THE MARCH
I now come to one of the most remarkable, and in some respects certainly
the most comical, of all the episodes in which Colonel Best-Dunkley
figured--the memorable march from Millain to Westbecourt. The following
lengthy epistle which I wrote in my billet in the Vale of Acquin at
Westbecourt the following day draws a perfectly accurate picture of what
happened:
"You will be interested to learn that we have moved again. We are now
billeted in a pretty little village in the heart of north-eastern
France....
"Yesterday, Saturday June 16, 1917--the hundred and second anniversary
of Ligny and Quatre Bras--is a day I am not likely ever to forget. Such
a march we had; and it was _some_ stunt! Let me tell you, as far as I
can without naming places, the whole story.
"Reveille sounded at 3 a.m. I rose at 5 a.m. We (the officers) had
breakfast at 5.30. Parade at 6. At 6.45 we marched off from the village
in which we had been billeted during the last few days. It was a very
long march which we had before us to the village in which we now are--a
distance of sixteen miles. Yet we were expecting to arrive there by
midday! I will show you how events turned out so that we did not arrive
here anything like midday. The weather was, and is, just as it has been
all the time--a cloudless sky and a burning sun. It was already quite
warm when we set off, and as the morning advanced the sun naturally
became more powerful still. We joined up with the rest of the Brigade a
little further on, and marched past General Stockwell and Major Thompson
(the Brigade-Major)."
It was in the streets of Watten that we marched past Stockwell; and I
vividly recollect that he was not at all pleased with things as early as
that. I distinctly heard the word 'rabble' burst from his lips! The
letter proceeds:
"Men began to fall out before we reached the first village (or town as
it happened to be). And as soon as the falling out began it continued
without ceasing, only becoming more frequent the farther we got. I do
think they began falling out too early. Every time a man fell out we
subalterns had to drop behind with him and give him a chit. That
naturally took time and one got right behind; then one would endeavour
to catch up again; as soon as one was back with one's own
platoon--generally before--one would come across more men of one's
company who had fallen out, and so would get right back again. Thus it
went on the whole time. It meant that we had double the walking to do
that the men had; and we were loaded like Christmas trees just like
them. Fortunately there was a mess cart with the Transport, containing
still lemonade; so I had a drink now and then. It is an Army idea that
one should not drink on the march: that it knocks one up much quicker. I
say frankly, from experience, that it is nonsense. I drank as much as I
could get hold of on the way (by no means as much as I could have
drunk!) and though I was jolly tired I was as fresh as anybody else, and
a good deal fresher than the majority, as you will see later. Well,
after the first halt the falling out became dreadful; it was almost
impossible for us to cope with the number of chits required; crowds must
have been without chits at all. The whole roadside became one mass of
exhausted men lying full length. Some were very bad indeed, some had
sunstroke, some were sick, more than one were dying. At one time the
padre and I were a long way behind, attending to these men. We hurried
on to catch up the Battalion. The Transport, under Humfrey, were just
behind the Battalion, so we followed along the Transport. When we got to
the front end of it we saw nothing beyond! 'Where is the Battalion?' I
asked Humfrey. He informed me that he had lost it. The Adjutant had, at
the last turning, sent the Battalion one way and the Transport another;
and he (Humfrey) had not the faintest idea where he was to go to! So he
halted and got out a map. Then the Medical Officer (Adam) arrived on the
scene too. We told him that the Battalion had disappeared. So we
(Newman, Adam, Humfrey, and myself) sat down for about five minutes and
discussed the situation. It struck us as being rather comical, though we
wished that we were at the end of our journey instead of in a strange
village and ignorant of which way we were to go. Humfrey decided to take
his Transport the same way as the remainder of the Brigade Transport had
gone; so we went on with him! We went across some very open country. The
sun was simply burning down upon us. I felt very exhausted now; but I
can stick almost anything in the way of a route march; no route march
could, in my opinion, be as bad as that memorable Kidlington-Yarnton
route march in March, 1916. The difficulty then was fatigue caused by
the march through thick, soft slushy snow when vaccination was just at
its worst; the difficulty this time was fatigue and thirst caused by the
heat of a French summer. I admit that this route march yesterday was a
stern test of endurance; but if I could stick the Kidlington-Yarnton
stunt I could stick this, and I did stick this all the way, which very
few others did! The trail which we left behind us was a sight to be
seen: men, rifles, equipment, riderless horses all over; the Retreat
from Moscow was spoken of! 'An utter fiasco, a debacle!' exclaimed Padre
Newman.
"Before we had gone with the Transport very far the Medical Officer was
called round a corner to see a man who was reported to be dying; the
padre went with him. I went on with the Transport. After a time I saw
Lieutenant Reginald Andrews (the Adjutant) standing alone in a village;
so it looked as if the remains of our Battalion must be somewhere about.
A little further on I found Captain Blamey (O.C. D Company) and Giffin
sitting by the side of the road. I asked them what they were doing, and
they replied that they had fallen out with Sergeant-Major Howarth who
was very bad indeed--reported to be dying. So the Battalion had passed
that way.
"I went on, and, in about ten minutes, saw ahead Colonel Best-Dunkley
standing at the corner of a road branching off to the left from the road
I was proceeding along with the Transport (just outside the village of
Boisdinghem). Just as I reached this corner Brigadier-General Stockwell
rode up from the opposite direction (on horseback) and, with a face
wincing with wrath, accosted Colonel Best-Dunkley as follows:
"'Dunkley, where's your Battalion?'
"'This is my Battalion here, sir,' replied the Colonel, standing
submissively to attention and indicating fifteen officers,
non-commissioned officers, and men--all told--lying in a state of
exhaustion at the side of this shaded country road.
"'What! You call that a Battalion? Fifteen men! I call it a rabble. What
the b---- h---- do you mean by it? Your Battalion is straggling all
along the road right away back to (Watten)! You should have halted and
collected them; not marched on like this. These men have not had a long
enough halt or anything to eat all day. If this is the way you command a
Battalion, you're not fit to command a Battalion. You're not even fit to
command a platoon!'
"The General then said that the Colonel, the Adjutant, and four company
commanders could consider themselves 'under arrest'! The General was
simply fuming with wrath; I do not think I have ever seen a man in such
a temper. And I certainly never heard a colonel strafed in front of his
own men before. It was an extraordinary scene. Those who have writhed
under the venom of Colonel Best-Dunkley in the past would, doubtless,
feel happy at this turning of the tables as it were, a refreshing
revenge; but I must admit that my sympathy was with Colonel
Best-Dunkley--and so was that of all present--in this instance, for we
all felt that the General's censure was undeserved. It was not Colonel
Best-Dunkley's fault; if it was anybody's fault it was the General's own
fault for ordering the march by day instead of by night, and for not
halting the Brigade for a long enough period earlier on in the course of
the march. One felt that Colonel Best-Dunkley was being treated
unjustly, especially as the North Lancs. had only arrived with ten! And
the Irish had not yet arrived at all! (These facts must soon have become
apparent to General Stockwell, and, perhaps, caused him, inwardly at any
rate, to modify his judgment). And the way Colonel Best-Dunkley took it,
the calm and submissive manner in which he bore General Stockwell's
curses and the kind and polite way in which he afterwards gave orders
to, and conversed with, his inferiors, both officers and men, endeared
him to all. I consider that out of this incident Colonel Best-Dunkley
has won a moral victory. He played his cards very well, and feeling
changed towards him as a result.
"The General went on: 'You yourself, the Adjutant, and four mounted
officers go right back to (Watten) immediately and collect your men
together and bring them along here before you proceed any further.'
"'I _have_ sent two officers down the road, sir,' replied the Colonel.
"'What the d----s the use of detailing unmounted officers for the job?'
snapped General Stockwell. The Colonel said something else, and the
General replied, 'That's no excuse.'
"Then General Stockwell went off, and Colonel Best-Dunkley carried out
his orders. We could see that we were now in for a very long halt here.
It would take a deuce of a time to collect the Battalion together again!
So we lay down under the shade of the roadside hedge and discussed the
whole affair. Three sergeant-majors had fallen out on the way, two very
bad indeed; officers had fallen out; and men wearing ribbons of the
D.C.M. and the M.M., heroes of Gallipoli and the Somme, men who had
never been beaten by a route march before, were lying along the country
roads; so there must have been some reason for it! Amongst the sturdy
fifteen were the new Regimental Sergeant-Major (Hoyle) and
Sergeant-Major Preston of B Company; and there were also a few officers.
The Transport made us some tea, which we enjoyed immensely. Humfrey had
his little fox terrier, 'Darky,' who was born in the trenches at
Thiepval during the Battle of the Somme last summer, with him. It is a
nice little dog. I found a gold ring on the road just by me; and I
intend to keep it as a souvenir of the episode.
"We remained here for five hours--from 2.30 to 7.30. Men were
reinforcing us all the time. After about half an hour General Stockwell
appeared again. Glaring at Sergeant-Major Hoyle he addressed him as
follows:
"'Here are fifteen men whom _I_ myself--_I_--have collected along the
road. Get them some tea at once, sergeant-major!' He glanced at us all
and then rode off again. He is clean-shaven and exceptionally young for
a General; I should think he is not more than thirty-five. He is rather
good-looking, but he has _some_ temper. Some one remarked that General
Stockwell and Colonel Best-Dunkley were men of similar temperament; on
this occasion the latter had run up against the former; this interesting
little episode at this country corner was the result!
"There was an aerodrome near by (at Boisdinghem), and the Major there
kindly sent his motor-lorries down the road to fetch up our men; so they
kept arriving in motor-lorries the whole afternoon.
"I can tell you we enjoyed this rest. One officer who had fallen out saw
a mail motor-lorry. The driver said that he was looking for the (164)
Brigade! So he got a lift. The mail arrived while we were resting in
this shaded road; so I got your letter of June 12 and the enclosed
letters, and read them there....
"When we marched off again it was much cooler. The majority of the
Battalion had been collected during the five hours, and we marched
happily on--the band playing. The country was pretty, and everything was
gay! The Colonel was awfully nice, inquiring whether the step was to our
liking, and making himself agreeable in every possible way. All were
pleased with him.
"We arrived at our destination at 8.30, and the men were taken straight
into the barns where they are billeted. Tea was served out immediately.
"I am billeted in a farm again. The people are very decent indeed. The
woman gave me three drinks as soon as I arrived, offering them herself
and refusing to take any payment for them; she also offered to boil me a
couple of eggs, but I did not wish to put on good nature any further.
There is a nice little boy named Edmond, aged fourteen. I talked to him
in French as much as it was possible for me to do in that language. He
cannot speak English....
"Allen and I are both billeted in the same room here. B Company Mess is
in a house close by, and B Company are billeted in the barns of a farm
almost opposite.
"The village we are in (Westbecourt) is geographically divided into two
parts, north and south. The southern portion, in which we are, is a
valley (le Val d'Acquin). The northern part is on the reverse slope of a
hill which lies on the other side of the valley. Battalion Headquarters
is at a farm on that northern side of the high ground, just by the
church.
"We rose at 10 a.m. this morning. The weather to-day has been hotter
than ever. One perspires even when quite still. The sun has been
scorching down. We had an inspection at 11, and the M.O. came round to
inspect the men's feet at 2.40. Just as he was going away the Colonel
turned up at the farm where B Company is in billets. He was on
horseback, in slacks and in his shirt-sleeves; to live in one's shirt
sleeves is a very common custom this weather. He informed us that
General Stockwell is coming to inspect the Battalion to-morrow!
"During the day I have been exploring the village. It is very pretty
indeed, much prettier than the last place we were at. There are thick
woods, green fields, shaded avenues--some completely arched by all kinds
of trees; and, the district being hilly, the country is thus all the
more charming. Milk is very cheap here. I got a big bowl of milk for 1d.
at one farm in the valley the other side of the hill. It is splendid
here; and we are likely to remain here some time.
"At 7.40 the padre conducted a short voluntary church parade service in
an orchard behind the farm in which C Company hangs out--just opposite
the farm in which I am billeted. Allen, Priestley, Barker, Giffin, and I
were there. The band was there for the first hymn--it then had to go to
Headquarters to play 'retreat' at 8 p.m. There were about twenty
men...."
Sergeant-Major Howarth, D.C.M., died at St. Omer that day, overpowered
by the march of the previous day. "He was not at all the class of man
one can afford to lose, and his loss was greatly deplored," comments the
_Lancashire Fusiliers' Annual_. And Sergeant-Major Howarth was not, I
believe, the only casualty of the kind caused by the march.
Before I close this chapter I ought to say a word about the Brigadier
whose personality dominates the canvas. I do not wish it to be supposed
that I desire to reflect in any way upon the character and ability of
General Stockwell. Nothing could be further from my mind. I relate the
incident because it strikes me as being funny, because such an episode
forms the subject for an interesting study in the bearing of two
remarkable personalities, and because I hold that the truth should
always be told about such matters. The episode has long been a topic of
intimate conversation amongst members of the 2/5th Lancashire Fusiliers
and their friends; many a laugh have we had about it. Why should not
the public be allowed to laugh with us?
All men and women, even the greatest, are capable of making mistakes.
Nobody is perfect. Even the great Napoleon made mistakes. So General
Stockwell will not, I am sure, claim to be immaculate. But for Clifton
Inglis Stockwell as a General I entertain, and always have entertained,
feelings of the most profound respect. Nobody can possibly entertain a
more ardent devotion for a leader than I entertain for General Stockwell
under whom it has been my good fortune to have the honour to serve in
1917, in 1918, and in 1919. The longer I have served under him the more
have I admired his perfectly obvious talent, his brilliant initiative,
and his striking personality. His record in the Great War is unique. As
a captain in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, he commanded a company in the
retreat from Mons in 1914. He rose rapidly. He became a major; and he
became a colonel; and, during the Battle of the Somme, in 1916, he
became a Brigadier-General, succeeding Brigadier-General Edwards in
command of the 164th Brigade. And he remained in command of that famous
Brigade until the end of the war. As I studied the countenance of
General Stockwell on that country road at Boisdinghem that afternoon I
realized that he was no ordinary twopenny-halfpenny brigadier; but I
did not then know that this was the man who, less than twelve months
later, was destined to stand between Ludendorff and decisive victory in
his last dramatic throw at Givenchy on the glorious ninth of April, and
seven months later still to be chosen to command the flying column known
by his name which captured Ath on Armistice Day and fired the last shots
of the Great War. It is right that Stockwell's place in history should
be duly appreciated.