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Updated: April 30, 2025
"A fair mix-up, it were." "What do you think of the Germans?" There was a chorus of voices. "Not much" "Blighters" "Swine." "Their 'coal-boxes' don't come off half the time," said the R.F.A. man professionally. "And their shrapnel hasn't got the dispersion ours has. Ours is a treat like sugar-loaf." The German gunnery has become deadly enough since then.
I sings out to the F.O. that I was disc , but what wi' the bullets smackin' into the walls, the shells passin' over us, the Coal-Boxes bursting around, an' the trenches belting off at their hardest, the F.O. didn't 'ear me an' I 'ad to crawl up the stairs to 'im. Just as I got to the top a shrap burst, an' the bullets came smashin' an' tearin' down thro' the tiles an' rafters.
'Anyways peaceful, or was you dodgin' the Coal-Boxes this time? 'Not a Coal-Box, or any other box, said the Bombardier, hammering a biscuit to fragments with a rifle-butt. 'An' I 'aven't 'ad a shell drop near me for a week. 'If we keeps on like this, said the Centre Driver, 'we'll get fancyin' we're back on Long Valley man-oovers. 'Wot you grousin' about anyway? remarked the Wheel Driver.
We could not hesitate; we had to take cover, or to be mown down by shot or shell. Then I shall remember the gruesome moment to my dying hour we all leaped into the only available shelter crouching together in the newly-dug graves. We were just in time. Bullets flew past us; the great "coal-boxes" burst without intermission. The uproar was tremendous, beyond anything we had ever heard.
In its dismal dark kitchen we found a knot of workmen gathered together, and heard there were two horses on the premises besides our own. It then occurred to us that we might accomplish the rest of the journey with such sledges as they bring the wood on from the hills in winter, if coal-boxes or boxes of any sort could be provided. These should be lashed to the sledges and filled with hay.
"That," observed Captain Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, "would leave us foot-sloggers to settle our own differences. My opinion is that we should do so with much greater satisfaction to ourselves if we weren't constantly interfered with by coal-boxes and Black Marias." "Still, you can't blame them for loosing off their big guns," contended the fair-minded Bobby. "It must be great sport."
Jack-Johnsons and coal-boxes are two greatly dreaded types of high explosive shells which Tommy would much rather sing about than meet. "Wite," the sergeant said, smiling grimly; "just wite till we reach the end o' this 'ere march! You'll be a-singin' that song out o' the other side o' yer faces."
No more uniform to strap you up after a good dinner; no more shako to squeeze your temples; no more bullets whistling past you; no more 'coal-boxes' to upset your whole system, and every evening a bed, ... a nice bed, ... and to think about nothing!..." "Hush! Listen," said Sister Gabrielle with a finger on her lips. At that moment the noise of the firing became louder.
Before one could say "Here they are!" the rush of much larger projectiles was heard, and in quick succession three heavy shells crashed into the foot of the field, throwing up black columns of smoke. "Those are coal-boxes," continued my tutor; "they used to have four guns in that battery, but they are only using three now."
"Right-O! Myke it weepy now! Slow march!" "I want to go 'ome! I want to go 'ome! Jack-Johnsons, coal-boxes, and shrapnel, oh, Lor'! I don't want to go in the trenches no more. Send me across the sea W'ere the Allemand can't shoot me. Oh, my! I don't want to die! I want to go 'ome!" It is one of the most plaintive and yearning of soldiers' songs.
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