Tommy's Ark: Soldiers and Their Animals in the Great War. Richard Van Emden by Richard van Emden Page A
Authors: Richard van Emden
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liable to ‘death or some such less punishment as the Act shall provide’. They talk about it and grumble, and then suddenly, without any warning except a clucking and scratching, the mess sergeant is seen by the greater part of the battalion to issue triumphantly from a farm gate with two or three fat hens under his arms. Smiling broadly, totally ignorant of the enormity of his conduct, he deposits his load in the [officers’] mess cart drawn up to receive the loot! The men did not let the opportunity slip by without giving vent to a lot of criticism.
Pte Harold Harvey, 2nd Royal Fusiliers
The farm was deserted, its lawful owners having found the situation too hot for them. Cows roamed about at random, and so did pigs. But after we had dug ourselves in and made our position secure, the chickens were what interested us most. There were two hundred and fifty of these at the least. Catching them was good sport, but eating them was something finer. What a nice change from bully beef and biscuits. Cooking was not quite à la Carlton or Ritz, but more on prehistoric principles. So many fowls were caught, killed and plucked for cooking and eating that the wet mud was completely covered with feathers and resembled a feather bank. As for ourselves, the feathers sticking to the wet mud on our uniforms and equipment turned us into Zulus, or wild men of the woods. The enemy presumably did fairly well also, with a poultry farm in the distance. They appeared to have a portable kitchen.
Maj. Patrick Butler, 2nd Royal Irish Rgt
There was a dense belt of wood between us and the firing line, and over this the shells came screaming, bursting to the right and left, short and beyond. The enemy’s guns systematically searched up and down and across, and every now and then they would concentrate a crushing fire on some particular spot, generally where there were neither troops nor animals, punching craters in the fields, setting barns and ricks instantaneously alight, and sending up dense clouds of evil, acrid smoke.
Animals that had been left behind when the people of the farm departed so hurriedly were still grazing all over the place, until every now and then a shell would come and send them scampering off to some fresh spot. Pigs and chickens were enjoying a most unwonted degree of freedom, and not being confined within any limits were able to fend for themselves for food. The unfortunate watchdogs were the most to be pitied, for in a great number of cases they had been left to starve on the chain. Our men often tried to release them, but in many cases they had become so fierce that nobody dared approach them.
I remember witnessing an amusing encounter between two diminutive pullets which, quite oblivious of the battle that was taking place all around them, were engrossed in a fight on their own account, gazing into each other’s eyes in that intent way they have when fighting. Perhaps each blamed the other for the noise that was going on.
Trp. Benjamin Clouting, 4th (Royal Irish) Dragoon Guards
On many farms we found a mess, with abandoned animals roaming around, some in a bad state. On one farm, we came across sheds containing several dozen cows all blowing their heads off, desperate to be milked. In their anxiety to clear out, the owners had loaded up their carts and left the animals locked up and unmilked. We were told to go and unchain them and let them out into a field, otherwise they would starve. They were in obvious pain as they came into the yard, their swinging bags so full that milk was actually squirting out.
Maj. Patrick Butler, 2nd Royal Irish Rgt
A shell landed full in the middle of a small circle of piglets. It scattered them in all directions, but not one of them was hurt. I could hear their concerted squeal high above the roar of battle. But we did not like pigs. They roamed at large everywhere, very hungry, and there were stories of their gnawing dead bodies, and even attacking the wounded.
Ravenously
Pte Harold Harvey, 2nd Royal Fusiliers
The farm was deserted, its lawful owners having found the situation too hot for them. Cows roamed about at random, and so did pigs. But after we had dug ourselves in and made our position secure, the chickens were what interested us most. There were two hundred and fifty of these at the least. Catching them was good sport, but eating them was something finer. What a nice change from bully beef and biscuits. Cooking was not quite à la Carlton or Ritz, but more on prehistoric principles. So many fowls were caught, killed and plucked for cooking and eating that the wet mud was completely covered with feathers and resembled a feather bank. As for ourselves, the feathers sticking to the wet mud on our uniforms and equipment turned us into Zulus, or wild men of the woods. The enemy presumably did fairly well also, with a poultry farm in the distance. They appeared to have a portable kitchen.
Maj. Patrick Butler, 2nd Royal Irish Rgt
There was a dense belt of wood between us and the firing line, and over this the shells came screaming, bursting to the right and left, short and beyond. The enemy’s guns systematically searched up and down and across, and every now and then they would concentrate a crushing fire on some particular spot, generally where there were neither troops nor animals, punching craters in the fields, setting barns and ricks instantaneously alight, and sending up dense clouds of evil, acrid smoke.
Animals that had been left behind when the people of the farm departed so hurriedly were still grazing all over the place, until every now and then a shell would come and send them scampering off to some fresh spot. Pigs and chickens were enjoying a most unwonted degree of freedom, and not being confined within any limits were able to fend for themselves for food. The unfortunate watchdogs were the most to be pitied, for in a great number of cases they had been left to starve on the chain. Our men often tried to release them, but in many cases they had become so fierce that nobody dared approach them.
I remember witnessing an amusing encounter between two diminutive pullets which, quite oblivious of the battle that was taking place all around them, were engrossed in a fight on their own account, gazing into each other’s eyes in that intent way they have when fighting. Perhaps each blamed the other for the noise that was going on.
Trp. Benjamin Clouting, 4th (Royal Irish) Dragoon Guards
On many farms we found a mess, with abandoned animals roaming around, some in a bad state. On one farm, we came across sheds containing several dozen cows all blowing their heads off, desperate to be milked. In their anxiety to clear out, the owners had loaded up their carts and left the animals locked up and unmilked. We were told to go and unchain them and let them out into a field, otherwise they would starve. They were in obvious pain as they came into the yard, their swinging bags so full that milk was actually squirting out.
Maj. Patrick Butler, 2nd Royal Irish Rgt
A shell landed full in the middle of a small circle of piglets. It scattered them in all directions, but not one of them was hurt. I could hear their concerted squeal high above the roar of battle. But we did not like pigs. They roamed at large everywhere, very hungry, and there were stories of their gnawing dead bodies, and even attacking the wounded.
Ravenously
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