Post by floydragsdale on Aug 2, 2013 20:13:19 GMT -5
The trip, by troop train, from St. Quentin, to Renne, France was approximately a three or four day affair. The journey was considerably delayed at a rail yard in the metropolitan area of Paris. From there we could see several famous sites of the City, the Eifel Tower as well as the Arc de Triumph are two that I recall from memory.
Of course, we rode in Army style, Forty & Eights (forty soldiers or eight mules) boxcars. Nevertheless, the weather was sunny and warm for the entire ride.
Again, somewhere south of Paris, our train was sidetracked for another delay of at least several hours. Also detained, along side of us was a freight train with numerous flat cars attached to it.
With a pause of this sort troops were allowed to be off of the boxcars to stretch their legs and take care of personal chores.
A number of the flat cars along side our troop train had huge vats on them that were about twelve to fifteen feet high.
Curiosity overwhelmed several G.I.’s who, somehow, managed a climb to the top of one of the vats to see if they could discover just what was inside of it. They found a bung near the center of the vat which they managed to pry open. Next, one of the G.I’s, canteen cup in hand, scooped a form of liquid from the vat, brought it to his nose for a whiff and then sipped a sample of it. With a pleasant grin on his face he passed the cup to his buddy whose face lit up like a Christmas tree after he tasted the contents. Wow! What a delightful find; it was sweet red wine.
It wasn’t long before canteen cups were being passed up the Vat like a human conveyer. Before long a line of soldiers, canteen cup in hand, formed along side that flat car.
Production just wasn’t fast enough to suit those who were waiting in line. Consequently, an enterprising, G.I. came to the rescue with an entrenching tool to enlarge the hole on top of the vat. In minutes jerry cans (five Gal. capacity, with a tent rope, could be lowered into the vat. Soon there was plenty of that red stuff for all the troops on the entire troop train.
As the train was entering the main track again the Battalion Commander was doing a strip tease on the top of one of the boxcars.
The vast majority of Soldiers, including the officers, riding in those boxcars were getting tipsy on that red wine.
The forty & eight boxcar that this soldier was riding in, by now, contained two very sober G.I.s; this soldier and one very frightened officer. My justification for being sober is that wine, particularly sweet red wine, is not my cup of tea.
By late afternoon, most of the G.I.’s were plastered and were passing out (falling asleep?) two and three at a time.
The last of those inebriated souls, perhaps two or three of them, determined that they wanted something hot to eat. That called for a bunson burner (small gasoline stove) and a match to lite it with.
My thoughts were that anything to start a fire with, in the hands of a drunk, could be an extremely dangerous weapon. In minutes the boxcar the troops were riding in could look like Haylle’s comet speeding down the tracks.
Much to my relief those drunks attempt to lite that stove failed and they fell asleep in a drunken stupor.
At sunset-time on that troop train, speeding down the tracks, all was quiet, not a creature was stirring - - - not even a mouse.
The next morning the train pulled into Renne, France with boxcars full of hangovers, at least one petrified officer and one thankful to still be alive Soldier, PFC Floyd Ragsdale.
Floyd
424th Regiment
Of course, we rode in Army style, Forty & Eights (forty soldiers or eight mules) boxcars. Nevertheless, the weather was sunny and warm for the entire ride.
Again, somewhere south of Paris, our train was sidetracked for another delay of at least several hours. Also detained, along side of us was a freight train with numerous flat cars attached to it.
With a pause of this sort troops were allowed to be off of the boxcars to stretch their legs and take care of personal chores.
A number of the flat cars along side our troop train had huge vats on them that were about twelve to fifteen feet high.
Curiosity overwhelmed several G.I.’s who, somehow, managed a climb to the top of one of the vats to see if they could discover just what was inside of it. They found a bung near the center of the vat which they managed to pry open. Next, one of the G.I’s, canteen cup in hand, scooped a form of liquid from the vat, brought it to his nose for a whiff and then sipped a sample of it. With a pleasant grin on his face he passed the cup to his buddy whose face lit up like a Christmas tree after he tasted the contents. Wow! What a delightful find; it was sweet red wine.
It wasn’t long before canteen cups were being passed up the Vat like a human conveyer. Before long a line of soldiers, canteen cup in hand, formed along side that flat car.
Production just wasn’t fast enough to suit those who were waiting in line. Consequently, an enterprising, G.I. came to the rescue with an entrenching tool to enlarge the hole on top of the vat. In minutes jerry cans (five Gal. capacity, with a tent rope, could be lowered into the vat. Soon there was plenty of that red stuff for all the troops on the entire troop train.
As the train was entering the main track again the Battalion Commander was doing a strip tease on the top of one of the boxcars.
The vast majority of Soldiers, including the officers, riding in those boxcars were getting tipsy on that red wine.
The forty & eight boxcar that this soldier was riding in, by now, contained two very sober G.I.s; this soldier and one very frightened officer. My justification for being sober is that wine, particularly sweet red wine, is not my cup of tea.
By late afternoon, most of the G.I.’s were plastered and were passing out (falling asleep?) two and three at a time.
The last of those inebriated souls, perhaps two or three of them, determined that they wanted something hot to eat. That called for a bunson burner (small gasoline stove) and a match to lite it with.
My thoughts were that anything to start a fire with, in the hands of a drunk, could be an extremely dangerous weapon. In minutes the boxcar the troops were riding in could look like Haylle’s comet speeding down the tracks.
Much to my relief those drunks attempt to lite that stove failed and they fell asleep in a drunken stupor.
At sunset-time on that troop train, speeding down the tracks, all was quiet, not a creature was stirring - - - not even a mouse.
The next morning the train pulled into Renne, France with boxcars full of hangovers, at least one petrified officer and one thankful to still be alive Soldier, PFC Floyd Ragsdale.
Floyd
424th Regiment
