Sergt. H. R. Swain.
After relief on October 16 we moved back to billets at Avesnes, and the
next day we marched to Cambrai, where we remained until the 26th,
cleaning, refitting, and training. Cambrai was still in an uncertain
state. Parts of it were liable to be blown up by delay-action mines.
During our stay there the railway lines at and near the station were
constantly blowing up. The houses, even if undamaged outside, were
wrecked inside. Furniture, pictures, books, and crockery had been broken
or mutilated very thoroughly and wantonly in almost every house by the
enemy before he left. Our first work was to try to get the houses we
were to use as billets into something like order.
A large part of the town—the part which had been burnt—was barricaded
off, and no one was permitted to explore. After a day or two we had got
our billets into shape, and, having become accustomed to the constant
explosions in the town, we had a comfortable time.
While we were at Cambrai the Quartermaster went into hospital after
struggling gamely with very indifferent health throughout the whole
summer, and there can be no doubt that the loss of Capt. Wood was more
keenly felt by all in the Battalion than would have been the case with
any other individual. In the opinion of everyone who served with him, he
was the finest quartermaster who ever issued a rum ration. He joined the
Battalion early in 1916, and for more than two and half years he worked
untiringly for the welfare of the men.
Nearly every officer who passed through the Battalion will remember the
kindly hospitality he received at one time or another at the
Quartermaster’s Mess, and Wood had the happy knack of making all feel at
home at once. One of his great troubles was getting the stores loaded on
to the baggage wagons for a move. Almost invariably, after eyeing the
amount to be taken, and with a particularly severe glance at the size of
the officers’ kits, he would say, “I can’t carry it,” but, as he always
did succeed in carrying it, this became a standing joke. His work may be
summed up by saying that he was the friend of everyone in the Battalion.
On October 26 we returned to Avesnes, where we remained till November 2.
On November 2 we moved up to Haussy, now some distance behind our
advanced guards, and perfectly peaceful. We spent one night there. We
met again many of the civilians who had received us so well and helped
us during the fight. They were greatly rejoiced at being free of the
Boche, but they were perturbed at the damage done to their village, and
very bitter about the enemy’s use of gas shells on October 16. During
the night the enemy threw over three or four shells from very long
range.
On November 4 the 24th Division relieved the 61st Division. The 73rd
Brigade formed the advanced guard, the 17th Brigade were in support, and
the 72nd Brigade were in reserve. We moved up to Sepmeries, where we
were billeted for the night.
The nature of the fighting had changed considerably since we were last
in it. Up to the Battle of Haussy the enemy had been putting up a
stubborn resistance, especially where he was defended by a natural
obstacle such as the River Selle. Up to then, when there was a fight, it
was a very stiff affair, and counter-attacks in great force, supported
by annihilating artillery fire, were always likely.
Now it was a case of taking up the hunt of a really retreating enemy. We
would still look for fights and we would expect to be shelled at
intervals, but the fights were likely to be skirmishes with rear guards
of machine gunners rather than with the main enemy force, and the
shelling was not likely to be concentrated and continuous as it had been
at Haussy. We were to find the advance trying enough, however, for the
distances we were to be called on to cover each day were very great, and
often in unexpected quarters a company or a platoon would get involved
in a pretty desperate local encounter.
However, we felt we were now really entering into the open fighting we
had hoped for all through the long years of the war. Although we were
still in Divisional Reserve, we could realise by the length of our
marches each day what sort of thing was going on in front of us.
On November 5 we marched again forward to Wargnies-le-Grand, where we
remained in billets for two nights. Rain was almost continuous while we
were there, but the whole Battalion was in excellent spirits. Our long
stay at Wargnies was on account of a hold-up on another river line at
St. Waast-la-Vallée in front. The advanced guard had not succeeded in
taking this in its stride, and an attack was therefore arranged for
November 7 at 6 a.m.
The 17th Brigade were to take St. Waast and stop there, and the 72nd
Brigade were to advance through them and take up the advanced guard
work. At 4 a.m. on the 7th we left Wargnies, and our Battalion remained
the advanced guard of the Brigade for the rest of the war.
So little news had penetrated through to us that we had no idea as we
marched off in the pitch blackness of that November morning that we were
in the last days of the war. We had begun to feel that we should advance
on and on to the Meuse, then to the Rhine, then across the Rhine, and
then anywhere—to Berlin perhaps. The idea of an armistice had never
occurred to us. The village of St. Waast was found to be evacuated by
the enemy, and we passed through the Rifle Brigade on to the high ground
running north-west from Bavai. The Guards entered Bavai from the south
at the same time, and we continued our advance during the day to
positions some 2,000 yards east of Bavai. Here we were met by very heavy
machine-gun fire, and any advance beyond this line was found to be
impossible, and we therefore dug in for the night and pushed patrols
forward. Strenuous efforts were made by these patrols during the night
to cut out some of the enemy’s machine-gun positions, but he maintained
a very heavy fire throughout the night from positions which had
obviously been carefully chosen beforehand, and dug by the unfortunate
French civilians of the district. Lieut. H. R. Smith and 2nd Lieut.
Everson were killed at St. Waast at the commencement of the advance.
At Bavai on this day and the next we attached to ourselves various
units, some officially sent to us, some found by the wayside. In this
way our Battalion for the rest of the war became a small field force,
complete in almost every branch of the service. The force consisted of:
8th Royal West Kent Regiment (ourselves), 6th Dragoon Guards (found at
Bavai, and glad to come along with us), one section of 18-pounder guns
(sent to us officially), one section of 4·5-inch howitzers (found, and
keen to remain with us), two sections machine gunners (sent to us
officially), one section Stokes Mortar Battery (sent to us officially),
one section 6-inch Newtons, under command of our old friend Lieut.
Bennett of Hargicourt days. He had brought up his section complete,
looking for work, and was delighted to come with us. How all these units
were fed during these last days remains a mystery, but we had a splendid
time together, and we certainly did not starve.
At 6 a.m. on Friday, November 8, we continued the advance with the North
Staffordshire Regiment on our right. The 6th Dragoon Guards did our
scouting for us during the whole day, and fairly cleared the ground of
the enemy.
By 2 p.m. we had advanced 7,000 yards or more over difficult wooded
country. It was great fun, but very tiring. The work of the junior
N.C.O.s was particularly good. A lance-corporal with his section of six
men would constantly find himself advancing entirely out of sight of the
sections on either side. As far as possible we had provided every
section commander with a sketch map, and the way they kept direction was
really splendid.
On a line some 3,000 yards west of Feignies Station and the village of
La Rolies the enemy was again found in very strong positions, and very
heavy machine-gun fire was again encountered.
We got up the 6-inch Newtons and the Stokes, and these, with the
assistance of the 18-pounders and the 4·5-inch howitzers, shot up the
likely places for machine guns. We dislodged a number, and the civilians
at La Rolies next day told us of casualties being carried through the
village during the night. We advanced a little further before nightfall,
and then found ourselves fairly up against it. The enemy machine gunners
evidently had instructions to get rid of all their ammunition, and they
shot almost without ceasing and made the work of our patrols very
difficult. It was bitterly cold, and every man in the Battalion was
absolutely beat. We had received orders during the day that we were to
stop at night, and other troops would pass through us to take up the
chase next day. We had therefore put absolutely every ounce we knew into
it that day.
Then at 11 o’clock at night our Commanding Officer was called to Brigade
Headquarters to a council of war, in which orders were read to the
effect that the 72nd Brigade would continue the advance, and the 8th
Royal West Kent Regiment would again lead the advanced guard. It is
reported that our colonel, who was almost asleep in his chair, on
hearing the orders, uttered two words, “Good God!” and fell asleep with
his head on his hands. This was Gen. Morgan’s story, and it was vouched
for staunchly by his staff afterwards, but we can hardly believe it.
Still it gives some idea of the fatigue which had almost overcome
everyone of us on this night of November 8. The pace had been very hot
indeed for nearly a week, and on this last day, believing it to be our
final go for a time, we had put in that extra spurt which had left us
pretty limp.
So on November 9 we were to take Feignies Station and the village of La
Rolies, stop there, and let the rest of the Brigade—and we hoped the
rest of the British Army—pass through us.
Col. Wenyon tells us that he was most distracted when he got back from
that Brigade Conference. He did not know if the men could march the two
and half miles to Feignies Station, and, if they could, they certainly
could not be expected to fight much, and there was a nasty looking
embanked railway to cross.
It was decided finally that the patrols which were out already should be
instructed to push on immediately it was light and find out whether
there was likely to be a fight. A message was sent to our friends the
Cavalry, who were only too pleased to assist. So soon after dawn the
mounted men set off. Two platoons, one from D Company, under Lieut.
Gedge, one from B Company, under Lieut. Michie, continued the advance
they had made during the night, followed by our Commanding Officer and
his groom. It was a close finish. The Cavalry men just got there first.
Lieut. Gedge, unshaven and dirty, looking like a backwoodsman, was just
extricating himself from his tenth embrace by the worthies of the
village of La Rolies, when Col. Wenyon arrived. Flags began to flutter
from the windows, gallons of coffee were brought out in small cups from
every house in the village, and a rusty old gramophone began to play the
Marseillaise—the first time for over four years. The enemy had left on
bicycles a few minutes before we got there! Our cavalry friends were
after them, and got a few later on. Message was at once sent back to the
rest of the Battalion that all was well, and they could come quietly up
into billets. During the next two hours they all arrived, and were
received with the greatest jubilation on all sides. Coffee was poured
down throats, cauldrons of hot water were produced, and sore feet and
aching limbs were washed and bathed in a most reverent manner by the
admiring civilians. Battalion Headquarters was established in the Hôtel
du Nord, opposite the demolished station. The rusty gramophone continued
to play the Marseillaise all day, the village ladies donned such finery
as they had left to them, and strutted the village street, trumpets were
blown, more flags were produced, and with laughter and tears the men and
women of that little village passed from war to peace. These people had
seen the first great onrush of the German Army in 1914—for Maubeuge was
only a stone’s throw away—they had borne the German tyranny over four
years, the railway station had been burnt to the ground during the last
week, and now, almost before the hated enemy had beaten it out of the
village, _voila les Anglais—et liberté_.
So ended the fighting of our Battalion in the Great War. That night we
heard of the abdication of the Kaiser and the offer of the Armistice.
We slept long and comfortably, almost every man in a proper bed. We
began to feel somehow that this was the end. It was more than a trifle
disappointing to the soldier in the field of course. We wanted to see
the German Army, if not annihilated, at least squarely beaten in a
fight. And it looked as though he was to get away without his whipping.
If this was _not_ the end, we were ready to take up the chase again, and
run after the Hun to the end of the world; if it _was_ the end, we had a
notion that in our small corner of this world-wide four years’ struggle
we had tried to do our job.