THE STRUGGLE ON THE AISNE
[The Battle of the Aisne began on Sunday, September 13th, 1914,
when the Allies crossed the river. The Germans made furious efforts
to hack their way through to Paris, but after a struggle lasting
three weeks they were driven back with enormous losses. The British
losses were: 561 officers and 12,980 men in killed, wounded and
missing. The beginning of this tremendous conflict is told by
Private Herbert Page, of the Coldstream Guards, who was wounded and
had a wonderful escape from instant death on the battlefield.]
There was fierce fighting all day on Sunday, September 13th, when the
Battle of the Aisne began; but the Coldstreamers were not in it till the
Monday. We had had a lot of heavy fighting, though, since the beginning
of the business at Mons, and we had had a fine fight at Landrecies--a
fight which has been specially mentioned in despatches. At the end of it
all the men in my company--Number 2--had their names taken, but I don’t
know why. Anyway, it was a grand affair, and no doubt some day the real
full story of it will be told and everybody will know what the
Coldstreamers did there. Landrecies is particularly an affair of the 3rd
Coldstreamers.
We had had a very hard time, fighting and marching and sleeping in the
open during the cold nights and in thick mud or in trenches that were
deep in water; but with it all we kept very cheerful, especially when
we knew that we had brought the Germans up with a jerk and were
beginning to roll them back.
The Coldstreamers were in the open all day on the Sunday, right on the
side of the artillery, behind a big hill, and were very comfortable. The
artillery on both sides were hard at it, but the Germans could not get
our range and no shells came near us. It was harvest time, and we were
lying down on sheaves of wheat, and making ourselves as cosy as we
could. That was not altogether easy to do, because it was raining during
the best part of the day and everything was rather depressing and very
wet. But we put our oilsheets on the ground, our greatcoats over the
oilsheets, and straw on the top of ourselves, so that we were really
pretty snug, taken altogether. The straw, I fancy, was put there not so
much to give us comfort as to hide us from the view of the chaps who
were always flying about in the German aeroplanes, trying to spot us and
make our positions known to their own gunners.
Our own aeroplanes and the Germans’ were very busy during that Sunday,
and shells were flying about them on both sides, but I don’t think they
were doing much mischief. We ourselves were doing very nicely indeed.
Our transport came up and issued new biscuits, and we got a pot of jam
each--and delicious they were, too. We enjoyed them immensely, and
didn’t care a rap about the German shells. Our transport was splendid,
and we always had something to go on with. There was no fixed time for
any meal, there couldn’t be, for we used to march about fifty minutes
and take ten minutes’ halt. If we were on a long day’s march we would
get an hour or two at dinner-time, usually from one o’clock. It was a
funny country we were in, hot in the daytime and cold at night; but we
soon got used to that. We were helped enormously by the kindness of the
French, and we got on very well with the people and had not much
difficulty in making ourselves understood, especially as we picked up a
few words of the language--and we could always make signs. When we
wanted a drink we would hold out our water-bottles and say “loo,” and
they laughed and rushed off and filled our bottles with water.
On the way to the Valley of the Aisne we passed through towns and
villages where the Germans had been and we saw what outrages they had
committed on both people and property. They had recklessly destroyed
everything. They had thrown poor people’s property out of the windows
into the streets and pulled their bedding into the roads to lie on
themselves. The Germans acted like barbarians wherever they went--I saw
one poor child who was riddled with bullets. We ourselves had strict
orders against looting of any sort, but we did not dream of touching
other people’s property. Whenever we came to a town or village we warned
the people to get away, as the Germans were coming, and they went. It
was always pleasant to hear them say--as they did to our officers, who
spoke to them in French--that they felt safe when the English were
there.
The river Aisne runs through lovely country, which looks a bit of a
wreck now, because we had to rush across the open and trample down the
wheat to get at the Germans. The country’s crops were spoiled, but the
damage we did was trifling compared with the devastation that the
Germans caused.
Throughout that Sunday when the Battle of the Aisne opened we had no
casualties, and the day passed pretty well. At night we slept in a barn,
which was better than the wet fields. There were no rats, but plenty of
rabbits, for the people of the farm seemed to breed them and to have
left the hutches open. That night in the barn gave me the best rest I
had had since Mons, as I was not even on guard. We had a good breakfast
in the barn, tea, bully beef and biscuits, and marched off soon after
six in the morning, which was very wet and cold. We marched about four
miles, until we came to the Aisne, to a bridge that had been blown up
and so shattered that there was only a broken girder left. The rest of
the bridge was in the river, which was very deep in the middle, after
the heavy rains.
We were now properly in the thick of the battle and a fierce business it
was, because the Germans had the range of us and were dropping shells as
fast as they could fire. Some of the Guards were got across by boats,
but we had to wait our turn to cross over a pontoon bridge which the
Engineers had put up, in spite of the heavy fire.
We felt the German artillery fire at this place, near the village of
Vendresse, but we could not see them. We watched the Loyal North
Lancashires cross the pontoon bridge and saw them march away on the
other side of the river, which was well wooded, then we heard them
firing hard and knew that they were in action with the Germans. We were
not long in following the North Lancashires and over the pontoon bridge
we went, going very quietly, as we had been told to make as little noise
as possible. In about an hour we were properly in the business
ourselves.
After crossing the river we began to feel that at last we were really
at the Germans. We made the best of the shelter that the wood gave us,
and from behind trees and from the sodden ground we kept up a
destructive fire on the enemy, getting nearer to him all the time.
Things were growing very hot and the whole countryside rang with the
crashing of the guns and the everlasting rattle of the rifles and
machine-guns. We were expecting more of our men to cross the river and
reinforce us, but the German guns had got the range of the pontoons and
no more of our men could cross, so that for the time being we were cut
off and had to do as best we could with one of the very strong
rearguards of the enemy.
When we had put some good firing in from the wood we left the shelter of
the trees and got into the open country, and then we were met by a shell
fire which did a great deal of mischief amongst us. These shells were
the big chaps that we called Jack Johnsons, and one came and struck an
officer of the North Lancashires who was standing on the right of his
line. I was not far from him, being on the left of our own line. The
shell shattered both his legs and he fell to the ground. I hurried up,
and the first thing the officer asked for was a smoke. We propped him up
against a haycock and a chap who had some French tobacco made a fag and
gave it to the officer--nobody had a cigarette ready made. He smoked
half of it and died. By that time the stretcher-bearers had come up and
were taking him away. Before he left for the rear I gently pulled his
cap over his face. This affair filled the men around with grief, but it
put more heart into us to go on fighting the Germans.
Our artillery now began to fire rapidly and the Germans started to
retire. There was a big bunch of them, and they made for the hill as
fast as they could go, meaning to scuttle down the other side and get
away. But our gunners were too sharp for them, and they were properly
roused up by that time. They came up in splendid style--the 117th Field
Battery, I think they were--and just as the Germans reached the top of
the hill in a solid body our gunners dropped three shells straight into
them, and three parts of the flying Germans stopped on the top of the
hill--dead.
I could not say how many Germans there were against us at this place,
but I know that they came on in swarms, and they went down as fast as we
could fire. But their going down seemed to make no difference to their
numbers. They were only a few hundred yards away, and we could see them
quite plainly. They were running all over the place, like a lot of mad
sheep, they were so excited. And they were blowing trumpets, like our
cavalry trumpets, and beating drums and shouting “Hoch! Hoch!” as hard
as they could shout.
They kept blowing their charge and banging their drums till they were
about 300 yards away, and shouting their “Hochs!” They shouted other
words as well, but I don’t know what they were.
When our chaps heard the trumpets and drums going and the German cheers
they answered with a good old British “Hooray!” and a lot of them
laughed and shouted, “Here comes the Kaiser’s rag-time band! We’ll give
you ‘Hoch!’ when you get a bit nearer!” And I think we did. At any rate
we kept on firing at them all the time they were advancing; but they
swept ahead in such big numbers that we were forced to retire into the
wood.
As soon as we got into the wood we came under very heavy machine-gun
fire from the Germans, and the bullets rained about us, driving into the
earth and into the trees and whizzing all around us everywhere. The
German shells were smashing after us, too, but were not doing much
damage at that point.
It was now that I lost a very old chum of mine, a fine chap from
Newcastle named Layden, a private. He was in the thick of the
machine-gun fire, a few paces from me, when he suddenly cried out and I
knew that he was hit. The first thing he said was, “Give me a cigarette.
I know I shan’t go on much longer.” When we asked him what the matter
was he said he was hurt. “Are you wounded?” he was asked. “Yes, I’m hit
in the stomach,” he answered--and he was, by about seventeen bullets.
The call went round for a cigarette, but nobody had one--lots of
cigarettes were sent out to the soldiers that never reached them--but
poor Layden was soon beyond the need of fags. He was delirious when our
stretcher-bearers came and took him to a barn which had been turned into
a temporary hospital. He lingered there for some time; but the last I
saw of him was on the field. I missed him badly, because we had been
good chums, and whatever we got we used to give each other half of it.
For about five hours, until two o’clock in the afternoon, that part of
the battle went on, and all the time we were holding the Germans back;
then we were reinforced by the remainder of our troops, who came across
the pontoon bridge to our assistance.
The Germans now seemed to think that they had had enough of it and they
held up white flags, and we left the shelter of the wood and went out to
capture them. I should think that there were about three hundred of the
Germans at that point who pretended to surrender by holding up the white
flag; but as soon as we were up with them their people behind fired at
us--a treacherous trick they practised very often. In spite of it all we
managed to get the best part of the prisoners safe and drove them in
before us to our own lines. When they really surrendered, and did not
play the white flag game, we used to go up and take all their rifles,
bayonets and ammunition, and throw them away out of their reach, so that
they could not make a sudden dash for them and turn on us. When we had
chased a few prisoners and had seen what the Germans meant by the white
flag signal, we were told to take no notice of it, but to keep on
shooting till they put their hands up.
A lot of the prisoners spoke English and said how glad they were to be
captured and have no more fighting to do. Some said they loved England
too much to want to fight against us, and a German said, “Long live King
George, and blow the Kaiser!” But I don’t know how many of them meant
what they said--you can’t depend on Germans.
We had plenty of talks with the German prisoners who could speak
English. Some of them who had lived in England spoke our language quite
well, and it was very interesting to hear what they had to say about us
and the French and the Belgians. They couldn’t stand the British
cavalry, and one man said, “We don’t like those Englishmen on the grey
horses at all,” meaning the Scots Greys. Several of the prisoners said
they didn’t mind so much fighting the French, because the French
infantry fired too high, nor the Russians, because they fired too low;
“but,” they said, “every time the Englishman pulls the trigger he means
death.” That was a very nice compliment to us, and there was a great
deal of truth in what was said about the British rifle fire. I can
assure you that when we settled down to the work we often enough plugged
into the Germans just as if we were on manœuvres.
At the very first--and I’m not ashamed to say it--I shook like a leaf
and fired anyhow and pretty well anywhere; but when that first awful
nervousness had passed--not to return--we went at it ding-dong all the
time and fired as steadily as if we were on the ranges. The men were
amazingly cool at the business--and as for the officers, well, they
didn’t seem to care a rap for bullets or shells or anything else, and
walked about and gave orders as if there were no such things in the
world as German soldiers.
Most of the poor beggars we took were ravenous for want of food, and
those who could speak English said they had been practically without
food for days, and we saw that they had had to make shift with the oats
that the horses were fed with. This starvation arose from the fact that
a few days earlier we had captured the German transport and left them
pretty short of food.
That rush after the Germans and bagging them was exciting work. It was
successful and everything seemed to be going very well. But there was a
nasty surprise in store for me and one which very nearly ended my career
as a fighting man. I had really a miraculous escape.
I had charge of about four prisoners, and kept them well in front of me,
so that they could not rush me. I kept them covered with my rifle all
the time, and as I had ten rounds in my magazine I knew that they
wouldn’t have a ghost of a chance if they tried any German tricks on
me--I could easily have finished the lot before they could have got at
me.
As I was driving the prisoners I felt as if some one had come up and
punched me on the ear. I did not know whether I had been actually hit by
somebody or shot, but I turned my head and at once fell to the ground. I
was swiftly up again on my feet and scrambled about. I knew that I was
hurt, but the thing I mostly cared about just then was my bag of
prisoners, so I handed them over to another man, and he took them in. I
then found that I had been shot in the neck by a bullet. It had gone in
at the collar of the jacket, at the back of the neck--here’s the hole it
made--and through the neck and out here, where the scar is, just under
the jaw. A narrow shave? Yes, that’s what the doctor said--it had just
missed the jugular vein. The shot bowled me out, but it was a poor
performance by the German who fired, because he could not have been more
than three hundred yards away, and being six foot one I made a big
target at that short distance. Anyway, he missed me and I was told to go
to a barn not far away which had been turned into a hospital, bed
mattresses having been placed on the floor. Here my kit was taken off me
and I was looked after at once, my kit being given to a North Lancashire
man who had lost his own and had been without one for three days. He had
been in a small battle and had had to take his choice between dropping
his kit and being caught; so he got rid of his kit and was able to
escape. When he left the barn he went into the firing line, but he only
lasted about ten minutes there. I had seen him leave
[Illustration:
[_To face p. 50._
“FROM BEHIND TREES WE KEPT UP A DESTRUCTIVE FIRE ON THE ENEMY.” (p.
45).]
and I saw him brought back by the stretcher-bearers. As soon as he was
inside the barn he asked where I was, and he was told and was laid down
close to me. “Look here, old chap,” he said pleasantly, “if you’d only
been ten minutes later I shouldn’t have been here, because I shouldn’t
have got your kit and gone into the firing line and got hit.”
Perhaps he was right. He might have escaped; but as it was he had been
shot through both legs.
I didn’t like being in the barn and out of the fighting. It was better
to be in the firing line, with all its excitement and the knowledge that
you were doing your bit to help things along and drive the Germans back
to the best place for them, and that’s Germany; but our officers, who
never lost a chance of cheering and helping us, came in when they could
to see how we were getting on. During the afternoon my company officer,
Captain Brocklehurst, and the adjutant, came in to see how things were
going. Captain Brocklehurst saw me and said, “There are not many of the
company left; but we’re doing wonderfully well. We’ve killed a good many
of the Germans and taken about five hundred prisoners.” That was good
news, very good, but it was even better when the captain added, “And
we’re pushing them back all the time.”
The guns were booming and the rifles were crackling all around us while
we were lying in the barn, and wounded men were being constantly brought
in, keeping the doctors and the ambulance men terribly busy--and you can
imagine what it must have meant for the Germans if it was like that for
us; because we fought in open order, so that we were not easy to hit,
whereas the Germans were in their solid formation, which meant that
they could not advance against the British fire without being mown down.
I was in the barn, which was crowded with wounded, till about one
o’clock in the morning, then we were taken in Red Cross vans to another
hospital about three miles away, and as we left the French people showed
us all the kindness they could, giving us water, milk and food, in fact
all they had. We crossed the pontoon bridge and were put into another
barn which had been turned into a hospital, and we stayed there for the
night. We left that place in the morning for La Fère, about twenty miles
away. There were a great many motor waggons being used as ambulances,
and they were all needed, because of the crowds of wounded. All of us
who could walk had to do so, as all the vans and lorries were wanted for
the bad cases. I could manage to walk for about a mile at a stretch, but
I could not use my arms. When I had done a mile, I rested, then went on
again, and so I got to the end of the journey, with a lot more who were
just about able to do the same. We didn’t grumble, because we were
thankful to be able to walk at all and not to be so badly wounded that
we could not shift for ourselves. When we got to La Fère the hospital
was so full that we were put straight into a hospital train, and I was
in it for two days and nights, stopping at stations for brief halts.
Again the French people were kindness itself and pressed food and drink
on us. We got to Nantes, where my wound was dressed and we had supper,
and then I had what seemed like a taste of heaven, for I was put into a
proper bed. Yes, after sleeping for so many nights on the ground, anyhow
and anywhere, often enough in mud and water, it was like getting into
heaven itself to get into a bed. On the Saturday they put us on board a
ship and took us round to Liverpool, a four days’ journey on the sea.
First we went to Fazackerley, and then I was lucky enough to be sent on
to Knowsley Hall, where Lady Derby, who has a son in France with the
Grenadiers, had turned the state dining-room into a hospital ward. There
were sixteen Guardsmen in the ward, with four trained nurses to look
after us. Wasn’t that a contrast to the barns and flooded trenches! Now
I’m back in London, feeling almost fit again, and soon I shall have to
report myself.
I have only told you about the little bit I saw myself of the tremendous
Battle of the Aisne. Considering the length of it and the fearful nature
of the firing, it sometimes strikes me as a very strange thing that I
should be alive at all; but stranger still that some men went through it
all, right away from the beginning at Mons, and escaped without a
scratch.