"If I've got to be killed I'll die fighting, not digging."
It was with these words on his lips that Private "Todger" Jones leaped
from the British trenches.
This is the spirit of the soldier who killed several Boches, and by
a wondrous piece of bluff, combined with consummate valor, took no
fewer than a hundred and two Germans as prisoners. One of the most
highly-placed men in London has described it as "the doughtiest deed of
the war," and the description is fully merited.
It was with the object of obtaining the story first-hand from Private
Jones's own lips that the writer visited the little Cheshire town of
Runcorn, a place proud of its historic traditions, but prouder still of
Jones, V.C.
Brown-eyed, lithe, clean-cut, and on the slim side is "Todger," keenly
intelligent, with a streak of fatalism in his composition that has
sustained him through untold trials, modest as the true hero always is,
humorously tolerant of the worship he is commanding, lavish in praise
of his comrades, yet reluctant to speak of himself.
"Surely," said he, "there has been 'nuff said,' more than enough, of
a thing that was done on the spur of the moment by a man who kept his
head and knew how to use his gun. But if you want to know what I did,
let the official account speak for me."
And "Todger" handed the cold, matter-of-fact narrative set forth in the
_London Gazette_ as follows:--
The Victoria Cross has been conferred upon Private Thomas Alfred
Jones (11000), Cheshire Regiment, for most conspicuous bravery.
He was with his company consolidating the defences in front of
a village, and, noticing an enemy sniper at two hundred yards
distance, he went out, and, though one bullet went through his
helmet and another through his coat, he returned the sniper's
fire and killed him. He then saw two more of enemy firing at him,
although displaying a white flag. Both of these he also shot. On
reaching the enemy trench he found four occupied dug-outs and,
single-handed, disarmed one hundred and two of the enemy, including
three or four officers, and marched them back to our lines through
a heavy barrage. He had been warned of the misuse of the white flag
by the enemy, but insisted on going out after them.
"Won't that fill the bill?" observed Jones, but when told that our
readers wanted the story in full, and that it ought to be set down for
the benefit of posterity, he resigned himself with a sigh. Then, with
a smile like a benediction, he spoke as follows:--
It was on September 25th that we took a village that I am forbidden
to mention by name, and were just beginning to dig ourselves in near
a wood, when bullets commenced to whiz past us, wounding one of our
men in the head, and making things decidedly uncomfortable. I felt the
bullets ping-pinging by me, and I said to the officer, "They're going
to make it hot for us, sir, if we don't get after 'em. Can I get out
and have a packet at them?"
"My orders are to consolidate this position," replied the officer.
"You must not go an inch farther, and you had better get on with your
digging."
And dig I did, but as I got up again I saw a chap hit through the head
and another through the thigh. Looking ahead, I saw what appeared to be
a white flag, and that fairly riled me. My dander was up, and I shouted
to the officer, "What do you think of that, sir?"
"You must get on with your digging, Jones," said he; but up I jumped,
and called out, "If I've got to be killed I'll die fighting, not
digging."
I waited no longer, but dragged out my rifle, flung down my entrenching
tool, jumped out of the trench, and went across. The Huns were a couple
of hundred yards away, and they could see me coming. One bullet went
"sss" through my steel helmet and four more through my jacket. There
was a sniper in a tree, but I soon counted him out. On I went, and
reached a "bay," or traverse, leading to the German trench. There were
three men in it, but, jumping in at the end of the trench, I had only
one at a time to deal with. I got my back to the wall, and they whipped
round on me. I always believe in firing from the hip, and very quickly
number one dropped dead.
Before the next man could recover his senses I had shot him as well,
slipped another cartridge in the breech, and got the old magazine
going on the third at a yard range. The other men fired at me from the
entrance to the dug-outs, but I managed to "get there" first every
time, which is a great thing in jobs of that kind. In the second
traverse there were five chaps standing behind one another. One of them
made for me with his bayonet, but I bowled him over like the others by
the old trick of shooting from the hip.