Tragedy of a Swintonian's Christmas parcel
Feb 23, 2014 17:26:24 GMT
Post by shred on Feb 23, 2014 17:26:24 GMT
TRAGEDY OF A CHRISTMAS PARCEL
The adventures which some Christmas parcels has before reaching men at the front are many and various. For combined tragedy and comedy it would be difficult to beat the experience of a Swinton soldier out in France. His appetite had been whetted by the news that a Christmas parcel was on the way from home containing a freshly cooked chicken and other delicacies, but Christmas Day came and went, and not until December 30th did the long-expected package arrive. This is how he describes it in a letter home: “The D.R. from Division today brought me a much battered parcel, which turned out to be the one with the chicken in it. Of course, knowing how long it had taken to come, I was curious to see how it had fared. After sniffing all round the parcel, I decided to risk opening it without putting on my respirator. Mick (my Irish Chum), was more cautious, and stood as far away as possible, with his revolver ready in case the contents proved to be lively! Well, I cut the string, and on opening the paper, found the all burst, and the inside a regular mix-up of crumbs of cherry cake and nuts. After saving a tin of cream, I recognised, wrapped up in a cloth, the chicken. By this time I began to feel the effects of asphyxiating gas, and was almost putting on my helmet, but on second thoughts decided to chance it. Holding it out as far away as I could (Mick had bunked outside), I cut a little of the cloth away. Phew! What and odour! It has not left my nostrils yet. I dropped the lot and ran, and having gained reinforcements (in the shape of Mick), we both crawled back like a cinema doctors, hoping to take it unawares. A closer look showed the poor chicken to be as green as grass, and jolly near walking. It is a beastly shame for you, as it is for us, that such was the case, and we both bewailed our case. But it could not be helped, so we buried it with military honours in the dust heap. Ah, well! Worse thinks happen at sea, and after all, it was a risk. An air-tight tin would perhaps have done the trick. By the way, card-board boxes are useless to send stuff in out here. They always get crushed.”
(Eccles Journal - Jan 7th 1916)
The adventures which some Christmas parcels has before reaching men at the front are many and various. For combined tragedy and comedy it would be difficult to beat the experience of a Swinton soldier out in France. His appetite had been whetted by the news that a Christmas parcel was on the way from home containing a freshly cooked chicken and other delicacies, but Christmas Day came and went, and not until December 30th did the long-expected package arrive. This is how he describes it in a letter home: “The D.R. from Division today brought me a much battered parcel, which turned out to be the one with the chicken in it. Of course, knowing how long it had taken to come, I was curious to see how it had fared. After sniffing all round the parcel, I decided to risk opening it without putting on my respirator. Mick (my Irish Chum), was more cautious, and stood as far away as possible, with his revolver ready in case the contents proved to be lively! Well, I cut the string, and on opening the paper, found the all burst, and the inside a regular mix-up of crumbs of cherry cake and nuts. After saving a tin of cream, I recognised, wrapped up in a cloth, the chicken. By this time I began to feel the effects of asphyxiating gas, and was almost putting on my helmet, but on second thoughts decided to chance it. Holding it out as far away as I could (Mick had bunked outside), I cut a little of the cloth away. Phew! What and odour! It has not left my nostrils yet. I dropped the lot and ran, and having gained reinforcements (in the shape of Mick), we both crawled back like a cinema doctors, hoping to take it unawares. A closer look showed the poor chicken to be as green as grass, and jolly near walking. It is a beastly shame for you, as it is for us, that such was the case, and we both bewailed our case. But it could not be helped, so we buried it with military honours in the dust heap. Ah, well! Worse thinks happen at sea, and after all, it was a risk. An air-tight tin would perhaps have done the trick. By the way, card-board boxes are useless to send stuff in out here. They always get crushed.”
(Eccles Journal - Jan 7th 1916)