On the 8th February, 1917, the 116th Battalion, quartered at Witley Camp, England, was warned to proceed to France on Sunday, 11th February. Everything, in consequence, was hustle and bustle, and the Battalion Orderly Room, which at the best of times is no haven of rest, was inundated with requests for additional information and leave. There was very little information to be got, other than that we were really for duty in France, and absolutely no leave, and so we gradually subsided and commenced preparations for our departure.

The next few days seemed an eternity, for it was greatly feared that, even though we had received official warning for France, the Battalion’s departure might be delayed on account of mumps; at least four huts just now being quarantined with that disease. Notwithstanding many pessimistic prophecies emanating from the M.O. (Capt. James Moore), the fateful day arrived, and the Battalion, less its horses and half the transport section, which had been sent on in advance under Lt. Proctor, entrained at Milford Station at the usual army hour for such operations (1.10 a.m.), one ten ack emma.

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The London and South Western Railway seemed determined to make up for all its past bad behaviour, and by ten o’clock the same morning we were all safely tucked away on board His Majesty’s Transport “Victoria” with part of the 66th Imperial Divisional Headquarters and some drafts. Nothing of any importance happened during the voyage, and no “subs” were sighted, so far as we knew, so that by noon we had arrived at Boulogne. A short march brought us to St. Martin’s Camp, during which we were carefully scrutinized by the inhabitants, who shouted many unintelligible comments at us, but which by the expressions on their faces we interpreted to be of a complimentary nature. A host of small, stockingless boys accompanied us all the way from the boat to the camp, asking the most extraordinary questions in broken English, and generally ending by “cigarette?” or “bully beef?”.

St. Martin’s Camp, situated as it was on the side of a hill, and about five kilometres from Boulogne, did not commend itself to us in any way, and there was nothing of interest there except the odd Y.M.C.A. or Salvation Army Hut. The men slept about ten in a tent and the officers were billeted all together in a kind of barn; blankets and bed rolls were freely distributed, and having vainly applied for leave to visit the City we turned in to dream of our dear ones or to wonder what fate had in store for us during the next few months. There is nothing on earth quite so trying as waiting for[15] orders, especially when confined to a camp like St. Martin’s, but we were not to be kept in suspense very long, for at midnight (which, as has been mentioned before, is about the usual Army hour for such things) orders were received to move, and by 8 a.m., 12th February, the whole Battalion had entrained for a destination “Somewhere in France.”

The poor old despised London and South Western Railway was a perfect paradise to the cattle trucks of this train, but what did anything matter now?

By 8 a.m. the following morning we had detrained at Houdain, at that time the centre of the rest billets occupied by the 3rd Canadian Division, and after staying one night in the village of Divion, where we had our first introduction to Company messing, we finally reached a place called Haillicourt, from where we could hear the guns all day and could see the flares along the front at night—and so the war was getting nearer every minute, or rather we were getting nearer to the war, and strange to tell the nearer we got the better we thought we liked it.

It might be well at this point to state that we were under orders to join the 3rd Canadian Division, and it was generally understood that we were to take the place of the 60th Battalion, which, although the junior Battalion of the 9th Brigade, was held in very high esteem as a fighting unit. The reason given for this most unusual proceeding was that the 60th Battalion, being originally recruited in Quebec, could not get sufficient reinforcements from its own Province, and in conse[16]quence was receiving both officers and men from the Province of Ontario. This method of recruiting was evidently frowned upon by superior authority, and the 116th Battalion had been chosen out of many others in England as an alternative to the 60th Battalion, and as a means of overcoming the Provincial question of reinforcements.

Now, as already stated, the 60th had a wonderful record, and individually they were as fine a lot of men as one could meet anywhere; therefore, it is only natural that the news that they were soon to be broken up should cause consternation in the ranks, not only of the 9th Brigade, but the whole of the 3rd Division; and this did not increase the popularity of the 116th.

(As later pointed out by our C.O., we were not only the “baby” battalion of the Canadian Corps, but we were also the “orphan” battalion.)

In addition to our family troubles we were without field kitchens or transport, which made things far from comfortable, and it is certain that during this period our inexperience proved to be our salvation. We were fresh and eager to do credit to the name of our unit and our Commanding Officer (Col. Sharpe), whose untiring energies had succeeded in gaining a place for us in France; so we dealt with our experiences as we found them and passed through them to others.

Whilst at Haillicourt the Battalion was inspected by Major-General Lipsett, G.O.C. 3rd Division, and by Lieut.-General Sir Julian Byng, G.O.C. Canadian Corps,[17] and after about two weeks’ training in the new platoon formation we were moved to Faucquenheim, in order to be closer to the other battalions of the 9th Brigade. The real reason for this move was made obvious during the next few days when orders were received on the 5th March for the Battalion to be split up in the following manner:—

A. Company was to go to the 58th Battalion;
B. Company to the 60th Battalion;
C. Company to the 43rd Battalion;
D. Company to the 52nd Battalion.

The object of this being to give the Battalion training in actual warfare with men who were already experienced in front line work. Further, each Company was split up so that one platoon was apportioned to each Company of the different Battalions as above, and all that now remained of the youthful 116th was an ardent desire to get through the “baptism of fire” with as much glory and as few casualties as possible.

On the 11th March the 9th Brigade, composed of the 43rd, 52nd, 58th and 60th Battalions, moved into the trenches at the foot of Vimy Ridge, accompanied by their unwelcome but willing guests from the 116th. Apart from working parties and general trench routine, which to the inexperienced is all more or less exciting (especially the working parties), nothing of any great military value was accomplished during this tour, and by the 25th of the month our Battalion was reassembled at old friend Houdain, where the experiences of the past[18] fortnight were feverishly discussed and compared. It was generally conceded that trench warfare had not all the advantages the instructors at Bramshott had claimed for it, and that “Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty” was not such a rotten song after all.

Several of the Companies had encountered mud in the trenches, well over their knees, and, as military overcoats are not constructed for mud wading, a great many of the men in these Companies, following the advice of the “old” soldiers in the Battalions to which they were attached, had cut their coats in accordance, not with orders from the 9th Brigade, but with the depth of the mud encountered. As these tailoring alterations were for the most part made by means of the Service Jack Knife the results were hardly in keeping with (K.R. and O.), and by the look on the C.O.’s face when he inspected the Battalion for the first time after its reassembly at Houdain there was certainly trouble in store for somebody.

The next day saw about 200 brave, but ragged warriors, lined up outside Battalion Orderly Room, awaiting sentence for destroying Government property. The sentences were not severe, but the Battalion tailor had his hands full for a while.