Chapter 5 Continued
After this period or training, interspersed by inspections and reviews by Royalty and dignitaries of varying degrees, the Battalion received orders on September 16, 1915 to move to the Coast for embarkation to France. At this time, we were not experts in the art of moving, nor did we possess, in as large a degree as later, the facilities for evading useless and irritating orders or 'wangling' transport. The efforts of the Commissioned ranks to reduce their personal kits to within the regulations of the meagre thirty-five pounds were stupendous, but were unavailing. The unfortunate other ranks were in no better plight, for all of their worldly possessions had to be packed in kit bags and carried on their backs. Kind friends had showered gifts of supposed necessities: socks, mufflers, balaclavas (knitted caps) upon practically everyone. As such necessities had no allotted place in the regular pack or haversack, all ranks were literally covered with parcels when the move began towards the coast. The normal load which the regulations assigned to the Infantryman was in itself as much as anyone, even in excellent physical condition, could be expected to carry; The addition of even a few pounds in weight made a tremendous difference. The result was that, on our last march from Otterpool to Folkestone, the roads were liberally bestrewn with soldiers' comforts of every description, thrown away for want of someone capable of carrying them. A complete kit of the Infantryman at this period of the War, including Ross Rifle and the regulation quantity of issue ammunition, weighed approximately sixty-two pounds.
On September 16, 1915, having left our Camp and having obtained clearances for all Government property allegedly in our possession, the Battalion formed up late in the afternoon fully equipped for active service. The transport (horse-drawn) had already left two days previously to proceed via Southampton to Le Havre, France while we, the balance of the Unit, were to proceed via Folkestone to Boulogne. Thus it was that we marched away to our destination and a place in the firing-line. Although returning wounded personnel and casualties of other types had been regaling us for months with stories of the horrors of front line service (subsequent experience and investigation proved these to have been the product of the vivid imaginations of these gentry, designed no doubt to get our 'wind up'), nevertheless, their efforts appeared to be useless, for all ranks or the Battalion seemed to be in the best of spirits. While no doubt feeling the seriousness of what lay before, there was over all a pervading cheerfulness which so differentiated the original members of the Battalion from the troops of replacement days. New drafts of later days, when the War had become a deadly struggle in such places as the Somme and the Ypres Salient, with no apparent end in sight and characterized by ever-increasing dreadfulness, could hardly be expected to display such cheerfulness. For us in September 1915, the glamour of War had not, as yet, worn off.
The weather did not favour us for our last march as a Unit in Kent. For the month of September, the day was exceptionally warm and, in the evening, the air seemed to be charged to an extraordinary degree with humidity, making the atmosphere almost unbearable. Although our troops were, by this time, in the pink of condition, seldom were men seen to suffer as they did on that eight mile march through the wooded roads to the sea level and then, along the sea-front road, through the ports of Hythe and Sandgate. To add to the discomfort, our Canadian 'Oliver' leather equipment (to which all ranks had become accustomed) was replaced by new Webb equipment, issued September 15, 1915. No opportunity had been given to the Units personnel to have it properly adjusted, sufficiently to make it fit, in order to enable the men to accustom themselves to marching with it. The stifling heat, the unfamiliar gear and the loads which our men were carrying made this march one long to be remembered. for general discomfort.
In due course, having arrived at the Folkestone pier, word was passed along to all ranks that there would have to be a delay in embarkation. Ultimately, it transpired that there was trouble in the English Channel, making the delay necessary and our embarkation on that night impossible. Orders were then given to bivouac the Unit on Sir John Moore's plain in the Shorncliffe Barracks area. It was pitch dark by this time, an exceptionally black night. While the location of our bivouac destination was known, it was not at all clear regarding the best, means or route to take in order to get there in the darkness. As usual in such circumstances, an optimistic volunteer offered to guide us there by a short route. This so-called short route involved travelling in a circle for several miles and finally reaching our proper destination after having travelled at least three miles further than was necessary. In moving through the narrow streets in the darkness, one-half of the Battalion became separated from the other half and, not knowing where the enthusiastic volunteer had gone taking the other half, was left to find its way as best it might. Later it transpired that the second half, minus the volunteer, had the best of the deal, for, having found that the rest of the Battalion could not be located, it halted at the first convenient spot and bivouaced for the night. On waking in the morning, it discovered the remainder of the Unit only a short distance away. To reach the designated spot, the volunteer's group had travelled several unnecessary miles, whereas the lost remainder had only to walk a few hundred yards. The Volunteer, needless to say, was not very popular. After a long and trying night, no one felt the lack of any of the accustomed comforts, but slept quite readily on the open ground with scanty covering, A few of the days following had to be spent repairing the damage done to feet suffering greatly from the new, British issue (so-called) Ammunition boots, and the marching on the hard, jagged, cobbled roads. It was presume that we would move again during the night but of this no assurance was given. Late in the day however, orders came to embark and, once again, we moved off in the darkness. In due course we found ourselves walking along the dark passages of the Folkestone pier and going on board one of the cross-channel steamers; embarking at long last on our great adventure. The ship was packed with men in every corner. There were no lights showing and the. night was dark as we moved out into the .English Channel, escorted by destroyers on both sides. We now realized that we were heading for the front, though our crossing was quite uneventful. The channel waters were smooth, no discomfort was experienced and about midnight on September 17, 1915 we moved into the harbour of Boulogne. We had come to the land of our hopes and dreams.
From the Official Diary:
The Battalion embarked at Folkestone at 11:45 P.M. on September 17, 1915 and landed at Boulogne, France at 2:30 A.M. on the morning of September 18, 1915.
Lieutenant M.A. Germain of the original officers from the 60th (Moose Jaw) was promoted to the rank of temporary Captain, July 1, 1915.
Continued
