On leaving Fleurbaix the 147th Brigade moved north by rapid marches,
and soon the whole Division found itself in the Second Army under
Major-General Plumer. The last march, from the neighbourhood of Meteren
to St. Jans-ter-biezen Wood, was particularly severe for troops that
had just come out of trenches. It was a good fifteen-miles tramp
over rough and hilly roads: it was undertaken at night when most men
had been on their legs all day, and everyone had to carry all his
belongings on his back. When the battalion finally halted in its
allotted position in the wood, the men had no difficulty in sleeping
where they lay.
Here the battalion bivouacked for a week and underwent inspection by
various generals, renewing their acquaintance with the Army commander.
On July 7th they moved forward and for the first time entered the
never-to-be-forgotten salient of Ypres.
Northward from Ypres runs the Yser canal, and in insecure shelters
scratched into the embankments the support battalions had their home.
The bridges crossing the canal were enfiladed by the enemy’s machine
guns and were constantly destroyed by shell fire: and the rain of
shrapnel whistling through the distorted trees caused men moving up
either bank to dodge like rabbits from shelter to shelter. But this
was a haven of rest compared to the front line. In front of the canal
was sheer desolation, with ridges sloping upwards towards the enemy.
Wet weather turned the whole country into a quagmire and many were
drowned in the mud. Across this waste stretched the trenches, formed of
sandbagged breastworks, with arms and legs of dead Frenchmen projecting
from them at intervals. The enemy was too close for rebuilding. The
line was curiously irregular, as one side or the other had bitten off a
piece of the opposing defences, and at more than one place our men were
only fifteen yards from the enemy. In some parts the bombing was worst,
in others the trench mortars, and in others again the shells: but
none were healthy and all smelt abominably. As for retaliation, a few
rounds of shrapnel were all the ammunition our artillery could spare in
those early days. No regular division had stopped in the line for more
than six weeks, even in summer, and the West Ridings looked hopefully
forward to an early move. They held that line against shelling and gas,
in deepening mud and rising water, for six long months.
The 49th Division had a stormy welcome. In the first few days the
Divisional commander, Major-General Baldock, was wounded by shrapnel
at the door of Trois Tours Chateau, and was succeeded by Major-General
Perceval; and a shell through his bedroom caused Brig.-General Brereton
to leave his cottage for safer quarters. Before the 6th Battalion had
finished its first turn in the line it had grievous losses to deplore.
Among them the gallant Lieut. Slingsby had been killed by a sniper;
Lieut. Supple mortally wounded by a shell, and 2nd Lieuts. Jaques and
Brayshaw severely wounded. It was then, too, that Pte. Bracewell,
a stretcher bearer, himself wounded, won the first D.C.M. for the
battalion.
As the autumn wore on and worse conditions supervened, the battalion
still stuck to its work, making its regular trips to the front line
and always leaving behind some of the best of comrades. At the end
of October, Lieut.-Col. Birkbeck, who had already suffered from
rheumatism, was invalided home. Of the battalion commanders who had
come out with the Brigade he was the last remaining, and there was
general regret that he had not had the chance of leading the battalion
in open warfare in which he had trained them and for which his
experience of African campaigns had peculiarly adapted him. “Honest
John” the men called him, and they were all sorry to lose one who had
always given them fair play. Major Bateman had already been wounded and
Lieut.-Col. J. Adlercron, of the Cameron Highlanders, took over the
command.
The men took a little time to understand their new commander and he
probably thought them a queer lot. But his wide military knowledge,
his boundless energy, and, above all, his absolute fearlessness, soon
won their admiration and respect and established a satisfactory mutual
understanding that lasted throughout his command. It has been said of
some leaders that they never sent their men where they would not go
themselves; if Col. Adlercron sent men to a particularly nasty post he
would commonly go twenty yards further himself and inspect the enemy’s
wire in front of them.
Conditions grew steadily worse. “Trench foot” made its appearance among
the troops, and though many precautions were taken there was much
painful suffering. The mud difficulty and the fall of the leaves made
the work of the Transport increasingly arduous, and Lieut. Churchman’s
stores at Hospital Farm became a favourite target for shells from
either side of the salient. The death of Lieut. T. S. Whitaker, always
most cheery when times were worst, was a serious loss to C company. But
through it all the spirits of the battalion never flagged. Sergt. Bury,
with a few fellow bombers, was holding a peculiarly noisome forward
post within bombing range of the enemy when he received word that he
was to go on leave. He protested indignantly. “Who’s to look after my
sap?” he cried. And it was only when Lieut. F. L. Smith promised to
give the sap his own special attention that the sergeant, with some
misgiving, consented to return for five days to civilization. And a
like feeling animated all.
At this time the ⅙th Duke’s had the French as their next-door
neighbours, and at the bridge over the Yperlys stream, where the two
Armies met, an international post was established, consisting of an
officer and a few men from each army, specially selected for their
knowledge of their allies’ language.