WARFARE
"Plug Street"--British Army in being--At General Headquarters--Rest
billets--Mud or death--The trenches--Buzzing bullets--Sir Douglas
Haig--The Front--Restrictions on the narrative--Reviewed by
Commander-in-Chief--Canadians in the trenches--Our men take to
football--"Jack Johnsons"--A German challenge--General Alderson---The
General's methods--His speech to the Canadians--A fine Force.
"Things 'ave transpired which made me learn
The size and meanin' of the game.
I did no more than others did,
I don't know where the change began;
I started as an average kid,
I finished as a thinkin' man."
--KIPLING.
"The strong necessity of time commands
Our services awhile."
_Antony and Cleopatra_.
After a slow journey by rail of 350 miles from the landing point in
France, the Canadians reached a wayside station which lies about twelve
miles due west of Ploegsteert--the war-historic "Plug Street" wood,
which British regiments had already made famous. At this point the
Canadians were well within that triangle of country lying between St.
Omer to the west, the ruins of Ypres to the east, and Bethune to the
south, which at that time contained the entire British Army in France.
It was one of the most remarkably interesting pieces of triangular
territory imaginable, full of movement, romance, and the intricate
detail of organisation. Within it lay the already wonderful beginnings
of the great British force as it is to-day, and I will do my best to
make clear how, within that triangle, the first British Army lived,
moved, fought, and generally had its being.
You must picture the British Army in the field, spread out like a fan.
The long, wavy edge of the fan is the line of men in the firing
trenches, at the very forefront of affairs, often within a
stone's-throw of the opposing German line. Some hundreds of yards
behind this firing line lie the support trenches, also filled with men.
The men in the firing and supporting trenches exchange places every
forty-eight hours. After a four days' spell they all retire for four
days' rest, fresh troops taking their places as they move out. At the
end of their four days' rest they return again to the trenches. All
relieving movements are carried out in the dark to avoid the enemy's
rifle fire.
Further back, along the ribs of the fan, one finds the headquarters of
the many brigades; behind these, headquarters of divisions; then
headquarters of army corps, then of armies--the groups becoming fewer
and fewer in number as you recede--until, at the end of the fan handle,
one reaches the General Headquarters, where the Commander-in-Chief
stands, with his hand on the dynamo which sends its impulses through
every part of the great machine spread out in front.
From General Headquarters the movements of the entire British Army, or
rather of the several British armies, are directed and controlled. It
is a War Office in the field, with numerous branches closely
co-ordinated and working together like a single machine. Here is the
operations office, where plans of attack are worked out under the
direction of the Commander-in-Chief and his chief of staff.
Near by is the building occupied by the "signals" branch, which with
its nerve system of telegraphs, telephones, and motor-cycle despatch
riders, is the medium of communication with every part of the field,
and also with the base of supplies and the War Office in London.
"Signals" carries its wires to within rifle shot of the trenches, and
every division of the Army has its own field telephones from battalions
headquarters to the firing line.
Close at hand is the office of the intelligence branch, which collects
and communicates information about the enemy from every source it can
tap. It receives and compares reports of statements made by prisoners,
and interrogates some prisoners itself. It goes through documents,
letters, diaries, official papers--captured in the field--and extracts
points from these. It collects news from its own agents--it is only
your enemy who calls them spies--about events that are happening, or
are likely to happen, behind the screen of the enemy's lines.
At General Headquarters you find the department of the
Adjutant-General, who is responsible for the whole of the
arrangements--keeping the army in the field supplied with men and
munitions of war, for the transfer of all prisoners to the base, for
the trial of offences against discipline, and for the spiritual welfare
of the troops.
From a neighbouring office the Quartermaster-General controls the
movements of food and fodder for men and horses, and all other stores,
other than actual munitions of war.
Still another branch houses the Director-General of Medical Service,
who supervises the treatment of the wounded from the field aid post to
the field clearing station, from there to the hospital train, and
thence to the base hospital in France or Great Britain.
One of the most fascinating spots at General Headquarters is the map
department. Thousands of maps of various kinds and sizes have been
produced here since the war began. They vary from large maps, to be
hung on walls or spread on great tables, down to small slips--with a
few lines of German trenches accurately outlined--and most handy for
the use of battery and battalion commanders. Remarkable photographs
are also printed here--panoramic views and photographs of German
positions, taken at very close quarters, often under fire. There are
officers who specialise in this perilous and wonderful business.
As one goes forward from General Headquarters towards the edge of the
fan, one comes in contact with more and more men, and realises quickly
that, in spite of the hardships of trench warfare, our troops are
superbly fit and ready for any task which the fortunes of war may
impose on them. Their physical condition remains so robust as to be
astonishing.
For instance, the evening that I reached the billeting area, I saw
several battalions of the Expeditionary Force marching from their
billets towards the trenches--they had been at the front for months,
yet they stepped as freshly as though they were just from home or
route-marching in English lanes. Their faces shone with health; their
eyes were as bright as those of a troop of schoolboys. They were, in
fact, tramping down a long, straight, poplar-lined Flemish highway,
with a misty vista of flat ploughed land on either side. They whistled
as they marched.
The complete efficiency of the men is largely due to the excellence of
their food. The Army is, in fact, healthier than any other army that
has ever faced war. Typhoid is almost unknown. The amazing record of
health owes much to the sanitary precautions which are taken. One of
the most remarkable of these is the system of hot baths and the
sterilising of clothing.
Bathing establishments have been put up in various parts of the field,
and the largest of them is in a building which, before the war, was a
jute factory. Every hour of the day, successive companies of men have
hot baths here. They strip to the skin, and while they wallow in huge
vats of hot water, their clothing is treated with 200 degrees of heat,
which destroys all vermin.
At first the small towns, the villages, and the many farmhouses and
cottages within easy reach of the firing line provided all the rest
billets. A great many men are billeted in this way still. I found,
for instance, a company of Territorials snugly resting in a huge farm,
the officers having quarters in the farmhouse on the other side of the
yard; but recently a large number of wooden huts have been put up in
various places across the countryside, and here the men come back from
the trenches to rest. They are tired when they come "home," but a
sound sleep, a wash, a hearty breakfast, and a stroll in the fresh
air--out of range of the insistent bullets--have a magical effect. In
the afternoon you find them playing football as blithely as boys, and
those who are not playing stand round and chaff and applaud. I saw as
many games of football one day, in the course of a motor run behind the
lines, as one would see on a Saturday afternoon in England.
Every day brings its letters and newspapers--every rail-head has its
little travelling letter office shunted into a siding. Here the
letters of a division are sorted. They average more than one letter a
day for every man in the field. That is another reason why the Army is
in good spirits. No army in the world before ever got so much news
from home, so regularly and so quickly. Besides this, drafts of men
are constantly being sent home--across the Channel--for five or seven
days' leave.
The firing line is not much further from the base than London is from
the sea. One passes on through the region of rest billets and
headquarters of sections of troops, and arrives behind the firing line.
When the Canadians first landed, the British forces held a front
between twenty and thirty miles long, running from Ypres, on the north,
where the Seventh Division made its heroic stand against the Prussian
Guards, to Givenchy, on the south, near the scene of the battle of
Neuve Chapelle.
This stretch had been held ever since the British troops made their
swift dart from the Aisne to Flanders, hoping (how strange it seems
now) to outflank the Germans, and in fact, by immense exertions,
defeating a far more formidable outflanking movement by the enemy.
Here they have maintained their ground. They lived and fought in seas
of mud all through the winter. The water was pumped out of the
trenches with hand-pumps, only to ooze back again through the sodden
soil. Plank platforms were put down, and straw was piled in. Yet the
mud smothered everything. The men stood in mud, sat in mud, and lay in
mud. Often it was as much as they could do to prevent the mud from
clogging their rifles. They crawled through mud to the trenches when
it was their time to relieve those in the firing line. They had to
hide in the mud of the trenches to escape the German bullets. It was a
choice of mud or death. With the arrival of spring, conditions were
improved. There was less rain, and the winds had begun to dry the
ground. On fine days there was even dust on the paved roads, although
the quagmire of mud, each side of the centre strip of granite, still
remained. The trench mud was becoming firmer.
The line of trenches runs nearly everywhere through low-lying ground,
intersected with watery ditches and small streams; the land is so
level, and the atmosphere so heavy, that, as a rule, the eye ranges
little further than a rifle bullet will carry. The nearer the firing
line the more difficult you find it to set eyes on men. Thousands of
men are almost within hailing distance, but none are to be seen.
Friend and foe alike are hidden in the trenches.
Some of the most famous trenches are in a wood that is known to all the
army as "Plug Street," although, as I have already made clear, it is
spelled a little differently on the maps. To reach the trenches you
have, of course, to come within rifle-shot of the enemy, for in most
places the German and British trenches are not more than 250 yards from
each other, and here and there they are only 40 or 50 yards apart. One
creeps and crawls at dusk along paths which months of experience has
told the soldiers are the best means of approach; and one eventually
scrambles into a communication trench which, in a number of zig-zags,
leads you to the firing trench, where the men are waiting, rifle in
hand, in case of attack, or now and again taking a snap-shot through a
loophole in the trench parapet.
The trenches in "Plug Street" are like all the other trenches--very
exciting to think about before you reach them, but, unless you happen
to arrive when shells are bursting overhead, comparatively dull and
matter-of-fact when you are actually there. It is only the chance of
death that gives them their peculiar interest over other holes
excavated by men in clammy earth. The bee-like buzz of an occasional
bullet overhead reminds you that death is searching for its prey.
"Plug Street" has a fame which will endure. All through the first
winter, the men squashed about in its awful mud, making quite a number
of slimy, ankle-deep, or knee-deep lanes from point to point among the
trees. In course of time each of the muddy woodland alleys received
its nickname from the men in the ranks.
Such was the appearance and atmosphere of things at the front when the
Canadians first arrived. After a few days of special instruction they
were billeted in the area of the First Army under Sir Douglas Haig.
The Divisional Headquarters were located near Estaires, with the
Brigade Headquarters in advanced positions, and the "Front" is clearly
indicated by the sketch on page 37.
I have described, as fully as is permissible, the general disposition
and the general organisation of the British Army in the field as it was
when the Canadians first set foot in France. It now becomes necessary
to deal in detail with the "Front"--that almost endless succession of
warren-like lines where scores of thousands of men stand to arms by
night and day, and where the Canadian troops have already fought with a
gallantry and a dash, and yet a tenacity, which have seldom, if ever,
been equalled in military history.
None can examine what, for want of a better name, is called the "Front"
of this amazing war, without realising the truth of what has been so
often said--that it is a war almost without a "Front."
As one approaches from a distance the actual point of contact between
the opposing forces, one is struck ever more and more by the immense
numbers which are converging, as it seems, for some great military
purpose. But the nearer the front approaches the more completely does
all that is spectacular disappear, until, finally, the flower of the
youth of Europe vanishes and is swallowed up by immense but barely
visible lines of field fortifications.
And now the Canadian Division, too, has reached the front. The long,
the tedious winter discomfort of Salisbury Plain, never resented but
always disliked, already seems far away. No one in the Canadian
Division grudges the honour which was paid to Princess Patricia's Light
Infantry, to carry first the badge of Canada on the battlefields of
Flanders. It was freely recognised that this Regiment had arrived with
greater technical knowledge and had reached a degree of efficiency
which the other battalions could hardly equal without longer
preparation. The fortunes of the Princess Patricias will be told in
another chapter, but it can be said that the Battalion has proved
itself worthy of fighting side by side, and on equal terms, with the
army of veterans and heroes which held the trenches during the first
horrible winter in Flanders.
It is a story which will demand the utmost care in the telling, and, in
any case, much that would be of the greatest interest must of necessity
be omitted, because, in face of the superb organisation of the German
Intelligence Department, it might be mischievous to publish details of
units, and of their doings, as long as the general military formations
in which these units play a part remain unchanged. It is out of
respect for this consideration that the day for giving full honours to
units by exact identification has so often to be postponed, so that the
records of our men's heroism only appear when, in the maelstrom of
fresh splendid deeds, they are already half forgotten.
This volume, and those which it is hoped will follow it, must always be
read in the light of these most necessary restrictions. Nevertheless
it is possible, while observing every rule which has been laid down for
our guidance, to give a general picture of the Canadian Division, its
surroundings and its doings, which, whether it interests other people
or not, will not be read without emotion by those who sent their sons
and brothers to the greatest battlefields of history in support of
principles which, in their general application, are as important to the
liberties of Canada as they are to the liberties of Europe.
Before the Canadians took up their allotted positions in the trenches
they marched past the Commander-in-Chief and his Staff. Those who
watched the troops defile in the grey, square market-place of a typical
Flanders town, were experienced judges of the physique and quality of
soldiers. No one desires in such a connection to use exaggerated
language, and it is therefore unnecessary to say more than that the
unanimous view of those who watched so intently and so critically, was
that, judging the men by their physique and their soldierly swing, no
more promising troops had come to swell our ranks since the day the
Expeditionary Force landed in France.
When the Canadian troops first took their turn as a Division in the
trenches, nothing sensational happened to them. It was not their
fortune, at the outset, to be swung forward in a desperate attack, or
to cling in defensive tenacity to trenches which the Germans had
resolved to master. There were, of course, casualties. One does not
enter or leave trenches without casualties, for the sniper never fails
to claim his daily toll, but the early trench experiences of the
Canadians were not eventful, as one judges incidents in this war. This
period of immunity, however, was all to the good. Whatever else he is,
the Canadian is adaptable, and the experience of these weeks brought
him more wisdom than others might have drawn from it.
Work in the trenches no longer involves, in respect of duration, the
heartbreaking strain which was imposed upon all in the dark and anxious
days of the autumn of 1914, when a thin line of khaki held, often
wholly unsupported by reserves, so immense a line against superior
forces. Trench work now, in relation to the period of exposure, is
well within the powers of stout and resolute troops. For a certain
period, relays of the force take their turn in holding their lines.
When that period is passed they are relieved by their comrades.
Exciting, if occasionally monotonous, though life in the trenches may
be, it is strange to a Canadian, and deeply interesting, to study the
tiny town in which the troops in repose are billeted, and the hustling
life on which they have already stamped so much of their individuality.
Picture to yourself a narrow street, the centre paved, the sides of
tenacious mud. Line it on each side with houses, rather squalid, and
with a few unimportant stores. Add a château (not a grand one) for the
Headquarters, a modest office for the Staff, and you have a fair
conception of the billeting place which shelters that part of the
division which reposes. But this town is like many other towns in this
unattractive country. Its interest to us lies in the tenants of the
moment. Walk down the street, and you will, if you are a Canadian,
feel at once something familiar and homelike in the atmosphere. One
hears voices everywhere, and one does not need the sight of the brass
shoulder badges, "CANADA," to know the race to which these voices
belong. It may be the speech of Nova Scotia, it may be the voice of
British Columbia, or it may be the accents in which the French-Canadian
seeks to adapt to the French of Flanders the tongue which his
ancestors, centuries ago, carried to a new world; but, whichever it
be--it is all Canadian.
And soon, a company swings by, going perhaps to bath parade--to that
expeditious process which, in half an hour, has cleansed the bathers
and fumigated every rag which they possess. And as they pass they sing
carelessly, but with a challenging catch, a song which, if by chance
you come from Toronto, will perhaps stir some association. For these,
or many of them, are boys from the College; and the song is the
University song whose refrain is, "Toronto."
And if you go still a little further in the direction of the front, you
will soon--very soon--after leaving the place of billeting, come to the
country over which the great guns, by day and night, contend for
mastery. And as one advances, there seem to be Canadians everywhere.
Here are batteries, skilfully masked. Here are supplies on their way
to the trenches. And all the time can be seen reliefs and reserves
until it is strange to meet anyone not in khaki and without the badge
of "CANADA." The passion for football, which the Canadian has begun to
share with his English comrade, abates none of its keenness as he
marches nearer to the front. A spirited match was in progress near our
lines not long ago when a distracting succession of "Weary Willies"
began to distribute themselves not very far from the football ground.
The only people who took no notice were the players, and nothing short
of a peremptory order from the Provost Marshal brought to an end a game
which was somewhat unnecessarily dangerous. And our men have, of
course, made the acquaintance of "Jack Johnson," and without liking
him--for he is not likeable--they endure him with as much constancy as
brave men need. Nor, indeed, have our own artillery failed to do more
than hold their own. The gunners inherited from the division which
preceded them in the trenches a disagreeable inheritance in the shape
of an observation post which had long harassed and menaced our lines by
the information which it placed at the disposal of the enemy. We were
so fortunate as to put it out of action in the third round which we
fired--a success very welcome as an encouragement, and giving a
substantial relief from an unwholesome scrutiny.
Our infantry were not specially engaged in the fighting at Neuve
Chapelle, but our artillery played its part in that triumph of
artillery science which preceded the British attack, and our men were
ready during the whole fight for the order which, had the tactical
situation so developed, would have sent them, too, to make their first
assault upon the German trenches. And there were not a few who were
longing for that order. They thought that the Germans had presumed
upon a slight acquaintance. For, the very first night on which our men
were put into the trenches, the Germans began to call out, "Come out,
you Canadians! Come out and fight!" Now, the trenches at normal times
have their own code of manners and of amenity, and this challenge was,
and is, regarded as impertinent.
The Canadian brings his own phrases into his daily life. When the
German flares in the trenches nervously lighted up the space between
the two lines, "There are the Northern Lights" was the comment of
Canada; and "Northern Lights" they have remained to this day.
It would be evidently impertinent to say more of the General Officer
Commanding the force, General Alderson, than that he enjoys the most
absolute confidence of the fine force he commands. He trusts them, and
they trust him; and it will be strange if their co-operation does not
prove fruitful. And an observer is at once struck by the
extraordinarily accurate knowledge which the General has gained of the
whole body of regimental officers under his command. He seems to know
them as well by name and sight, as if he had commanded the force for
six years instead of six months. And this is a circumstance which, in
critical moments, counts for much.
General Alderson's methods--his practical and soldierly style--could
not be better illustrated than by some extracts from the speech which
he addressed to the troops before they went into the trenches for the
first time:--
"All ranks of the Canadian Division: We are about to occupy and
maintain a line of trenches. I have some things to say to you at this
moment which it is well that you should consider. You are taking over
good and, on the whole, dry trenches. I have visited some myself.
They are intact, and the parapets are good. Let me warn you first that
we have already had several casualties while you have been attached to
other divisions. Some of those casualties were unavoidable, and that
is war. But I suspect that some--at least a few--could have been
avoided. I have heard of cases in which men have exposed themselves
with no military object, and perhaps only to gratify curiosity. We
cannot lose good men like this. We shall want them all if we advance,
and we shall want them all if the Germans advance. Do not expose your
heads, and do not look round corners, unless for a purpose which is
necessary at the moment you do it. It will not often be necessary.
You are provided with means of observing the enemy without exposing
your heads. To lose your lives without military necessity is to
deprive the State of good soldiers. Young and brave men enjoy taking
risks. But a soldier who takes unnecessary risks through levity, is
not playing the game. And the man who does so is stupid, for whatever
be the average practice of the German Army, the individual shots they
employ as snipers shoot straight, and, screened from observation behind
the lines, they are always watching. And if you put your head over the
parapet without orders they will hit that head.
"There is another thing. Troops new to the trenches always shoot at
nothing the first night. You will not do it. It wastes ammunition and
it hurts no one. And the enemy says: 'These are new and nervous
troops.' You will be shelled in the trenches. When you are shelled,
sit low and sit tight. This is easy advice, for there is nothing else
to do. If you get out you will only get it worse. And if you go out
the Germans will go in. And if the Germans go in, we shall
counter-attack and put them out; and that will cost us hundreds of men,
instead of the few whom shells may injure. The Germans do not like the
bayonet, nor do they support bayonet attacks. If they get up to you,
or if you get up to them, go right in with the bayonet. You have the
physique to drive it home. That you will do it I am sure, and I do not
envy the Germans if you get among them with the bayonet.
"There is one thing more. My old regiment, the Royal West Kents, has
been here since the beginning of the war, and it has never lost a
trench. The Army says, 'The West Kents never budge.' I am proud of
the great record of my old regiment. And I think it is a good omen. I
now belong to you and you belong to me; and before long the Army will
say: 'The Canadians never budge.' Lads, it can be left there, and
there I leave it. The Germans will never turn you out."
I may, before concluding the present chapter, point out that the most
severe military critics, both in England and in France, are loud in
their admiration of the organising power which, in a non-military
country, has produced so fine a force in so short a time. In
equipment, in all the countless details which in co-ordination mean
efficiency, the Division holds its own with any division at the war.
This result was only made possible by labour, zeal, and immense driving
power, and these qualities were exhibited in Canada at the outbreak of
war by all those whose duties lay in the work of improvisation.