HOLDING THE LINE AT 'PLUGSTREET'
The line held by the Division for the next two months was wholly
within Belgian territory, with a frontage of about 5,000 yards, which
stretched from a point about 500 yards south-east of Wulverghem on the
north to just below Le Gheer. The 143rd Brigade were on the left,
145th in the centre, and the 144th on the right. We were on the left
of the 145th, and worked on a self-relieving system by which two
Companies spent alternate periods of four days in the trenches and in
local reserve. B and C Companies on the right shared trenches 37 and
38, also named Berkshire and Argyll; A and D in turn inhabited
trenches 39 and 40, or Sutherland and Oxford, with a total frontage of
700 yards. The trenches ran along low ground between the wood and the
River Douve; on the left the famous hill of Messines peered into our
positions, and though itself barely 200 feet above sea-level loomed
like a mountain among the mole-heaps of Flanders. The distance between
the opposing lines varied from 450 to 250 yards. Reliefs could be
carried out by day across the open on the right to Prowse Point
(called after Major Prowse, of the Somerset L.I., who here organised a
successful counter-attack in November, 1914, and afterwards was killed
as a brigadier in the Somme battles); but the left was much in the
air, as the only communication trench led up to some reserve
breastworks near the Messines road, barely shoulder high, and
themselves incapable of secure daylight approach, and all rations,
stores, etc., had to be brought up overland by night over
bullet-swept ground, but with negligible casualties.
The amenities of trench life depend almost wholly on the enemy and the
weather. In both these respects we were fortunate. The Saxons who
faced us lived up to their reputation, and apart from some accurate
sniping which did more damage to periscopes than to human life, made
no attempt to annoy us. No gas was ever emitted against us, though but
a few miles to the north the enemy was using this new weapon
incessantly. Throughout the end of April and for many days in May the
wind blew steadily out of a cloudless sky from the north-east, and
every morning we anxiously sniffed the breeze as we fingered the
inadequate and clumsy respirators of those times. Every day a new
pattern arrived with a new set of instructions. Then our sappers were
ordered to make boxes of gun-powder which were to be fired by fuse and
thrown over the parapet to dissipate the gas. In doing this they
succeeded in blowing up several of their own number in their infernal
den at Doo-Doo Farm. Scarcely, however, were these boxes ensconced in
their weather-proof niches in each traverse than they were condemned,
and the sweating infantry who had brought them up returned them with
many curses to store.
The guns also left our sector in peace, which was the more fortunate
as our artillery was not in a position to reply effectively to even a
modest bombardment. Every now and then a little gun, apparently
mounted on an armoured car which ran along the avenue just behind the
German lines at dusk, would loose off half a dozen shells which burst
without any warning, like a pair of gigantic hands clapping. Sometimes
a few 'Little Willies' would strike Anton's Farm, which was included
in our trench line, but no attempt was made to level this valuable
ruin, which concealed patient and boastful snipers. The Warwicks on
our left expiated the sins of the whole Division, and on most days it
was possible to watch with a feeling of complete security a variety of
shells bursting among them a few hundred yards away; while overhead
flew the liberal daily ration expended on the Château de la Hutte on
Hill 63 behind. From the lovely garden which surrounded it, luxuriant
with lilac, Judas trees, tamarisk, wygelia and guelder-rose in full
bloom, you could view, like Moses, the unapproachable land of promise,
Lille and Roubaix, lying afar in the plain, with the smoke of enemy
activity rising from their numerous tall chimneys.
We had our little excitements, as on May 9th, when the French attacked
at Souchez, which was long remembered as 'the day of hate.' An
elaborate demonstration was prepared by the brigade, of which the
chief items were the exposure of trench-bridges 'obviously concealed,'
and the firing throughout the day of long bursts of rapid fire. These
interesting devices failed to deceive the enemy, who took little
notice beyond shelling the unhappy Warwicks and the town of
Ploegsteert with unusual severity. My company was in the wood that day
in reserve, and lay about pretending to be in readiness. It was, in
fact, the only day in which we had nothing to do.
We also had our mine, which was exploded opposite the Oxfords after
two false starts with much pomp and ceremony. A green rocket was sent
up one mile west of Ploegsteert 'to deceive the enemy,' as the Staff
memorandum hopefully remarked. Captain Hadden, of the 1st/4th Oxfords,
opposite whose trench the explosion was to occur, was ordered to keep
half his company in the fire trench with the rifles and bayonets of
the other half. These were to be ostentatiously waved above the
parapet. The other half company spent some time marching up and down
the corduroy paths in the wood, that the sound of their feet might
suggest the arrival of large reinforcements. When the Brigade invited
further suggestions of the same deceptive nature Hadden declared that
he indented for magic mirrors _à la_ Maskelyne and Devant, which would
show the Oxfords not only in front but in rear of their enemy.
There was also the occasion when the gunners promised to destroy a new
work erected by the Huns in front of their lines. They were heavily
handicapped at the outset by the necessity of employing percussion
shrapnel against a strong breastwork. But even when allowances were
made, it seemed unnecessary that their first shell, a premature,
should burst in the trees far behind on the Messines road, that the
second should fall in our trenches, and the third damage our wire. The
fourth, however, it is fair to say, reached if it did not seriously
disturb its objective.
The ground between the lines offered many opportunities for
patrolling; a belt of clover and rank weeds, knee-deep, in which our
wire was enclosed, was succeeded by a deep watery ditch, also
festooned with wire, and, beyond a fringe of willows on the further
side, ran a wide field of rye able to conceal the tallest man. Each
side cleared the ground immediately in front of their wire, and at
nights the sickle of the enemy reaper could be plainly heard cutting
swathes. More than once ambushes were laid in the daytime under cover
of the rye, which waited for an opportunity against him till late at
night, but without success. Lieut. Gathorne-Hardy, who was the pioneer
of these daylight patrols, on one occasion, stayed out from noon till
4 p.m. with his faithful follower, Sergt. Westall, examining the
German wire, for which exploit the former received the M.C. and the
latter the D.C.M. (to which was added a bar next year during the
fighting at Pozières for devotion to the wounded). Our losses during
these ten weeks were very light, but included Lieut. Ronald
Poulton-Palmer, who was shot through the heart by a random bullet
while superintending the building of a dugout just after midnight, May
4th, 1915. He had been nearly four years with the Battalion and was
greatly beloved by all ranks; as I went down the line at stand-to that
morning many of the men of old F Company, which he commanded at
Chelmsford, were crying. He was the first officer to fall, and was
buried by the Bishop of Pretoria in the Battalion cemetery in the wood
on the east side of the Messines road, about 200 yards short of Hyde
Park Corner.
The actual routine of life in the trenches was pleasant enough. The
men knew exactly where they were. There was a time to eat, a time to
sleep, a time for fatigues, and a time for sentry-go. There was little
rain, and no bitter nights. The shelters, which held two or three men
a-piece, though mere flimsy shell-traps, were comfortable, and either
boarded or lined with straw, which was frequently renewed. When the
Warwicks took over from us they exclaimed in admiring surprise, 'Why,
they're all officers' dugouts.' Each section had its little oven made
of a biscuit tin built round with clay. For the officers' mess in D
Company we had the kitchen range from Anton's Farm, and a large
zinc-covered erection in which six people could eat or play cards at
once. The domestic element was supplied by two cats, who safely reared
their offspring among us. Indeed, the calm of that placid series of
days was such that it was difficult to realise that the second Battle
of Ypres was raging with unbroken ferocity a few miles to the north,
until we listened to the unwearied rumble of the guns and saw by night
the great light in the sky where the doomed city blazed.
When in reserve our days were mainly spent in or close to the famous
wood, which was at that time regarded as the show-place, _par
excellence_, of the British front. Its natural glories have long since
departed under the devastating shell fire of the latter days of the
war, but in the spring and summer of 1915 it was a beautiful place,
where one might fancy that the many British dead rested more easily
beneath oaks and among familiar flowers than in most of the cemeteries
of this dreary land. The wood was about 1-1/2 miles long, with a
maximum depth of 1,400 yards, and its undergrowth, where not cut away,
was densely intertwined with alder, hazel, ash, and blackthorn, with
water standing in large pools on parts of its boggy surface. In one
corner was the picturesque Fosse Labarre, a wide horseshoe moat
enclosing a little garden, now a machine-gun emplacement, where grew
the cumfrey, teazle and yellow flag. Everywhere the dog violet and
blue veronica flourished in enormous clumps, and near the Strand was a
great patch of Solomon's seal. It was a continual pleasure to see the
wood clothe itself from the nakedness of early April and increase in
fulness of life until we left at midsummer. The nightingale sang there
unwearingly, but other birds were few, and I never noticed a nest in
the wood. The few pheasants which survived a winter with the 4th
Division were, I fear, exterminated by us. Rabbits continued plentiful
in spite of rifles and snares, and every now and then a hare was
started in the deserted fields.
Our predecessors had spent much labour and ingenuity in fitting up the
wood for comfortable military habitation. It was everywhere
intersected by corduroy paths, which though tiring to the feet,
completely saved one from the horrors of the mud, and enabled rations
and engineering stores to be brought up with ease in even the worst
weather. Near the centre of the wood was Piccadilly Circus, whence
many of these paths radiated; Regent Street and the Strand were the
two great lateral highways; Bunhill Row preserved the memory of the
London Rifle Brigade; Mud Lane served to remind us of those days when
corduroy was still non-existent, whilst Spy Corner hinted at some grim
and secret episode in the wood's history.
Meanwhile, screened from aeroplane observation by the dense foliage,
the reserve Companies of the Brigade, lived in canvas tents
fantastically daubed or in log huts. Some of the more elaborate of
these latter served the double purpose of mess and bedroom for the
Company Officers, the sides being taken up by two tiers of bunks made
of wire and filled with straw. Outside the devices of the various
regiments which had built or occupied them were carved or painted.
Around them were little gardens, some of which with happy forethought
had been planted in the winter. The most elaborate of all boasted a
clump of Madonna lilies, and a red rose. We sowed vegetable seeds
also, and ate our own mustard and cress, lettuces and radishes. In
this connection, too, I should mention the 4,000 cabbages sent by
Messrs. Sutton & Sons, which, planted in the transport lines at Rabot,
were left for the consumption of the 5th Battalion when we moved
south. These sylvan billets we generally shared with the 4th Oxfords,
Hunterston North and South, peaceful spots, seldom visited by shells
or stray bullets; less fortunate were the Bucks and 5th Gloucesters at
Somerset House, further to the east. Here by night a steady drizzle of
lead descended, and on one occasion 70 incendiary shells fell close to
Headquarters. One of these was a dud, and the Bucks, determined to
omit no precaution, sprinkled its resting place with chloride of lime!
On the west side of the Messines road, just outside the wood, our
Headquarters, with one reserve Company, inhabited the Piggeries, the
enormous bricked and covered sties of which easily accommodated 200
men. The owner had only just completed his venture before war began,
and the place was unmarked on the map, which possibly accounted for
its immunity from shell fire.
Life in the wood would have been wholly pleasant but for two things,
fatigues and lack of sleep. There is little doubt that if the war had
gone on for fifty years, its last month would have found the men as
strenuously employed in improving and strengthening the defences as in
those early days. Soldiers are naturally inclined to think when
depressed that (like the persons mentioned in the Bible) when 'they
have done all that is required of them they are but unprofitable
servants.' But at Plugstreet at least there was much which cried out
urgently to be done. A great gap in the trench line just east of
Prowse Point called for attention on our arrival. The work might, of
course, have been highly dangerous, for it was carried on within 200
yards of the enemy. But no attempt was made to interfere with our
labours. Presumably the mild Hun who faced us was afraid that he would
be called upon to attack through the gap and rejoiced to see it
filled. Every night the picks and shovels of 300 or 400 men could be
heard merrily at work with the inevitable undercurrent of conversation
as familiarity increased security. When the moon was bright the enemy
could be seen peacefully attending to his own wire, while sometimes we
were reminded that the hour had come to break off by a voice from
opposite calling out, 'Time to pack up, sappers; go to bed.' Every
morning a new length of enormous breastwork invited shells, which
never came. On such occasions the thought arose that we must be taking
part in the most expensive farce in the history of the world.
The lack of sleep was a more serious hardship, especially as it
appeared avoidable. Owing, presumably, to the thinness with which the
line was held, and to the lack of potential reinforcements behind, we
were not allowed to sleep in the wood. Every night we made our way
either to the lower or higher breastworks. The former were just off
Mud Lane, and were consequently protected by the ridge from view, and
to a certain extent from bullets. Here you could bivouac in the open
under waterproof sheets, and except when the weather was very wet,
enjoy a tolerable night. The latter, however, were on the forward
slope, freely exposed to the continual fire with which the Huns
replied to the provocation of the Warwicks. It was therefore necessary
to lie at the bottom of a narrow and stinking trench on a 9-inch
board. You had hardly fallen into an insecure doze when you were
awakened and had to move out, for these breastworks, being barely
shoulder high, were always evacuated at dawn, and dawn comes very
early in June. The men naturally preferred the regular hours and the
clean and comfortable shelters of the fire trench. Whenever any of the
men desired to get rid of their pay quickly they had only to walk a
few hundred yards to Ploegsteert village, where, within a mile of the
firing line, some hundreds of the inhabitants still remaining sold bad
beer, tinned fruit, and gaudy postcards at Flemish rates, which are
the highest in the world. When shelling was severe they locked up
their houses and disappeared mysteriously for a day or two until a
renewed lull enabled them to restart their profitable shop-keeping.
Many alleged spies lived here unharassed, especially in the outlying
farms; and credibility was lent to the current tales by the number of
carrier pigeons seen passing over the lines, or by the incident of
the two dogs which suddenly appeared early one dawn from the German
lines, leapt our trenches, and were lost in the darkness behind, in
spite of Challoner's frenzied attempts to shoot them.
Besides its inhabitants Ploegsteert offered little of interest. The
church, in spite of a dozen holes in the roof, and a great chip out of
the east end, still reared its tall red-brick spire. On to the square
outside the Huns directed a short afternoon hate at 3.30 punctually
every day, reaching their target with wonderful precision, but doing
little harm except when, as on May 9th, they employed incendiary
shells. When baths and the disinfecting of trench-soiled clothing were
required, the men marched to Nieppe, and wallowed in the famous vats,
where Mr. Asquith, one day arriving unexpectedly, found himself
cheered by a multitude of naked and steaming soldiers. From there it
was but a short walk to Armentières, that centre of the great world,
where Perrier water champagne and other delights could be obtained,
where in a luxurious tea-room you were waited upon by female
attendants of seductive aspect, and where two variety entertainments,
the "Follies" and "Frivolities," were on view most nights. The ugly
industrial town had then been little injured by shells, though every
now and then it received its share. The Huns sometimes playfully
directed against it French 220's captured at Maubeuge, and to point
the witticism sent over a few duds inscribed '_Un Souvenir de
Maubeuge_.'
So passed seven weeks during which we learned the routine of war under
singularly favourable conditions.