Chapter 2

2

Bonjour France

‘Good Bye-ee, Good Bye-ee’

Wipe the tear, baby dear from your Eye-ee

Though it’s hard to Part, I know

I’ll be tickled to death to go.

POPULAR SONG 1914

Extract from the personal diary of Pte Frederick Gray 204637 of the Kings Own Royal Hampshire Regiment (New Forest Pals.)

May 1916. Somme Valley, France

At last the Western Front - well less than a mile from it. The locals call this place Picardie and although we call it the Somme it is the River Ancre which is closest to our camp and the front lines. In truth I have been here for almost a week and in this country for a little over a month but Eat-Apples may as well have been England as we were never allowed off the camp.

It has been very busy here, early mornings and long working days. Harder than the farm in some ways, although Father would never believe it.

I have decided to keep this diary as often as possible. Now I am a fully fledged Tommy (of a kind) I will have something to write about. I do have to keep my official log, of course. They have told me to make a ‘clear and accurate’ record of all the pictures I take. Everything. But this will be my private account. Which I will carry with me at all times as they are queer about what we can or can’t write to anyone else.

I have special badges sown on my arm and my back which says I am an official photographer. They arrived with a letter and my equipment. The letter, which I am to carry at all times, states I am working for the War Office. This confused me somewhat as that chap. Maddock, in Calais, said he was from the British Topical Committee for War Films. Either way it has been made clear to me that I must get on with my duties and not make much of it to anyone else. I am to hand in the log and the exposed film at the end of each day to an official rider. So far no one has told me where to find him, but I am sure it will all pan out.

I have heard talk of another chap doing similar duties here. He has been going about saying he has permission to do pretty much as he pleases. But I have not met him yet. I hear he may be up at the front line trenches. Getting in everyone’s way no doubt. I am still awaiting permission to move up the line.

I am proud of my duties. As proud as any other soldier here - infantry or cavalryman. To be honest I have spent most of my time here since I arrived doing the work of the average Tommy, Lugging stuff about and getting shouted at. The equipment only arrived yesterday so I had no excuse not to muck in. It’s been hard sweat but everyone is very cheery. It also gave me a good look at British Army organisation at close quarters. There is a certain poetry about it all. Nobody knows what they are doing but everything seems to be getting done.

I admit I was a little put out when they first took the rifle away and gave me a new job. I thought I would no longer be able to do my bit. But I suppose I had a skill they needed so I could hardly refuse. And I can’t say I wasn’t pleased when the camera finally arrived and got me off unloading any more of those shells.

I have been issued with a Pathe Panoramic, brand spanking new with this fancy French lens. It also has the new rolls of film in neat magazines. It makes me smile to think we load magazines and we shoot people - The language of war. I think this camera is going to be a very important weapon here, perhaps the most important.

When Captain Kenton was instructing me he kept saying how the Pathe cost as much as a new Lewis Gun or a day’s supply of 18 pounders. But the punch it would pack was worth a million rounds and a thousand Lee Enfields. He is a good sort, Kenton. He said he was with Kitchener in Khartoum as a war correspondent or something. He had also been in South Africa but he was less inclined to talk about that. He is a quiet, well educated man and I think he was very happy not to be coming with us to France.

I was about to send a report to him asking for more detailed orders (the front line etc) when I got news the film had arrived - and not before time. It came in wrapped in oiled cloth inside boxes of straw. Imagine that, thousands of feet of it as flammable as some of the ordinance which is pouring into this place by the hour. I was told the boxes had arrived just after breakfast yesterday but it took me until nightfall to find them. Some over efficient QMS had stored them away in an armoury shed, thinking it was more modern ammunition for the new machine guns.

So, I am all set. But they say the rest are still short of supplies. It is hard to believe - I have never seen so much equipment. There is enough here to supply a whole city - which is what we have created here. People are wandering about with looks of amazement or confusion on their faces. I suppose many men here have never seen such activity or such spending or such waste. Even I am wide eyed at the sight and I have been to Southampton and Portsmouth and even the ‘Smoke’. They say that by the end of the month there will be one and half million British fighting men here on the Somme. (Thanks to Kitchener)

And of course with all these soldiers it’s not just the machinery of war that they need. Everything is being built here. There are hundreds of livery stables for all the horses, stacks of hay the size of houses, Bakers, Butchers; to cut up the thousands of sides of beef, which arrive in big ice filled trucks. There are even stores which hand out compasses, watches and whistles to anyone who has a slip of paper for them.

There is everything here from delicate measuring instruments to miles of boot string and acres of putties. The list is endless. I am told there is even a blockade or army prison for deserters and spies and Germans who have been captured, but I have not seen this yet. I have seen some German prisoners though - just this morning. They were the first thing I filmed and to a man they seemed very happy to be marching away from the front line with their hands on their heads. Many of them actually smiled at the camera as they passed.

It felt good to see all those Germans being humbled. But I have to say that my joy was short lived as the next thing we filmed was a convoy of about ten trucks trundle through the camp carrying wounded. It’s the first time I had seen casualties, although they also seemed quite cheery leaning over the tailgate and making gestures at us. I thought how unlucky they all were to have to be sent back home. But the Sergeant told me that they were ‘Walking Wounded’. They were here for a while to rest up then it would be back for a stint up the line so I didn’t feel so bad for them after all.

I am not seeing much of the ‘Hobblers.’ I thought we would have been able to stick together more. Now the equipment is here I will be seeing even less of my New Forest Pals. They have been ribbing me about my camera but I tell them that all they are good for is sinking ale at the Hobbler, shovelling horse manure and milking cows. It is all said good spirit and we know what ever our duties we will be facing the enemy side by side. The way I see it there will be some big effort to drive the Hun back from where they came then we will all go home and back to our lives. I know some people will get killed and some poor fellow is sent to meet his maker every day. But it still seems so far away as I sit here writing this journal. And I know that the film I send them will be playing in picture houses back home long before I set foot in Blighty again.

Talking of home we had a wonderful reminder just after I arrived. We were sheltering under our tarpaulin trying to keep the brazier going when three London buses hove into view. They are to be used to carry us about. It caused a few laughs and jokes.

“I say, do you stop at the Savoy?” “No mate, can’t afford to, Hold tight please, Ding Ding.” That sort of thing.

By the time I saw them again they were all painted in the same green as everything else around here. Maybe one of them was the one we all took when we were up in the smoke on leave. It seems funny now. My first trip to London to see all the bright lights and when I get there everything is khaki. Still you get used to that after a while.

I have noticed in the short time I have been here that the sense of urgency is growing day by day. The officers make little scrums by the lorries. They smoke their pipes, look at pieces of paper with serious faces and then point at things in the distance. Some say it is their way of shirking from the hard graft.

I don’t know if that’s fair but it is clear that things have become more business-like in the past few days. When we first arrived there were men in makeshift uniforms – jackets and trousers clearly brought from home. Now, things are taking on a neater more (if you will excuse the pun) uniform shape. At times the whole place resembles a disorganised Arabian bazaar – but without the colours. At other times there is a feeling of determination and ruthless efficiency that fills me with awe. All this is carried out under the watchful eyes and orders of the sergeants. Actually most of them - and the officers - are no older than me and at 24 I am quite an old chap here. It is the sergeants who seem to rule the roost. Many of them are career soldiers, who have seen and survived earlier battles in this war. I get the feeling that without them we would all be a lot of headless chickens running about the farmyard. I try to keep out of their way.

I must not be too critical. Somehow, things really are pulling together and best of all the weather has turned. It was raining the day I arrived, it was raining when I found my billet and it was raining when I was unpacking the camera. Now everything is drying out and I have spent my time writing this sheltered from the evening sun under a poplar. It is still muddy on the lower ground but it is nothing compared to what some of the older boys here say they had to put up with in Flanders. They say it was like living in treacle. Today they have smiles on their faces but I think summer is going to be late this year.

It is evening and I must finish for now. Some officer type has just asked me where my weapon is. I told him I was here to take newsreel but it didn’t seem to impress him. He told me not to be so b-----y stupid, get my rifle and learn how to b-----y salute. Blimey, I better start behaving like a soldier or they will never let me get to the front line. Actually, I think I have just been saved from a serious dressing down by some commotion over by the field hospital. The officer swore again and swaggered off to investigate. I think I better do the same.