ON THE MOVE AND IN CORPS RESERVE
During the first week in June the three Brigades left their own
quarters and exchanged trench sections. The 145th moved from the
centre to the left, to the joy of the Warwicks, whose losses had been
considerable. While this move was in process the Battalion was taken
out of the wood, and marched to huts at Korte Pyp, on a plateau with a
wide prospect on the southern slopes of Neuve Église Hill. The site
was admirable, the huts well-built and commodious, and (rarest of
sights in the rich cultivation of Flanders) a good-sized grass field
was at hand sufficiently level to make a decent cricket pitch. Here
for four days we were free of fatigues, were inspected by the new
G.O.C. of the Division, Major-General Fanshawe, enjoyed the sun, and
endured a violent thunderstorm. Thence returning to the wood we
sampled White Lodge, the Warwick's home under the steep wooded bluff
of Hill 63, where the rats made merry among the dirt and unburied
food; also La Plus Douce, a pastoral but dangerous spot, where the
Douve flowed muddily amidst neglected water-meadows stretching along
to Wulverghem with its battered church tower showing among the trees.
On the opposite slope were two broken farms called St. Quentin and
South Midland, wherein lay great quantities of abandoned tobacco,
while all around were the tarnished scabbards thrown away by De
Lisle's cavalry during the fighting at Messines of the previous
October.
On June 15th the whole Battalion returned to the trenches, and held a
total length of 1,450 yards, stretching from our old right, Trench 37,
across the Messines road to a ruined cottage, close by which our
trenches were carried over the Douve by a wooden bridge. Our line was
thus drawn in a curve right round the south of Messines Hill, which
twinkled with points of fire at every morning 'stand-to' from the
tiers of trenches which honeycombed its face. Contrary to
expectations, the centenary of Waterloo passed without incident during
this tour, in spite of the Huns' reputed fondness for such
celebrations.
At this time we were fortunate in having with us our 5th Battalion for
instruction, who had come out about a fortnight before with the 12th
Division, and there were many meetings of friends, both among the
officers and the men.
We then returned for the last time to our familiar haunts in the wood,
where we found the wild strawberries, which we had watched creeping
timidly out of the earth, ripening everywhere in countless numbers.
Meanwhile the 12th Division abode in billets in Armentières and
Nieppe, and rumours grew strong that they would take over from us. The
secret was well kept, but on Thursday morning, June 24th, as the
Company Commanders were on their way to visit the Worcester trenches
they were recalled by orderly with the news that the Battalion was
moving to Bailleul that night. The evening was hot and steamy, the men
soft from lack of exercise and sleep, and the 8 miles seemed
interminable. We arrived at Bailleul about 1 a.m., and billeted in the
quarter adjoining the railway station. For the first time since
leaving England I slept in a bed with sheets in a room to myself.
A fierce thunderstorm next day had failed to clear the air, when we
set out again about 9.30 p.m. in an atmosphere of clinging dampness.
The whole brigade marched together with our faces turned south towards
unfamiliar country, and just before daybreak we arrived at Vieux
Berquin, a village of detached farmhouses with gardens full of all
manner of fruit and vegetables. Here a dozen crosses with a smaller
black cross painted on the wood testified to the presence of the
Bavarians last autumn. That night, with the moon about the full,
though often obscured by clouds, the brigade made a long and weary
march south-west, edging gradually away from the flares and the
distant rifle shots. Towards midnight we had a long check at Merville,
a placid little town with tree-planted boulevards along the banks of
the Lys, while Canadian guns and transport passed us going north from
their second great fight at Festubert and Givenchy. Day had broken and
the sun was climbing an eastern sky ribbed with red and gold, when we
reached our destination, the village of Gonnehem, which boasts an
ancient and beautiful church decorated with a quiet simplicity not
often found in these parts. No enemy had entered here since the
beginning of the war. It stands at the southern limit of the great
plain; beyond are the low wooded hills of Artois, and away to the west
the great slag heaps of Marles-les-Mines loomed through the thunder
clouds like pyramids. That Sunday evening we completed our last stage
of 4 miles by daylight, moving south-west again to the large
industrial village of Lapugnoy, with a station on the St. Pol railway
5 miles west of Béthune, lying in a valley overlooked on either side
by densely-timbered hills.
Here, withdrawn 10 miles behind the line and comfortably housed, we
spent 17 days in a succession of drills, route marches and wood
fighting. We were now in the 1st Army and behind the southern
extremity of the then British line. From the calvary above the
village the eye rested on many famous landmarks: the great cathedral
of Béthune, untouched by the Hun, the church of Givenchy, the slag
heaps of La Bassée, and the low ridge of Aubers, which barred the road
to Lille, a dim frame in the background. We visited Béthune, a
gracious little city girdled about with poplars, limes and chestnuts,
where most things could be bought, including the latest English
novels. The Guards had their Headquarters in the town, and impressed
everyone with their physical fitness and splendid discipline. We
consumed a morning waiting on the Lillers-Béthune road to see Lord
Kitchener drive past in a motor; we watched the Indians going up to
the trenches in motor 'buses, and a motley crew of picturesque French
Colonials going by train to Souchez: Zouaves, turbaned and bearded,
Algerians, with thick-lipped niggers from Congo and Senegal, who ran
along the open trucks shouting and gesticulating. On July 11th a
memorable meeting took place between the 1st and 4th Battalions in a
field near Fouquières-lès-Béthune, where they spent the day together.
This momentary gathering of so many brothers, relatives and friends on
active service gave the greatest pleasure to all. In the improvised
sports which ensued the men of the 1st Battalion beat the 4th at a
tug-of-war, while in the officers' tug the result was reversed. The
1st Battalion were at this time commanded by Captain Bird, as their
late C.O., Major Hill, had been killed not many days before by a shell
which demolished the Headquarters' mess at Cuinchy.
The next evening found the brigade on the move again, through the
mining villages of Marles-les-Mines and Bruay, to a wretched hamlet
called Houchin, where the only accommodation provided for the
battalion was a field of standing rye ripe for the scythe. When day
broke we found ourselves in a desolate country with the high naked
ridge of Notre Dame de Lorette shutting out the southern horizon. Here
in shelter of boughs and waterproof sheets we spent three days of
great discomfort under pouring rain and wind, employed day and night
in digging a reserve line some 4 miles away. As we worked near
Sailly-Labourse we gazed with curiosity at an arid gentle slope some 2
miles away, pitted by trenches and crowned by an elaborate iron
structure with two towers. This ground was the scene of the main
British attack on Loos two months later, and the building was the
famous Tower Bridge. The squalid little town between Houchin and
Sailly, at whose busy coal-mine the enemy intermittently threw shells,
was Noeux-les-Mines, where Lord French had his forward headquarters
during the fighting. But even then there was an abundance of the sound
of battle, for on the second evening a furious cannonade burst out to
the south-east, which signalled the recapture by the enemy of Souchez
Cemetery: the last scene in that terrific fight which had endured
almost incessantly since May 9th.
The day on which we went on the trek again (July 16th) was long
remembered. We had expected in due course to go into the trenches
somewhere near Grenay, but it suddenly became known that the brigade
was to march back to the neighbourhood of Lillers preparatory to
entraining for an unknown destination. Half the battalion that day had
done their daily trip to Sailly and came back about 4 p.m., after
marching 8 miles and digging for four hours. At 9 p.m. we moved off in
driving rain for an all-night march of 15 miles. The brigade transport
was in front, and checks were naturally frequent as we retraced our
steps through Bruay and Marles, thence on to Burbure, where our guide
misled us through a narrow inky lane, in which most of the Brigade
lost touch. Just as the dawn was breaking and our troubles seemed
nearly over our guide again mistook the way, and we found ourselves
bogged in a cart track at the top of a down. The rain and hail
descended in a sudden most violent squall and wetted us to the skin;
while far away in the east the morning flares twinkled for 30 miles in
a great arc. One of the signallers was heard plaintively to remark as
we waited, 'What 'ave we done to deserve all this?' Finally we
descended into Lières, a pleasant remote village in a fold of the
chalk, full of cherry trees, and slept peaceably till noon.
After a day's rest we marched on Sunday afternoon, July 18th, to La
Berguette station, on the Hazebrouck line west of Lillers. Here we met
detachments of our old friends of the wood, the L.R.B., who, reduced
in strength to 70 men during the Ypres fighting, had been put on lines
of communication. We knew by now that our journey would take us to
Doullens, a sub-prefecture of the Somme, and that we were to take over
a portion of the French line. So back again in the cattle trucks and
second-class carriages, the Battalion moved off south under far more
pleasant circumstances. The rate of speed, too, was comparatively high
and can hardly have fallen short of 15 miles an hour.
We reached our destination as usual in the early hours of the morning,
and after unloading drew out of the town, passing on the right the old
Citadelle with its red ramparts high upon a hill, and the point of
elderly Territorials at the junction of the great Amiens road. Thence
we followed the south bank of the Authie River, enclosed on either
side by rounded chalk hills 400 or 500 feet high. We breakfasted by
the road opposite the Château of Autheuille, where Major Barron and
his M.T. lived luxuriously for many months 11 miles behind the firing
line; then plodded on past Sarton, where the 5th Gloucesters watched
us from their billets, and finally bivouacked in the beech woods of
Marieux. Close by was the site of the French aerodrome, now deserted
save for empty petrol tins; down in the valley, Mon Plaisir, an
enormous country house was being prepared for the Headquarters of the
7th Corps; in the orchards were parked two batteries of long French
155's. The roads were encumbered with the impedimenta of two armies.
We were starting on another stage of the great adventure, and felt
again to a lesser degree the uncertainty of essaying the unknown.