The Lancaster news. [volume] (Lancaster, S.C.) 1905-current, 1918-03-26
lover the Top
By An American Soldier
Who Went
ARTHUR GUY EMPEY
Machine Gunner Seroins IN France

(Copyrishs 1911, By Arthur Guy Hmpsy)
A dull rumbling could be heard. The
sun was shining. turned to the man
ION my left and asked, "What's the
noise, Bill?" He did not know, but his
Face was Of pea-green color. Jim.
ION my right, also did not know, but
suggested that "awsk" the sergeant
Coming towards us was an old grlz-
lsled sergeant, properly fed up with
the war, so "awsked" him.
"Think It's going to rain, sergeant? 2"
He looked at me In contempt, and
grunted, "'Ow's 1t a-goin' ter rain with
the bloomin' sun a-shinin'T" 1 looked
guilty.
"Them's the guns up the line, me
Had, and you'll get enough Of 'em be-
fore you gets back to Blighty."
My knees seemed to wilt, and I
iequeaked out n weak "Ohw
Then we started our march up to the
Sline In ten-kilo tricks. After the first
days march we arrived at our rest
lbillets. In France they call them rest
billets, because while in them Tommy
works seven days a week and on the
eighth day Of the week he Is given
twenty-four hours ION his own"
Our billet was a spacious affair, a
large barn on the left side Of the road,
which had one hundred entrances,
ininety-nine for shells, rats, wind and
train, and the hundredth one for Tom
my. 1 was tired out, and using my
Shrapnel-proof helmet (shrapnel proof
until piece Of shrapnel hits it), or
tin hat, for n pillow, lay down in the
straw, and was soon fast asleep.
must have slept about two hours, when
u awoke with a prickling sensation all
lover me. AS thought, the straw had
worked through my uniform. 1 woke
fup the fellow lying on my left, who had
been up the line before, and asked
MIN:
docs the straw bother you, mate?
Hts worked through my uniform and
cant sleep"
In sleepy voice he answered,
THAT amt straw, them's coolies"
From that time on my friends the
''cooties" were constantly with me.
"Cooties," or body lice, are the bane
lof Tommy's existence.
The aristocracy Of the trenches very
seldom call them "cooties," they sneak
Iof them as f1eas.
To an American flea means small
Insect armed with a bayonet, who is
wont to jab 1t into you and then hop
skip and jump to the next place to be
attacked. There is an advantage In
lhaving fleas on you instead Of "cooties"
I'm that In one Of his extended Jumps
isaid flea is liable to land on the fell
low next to you; he has the typical
energy and push of the American,
while the "cootie" has the bulldog
tenacity Of the Englishman; he holds
on and consolidates or digs In until
lhis meal is finished.
There is no way to get rid Of them
permanently. No matter how often
you bathe, and that is not very often.
or how many times you change your
underwear, your friends the "cootles"
are always in evidence. The billets are
infested with them, especially so If
there is straw on the floor.
"a major, two Of them were exploring
their shirts, paying no attention to the
occasional shells which passed over
head. The major was writing letter;
every now and then he would lay aside
his writing-pad, search his shirt for
few minutes, get an inspiration, and
then resume writing. At last he fin
tshed his letter and gave 1t to his run
ner." I was curious to see whether he
was writing to an insect firm, so when
the runner passed me / engaged him
In conversation and got glimpse at
the address on the envelope. 1t was
addressed to Miss Alice Somebody, in
London. The runner" informed me
that Miss Somebody was the majors
sweetheart and that he wrote to her
every day. Just imagine 1t, writing a
love letter during "cOotie" hunt; but
such Is the creed Of the trenches.