on with the relieving sections. The ground is beginning to dry again and
life becomes more pleasant.
There is great aerial activity and the Hun shoots very much on our roads
and back areas—surely we are not preparing a stunt?
_Sept. 19._ Received orders to return to reserve billets as we are going
out of the line. Spent a busy day handing over work and packing up, as
the whole company moves to-morrow.
_Sept. 20._ Trekked to our new billets in reserve, which are almost out
of the war—even the 60–pounders are well in front of us. Spent a quiet
day making cover for the men, rigging up horse-lines, and generally
settling down. There is more billeting accommodation than we have seen
for months and, greatest joy of all, we can sleep in our pyjamas.
_Sept. 21._ Apparently there is some kind of a stunt coming off, because
we have instructions to rest the men as much as possible and give them
an easy time. Accordingly we do a little drill, paint our transport,
clean rifles and ammunition, overhaul explosives, etc., etc.
There is some fascination about this war game, some inexplicable grip
which it has over us. In spite of everything we have gone through there
is, once more, a thrill of expectation in the air, and the men seem
keener, as though looking forward to something.
No one could hate war more than I do, and yet I would be bitterly
disappointed if sent on leave to-morrow. And if we, of all men, can
still feel moments of exhilaration, can there ever be a League of
Nations?
_Sept. 22._ The usual instruction work and overhauling of equipment.
Orders came through to-day that we are to give the men instruction in
attack, open warfare, and extended order formations. The men enjoy it
and are cheering up tremendously.
There are now several new Divisions in our area, guns are coming forward
and more troops arrive every day, all of them apparently from the south.
They seem fresher and more confident than our own men, but they have
already had the experience of driving Huns before them—we, on the other
hand, have been fighting a losing fight with our backs to the wall for
over seven months. A lot of kilted troops arrived to-day.
_Sept. 23._ Had the men out all day practising attack formations. It is
hard to believe that these fiercely rushing groups of men are the same
troops who were fought to a standstill at Kemmel, and held that
blood-soaked line with such dogged fatalism through the weary summer.
And after two or three days’ rest they are expected to go forward
again—a man must feel proud!
_Sept. 24._ Training hard. In spite of high hopes dashed before, we seem
as keen as ever to make another effort. The atmosphere seems charged
with electricity, more troops are pouring in, and the broad-gauge
railway is up nearly as far as our billets.
Was recommended again for an M.C.—this time due to appear in the King’s
Christmas Honours List.
_Sept. 25._ We are still without orders, but the attack must be near at
hand now—expectation and excitement.
_Sept. 26._ Received preliminary orders that Day and I will take a
section each and join the Artillery Brigades to make roads and bridges
for them in the advance. Two sections remain in reserve under Cooper.
Attack before dawn on the 28th.
Went up to the Brigade to arrange details and went to bed on return.
Roused after an hour’s sleep to go out with a section to repair two
forward bridges near the front line before daybreak.
Got about twenty men and miscellaneous material on to two pontoon wagons
and started out in drizzling rain. I sat in the front of the first
wagon, and as we lumbered off into the dark I fell into a sort of
reverie. I thought lazily of home and of the 28th, and the things it
might mean, and in my mind I went again over the characters of the men,
the good ones and the doubtful ones, and detailed them off for different
jobs—these and a thousand other thoughts wandered idly through my mind,
punctuated by the jolting of the wagon and the barking of the
18–pounders. Then the men began to sing, very quietly and sweetly, and
the rise and fall of their voices seemed to add some special
significance to the night. We made good progress over the bad roads,
stopping occasionally to check our way or adjust a girth.
Now they were singing “Annie Laurie,” and I heard Garner say “Damn”
under his breath. I asked him what was the matter with them to-night,
and he said, “Dunno, sir, but I wish they wouldn’t sing like that.” The
rain had developed into a heavy Scotch mist which swallowed up the lead
driver and the mounted corporal. I shivered under my coat, and felt
unutterably lonely and sad.
At last the wagons stopped and we went forward on foot towards the work.
We bridged three trenches and then came to the main job, a 15–foot span
across a swollen _beek_, and not more than 400 yards from the German
lines. For about an hour the work went quietly and well and we got an
arch across the stream in the form of an old French steel shelter.
Suddenly there was a short, fierce whine, a crash, and a livid burst of
flame right in the party—three more followed almost instantaneously and
then for a second an awful silence. Some one said “Christ!” and began to
cry gently. Five men were killed, three of them practically missing, and
three badly wounded. By a miracle the work was practically undamaged.
We took the casualties to the wagons and returned to the job—how the men
worked there again I shall never know, but they did, and the bridge was
across an hour before dawn. The suddenness of the shock has knocked my
nerves to pieces and even as I write my hand trembles.
Looking back now I can see something unnatural in the whole of that ride
in the pontoons—little details were too impressive, and there was an
almost unhuman beauty in the way they sang that song. I am sure that
some of those men had a vague premonition of what was coming.
_Sept. 27._ Lay down for a few hours after we got back, but was unable
to sleep. At midday I took Nos. 2 and 3 Sections to forward billets at
Pig-stye Farm, and at 5 p.m. No. 3 Section moved out again to join their
Brigade. The company transport and reserve sections arrived about 9 p.m.
Major and I had a final talk together, and I turned in about 11 p.m. I
was nervous and excited, and although very tired, slept but little.
_Sept. 28._ No. 2 Section breakfasted at 2.15 a.m. and were ready on the
road at 3.30. Whilst I was inspecting them the barrage started on our
left for the Belgian attack, and the northern sky was bubbling with
light.
We reached Brigade H.Q. at the château about 5.15 and at 5.30 our
barrage started and the front line troops went over. The scheme was that
we were to go forward at once and make a track passable for 18–pounders
from their present positions up to second jumping-off line. They were
expected to be there about noon and would then be in a position to
support the further advance of the infantry. Everything depended on
getting the field guns forward to support the second attack.
I left the transport at the château under the corporal and led the men
forward towards a half-dried-up canal which was the first break in the
road. It was raining heavily.
It soon became apparent that the Germans were maintaining a barrage on
this side of the canal, and as time was against us we had got to go
through it. It looked rough and ugly and the men were looking at each
other. For a moment I was tempted—we were absolutely alone and it was up
to me—nobody could blame us if we didn’t go through, and in an hour it
would probably have stopped. We were perhaps five hundred yards from the
canal and shells were bursting heavily—there was no cover and at times
the canal banks were obscured by the fumes and smoke from the bursts.
Something outside a man takes hold of him at these times and tells him
what to do. In half a minute I was calmly saying, “Come on,” and the men
were following in single file, about ten paces from man to man. I
thought we should never get across—we tried to run but we kept sticking
in the mud and bunching together—just like a nightmare. Once or twice I
looked round and the men were grand—two fellows were hit and the others
dragged them across—then a third went down and was picked up by the two
behind—eventually we were under the shelter of the canal bank with one
man killed and two wounded. It was great, and after that I felt we could
do anything.
By now we were soaked to the skin, but bunches of prisoners were coming
back and the worst seemed to be over. We worked steadily on the roads
under fairly continuous shell-fire, and by 10 a.m. the track was
completed. After this the German shell-fire weakened as the advance went
forward and his guns were either taken or forced to withdraw. The men
were worn out and literally covered with mud, so I withdrew to some old
dug-outs in the canal bank. A message was sent for the transport to come
forward and another one to the company for rum. The men had just lit
fires and were beginning to dry themselves when I received a message
that the guns had reached their destination but our further help was
wanted at once. At 11.30 the section moved forward again, and by 2 p.m.
the whole Brigade were standing to for action in their new positions.
The Division moved up into line during the afternoon and the advance
pushed on—Wytschaete-Messines, and the Warneton line are reported
captured.
At 4 p.m. the section returned to the canal, awaiting further orders.
The Brigade commander personally thanked me for the day’s work. At 4.30
I received news that the transport was stuck somewhere behind us, but
they were trying to get the limber forward with six horses in it instead
of the normal two—the tool-cart had been abandoned. Eventually the
limber arrived and then I sent four horses back for the tool-cart which
arrived about 6.30 _via_ Ypres—the roads are in a terrible state and
will do more than the Huns to hold us up.
At 7 the men had a meal—the first since 2 a.m. this morning—and after
that turned in to a more than well-earned rest. I went over to see the
Colonel and learnt that they are pushing on over the hills and Comines
is to be captured to-morrow. Every one is delighted, the show has been a
great success and casualties are light in comparison with the
results—the only trouble is the mud, with which we are literally covered
from head to foot.
_Sept. 29._ Our rations arrived about 5 a.m., but no forage for the
horses, and we were unable to move forward in consequence—my biggest
trouble is going to be to keep in touch with supplies and water during
this nomadic life. Roads were reported passable as far as the front, so
I left the section standing to under the sergeant and rode off to find
the company. I hunted about all morning and found them at last at the
old place but just ready to move off. Arranged to draw rations direct
from the company each day with my own limber. I took two nose-bags of
corn back with me on my mare, gave the limber horses a feed when I
reached the section, and then sent them back for rations. Somehow or
other the company has heard some very highly-coloured accounts of our
passage through the barrage on the 28th.
At 2 p.m. I rode forward with an orderly and visited the Brigade and all
batteries. Heavy rain set in again, and as every one seemed fairly
comfortable and there was no accommodation forward I decided to spend
another night at the canal. The road is blocked with traffic from
morning till night, and I am afraid it will break up badly if the rain
continues—the whole show depends on that one, blessed road, and
apparently it is going to be my job for two or three days more until the
Corps troops can get up. The Brigade was in action when I reached them
and a stiff fight was going on around the last ridges—the Huns are
sticking a bit and a fierce counter-attack had just been driven
back—rifle and machine-gun fire was very intense. I saw a lot of Hun
dead about the roads and a few of our fellows. The Huns have left a lot
of guns behind and should be fairly hard hit.
It was dark when I got back, and the horses could hardly crawl along.
Rations and forage came up shortly afterwards, so we turned in and had a
good night’s rest.
_Sept. 30._ Heavy rain all last night. At 8 a.m. I sent two orderlies up
to Brigade and my groom back to the company to change my mare—she was
completely exhausted. Pending receipt of orders we rigged up a shelter
for the horses, as they were shivering badly and I began to be
frightened for them—the poor beasts are caked with mud, and even their
eyes are hardly free from it.
At noon received orders to go forward as early as possible, so I sent
half the limber back for rations and moved up with the section. After a
really terrific struggle we got as far as the batteries and managed to
find a bit of cover in some old German concrete dug-outs. Worked till
dark on the road and then started to fix things up for the night. The
dug-outs were in the middle of a swamp about 500 yards from the road,
and in the dark it took us three-quarters of an hour to reach them. I
had to give up all idea of getting the horses across, and finally found
a place where they could stand about a mile from the dug-outs. The
drivers were quite worn out, so we had to mount a stable-guard of
sappers, with instructions to move the horses every hour to prevent them
sinking in the mud. It is still raining, bitterly cold, and I can’t
understand how the poor beasts live. The wagons are nearly axle deep.
Shortly after midnight I had every one settled and then crawled,
literally, into my own shack. It is an old Bosche concrete place and
stinks like Hell—there are two wooden bunks in it, but it is dry. My man
lit a fire on the floor and we warmed up some old tea in my shaving mug.
I was chilled to the bone and there was nothing to eat, but I shall
always believe that that tea saved my life. There was no room for
officer and servant there—just two very weary men, we sat on either side
the fire drying our socks and the smell mingled with the fetid odours of
the dug-out. Our eyes grew red and tearful with the smoke, which
eventually drove us to the uninviting boards, where we slept like the
Babes in the Wood. Several times during the night I woke up shivering
with cold and the clammy clothes sticking to my skin, but—we were over
the hills and I would not have missed that night for all the gold in
Africa.
_Oct. 1._ Up at 5.30 and immensely cheered to see a blue sky, although I
didn’t begin to feel normally warm until about noon. Bully and biscuit
for breakfast as a change from the biscuit and bully of the preceding
days. Received an official note of thanks from the Brigade for our work,
and orders from the C.R.E. to rejoin the company. Apparently the advance
is held up for a few days until heavy guns and supplies can get forward
again. I sent No. 2 Section forward to work on the new plank avoiding
road and returned to meet the Major at 8 a.m. He returned to the company
and sent up Nos. 1 and 4 Sections to me from reserve billets. No. 3
Section also rejoined, so I fixed the lot in billets as well as possible
and then took out Nos. 1, 3, 4 to work on the road with No. 2. We have
now got all our limbers and tool-carts as far as the batteries, and I am
commanding all the sections—Cooper remains with the heavy transport on
the other side of the mud. Rode round the work during the afternoon and
met the C.R.E., who was full of congratulations. Withdrew to billets at
5 p.m. to give the men a chance to dry their clothes and have a warm
meal—the first they have had since the 27th.
We are without definite news, but apparently the whole show has been a
great success, and the Army is only waiting until we can get the roads
through. I can never forget the great change which seemed to spread like
wildfire over the spirit of the Army on the evening of the 28th–29th.
We were in the midst of the worst of the mud area, miles of transport
wagons were bogged along our single road, it was raining hard, and few
of us had eaten anything for twenty-four hours. Nobody was looking
forward to the dawn. But from somewhere behind us a rumour came through
that Bulgaria had asked for Peace. There was no cheering, no
demonstration of any sort, but the news seemed to put new spirit into
the tired troops. The weary mud-caked horses were lashed and spurred
again, men put their aching shoulders to the wheels, and once more the
limbers lumbered forward. All night long the wagons toiled painfully up
those fateful ridges where scores of thousands of our finest infantry
had died, and in the drizzling dawn they saw their reward at last—behind
them lay the dull, dead plain, with its memories of misery and
mud—before them, they looked down upon a new, unbroken country, and the
spire of Tenbrielen church, untouched of shot or shell, beckoned like a
winning post against the eastern sky.
_Oct. 2._ Heavy rain again last night, but it hasn’t damped our spirits.
We could meet almost any call again now.
At 5.30 a.m. an orderly came in with orders from the C.R.E. saying that
we are to work from six to nine on the Divisional main road. By dashing
off without any breakfast we were able to start at 7.30, and returned
for a meal at noon—our first since yesterday evening. In the afternoon
Day worked the sections on the road while the Major and I brought up the
heavy transport.
Artillery horse-lines just forward of our own were heavily shelled for
about five minutes and a lot of horses were knocked out—about 100 of the
poor beasts stampeded, and it was a pitiful sight to see some of them
dragging their entrails along the ground.
This incident made me realise that if the Germans have any fight left in
them at all we are in a very precarious position. Several Divisions are
herded together with the River Lys in front of them and an impassable
belt of swamp and mud behind. A really energetic counter-attack would
give us another Cambrai.
At night many fires were visible again where the enemy is burning
villages along his retreat—many of these appear to be very far off,
which looks as if they contemplate a big withdrawal—a favourite theory
is that they will withdraw as far as the Meuse for the winter.
_Oct. 3._ Company commenced work on a new plank road to relieve the
strain on the main road.
I went forward with three wagons to a dump on the Menin road to get
material, but it took us all morning to get there as the roads were
blocked with artillery limbers—we want ten times more transport and ten
times more labour than we have got if we are to make any reasonable
progress. The Field Companies are quite inadequate to cope with any
serious road-making in an advance like this.
In the afternoon scouted round with Cooper looking for what had once
been a first-class road, clearly marked on our maps.
We couldn’t find a stone, a tree, or any single thing that would
indicate where the road had been—we couldn’t even fix it from our maps,
as farms, houses, and landmarks of any description had totally
disappeared. We had some difficulty in getting back, and once Cooper’s
horse went down to her belly in the mud—we nearly lost her, but got her
out eventually.
_Oct. 4._ Took all wagons to the dump and got a lot of material up
during the day—made some appreciable progress on the road. Two new
officers have joined us, and Day has gone back to H.Q. wagon lines. Was
delighted to meet two old friends, Lucas and Mitchell of our left
Division, in the afternoon.
_Oct. 5._ Road is now going forward well, and we had another fine day
although very cold. Things seem to be sorting themselves out after the
last advance and we should soon be ready to try again.
_Oct. 6._ Orders from the C.R.E. that we shall probably move again
to-morrow and all ranks are to have as much rest as possible. Worked all
morning on the road and packed pontoons, etc., during the afternoon.
_Oct. 7._ Two sections moved at 7 a.m. to work again on the avoiding
road, and two sections moved across country towards the Menin road. At 9
a.m. I took the transport across in front of Ypres and picked up Cooper
with the pontoons in the afternoon. We made a horse-lines there, as it
was the only patch of dry earth available, but before getting in we had
to shift about fifteen dead mules which had been killed the night before
by a bomb.
Billeted the sections in an area containing one dug-out, just off the
Ypres-Menin road—a piece of ground probably more fiercely fought over
than any other during the war. The solitary dug-out was unusable owing
to prevalence of dead Bosche—as Mark Twain would say, “Fixed, so that
they could outvote us.” We couldn’t find a level piece of ground large
enough to take one tent without a lot of digging. The sergeants found a
very good place for their tent, but a dead Hun was in possession of the
freehold. They decided to bury him, and deepened a shell-hole
accordingly; then the problem, how to get him into it? The
Sergeant-Major took his boots and the Farrier very gingerly took his
sleeves; they lifted, but his arms came out in the Farrier’s hands. They
withdrew to windward and talked; it was growing dusk, the tent must go
up. Finally the Farrier put his gas mask on and literally buried him in
shovelfuls. _Pro patria——?_
The only way to stop war is to tell these facts in the school history
books and cut out the rot about the gallant charges, the victorious
returns, and the blushing damsels who scatter roses under the conquering
heroes’ feet. Every soldier knows that a re-writing of the history books
would stop war more effectively than the most elaborately covenanted
league which tired politico-legal minds can conceive.
_Oct. 8._ Working all day on the roads. It is a dreary job in this
blighted, featureless country.
_Oct. 9._ Received orders to report again at Artillery Brigade H.Q., so
there is obviously another stunt in the wind. In the meantime we are
still mud-slinging.
_Oct. 10._ Went forward into the outposts to reconnoitre tracks and ways
forward for the guns. We were in absolutely virgin country, and it was a
new experience to think of death lurking behind these green hedges and
quiet farm buildings.
At night took the section up and did a lot of work—filled in several
ditches, cleared a ride through a wood, and chopped down several trees
with which we made a small bridge—took the floor out of the farm kitchen
to cover it with.
_Oct. 11._ Out reconnoitring again all morning, and at night took a
company of Pioneers up to work on a second track. Had a very unpleasant
time on the Menin road, where we were heavily shelled—some artillery
transport suffered badly, but we got through without casualties.
The weather continues fine, and everything points to another show about
the 15th. The Huns have put up a lot of wire, but the field guns have
been shooting this down steadily for three days now, and the heavies are
coming into position. This morning when I was up, our shells were
falling dead in the belts of wire and cutting broad lanes through it.
Sent in two recommendations for Military Medals for work in the last
show:—
MOUNTED CORPORAL.—For great gallantry and devotion to duty in bringing
up transport and supplies under heavy shell-fire and at great personal
risk. His action greatly contributed to the success of the section in
its work of helping forward the guns.
A SAPPER.—For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty when repairing
a bridge under heavy shell-fire for the advance of the artillery. He set
a fine example to his comrades, and persevered with his work until it
was completed, regardless of great personal danger.
It was hard to write the above, knowing that every man equally deserves
those medals—the whole institution of awards ought to be abolished;
except, perhaps, the V.C.
_Oct. 12._ Skipper returned from leave. Company still carrying on with
roads. No. 2 Section out with me all night widening a bridge. It was a
miserable night with heavy rain and howling wind, but the men worked
cheerfully and a lot of work was done. So far as we are concerned all is
now ready for the next attack.