“To make matters more wretched, we could not make sure of our
direction, and were afraid of running into a German patrol, or even
a German trench, for such accidents are by no means uncommon in this
region. However, we managed to find our way back and report that up
to such and such a point on the map (approximately) there was no
one on our left. The Captain was not content with this, so I went
out again, this time with another officer. Having a compass on this
second occasion, I felt far more self-confidence, and to our mutual
satisfaction we discovered that the unit on our left was the right
flank of an English division. Captain —— was very bucked when we
brought back this information. As the mist continued for some time
afterward, we were able to light fires and make breakfast.
“Now, I have forgotten to tell you that we were in reserve. The front
line was some five or six hundred yards higher up the slope nearer
Ginchy. We knew that a big attack was coming off that day, but did not
think we should be called upon to take part. Accordingly, we settled
down for the day, and most of the men slept. I felt quite at home, as I
sat in the bottom of the deep trench, reading the papers I had received
the previous day from England.
“OVER THE TOP”
“It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon when we first learned that we
should have to take part in the attack on Ginchy. Now, you probably
expect me to say at this point in my narrative that my heart leaped
with joy at the news and that the men gave three rousing cheers, for
that’s the sort of thing you read in the papers. Well, I had been
over the top once already that week, and knew what it was to see men
dropping dead all around me, to see men blown to bits, to see men
writhing in pain, to see men running round and round, gibbering,
raving mad. Can you wonder, therefore, that I felt a sort of sickening
dread of the horrors which I knew we should all have to go through? How
the others felt I don’t exactly know, but I don’t think I am far wrong
when I say that their emotions were not far different from mine.
“You read no end of twaddle in the papers at home about the spirit
in which men go into action. You might almost think they reveled in
the horror and the agony of it all. I saw one account of the battle
of Ginchy in which the correspondent spoke of the men of a certain
regiment in reserve as ‘almost crying with rage’ because they couldn’t
take part in the show. All I can say is that I should like to see such
superhuman beings. It is rubbish like this which makes thousands of
people in England think that war is great sport. As a famous Yankee
General said, ‘War is hell,’ and you have only got to be in the Somme
one single day to know it. The man who says he loves being in a charge
is a liar, and an adjective liar at that.
“But to get on with the story. We were ordered to move up into the
front line to reinforce the Royal Irish Rifles. None of us knew for a
certainty whether we were going over the top or not, but everything
seemed to point that way. Guides were sent down by the Rifles to lead
us up. We wended our way up slowly, keeping as much as possible to the
trenches, which were so shallow that the deepest part of them did not
conceal more than our waists, but they were something to duck into if
we heard a shell coming. The bombardment was now intense. Our shells
bursting in the village of Ginchy made it belch forth smoke like a
volcano. The German shells were bursting on the slope in front of us.
The noise was deafening. I turned to my servant O’Brien, who has always
been a cheery, optimistic soul, and said, ‘Well, O’Brien, how do you
think we’ll fare?’ and his answer was for once not encouraging. ‘We’ll
never come out alive, Sir!’ was his reply. Happily, we both came out
alive, but I never thought we should at the time.