Sam enjoys distractions from Gallipoli memories: treats from home and a day trip by train to Cairo featuring a magician who apparently bites the head off a pigeon…

For details of how to buy Sam’s full Memoir in paperback or e-book & excerpted Gallipoli & Somme episode mini-e-books & reader reviews see right-hand column

All proceeds to British Red Cross

For AUDIO excerpts click Here  Join Foot Soldier Sam on Facebook Here

Dear all

A hundred years ago this week… at Verdun, the German Army bombarded the Bois d’Avocourt and Bois De Malancourt areas with 13,000 trench mortar rounds, then their infantry overwhelmed the French defences (March 20). But a couple of days later, when they tried to move on and take nearby Termite Hill, French artillery held them back, they suffered heavy casualties, and reverted to digging in (22).

    In the East, the slaughterous Lake Narach Offensive (initiated March 18, in present-day Belarus) proceeded with a fruitless Russian attack near Riga (Latvia, 21) and a modest success for them the following day, when they took 1,000 prisoners (22). They also added to their many winter/spring advances elsewhere on the Eastern Front (crossing the Dvina at Jacobstadt, Latvia, 21) and down in Turkey where the progress of their Trebizond Campaign took in more territory on the upper Chorok river (Armenia, 26).

    At sea, in the English Channel a German submarine torpedoed the SS Sussex on an apparently civilian ferry crossing from Folkestone to Dieppe; 50 to 100 passengers and crew drowned (March 24). And in the Mediterranean the liner-converted-to-troopship Minneapolis, which had conveyed my father’s Battalion from Mudros, Greece, to Alexandria, Egypt, two months earlier (January 12-14, see Blog 79 January 10, 2016) after they were evacuated from V Beach, Gallipoli, was torpedoed (23). She was sailing from Marseilles to Alexandria with a cargo of horse fodder and only 179 men on board (12 died in the original explosion). She took two days to sink.

    Meanwhile, in Egypt, the 200-odd 2/1st City Of London Battalion Royal Fusiliers comrades who’d come through Gallipoli – plus maybe 50 reinforcements – had a chance to relish their recuperative period on the banks of the Nile and the edge of the Sahara at Beni Salama, 30 miles north-west of Cairo. My father, Lance Corporal Signaller Sam Sutcliffe from Edmonton, north London (still under-age at 17), his older brother Ted (19, lately converted from foot-slogging to horse wrangling), and their mates took every simple pleasure as a blessing…

FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS

Last week, my father wangled ways to escape the attentions of the ’orrible RSM who persecuted him and his fellow Signallers. Then he rather enjoyed encounters with an eccentric NCO who eluded ordinary duties to do oil paintings of the desert and the of new, young Lieutenant determined to brush up their skills on the ancient and, Sam thought, redundant skill of sending messages via heliograph.

    Now he moves on to further fond memories of the Battalion’s short-lived spell of desert R&R:

‘Occasionally, leave of absence for a whole day was granted, so we could spend a few hours in Cairo. Travelling took up much of the time, but on the French-run trains the journey was comfortable – the upholstery rich, floor space ample, and stewards served good cool drinks at low charges – and, at times, enriched by entertainment.

     I had received a parcel from home. In it I found a large, home-made fruit loaf, one of the good things my mother made (you may recall the hard cake with which, as young office workers lunching by the Thames, Ted and I would attempt to down seagulls). A couple of pals I gave some to praised it lyrically.

     The more unexpected items included two light, cotton, faun shirts; I knew I must not be seen wearing them around camp, but I risked it on days off, even accompanied by a pair of light, cotton trousers which I bought off a local for a few piastres. In this garb, I felt like a real dandy and the spice of danger in sporting forbidden gear added to my pleasure. I wore them several times on Cairo visits and got away with it, though surely I must have puzzled one or two Military Policemen.

     A card manipulator and conjuror provided part of the entertainment on the Cairo-bound train. His sleight of hand made cards do all sorts of seemingly impossible things. Standing at one end of the coach, he held all the passengers’ attention — in fact, he eventually discovered playing cards in many of their pockets. Perhaps a confederate had placed them there, but it was all enjoyably mystifying.

     “Before last wonderful trick, you give money, please,” he said and, at a remarkable speed, made the rounds with his little velvet bag. The cash collected must have satisfied him, for he produced a pigeon from beneath his robe. The poor thing struggled as he bit into its neck. Then, with a flourish he held the bird out away from his face and some of its flesh appeared to tear off, a string of it, dripping blood, stretched from the man’s mouth the length of his arm to the bird’s neck. A sickening sight and, of course, his audience recoiled. But, with a loud cry, the man waved a hand and, presto, now the bird looked quite unharmed, restored, and the bloody string had vanished. At which the magician did likewise, probably to give a performance in the next coach.’

All the best – FSS

Next week: The young Lieutenant’s programme of work goes astray and sees Sam’s Signallers under fire again – the “friendly” yet still dangerous kind on a British Army artillery range.