25t h Fehttlary, 1915. -THE COMMERCIAL MOTOR4E44
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THE WORKING OF AN M.T. AMM. PARK.
By the Driver of a Signal Lorry.
Here's to the A.S.C.
THE COMMERCIAL MOTOR, itt its "Despatches from the Front," has from time to time pretty well summed up the daily routine of Supply Columns. Ammunition Parks have not been thrown so much in the lime-light, probably because the soldier is more inclined to bestow his praises on the organization which fills his "tummy" rather than on that which fills the magazine of his rifle or the limber of his gun.
In a recent cartoon Mr. Punch showed some mud-covered but cheerful Pommies settling down to a square meal and expressing their appreciation of the Supply service by joining in the grace "For what we are about to receive, here's to the A.S.C." There was just one thing missing from the picture and that was a few cartridges and shells to show that the Ammuni tion Park was not forgotten. • The Work of an Amm. Park.
All this is by way of preface. I am a poor scribe and I simply want to convey that in a few words I am out to switch my headlights on to the Ammunition Park for once in a way and to tell your readers how
ch a column works, as I have seen for myself.
Alone with a Bad Big .end.
A. few days ago, not a hundred Miles from Calais, I was driving a Headquarters Signal lorry and had the had luck to run out a big-rod. Dad oil, I think, did it in. I was r.lone in the open country, except for a column of lorries which I saw about a mile up the road.
The Old Soldier from the L G.O.C.
Leaving my mate in charge, I set out for the column to ask for help. It was a big show, and I was having a look round for a sympathetic soul to hear my story, when I
spotted old •Jimmy Allen, a former mate of mine at the L.G.O. garage at There he was, with three stripes up, strutting about like a turkey cock. He showed all the points of the trained soldier and, though it is 17 years since I said good-bye to Garrison Gunners at Gib, the sight of Jimmy recalled all our old text-book lingo-" Knees straight. Body erect and carried evenly over the thighs, with the shoulders level and square to the front.. Neck erect. Head balanced evenly on the neck and not poked forward" —it all comes back to me as if it were yesterday.
A Cheery Youth Goes for Help.
It didn't take me long to yell out to him and to spin my yarn. Jimmy was real glad to see me and, being one always to act at once, before you could count two twos, he had written a message and sent it off at 30 mile an hour by a cheery looking youth on a motorbike. Jimmy was the show-man born and bred, and I wanted information. So I asked my question and held my tongue after. I knew he'd do all the yapping.
Ammunition Lorries Kept Down Side Roads.
" Tell me, Jim, what sort of a show have you here and how do you work?" I ventured.
"Come and have a walk round and see for yourself and you'll learn mere about us than I could tell you in a month of Sundays. You see we're advocates of open air, there's nothing like it for keeping one fit. We have our lorries conveniently strung out on each branch of the cross-roads. Everything is thus more collected than if we lay in a line one behind the other. The N.C.O.s and men sleep in the lorries and the officers have
little canvas bivouacs which you crawl into on hands and knees. Here are our Headquarters."
Tarpaulin Headquarters.
Following the direction of Jimmy's finger I saw a tat.paulin stretched over a rough frame-work of sticks. The whole was kept from rising in the air with the first gust of wind by a few large stones which anchored the concern to mother earth. The shape of the hut beggars description, as the tarpaulin adapted itself to the lines of its supports which were obviously branches cut off of a particularly crooked tree. It was closed on three sides and open on one.
Juggling with Maps and Papers.
I was about to make a remark when Jimmy again took up his parable, "If you peep round the corner you'll spot the C.O. and his sergeant-major seated on empty bully cases juggling with mysterious maps and papers. The two men with the white bands on their arms standing round the corner are the orderlies, the-y run messages, fetch officers and N.C.O.s • when the C.O. wants them. Yea, the motor-bike's a Douglas ; she doesn't look much like a show model now after five months on the. pave", but she still has a turn .of speed, and you should see her gymnastic feats on a greasy road when' the orderly has been pushed off in a hurry.
"We'll look at the lorries now.
; hold on a minute,d-i'ere comes
despateh, probablya demand for ammunition. We'll hang on' and see What happens." To get a better view we took shelter behind a hedge close by. I believe Jimmy dreaded the C.O.'s eye and was afraid of being caught slacking.
"Someone's Going to Shoot."
The despatch rider roared up the road and, using his feet as a brake fetched his bike up with a click at Headquarters, then, like a taxi driver at home hunting for change irCa very elusive pocket, he began fumbling under his sheepskin and leather jacket. Etentually a. crumpled envelope is produced. The message is extracted, the envelope initialled by the C.O. and returned to the rider, who, accompanied by the roar of an open ex, haust and much blue smoke, streaks away'dOwn the long, whiteroad.
I wa,s too much interested by the atmosnhere of activity under the "shea" to pay much attention to: Jimmy's remark that "somebody wanted ammunition." it seemed obvious. The C.O. was poring alternately over a map and a large
Despatches from the Front
--continued.
notebook. The sergeant-major stood in an attitude of readiness, looking as if on the word he would do the hundred in level time. The • orderly, fearing the worst, let the Douglas down off her stand, injected a few drops of petrol and propped her against the bank.
Starting Away for the Guns.
The suspense lasted, I suppose, three minutes, it was broken at last by a few jerky orders, " Orderly, fetch Mr. X and Sergeant Y." Sergeant-major turn
out these lorries No. a, 57 7, 20 I counted about 20 of them, as the sergeant-major took down the numbers -on a scrap of paper to the C.O.'s dictation.
Having thus cleared the air the C.O. began to write his orders, while we behind: the hedge were watching Tor the results of the speedy departure of the sergeantmajor and orderly. Down the lines there was much winding up, and a steadilF increasing hum could be heard as'ene engine after the other sprang into life. We could see the required vehicles poking their bonnets out of the ranks and, as they got clear, these came lumbering past and halted about 200 yards clear of the column. Mr. X. (the subaltern eommanding No. 1 section) is slow to appear, not so Sergeant Y, who, with his Triumph turning over in free engine, is standing close to Headquarters, awaiting the word "go."
A Universal Coupling.
Poor old X was lying under one of his section lorries giving expert opinion on a universal coupling when he was sent for, and we can see him in the distance wiping his hands-with an oily rag, putting on his "Sam Browne" and shouting for his car all at once. He runs up the road and with a salute and a click of his heels reports, the car following him up ar:; soon as the driver has wound her up.
Alternative Routes.
We are close enough to hear what goes on under the tarpaulin, it was something like this. "Here are your orders You've got your map l Good. They want this stuff in rather a hurry, no open out a, bit, but keep No. 39 in front as she's the slowest. I am giving you an alternative route, as the bridge at MIME on the direct road was blown up and the sappers may not have got the new one fixed up yet. You had better halt the column where the road forks and nip ahead in your car to the bridge, before you decide which road to take. And keep your eye on No. 15, Ales just been overhauled and I'd like to know how she pulls."
The Column Away—
A minute later X is in his car at the head of his convoy, we hear the engines accelerate, they're away, the gears go in one, two, three. The rear is brought up by Sergeant Y, who trundles along on his Triumph in second gear. Probably he's hoping that nothing will happen and render necessary his lightning dash to the head of the column to break the news to his officer.
—in Ten Minutes.
"The whole job has just taken 10 minutes," said Jimmy, producing his turnip, "I've. seen it done in less, but we reckon that moving off 20 lorries in 10 minutes is working at full throttle." I nodded assent and didn't perhaps show my enthusiasm so much as I felt inclined, as my guide was wound up and I wanted to hear more. "We don't work like a supply column," he went on "there they move off each morning one after another like a. flock of sheep, and back they come in the evening to load up at the railway. When that's finished they curl up in their blankets till it's time to begin the round next morning. A man consumes his food, no matter what he's doing, but he doesn't consume his ammunition unless he's. fighting. If they're busy in front we work day and night. If things are quiet, our machines just stand by and wait. You see we've got about 60 lorrie5 standing idle now ; perhaps tonight, when all good people should be asleep, we won't have half a dozen. Some will be on the way to the guns, some returning empty, some gone to the railway to fill up again. Mr. X has a run of eight miles before him to the guns, 28 back to the railway to. load up, arid 20 from there to the Park. As soon as he turns, up here he may have to start again."
Potting at 'Planes.
"Fighting? No, we don't see much ; we're close enough to hear it all, and occasionally a shell bursts uncomfortably close. But as a rule our only show is potting at aeroplanes. It's a sporting sort of amusement, something like shooting flying rooks with a saloon rifle, and you get about the same number of hits in each.
"Come and have a look at the machines. We have about a hundred, divided into four sections, each commanded by a subaltern. Each section is comp osecl of vehicles of the same make. Here's the
Despatches from the Front
—continued.
Leyland section—we call them the
weight carriers.' That's a good old one ; I bet if I could scrape off her coat of green paint you'd recognize her as the brewery wagon that used to deliver the beer at the Pie and Whistle not so long ago ; her neighbour used to carry Hovis bread, hence the enormous body. The next three are subsidy type—they're doing great work out here, but, owing to the W.D. specification for a certain ratio of gears, it takes a man some time before he can change up and down quite sweetly.
Westminster Lorries Could Climb a Telegraph Pole.
"At the end of the line are two Westminster Corporation vehicles., formerly used for collecting street refuse ; you'll notice the small tip body. They each have a 50-horse engine, and could climb a telegraph pole if the wheels would hold. During the retreat they towed two crocks each, and one of them once had three fixed on her stern—it wasn't surprising that when we took down her gearbox afterwards we found the layshaft keys twisted well out of the straight. Mentioned in Despatches.
"The other sections are Daimlers, Karriers , and Thornycrofts. They've all done us very well, though each has its own particular peculiarity. We find that the Thorny certainly holds up well. You can't teach the firm of J.I.T. and Co.' much about machinery, as you'd realize if you had any experience of their marine jobs.
The Crocks were Abandoned.
"You can search the Park from end to end and not find a crock— the real bad ones had to be abandoned during the retreat, the shaky ones have since been dismantled and rebushed from stem to stern, and our deficiencies have been made good by new stuff from home. This country is no place for anything but the best in the lorry line. Poor-class machines show their proper form from the first day, and you can't trust them out of sight except with an escort to tow them home.
The Leyland Lifeboat " Talking of breakdowns, here's our 'lifeboat..' As you see she's a five-ton Leyland. The pick and shovel and tow ropes which are fixed on her sides pretty well hadicate her job. Inside we have skids, jacks, levers, and all sorts of
breakdown gear. In fine weather like this she has a soft job, but when it's wet she's out day and night lifting derelicts out of the mire.
—and its Crew.
"The old campaigner with the row of medals whom you see across the road is her skipper. If you were to climb over the tailboard you'd probably find her crew of four forgetting their cares in sleep. They have cultivated the way of storing up their hours of rest so that they can draw on their ' hump ' when the time comes."
Johnny Walker Still Going Strong.
I wan just about to switch Jimmy on to the question of travelling workshops, when a fine Commer lorry, displaying an illustrated advertisement of Johnny Walker, came puffing along with my old bus in tow. I was loath to miss the finish of my personally-conducted tour, but my load of air-line gear was wanted at Headquarters, so I reluctantly climbed on the box and settled myself at the wheel. As the tow rope tightened Jimmy made a remark about "coming to the Park for decent oil next time." Not being gifted with a ready tongue. I pretended to be absorbed in my steering gear. He knew I heard, though.