Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Over the Top -- Chapter XXII -- November 30, 2016


Arthur Guy Empey was a member of the US Cavalry who resigned to volunteer for the British Army during World War One. He was wounded during the Battle of the Somme. When the US entered the war, he tried to rejoin the US Army, but was rejected because of his wounds and possibly because of some disparaging comments about American draftees. He wrote a book, Over the Top, about his experiences during the war. With the 100th anniversary of the war, I thought it might be interesting to post his story. Empey later became a prolific pulp magazine author, a movie star and producer, and a playwright. 

From "Tommy's Dictionary of the Trenches" by Empey:   
Elephant Dugout. A large, safe, and roomy dugout, braced by heavy steel ribs or girders.

CHAPTER I -- From Mufti to Khaki
CHAPTER II -- Blighty to Rest Billets
CHAPTER III -- I Go to Church
CHAPTER IV -- Into the Trench
CHAPTER V -- Mud, Rats and Shells
CHAPTER VI -- "Back of the Line"
CHAPTER VII -- Rations
CHAPTER VIII -- The Little Wooden Cross

CHAPTER IX -- Suicide Annex  CHAPTER X -- "The Day's Work" 

CHAPTER XX -   Chats With Fritz
CHAPTER XXI -  "About Turn"

  

CHAPTER XXII
PUNISHMENTS AND MACHINE-GUN STUNTS

SOON after my arrival in France, in fact from my enlistment, I had found that in the British Army discipline is very strict. One has to be very careful in order to stay on the narrow path of government virtue.

There are about seven million ways of breaking the King's Regulations; to keep one you have to break another.

The worst punishment is death by a firing squad or "up against the wall" as Tommy calls it.

This is for desertion, cowardice, mutiny, giving information to the enemy, destroying or willfully wasting ammunition, looting, rape, robbing the dead, forcing a safeguard, striking a superior, etc.

Then comes the punishment of sixty-four days in the front-line trench without relief. During this time you have to engage in all raids, working parties in No Man's Land, and every hazardous undertaking that comes along. If you live through the sixty-four days you are indeed lucky.

This punishment is awarded where there is a doubt as to the willful guilt of a man who has committed an offence punishable by death.

Then comes the famous Field Punishment No. I. Tommy has nicknamed it "crucifixion." It means that a man is spread-eagled on a limber wheel, two hours a day for twenty-one days. During this time he only gets water, bully beef, and biscuits for his chow. You get "crucified" for repeated minor offences.

Next in order is Field Punishment No. 2.

This is confinement in the "Clink," without blankets, getting water, bully beef, and biscuits for rations and doing all the dirty work that can be found. This may be for twenty-four hours or twenty days, according to the gravity of the offence.

Then comes "Pack Drill" or Defaulters' Parade. This consists of drilling, mostly at the double, for two hours with full equipment. Tommy hates this, because it is hard work. Sometimes he fills his pack with straw to lighten it, and sometimes he gets caught. If he gets caught, he grouses at everything in general for twenty-one days, from the vantage point of a limber wheel.

Next comes "C. B." meaning "Confined to Barracks." This consists of staying in billets or barracks for twenty-four hours to seven days. You also get an occasional Defaulters' Parade and dirty jobs around the quarters.

The Sergeant-Major keeps what is known as the Crime Sheet. When a man commits an offence, he is "Crimed," that is, his name, number, and offence is entered on the Crime Sheet. Next day at 9 A.m. he goes to the "Orderly Room" before the Captain, who either punishes him with "C. B." or sends him before the O. C. (Officer Commanding Battalion). The Captain of the Company can only award "C. B."

Tommy many a time has thanked the King for making that provision in his regulations.

To gain the title of a "smart soldier," Tommy has to keep clear of the Crime Sheet, and you have to be darned smart to do it.

I have been on it a few times, mostly for "Yankee impudence."

During our stay of two weeks in rest billets our Captain put us through a course of machine-gun drills, trying out new stunts and theories.

After parades were over, our guns' crews got together and also tried out some theories of their own in reference to handling guns. These courses had nothing to do with the advancement of the war, consisted mostly of causing tricky jams in the gun, and then the rest of the crew would endeavor to locate as quickly as possible the cause of the stoppage. This amused them for a few days and then things came to a standstill.

One of the boys on my gun claimed that he could play a tune while the gun was actually firing, and demonstrated this fact one day on the target range. We were very enthusiastic and decided to become musicians.

After constant practice I became quite expert in the tune entitled All Conductors Have Big Feet.

When I had mastered this tune, our two weeks' rest came to an end, and once again we went up the line and took over the sector in front of G---- Wood.

At this point the German trenches ran around the base of a hill, on the top of which was a dense wood. This wood was infested with machine guns, which used to traverse our lines at will, and sweep the streets of a little village, where we were billeted while in reserve.

There was one gun in particular which used to get our goats, it had the exact range of our "elephant" dugout entrance, and every evening, about the time rations were being brought up, its bullets would knock up the dust on the road; more than one Tommy went West or to Blighty by running into them.

This gun got our nerves on edge, and Fritz seemed to know it, because he never gave us an hour's rest. Our reputation as machine gunners was at stake; we tried various ruses to locate and put this gun out of action, but each one proved to be a failure, and Fritz became a worse nuisance than ever. He was getting fresher and more careless every day, took all kinds of liberties, with us,—thought he was invincible.

Then one of our crew got a brilliant idea and we were all enthusiastic to put it to the test.

Here was his scheme:

When firing my gun, I was to play my tune, and Fritz, no doubt, would fall for it, try to imitate me as an added insult. This gunner and two others would try, by the sound, to locate Fritz and his gun. After having got the location, they would mount two machine guns in trees, in a little clump of woods, to the left of our cemetery, and while Fritz was in the middle of his lesson, would open up and trust to luck. By our calculations, it would take at least a week to pull off the stunt.

If Fritz refused to swallow our bait, it would be impossible to locate his special gun, and that's the one we were after, because they all sound alike, a slow pup-pup-pup. Our prestige was hanging by a thread. In the battalion we had to endure all kinds of insults and fresh remarks as to our ability in silencing Fritz. Even to the battalion that German gun was a sore spot.

Next day, Fritz opened up as usual. I let him fire away for a while and then butted in with my "pup-pup-pup-pup-pup-pup." I kept this up quite a while, used two belts of ammunition. Fritz had stopped firing to listen. Then he started in; sure enough, he had fallen for our game, his gun was trying to imitate mine, but, at first he made a horrible mess of that tune. Again I butted in with a few bars and stopped. Then he tried to copy what I had played. He was a good sport all right, because his bullets were going away over our heads, must have been firing into the air. I commenced to feel friendly toward him.

This duet went on for five days. Fritz was a good pupil and learned rapidly, in fact, got better than his teacher. I commenced to feel jealous. When he had completely mastered the tune, he started sweeping the road again and we clicked it worse than ever. But he signed his death warrant by doing so, because my friendship turned to hate. Every time he fired he played that tune and we danced.

The boys in the battalion gave us the "Ha! Ha!" They weren't in on our little frame-up.

The originator of the ruse and the other two gunners had Fritz's location taped to the minute; they mounted their two guns, and also gave me the range. The next afternoon was set for the grand finale.

Our three guns, with different elevations, had their fire so arranged, that, opening up together, their bullets would suddenly drop on Fritz like a hailstorm.

About three the next day, Fritz started "pup-pupping" that tune. I blew a sharp blast on a whistle, it was the signal agreed upon; we turned loose and Fritz's gun suddenly stopped in the middle of a bar. We had cooked his goose, and our ruse had worked. After firing two belts each, to make sure of our job, we hurriedly dismounted our guns and took cover in the dugout. We knew what to expect soon. We didn't have to wait long, three salvos of "whizz-bangs" came over from Fritz's artillery, a further confirmation that we had sent that musical machine-gunner on his westward bound journey.

That gun never bothered us again. We were the heroes of the battalion, our Captain congratulated us, said it was a neat piece of work, and, consequently, we were all puffed up over the stunt.

There are several ways Tommy uses to disguise the location of his machine gun and get his range. Some of the most commonly used stunts are as follows:

At night, when he mounts his gun over the top of his trench and wants to get the range of Fritz's trench he adopts the method of what he terms "getting the sparks." This consists of firing bursts from his gun until the bullets hit the German barbed wire. He can tell when they are cutting the wire, because a bullet when it hits a wire throws out a blue electric spark. Machine-gun fire is very damaging to wire and causes many a wiring party to go out at night when it is quiet to repair the damage.

To disguise the flare of his gun at night when firing, Tommy uses what is called a flare protector. This is a stove-pipe arrangement which fits over the barrel casing of the gun and screens the sparks from the right and left, but not from the front. So Tommy, always resourceful, adopts this scheme. About three feet or less in front of the gun he drives two stakes into the ground, about five feet apart. Across these stakes he stretches a curtain made out of empty sandbags ripped open. He soaks this curtain in water and fires through it. The water prevents it catching fire and effectively screens the flare of the firing gun from the enemy.

Sound is a valuable asset in locating a machine gun, but Tommy surmounts this obstacle by placing two machine guns about one hundred to one hundred fifty yards apart. The gun on the right to cover with its fire the sector of the left gun and the gun on the left to cover that of the right gun. This makes their fire cross; they are fired simultaneously.

By this method it sounds like one gun firing and gives the Germans the impression that the gun is firing from a point midway between the guns which are actually firing, and they accordingly shell that particular spot. The machine gunners chuckle and say, "Fritz is a brainy boy, not 'alf he ain't."

But the men in our lines at the spot being shelled curse Fritz for his ignorance and pass a few pert remarks down the line in reference to the machine gunners being "windy" and afraid to take their medicine.

Next: CHAPTER XXIII --Gas Attacks and Spies

Monday, November 28, 2016

Fidel Casro -- November 28, 2016

www.listal.com

Fidel Castro is dead.  I have always had mixed feelings about him.  Cuba has universal health care, near-universal literacy and very good levels of infant survival.  On the other hand, he imposed a rigid authoritarian regime with little or no regard for human life.  The United States of America has supported many repressive regimes which have done worse than Cuba.  I remember stories that the Giants had offered him a contract as a pitcher, but it probably did not happen.  The world might have been a different place if it had...

Friday, November 25, 2016

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Thanksgiving 2016 -- November 24, 2016

www.coverbrowser.com
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.  I'm grateful for health and life, my family, and my coworkers.

The 26-November-1943 cover of The Saturday Evening Post features a painting by Joseph Christian Leyendecker.Note that the bald displayed on the Great Seal of the United States is replaced by a plucked turkey.  While the eagle holds an olive branch and a bundle of arrows, the turkey carries a carving knife and fork. 

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Ralph Branca, RIP -- November 23, 2016


On 03-October-1951, at the Polo Grounds in New York City, Bobby Thomson of the Giants hit the Shot Heard 'Round the World to beat the Dodgers and complete the Miracle at Coogan's Bluff.  Ralph Branca, who delivered the pitch, has died.  “A guy commits murder and he gets pardoned after 20 years. I didn’t get pardoned.” 

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

"Death Ends All" for Jack London, Daring Novelist -- November 22, 2016

Seattle Star, 23-November-1916

100 years ago today, on 22-November-1916, writer Jack London died at his ranch in Glen Ellen, California.  For many years, people said his death was a suicide because of ill-health, but it was probably a result of sickness, alcoholism and an accidental overdose of morphine.  His was the first case I can remember reading of someone who died as an atheist.  I spent a lot of time thinking about it, especially when we visited his resting place, under a big rock at Glen Ellen.  The two finished novels would have been Jerry of the Islands and Michael, Brother of Jerry.  Two unfinished novels printed after London died are Hearts of Three and The Assassination Bureau, Ltd, but neither is set in Hawaii.  In any event, he wrote a lot and did a lot in his life.  This article is from the 23-November-1916 Seattle Star.  

 "DEATH ENDS ALL" FOR JACK LONDON, DARING NOVELIST

Body of Writer, Who Die. Suddenly, Will Be Cremated, According to Wish, Without Prayers or Ceremony of Any Kind.

SANTA ROSA. Nov, 21.— Without ceremony of any kind, the body of Jack London, novelist and adventurer, who died at his Glen Ellen ranch suddenly last night, will be cremated at noon tomorrow at the Oakland crematory.

No minister or priest will pronounce a benediction, no prayers will be said, no choir will sing a requiem.

Believing that death ends all and that there is no hereafter, London often said that when he died he wished to be cremated and buried without ostentation His wishes will be carried out.

Only his wife. daughter and sister will accompany the body to the crematory.  His mother. Mrs Flora
London is seriously ill in her Oakland home and has not yet been informed of her son's death

London's secretary estimated that the novelist's income from his writings at the time of his death averaged about 20 cents a word.  He habitually wrote 1,000 words a day and this would make his annual income about $73,000 a year from new literary work alone.

So far as the secretary knows, the only finished work by London which has not been published are two full novels, two short dog stories and several Hawaiian stories.  Arrangements for publication of these had been concluded at the time of bis death.  London was working on a novel of Hawaiian life, called "Cherry," which was well advanced.  It is understood Mrs. London either will complete the novel herself or will engage some other writer to complete it.

How much other unfinished work London had started is not known.  The novelist's five-year contract with Eastern publishers would have expired nest year.  Recently a representative of an Eastern company was at Glen Ellen to induce London to renew his contract and had purchased railroad tickets and arranged to leave San Francisco next Wednesday for New York to discuss the matter.

He expected to return to Glen Ellen in February, when he hoped to be able to visit either Japan or Norway -- he was undecided which.

London's death was sudden.  Wednesday morning when his Japanese valet went to waken his master be found London unconscious in bed at his Glen Ellen estate near here.  Physicians were summoned who declared London was suffering from a touch of ptomaine poisoning or acute indigestion. London was roused with difficulty but recovered consciousness and then appeared to be recovering rapidly.
This was only a temporary strength, however, and London soon lost consciousness again, never reviving before death, which occurred at 7:45 last night. Attending physicians say he died from gastro-intestinal type of uraemia.

Was 40 Years Old
When London retired Tuesday night he complained of a pain in his stomach but thought it no more than indigestion.

Jack London, who wrote so many tales of adventure, himself had a life story that rivalled that of any of his heroes. Born in San Francisco 40 years ago, as a child he roamed the streets of this city. For several years, up to the age of 10, he lived on ranches. His people moved to Oakland where was educated in the public schools.

He graduated from a grammar school at the age of 15 and immediately entered on a life of wild adventure. Successively he became a salmon fisherman, an oyster pirate and longshoreman and then shipped before the mast. The seven seas he sailed for two years.

 
Tramps Land as "Hobo"
Returning to San Francisco he began a series of land adventures, tramping the whole country over as a vagabond and "hobo." Many times he was jailed as a "vag," but he saw all of the United States and Canada and even roamed about England.

In 1897 he entered Oakland high school but quit "by request," he said, and scenting new adventures in the recently discovered Klondike, went there. His year of life in the Arctic crystallized his literary ideas and furnished the impetus that made his success as a writer sure.

He had written half a dozen books before that but none had attracted attention. Returning from the Arctic he began to pen a series of tales of the Alaskan trails.

Then came "The Call of the Wild," and Jack London leaped into literary fame at a bound. He had found himself and from that time forward he advanced rapidly.

He wrote prolifically, having made it a habit for years to to 1,000 words a day -- no more, no less.

 
Became Gentleman Farmer
Several Years ago London became a "gentleman farmer." He purchased a large estate, Glen Ellen, and there presided over a wonderful ranch. He labeled the valley in which his place was located "The Valley of the Moon," and frequently wrote about it. Recently he spent considerable time in Hawaii where he meant to live part of each year but death interfered with his plans.

London was married twice. His first wife, who was the mother of his two daughters, Bess and Joan, was divorced ten years ago. She was greatly shocked today when informed of her former husband's deth. Several years ago London married again, his wife being the "Charmion" (Charmian - JT) of his books.













Monday, November 21, 2016

Mose Allison and Sharon Jones, RIP -- November 22, 2016


It has been another rough week. First Mose Allison, then Sharon Jones, who was only 60 years old.  I always enjoy hearing Mose Allison on KCSM or anywhere else.


www.listal.com

I have not known about Sharon Jones (and the Dap-Kings) for as long as I have known Mose Allison, but I like their stuff.