter _do_ it, else
there'll be trouble, Gawd strike me blind. Now then, let's see what yer
can do."
He gave his orders more slowly and performed each movement himself while
we imitated him as best we could. We jumped and ran, we bent our bodies,
and threw back our heads, we stretched our arms, we rose on our toes, we
flopped down on to the ground and got up again with lightning rapidity.
We ran to and fro until we were breathless. Mistakes were frequent, and
whenever a mistake was made the instructor would stride up to the
culprit with bared teeth and clenched fist and bellow contemptuous and
filthy abuse at him. Not one of us had the courage to remonstrate.
Suddenly our tyrant looked at his watch, and, to our immense
satisfaction, walked off without saying a word.
We remained standing irresolutely for a while and then sat down on the
grass one after another. It was not long before a Sergeant came up and
said he was going to give us saluting drill.
"On the order 'Right 'and Ser-loot,' yer bring up yer right 'and to the
peak o' yer cap an' turn yer 'ead sharply to yer left an' 'old it there
while I counts six paces. At the end o' the six paces yer cuts yer 'and
away an' brings it smartly dahn ter yer side an' looks to yer front.
Squad--Tshn! By the Right, Quick March!... Right 'and, Ser-loot!"
Up went our right hands and our heads turned smartly to the left, while
the Sergeant shouted, "One, two, three, four, five, six, _Dahn!_"
whereupon we brought our hands smartly down to our sides and turned our
heads to the front again. We marched to and fro saluting imaginary
officers with our left hands, it may have been twenty times, it may have
been fifty, we were so overcome with infinite boredom that we regarded
everything with complete apathy and could not trouble to count. Then,
by way of variety, we saluted with our right hands, and some more dreary
minutes passed by. Then we stood to attention and saluted to the front.
Finally, in order to complete our mastery of the art, each man had to
leave the ranks in turn and salute the Sergeant in passing. Some of us
did so clumsily and incorrectly and were sent back in order to repeat
the performance.
Although each one dreaded his own turn, lest he should make himself look
ridiculous, yet the mistakes made by the others were greatly enjoyed, so
that when five or six men saluted without a single error there was
general disappointment. But consolation was at hand, for the next man
walked past the Sergeant with trembling knees. He was so hampered by
nervous fright that he saluted awkwardly and with the wrong hand. There
was loud laughter and the Sergeant, simulating an outburst of intense
fury, roared at the unfortunate man, "Use a bit o' common sense, can't
yer! Yer in the bleed'n' army now, yer not at 'ome wi' a nurse to look
arter yer! Get back an' bloody well do it agin!" The man's nervousness
increased, his mouth was open and his eyes were staring. With a violent
effort of the will he mastered his fear and saluted correctly although
in a grotesque and ungainly fashion.
We began to pity him, but one of our number, a man with long arms, a low
forehead, and a protruding jaw, shouted, "Make 'im do it agin,
Sergeant."
The Sergeant swung round and bellowed--he was really angry this time:
"What's the matter wi' yer? 'Oo told you to interfere? Mind yer own
bloody business! Come an' do it yerself an' show us what yer made of."
We applauded this utterance, while the nervous individual slunk back in
the ranks, thankful that attention had been distracted from him. The man
addressed stepped out with swaggering alacrity. We hoped he would make a
mistake and were ready to jeer and laugh at him. But to our great
annoyance his salute was perfect, affectedly perfect. As he came back
to the ranks he leered horribly at the Sergeant and then looked at us
with a smirk of triumph and self-congratulation.
More men were called out, one after the other, but as there were no
further displays of pitiable shyness or nervous embarrassment (although
errors were frequent) the proceedings began to bore us intensely, and
once again we counted the minutes and longed for the end of the
afternoon.
The Sergeant's voice was becoming hoarse and he gave us brief intervals
of rest with increasing frequency. Our movements became slower. Our
mistakes, instead of disappearing, became more numerous. Our faces and
necks seemed on fire. They were so sunburnt that to touch them was
acutely painful. Our limbs moved sluggishly and reluctantly. The
Sergeant looked at his watch. "Time yet, Sergeant?" asked someone in a
drawling, agonized voice.
"There's another twenty minutes ter go--we'll risk it though, and knock
orf in ten. Only get along to yer 'uts as soon as I dismiss yer an'
don't show yerselves nowhere, else yer'll get me into trouble."
Our weary spirits were revived a little. The prospect of a quick
termination to our discomforts caused the last ten minutes to pass with
comparative rapidity. We were dismissed for the day, and straggled back
to our huts, too broken in mind and body to think or do anything except
lie down and rest.
So this was our first day in the army. How many more days of drill would
we have to endure? Perhaps we would be sent to the front soon. That
would be a change at least. I tried to visualize the future. What would
actual warfare be like? I thought of bayonet charges and men falling
under machine-gun fire. Then I recollected having heard somewhere that a
soldier can take an active part in a modern war without ever seeing the
enemy, and I imagined a low range of distant hills dotted with little
puffs of smoke. I could not, however, realize the precise mental state
of a soldier under fire, so that none of these pictures seemed
convincing to me. I wondered whether I would be anxious, nervous,
terrified, excited, exuberant, or calm and indifferent in the presence
of danger, but I could not arrive at any conclusion. Even the term
"under fire" conveyed no precise meaning. Nothing I had read about the
present war was of any help to me. The reports of the war-correspondents
in the daily press were so full of obviously false psychology, that I
regarded them as obstacles in the way of a proper understanding of
modern warfare, and no doubt that was partly the object with which they
were written or rather inspired. I knew that within a few weeks I might
be dead or terribly mutilated, but as I could not visualize the precise
circumstances the prospect only filled me with an indefinite uneasiness.
The possibilities before me were too vague and too numerous, and I did
not possess sufficient knowledge to estimate them accurately. I did not
even know whether I would remain in a fighting unit. I hoped we would be
sent to the front soon, for the one thing I feared was a prolongation of
the dreary round of infantry drill. Moreover I was intensely curious as
to the real nature of war and eager to experience new sensations and
conditions. Nevertheless, from time to time I felt a wild desire to run
away and enjoy a few days of freedom, but the realization of the
futility of such a wish always brought on a fit of such black despair
that I tried not to think about it at all.
II
THE FATIGUE PARTY
There was much gaiety amongst us. There was also much gloom and
bitterness. We would often quarrel violently over nothing and enrage
over little inconveniences--intense irritability is the commonest result
of army life. Our morale was dominated by the small, immediate event.
Bad weather and long working hours would provoke outbursts of grumbling
and fretful resentment. A sunny morning and the prospect of a holiday
would make us exuberantly cheerful and some of us would even assert that
the army was not so bad after all. A slight deficiency in the rations
would arouse fierce indignation and mutinous utterances. An extra pot of
jam in the tent ration-bag would fill us with the spirit of loyalty and
patriotism. If an officer used harsh, brutal words we would loathe him
and meditate vengeance. But if an officer spoke to us kindly or did us
some slight service we would call him a "brick," a "toff," or a "sport,"
and overflow with sentimental devotion. It was not difficult to please
us, indeed it was often touching to observe for how small a thing the
men would show the most ardent gratitude and work enthusiastically so as
to show their appreciation. If those with high authority in the army had
only realized the tremendous influence just a little kindness and
consideration had on the morale of the troops, much hatred and
misunderstanding, much useless suffering and humiliation would have been
avoided.
Not that the officer was any worse than the common soldier. In fact, he
was usually better. Most officers, belonging as they did to the
comparatively wealthy and leisured classes, had been able to cultivate
luxuries like good-nature, benevolence and politeness all their lives.
But mere goodness was not sufficient.
Moreover, the very fact that a man possesses authority separates him
from his fellows. How could it be otherwise? What man capable of genuine
friendship could bear to exert authority over his comrades with the
obligation to inflict punishment on them if he should think it
"necessary"? To dominate is worse than to be dominated. The very feeling
that a man has power over others gives him an exaggerated notion of his
own importance and merits, it arouses latent brutality, it fosters
grandiose thinking (that terribly harmful vice of nearly all our
statesmen). Indeed, most of the cruelty and injustice in the world are
due to the demoralizing influence of authority. And that is why there
were some amongst us who would not have accepted promotion whatever
material advantages it might have brought.
How could our officers, seeing that they had authority and did not live
our lives, understand us and treat us as we ought to have been treated,
if they were not men of exceptional imagination, sympathy, and
intuition? We never had an officer who was really a bad man. At heart
they were all good, kindly men--and yet how often we suffered from their
lack of something more than mere goodness!
* * * * *
We were twelve in a tent and going to bed always tried our tempers
severely. Some of us would come in with muddy boots and tread on the
blankets of the others. Those who went to bed early could stretch out
their legs until their feet touched the tent-pole. Those who arrived
later would have to wedge themselves in as best they could and remain
with knees drawn up for the rest of the night--any attempt at forcing
them down would be sure to create a disturbance and lead to a furious
dispute and an exchange of insults and obscenities. When we were all in
bed, no one could stir without causing inconvenience to his neighbours.
A sleepless night, invariably accompanied by the restless impulse to
stir and fidget, was unforgettable misery, but fortunately our work was
so hard that sleepless nights were very rare.
One morning when it was still dark and the others were snoring loudly I
looked at my watch. It was twenty past four. Reveille would be at
half-past five, so I abandoned myself to more than another hour, so I
thought, of delicious indolence. I closed my eyes and was beginning to
doze and dream again when I heard the flop, flop of heavy feet treading
the mud and slush outside. The canvas of the tent was banged violently
and a voice, which I recognized as that of the Police Corporal, shouted:
"Reveille--breakfast at 5 o'clock, parade at 5.30 with haversack
rations."
I started up in dismay and shouted:
"It's an hour too early! What's the matter?"
The Corporal answered resentfully:
"Never mind what's the matter--show a leg, and get a move on!"
He passed on to the next tent and repeated his order, and then to the
next, and so on, until his voice grew faint in the distance.
I was full of vexation at being deprived of the extra hour of sleep. I
could not understand why reveille should be so early, unless it was my
watch that was wrong.
The other men in the tent began to stir. They sat up and groaned and
yawned and stretched out their arms, or turned round impatiently and
went to sleep again. One of them looked at his wrist-watch:
"Gorblimy, 'tain't 'alf-past four--what the bleed'n' 'ell d'they want to
wake us this time of a mornin' for? Some bloody fatigue, I bet yer!"
"Wha', ain't it 'ah'-past five?"
"'Alf-past five be blowed! 'Tain't 'alf-past four!"
"Why can't they let a bloke sleep of a mornin'!--they don't want yer ter
be comfortable, that's what it is. I bet yer me bottom dollar the C.O.
don't get up at this time!--'e don't get up afore ten or eleven, you bet
yer life. 'E 'as eggs an' bacon for 'is bloody breakfast wi' a batman
ter wait on 'im an' put plenty o' bloody sugar in 'is bleed'n' tea! All
'e does is ter shout at us an' tell us orf when we comes back from work.
"Gorblimy--when's this bastard life goin' ter end! When I think o'
Sunday mornin' at 'ome wi' breakfast in bed an' the _News of the World_
wi' a decent divorce or murder, I feel fit ter cry me eyes out. Bloody
slavery, soldierin'! An' what's it all for? Nothin' at all--absolutely
nothin'! Why don't the 'eads come an' bloody well fight it out amongst
theirselves--why don't King George 'ave a go wi' Kaiser Bill? What
d'they want ter drag _us_ out 'ere for ter do their dirty work for 'em?
If I was ter 'ave a row wi' another bloke, I'd take me coat orf an' set
about 'im me bleed'n' self! I wouldn' go an' arst millions an' millions
ter die fur me! I'd fight it out meself, like a man! That's me! That's
'ow I'd do it! Act like a bleed'n' sport, I would--tell yer straight!
Gorblimy--draggin' us out 'ere inter this bloody misery--it makes me
blood boil...."
This fulmination was interrupted by shouts of "Shut up" and "'Old yer
jaw" and "Put a sock in it" and "Let's get a bit o' sleep," but there
was no chance of further sleep. The air was heavy with the rank smell of
stale tobacco. Several men lit cigarettes and the ends glowed in the
darkness, each one illuminating a face as the smoke was drawn in.
Someone lit a candle and the bright flame dazzled us at first. Another
man got up and threw immense black shadows. The recesses of the tent
were full of murky gloom.
"Have a look what the weather's like!"
I raised the flap and peered into the outer darkness. A cold gust of
wind blew in carrying several snowflakes with it.
"It's snowing!"
"Jesus Christ, another day o' misery afore us--when _will_ this life
end!"
I began to dress. I picked up my towel and soap and loosened the flap
once again. I felt I had to go out and wash, for I had not washed at all
on the previous day, fearing the dirty, freezing water and the piercing
wind. I longed to remain in the warm tent, and for a moment I wavered.
Then, with an effort of the will I suppressed the strong temptation, and
squeezing through the tent-opening, I stepped out into the oozy mud. The
black night seemed to weigh heavily on the world. Only here and there
dull glimmering blurs showed that candles were burning in the other
tents.
An icy wind was blowing round me. I was in my shirt sleeves and
regretted not having thrown my great-coat over my shoulders. The cold
made me contract my muscles and draw my breath in sharply between my
teeth. I felt the snowflakes beat gently against my face. I folded my
arms across my chest and found a little protection from the gusts that
seemed to pierce me. My left foot had sunk deeply into the slush. I
pawed the mud with my right in order to find the duckboard. I touched
the edge and stepped firmly upon it. With an effort I dragged the other
foot from the slush. It came out with a loud, sucking squelch, but I
felt it was leaving my boot behind. I let it sink back again and then
freed it with a twist of the ankle.
I could not see the duckboard in the dense gloom. I walked along it
carefully, feeling the edge from time to time. I heard a rapid step
behind me--another man was going to wash; he must have grown accustomed
to the darkness, for he walked along without hesitation. He slowed down
as he approached me. I tried to go faster, but trod on the extreme edge
of the boards. I had to stop for a moment and the man behind me became
impatient and shouted:
"Get a bloody move on, for Christ's sake. It's too cold to wait out here
in this weather."
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