Our First Battle.
Our marching orders came within the next few days. Each unit was
provided with portable bridges, which were carried under the wagon
bodies, and this, and several other preparations, gave us a good
indication that we were out for business. A couple of days trekking
brought us to the village of Nedonchel, which proved to be another
place of happy memory to our Senior Subaltern. Here we were given a
rough idea of the part we were to play in the coming proceedings. Two
army corps were to attack, on a six mile front, in the neighbourhood of
Loos and, if the assault was successful, the corps in reserve, which
included our Division, was to go through and exploit the victory to its
fullest advantage. We were to take no part in the initial attack.
Large masses of troops were being moved up behind the battle area, and,
in order to screen our movements from hostile aircraft, the latter
stages of the journey were to be made under cover of darkness, so the
whole of the next day was spent in resting. At nightfall a diversion
was caused by a Cavalry Division passing through the village on its way
up, and a splendid sight it presented, as one famous regiment followed
swiftly on another. It was now almost time for us to make a start, and
the good lady of the house had remained out of bed to brew us hot
coffee and see us off the premises. As we were about to depart she told
us that her old mother, aged 88, who was in the next room, had
expressed the desire to see us for a moment, and so we were conducted
to the old lady’s bedside. She was lying telling her beads, but sat up
as we approached and beckoned to each officer in turn, who advanced,
knelt, and received a blessing. The inhabitants knew well that a big
battle was to be fought quite soon, as the little village had been the
scene of great activity during the past few days and, although it was a
considerable distance from the line, the preliminary bombardment could
be distinctly heard. The low muffled rumble was incessant, and,
to-night, seemed, if anything, more intense. Shortly after midnight we
set off and disappeared into the darkness, followed by words of good
cheer from the villagers and shouts of “Bon chance, messieurs, bon
chance.”
Passing through Bruay we arrived a few miles behind the battle front on
the morning of the assault, which was delivered at an early hour, and
soon the news came back that, so far, everything was going well; the
village of Loos had already fallen into our hands. As the day wore on,
however, and the expected orders to advance were not forthcoming, we
suspected that all was not as it should be and our fears were confirmed
soon afterwards by instructions being given to prepare to bivouac
overnight on the ground close by. What actually happened was this:—The
initial attack was successful in capturing and overrunning the enemy’s
front line trenches over the whole area, but, on advancing to the
second trench system a great deal of wire was found to have been left
unbroken or untouched by our artillery, and this held the infantry up
at vital places. The attack, however, was pressed with great courage
and determination, and in some places the flood of men swept on, but,
unfortunately, in others, little or no progress was made. The line,
consequently, soon presented a crooked, irregular shape, which made the
situation difficult and obscure. The enemy, moreover, had anticipated
the attack and had large reinforcements at hand which were at once
thrown in, and after a ding-dong struggle throughout the day the
advance came to an abrupt standstill. Two Divisions from the Reserve
Corps were then sent in, and, on the following afternoon, the Guards
attacked and helped to a large extent in straightening out a
considerable portion of the line. It was not until nightfall of the
third day that we entered the battle and took up a position immediately
north of Vermelles Station in the back garden of a row of damaged
villas. On our way “in,” a couple of cavalry regiments, which had been
holding Loos for the last two days and which had just been relieved,
passed us. There passed also the remnant of one of the Scottish
Divisions which had fought so valiantly and paid so heavy a price.
Footsore, weary, and caked with mud from top to toe, with every sign of
what they had been through upon them, and heavily laden with
“souvenirs” in addition to their full kit, the men could scarcely crawl
along. However, just as one battalion came abreast of us, in such
condition, the pipes tuned up and at once every head was erect and not
a man was out of step as they swung past us; such is the moral force of
the bagpipes. It was one of those moments in which a lump rises in the
throat and a thrill runs down the spine.
In our new position we speedily learnt what we could do and what we
could not do. For instance, the signallers were able to introduce
electric light into our abode by tapping a live wire which ran outside,
from one fosse to the next, for we were now in the Lens coal district
with mines dotted about here and there. On the other hand, we soon
learnt to refrain from sleeping or showing lights in the second storey
of our billet which was evidently under direct observation by the
enemy, who did not take long to acquaint us with the fact.
There was always a good deal of firing to be done each day, for,
although the battle may be said to have finished after four or five
days, there were several side-shows before the line was adjusted to our
liking, and the enemy’s fire was almost continuous. This bothered the
F.O.O. parties considerably, and communication was difficult to
maintain for more than a short time between the front line and Battery.
The wire was frequently broken in numerous places, and this kept
signallers and linesmen working at high pressure to repair the damage.
The O.P.’s were moderately good, with the exception of one in “Gun
Trench,” where our men held a portion, then came a sand bagged wall
occupied on the other side by our opponents which they were able to
enter by a T-shaped communication trench, then another sand-bagged wall
with our infantry beyond. Neither side could shell this trench for fear
of injury to their own party, but this did not prevent a lively
exchange of bombs, intermingled with various forms and sizes of
“Minnies,” which were hurled at frequent intervals. Sniping was also
rampant, and periscopes, no matter how small, survived not longer than
a few minutes. It was from this delightful spot that one of the
subalterns arrived at the Battery one evening with his head swathed in
bandages like a Sultan’s turban. He had been trying conclusions with a
“Minnie,” and, as this was in the days before the introduction of the
steel helmet, the latter had easily come out on top. When the wound was
ascertained to be nothing like as serious as the size of the bandage
seemed to indicate, he was removed to the wagon line amid jeers from
his brother officers, and a few days’ rest sufficed to bring him back
to duty again.
Now, in one portion of the zone which we were covering, “No Man’s Land”
extended some 1500 yards in depth, and midway, lying in the valley,
were what appeared to be two derelict enemy guns partially camouflaged
This aroused the curiosity of the Staff, who called for volunteers to
go out and make an investigation and report as to the condition of the
sights, etc. Our B.C. gallantly offered his services, in spite of the
fact that he was over six feet in height, and presented a most
conspicuous figure, and would not be deterred. He set off crawling
through the long grass on his perilous journey, and there was a huge
grin on his face when he returned. After his report went in we
ascertained that the two pieces were nothing more than cleverly
constructed dummies formed from cart wheels, telegraph poles and trunks
of trees, but it was not until he almost came up to them that he made
the discovery.
The detachments meanwhile had settled down, making improvements to
their billets and strengthening the gun pits, and were already proving
themselves seasoned warriors. On one occasion a nasty accident
happened, due to the explosion of a howitzer, caused, as was afterwards
proved, by a faulty shell. The complete gun crew, with the exception of
the No. 1 in charge, was wounded. Three of their number were
temporarily buried by the earth thrown up by the explosion, and it was
probably due to that fact that no one was killed. The pit naturally
fell to bits and the debris was indescribable, but the Sergeant managed
to disentangle himself, and, standing stiffly to attention, reported to
the officer on duty, “No. 2 gun out of action, sir!” No time was lost
in digging out the injured men, and it was only found necessary to
evacuate three of the number to the nearest dressing station—the
remainder flatly refusing to go. The layer, in particular, deserved
great credit for his grit, for, in spite of having been buried, and
having scarcely a hair left on his head and devoid of eyebrows, not to
mention the shock to his nervous system, he was again serving his gun
24 hours later, on the arrival of the new piece. Some idea of the force
of the explosion can be gathered from the fact that the barrel was
found, in two pieces, some 150 yards away, having been blown over a
railway embankment, while the breech block, which weighs about a cwt.,
was discovered, after a 12 hours’ search, embedded in the ground six
feet below the pit. At this period a considerable number of
“prematures” were taking place, and, on one occasion, we ascribed this
wounding of two gunners to this cause, but afterwards found out our
mistake. An S.O.S. went up after dark, and, at the time of firing No. 3
gun, the layer and another gunner were both badly hit by what appeared
to be a “premature” just outside the bore of the piece. Throughout this
period we were firing nothing but high explosive shells. Great
therefore was our surprise when, three weeks later, letters arrived
from both men, who were in hospital, to say that in each case shrapnel
bullets had been extracted from them! What had actually occurred was
this: At the same time that the trigger was pulled and the shell
discharged, a “pip squeak” must have burst in front of the mouth of the
gun pit, driving the bullets through the entrance.
Day after day passed in much the same way, neither side attempting to
make an attack on any large scale, but on the morning of the 8th
October, it was observed that the hostile shelling was not normal, and
had increased in extent along the whole recently captured area.
Preparations were therefore rapidly made to meet any eventuality, and,
as the day advanced and his bombardment gained in strength, it was
apparent to everyone that the enemy contemplated an attack. At noon
orders were received to be ready, at any time, to lay down a
destructive barrage on a certain zone. The Staff had happily
anticipated the point of attack accurately, and, by the time the enemy
concentrated his final burst of lire on his objectives, every gun in
the neighbourhood which could bear, was trained on the vital spot ready
to open out. When at last the time arrived, the bombardment ceased
abruptly, and the enemy’s infantry advanced to the assault wave upon
wave, for the most part in mass formation and with arms linked
together. Emerging from a wood, they had a considerable distance to
cover across open ground before approaching our trenches, so both our
infantry and artillery fire was at first withheld. This gave
encouragement to the enemy, and, as his bombardment had been pretty
severe, he expected more or less of a “walk over,” and did not reckon
on what was to follow. When he had advanced to within 200 yards of our
lines, suddenly rapid fire spurted out from our rifles and machine
guns, and guns of every description spat H.E. and shrapnel, and his
ranks were literally mown down. Then a curtain was put down behind—a
solid wall of fire—which made it practically impossible for the troops
to retire, and their plight was beyond all hope. While they were
cogitating whether to come on or go back, they were slaughtered in
heaps—raked by the deadly machine guns. Very few indeed survived to
tell the tale, but one prisoner claimed to be most indignant with the
whole proceedings, and expressed his opinion that we did not “play the
game” by withholding our fire, and that they imagined they had only to
walk into our trenches and take possession of them. This proved to be
the last big hostile counter-attack attempted, and indeed both sides
were content to remain in their own trenches. We made a smaller attack
the next week, but it was also unsuccessful, and little or no ground
was gained. The enemy artillery devoted themselves principally to
counter battery work, and several British batteries, which were ill
concealed, had a most unpleasant time. Free use was made of
lachrymatory shell, our first taste of it. One clear, moonlight night
the battery was firing at a slow rate, and apparently the enemy saw our
flashes, for he speedily turned a 4.2 battery on to us, his shells
landing just short of each gun pit. No casualties resulted, but a shell
entered the window of one detachment’s billet and exploded, completely
wrecking the room and destroying the men’s equipment. Soon afterwards
instructions were issued to change positions, and this was effected
without loss or mishap. The new position was more favourably placed,
some little way in front of the Fosse at Annequin, and had been
constructed by the French. We were now covering the Hohenzollern
Redoubt of evil memory. Another O.P. was constructed on the railway
embankment on the La Bassée-Vermelles line, which lent itself
favourably to the construction of a shaft for protection, the soil, for
the most part, being chalk, as indeed it was in all the surrounding
neighbourhood. It was our misfortune at this position to say farewell
to our Battery Commander, who left us to take up a Staff appointment
with the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, and all ranks were sorry to
lose a leader who had thus far shared all their joys and sorrows. At
the same time we were fortunate in securing in his successor one who
quickly and tactfully took up the reins of office, and the Battery
continued to run on equally smooth lines.
It now became quite evident that operations would not resume the nature
of a battle, and it was no surprise to receive intimation that the
Division would shortly retire from the conflict. Nobody was sorry at
the prospect of going out, although useful lessons had been learnt and
considerable experience had undoubtedly been gained.
The weather was beginning to break, and towards the end of the first
week in November we withdrew to the village of Sailly, preparatory to
marching into the next area for which we were bound.