OUR SONS
AT WAR
by,
Lee McCollum
1940
We Sail For France
WHEN we landed at Camp Mills we thought that all we had
to do was to lay around and take it easy while we waited
for sailing orders. We got fooled because the first
morning after we had finished breakfast our sergeant came
up to us and said, "Come on suckers, you're on my
detail. Follow me." We followed and found ourselves
headed for the depot, where we were put to work unloading
the box cars which were standing on the sidetrack. We
carried everything from heavy sacks of beans and sides of
meat to barrels of nails. We learned about the work part
of the army, and we slaved at it during the remaining
three day stay there.
It was one of the hottest days on record when we marched
from Camp Mills to the trains that were to take us to the
docks. To help it along, those of us who had joined up in
the Pacific Northwest still wore heavy woolen uniforms.
The army had been too busy to change them for lighter
material more in keeping with the change in climate.
Each man rolled his blankets up in a long thin roll. Then
he put them over the top and the sides of an already
overloaded pack. There was no place left to put our
overcoats. So we put them on our backs! Tie that one if
you can. With the thermometer at 90 in the shade.
After leaving the trains we were loaded on big ferry
boats that took us to Hoboken. There we got our first
glimpse of the ship that was to take us to France.
After three hours of weary waiting we
finally went up the gang plank of our boat, the good ship
Nestor. She had been in service for years as a meat
freighter between Australia and England. John Bull must
have forgotten to clean it before he let Uncle Sam use it
for a transport. It reeked to high heaven of year-old
smells of sheep. Chicago's packing house district was
sweet essence of lilac in comparison.
Our platoon was assigned to bunk in the lowest part of
the hold of the ship. When we reached there we were all
in. We peeled off our overcoats, and about everything
else. The sweat was running off of us in rivelets. But
what a relief to be sitting down again! That night we
laid on the deck of the boat without a stitch on, gasping
for air in that heat-laden atmosphere, and praying that
we would soon be towed out to sea.
Sometime in the middle of the night we felt a cool breeze
blowing. We were moving at last. Then we dozed off and
slept. We awakened early next morning to find ourselves
far from sight of land. Looking about us we found that
our ship was one of some six or eight in the convoy. Each
ship was heavily camouflaged with a bewildering array of
zig-zag designs painted on its sides. The convoy was
flanked on either side by two U.S. Navy destroyers. At
the head of the fleet one of Uncle Sam's battleships
majestically led the way. It was a comforting sight.
For two days the battleship and destroyers stayed with
us. Then, sometime during the night, they left.
That was the time the doughboys began to appreciate the
Navy. Gone was the sense of safety brought by those
heavily-armored fighting ships. Instead we were filled
with fear of the sea and the submarines. Then and there
was born the profound respect we hold for the boys in
blue who man the Navy ships.
THE NAVY TOOK US OVER
The Navy took us over and the Navy brought us back,
Two million doughboys more or less were saved from sub's
attack;
The transports leaving U.S.A.,
would have been but few,
Without that span of navy boys, without their courage
true.
The papers told of battles of doughboys deep in France,
But seldom of the Navy
that patrolled the seas of chance;
Never a word of endless nights that kept us safe from
harm,
How Navy by its ceaseless work was Army's strong right
arm.
The eyes of the nation seemed to be on uniforms of brown,
There was much of hero worship when the soldiers came to
town;
He was praised in every army camp or when on a dress
parade,
Few ever saw the Navy work, or knew of what 'twas made.
The Navy took us over, a dangerous job done well,
The Navy shared war's dangers as it ploughed each ocean
swell;
The Navy was the guardian of plain doughboys like me,
It was the Nation's "Seeing Eye," that kept us
safe at sea.
WELL, we soldier boys don't envy the sailors any more. We
are three days out from shore now and already the list of
sea-sick passengers on our troop transport is a long one.
Our quartet hasn't been able to peep a note up till now.
The name Nestor, which someone gave to this tub we are
sailing on in about the year one, is the right name. It
is a nestor, all right. A nestor of all the rotten smells
my blunt and not too sensitive nose has ever had the
privilege of sniffing. To help it along, the hammocks
where we sleep are placed in two rows, one on top of the
other. The top row bumps the ceiling, and the man
sleeping in the hammock below is bumped by the body of
the man in the top row. Half the night you find yourself
either on the floor or on the way there. It takes a
chimpanzee with an extra strong pair of hands to hang in
one of these canvas bags that are called
"hammocks."
The port holes are kept closed for fear of showing any
light for enemy subs to shoot at. So there we were,
stewing in our own sweat. Between the odor, the heat, and
the lack of air, it was impossible to sleep. To get
relief some of us would gang up in the latrine and swap
yarns. At that it was about the cleanest place on the
ship. If we popped our heads out of the hatch to get a
breath of air, some sailor with a cockney accent would
shove us back and say, "Blymme ... why'nt you
beggars ever stand 'itched?"
The food they served us was something to forget-. Yet it
still sticks in my memory. I've knocked around some in my
time and been in some pretty tough holes, and have seen
food of all kinds, but the very worst of it was a chef's
delight compared to what was rationed out to us on the
Nestor. Bad as it was, the portions were less than half
what they should be for a man on land, much less one at
sea, where appetites increase.
Breakfast and dinner were our heartiest meals. In order
to obtain food we were given ration tickets. Then two or
three men were appointed for ration detail from each
table. These tables seated fourteen to eighteen men. They
would take the tickets and stand in line for hours before
they could cash them in at the food commissary. There
they would receive a certain amount of bread, sugar, tea,
or whatever the slip called for. We were fed mutton,
mutton, and then more mutton for dinner. The meat was old
and strong, and tasted the same, as the ship smelled.
For supper the usual meal was a piece of cheese about the
size of a dollar for each man and some crackers with
plenty of pink tea. Tea that was really pink, and sickly
to smell and taste. Finally complaints were made to our
major and he raised billy hell with the captain of the
ship. After that the food was a little better. But very
little.
Every day we would have three or four life boat drills.
Clang! . . . would go the bell, and we would make a dive
for our life-saving belts, get them around our necks and
start tying them as we ran quickly to our assigned
stations, close to where small boats swung from their
davits. This was to insure our own safety in case we were
attacked by submarines, of which there was an ever
constant menace.
One thing happened during the trip that compensated for
some of the more unpleasant parts of it. The lieutenant
in charge of our platoon was very military and precise.
He was tied up heart and soul in his I.D.R. book. That
was the blue book of Infantry Drill Regulations, and
this lieutenant knew it backward and forward from cover
to cover. Before entering the army via the route of
National Guards, he had been an all-star football player
on one of the California college teams. He was always
rushing about as though he were still carrying the ball.
At the time this incident happened we were far north in
the Atlantic, where it was a common thing to see
icebergs. We had just come through the tail end of a bad
storm. Due to the roughness of the sea some pretty sick
boys answered the bell for life drill. Then this
military-conscious lieutenant would force us to stand at
attention for a minute or two, with the boat rolling,
pitching, and swapping ends. Immediately the sickest of
the boys would have to make for the rail and "heave
Jonah."
During this procedure our lieutenant would look on in a
bored and disdainful way, and start telling them to
"brace up and be men." On this occasion he had
just started to go through his performance when we
noticed that green look coming around his gills. He
started gulping a little and tried to stick it out. But
it was no go, and he headed for the rail. As he hit the
rail he took off his hat and heaved.
Some unfortunate soldier on the deck directly above him
also hit the rail at the same time. Sad to relate, the
lieutenant was on the receiving end of whatever the poor
sufferer on the deck above had to give. To the tune of
our hearty guffaws he dolefully turned over his command
to one of his sergeants. We were beginning to feel that
war had its compensations.
When we were one day out of Liverpool our convoy was met
by two destroyers of the U.S. Navy. Fear of the subs
parted with this thrilling sight, and confidence again
swelled in our breasts. Overhead was an English
"blimp," shaped like a great cigar wrapped in
silver-hued tin foil, following our convoy for miles. As
we drew closer to our destination, we saw the dim outline
of Ireland on the right, and later, Scotland on our left.
We could see the misty clouds hanging close to their
hills and mountains, bringing thoughts of home to us
Pacific Coast boys. Late that night the boat docked at
Liverpool.
ENGLAND
ARRIVING at Liverpool, we wobbled down the gang planks on
the "sea legs" we had acquired during our
thirteen-day trip across the Atlantic. With overloaded
packs on our backs, we formed a ragged line of marching
men, as we went up the cobblestone streets, hundreds of
years old, to the trains waiting to take us across
England.
"Were we all eyes?" I'll tell the world we
were!
Now we were getting our first glimpse of a foreign
country. As we passed the aged, dingy little buildings
along the waterfront, and the quaint "pubs"
that lay enroute to the station, I'll bet our eyes were
as big as apples.
The impressions were fleeting, but lasting. Narrow
streets, funny looking little trams instead of street
cars, ragged civilians near the boat, two wizened old
women selling dried up oranges. Some English soldiers
standing on the sidewalks, watching us go by. Some of
them shouting, "Glad to see you, Yank!" Then
before we knew it we were at the railway station.
Here we got a real surprise as we loaded into the
continental trains, with their odd little individual
compartments holding eight people each. Though we were
exhausted and weak from the effects of the food on the
Nestor, we nevertheless all felt like kings as we looked
out of our own little compartments when the train pulled
out of the station at a high speed, leaving the outskirts
of the famous port of Liverpool behind us.
The trip across England was an "Alice in
Wonderland" adventure to all of us. The factory
districts and towns of Manchester and Leeds, with their
continuous blocks on blocks of red brick houses, was
something new to us. The monotony was broken only by
street separations. The farming country of England and
its quiet and orderly villages left a lasting impression.
There were so many shades of green; the farms were so
small; separated by well-planned and trimmed hedges; they
brought forth many "ah's" of admiration from us
American soldiers, who knew only the wide, sweeping farms
of the West.
Arriving late that night at Winchester, one of the famous
old cities of England, we unloaded from the trains, and
after a brief rest started up the old Roman road built by
Caesar in his invasion of Britain in the year 54 B.C.
Soon we arrived at Camp Winanal Downs. This was a large
English army camp, and there we were well fed, and rested
for three days before leaving for France.
We were given a one day furlough and visited the ancient
and historically interesting sights in Winchester such as
the old church that had stood for hundreds of years and
is of world-wide fame. A British Tommy, who was
convalescing from wounds received in France, offered to
show several of us around. Three of us went with him and
we hired a horse and cart and spent most of the day
riding around in the small villages and farming area
close to the camp. Here we saw thatched houses as old as
the early history of England itself, and many quaint pubs
or taverns, from which hung the swinging brass signs,
telling the name of each pub, such as "The House of
the Lion," etc. These we visited and tasted of the
ale, which was bitter and not to our liking. At the end
of the day we returned to camp and bid our new made
soldier friend goodbye. We offered to pay him for his
courtesy, but he would not have it that way, and said he
had had more fun that day than in any day in years.
After our short rest at the English camp we were again
bound for the front. This time our destination was
Southampton, but a short distance away. Here we were to
embark on the final stretch of our last and most
dangerous sea-going trip. We were to cross the English
Channel to land at Le Havre, France.
At Southampton we embarked on an American ship named the
"Harvard," by coincidence a ship that once I
had ridden when it had traveled American waters. It was
good to see American sailors again. After the trip across
the Atlantic under guidance of the
"Limejuicers" -the English Transports-the sight
of our own American sailors was a welcome one.
The trip to France was a short one, and the crossing was
made over night. Our boat was so crowded that there was
little space in which to lie down and rest. Most of us
sat up and exchanged news of home, and wondered what
France would be like. We passed a ship enroute, with a
great Red Cross on its side in electric lights . . . that
was quite a sight to us, and we
learned that it was a hospital boat bringing home wounded
soldiers.
This gave us something to think about, for now, as we
were nearing the end of our journey, we were learning for
the first time the more serious side of war. Then, with
dawn, our transport landed at the port of Le Havre, and
soon we were to set our feet on French soil.