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Q. 6. A
AND OTHER PLACES
Q. 6. A
AND OTHER PLACES
RECOLLECTIONS OF
1916, 1917, 1918
BY
FRANCIS BUCKLEY
LONDON
SPOTTISWOODE, BALLANTYNE & CO. LTD.
1 NEW-STREET SQUARE, E.C. 4
1920
INTRODUCTION
In the following pages I have tried to set down as faithfully as I can
some of the impressions which remain to me now of three years' service
in France and Flanders.
I have naturally suppressed much of the grim and ghastly horrors that
were shared by all in the fighting area. A narrative must be written
from some point of view, and I have had to select my own. I regret
that so much personal and trivial incident should appear. Perhaps some
will be able to see through the gross egotistical covering and get a
glimpse, however faint, of the deeds of deathless heroism performed by
my beloved comrades--the officers and men of the 7th Northumberland
Fusiliers, the officers and men of the 149th Infantry Brigade, the
officers and men of the 50th Division.
The climax of the story is the battle on the Somme where so many dear
friends have perished. The name is taken from a spot where a small
party of the 7th N.F. did something long afterwards to avenge their
fallen comrades.
Finally no criticism of the Higher Command is intended by anything
that has been written. If such can be read between the lines, it is
unintentional and a matter for sincere regret.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. WHEN IT BEGAN 1
II. THE MEN OF THE NORTH COUNTRY 7
III. ALNWICK 12
IV. THE JOURNEY OUT 17
V. HILL 60 22
VI. MOUNT SORREL AND CANNY HILL 31
VII. KEMMEL 41
VIII. DIVISIONAL REST 48
IX. BRIGADE HEAD-QUARTERS 52
X. THE BRIGADE BOMBING SCHOOL 59
XI. ST. ELOI AND NEUVE EGLISE 64
XII. THE SOMME 68
XIII. HÉNENCOURT 72
XIV. MAMETZ WOOD 76
XV. THE 15TH SEPTEMBER, 1916 80
XVI. MILLENCOURT 87
XVII. HOOK SAP 90
XVIII. SECOND LEAVE--BRESLE 97
XIX. BUTTE OF WARLENCOURT--TRENCH WARFARE 102
XX. FRANCE AND THE FRENCH 107
XXI. SOUTH OF THE SOMME 115
XXII. THE BATTLE OF ARRAS 122
XXIII. WANCOURT TOWER--CROISILLES 125
XXIV. MONCHY-AU-BOIS 139
XXV. TRENCH WARFARE--VIS-CHERISY FRONT 143
XXVI. THE HOUTHULST FOREST 153
XXVII. DIVISIONAL REST NEAR ST. OMER 161
XXVIII. THE PASSCHENDAELE RIDGE 165
XXIX. GOOD-BYE TO THE 50TH DIVISION 173
XXX. DIGGING TRENCHES ABOUT LOOS 176
XXXI. THE GERMAN OFFENSIVE 1918--SECOND BATTLE OF ARRAS 182
XXXII. TRENCH WARFARE--HÉBUTERNE 203
XXXIII. TRENCH WARFARE--THE COLINCAMPS RIDGE 207
XXXIV. THE BRITISH OFFENSIVE 1918--BAPAUME RETAKEN 219
XXXV. THE STORMING OF THE HINDENBURG LINE NEAR TRESCAULT 224
XXXVI. THE GERMANS' LAST STAND 230
XXXVII. THE FINAL RUSH FORWARD 234
XXXVIII. THE END OF IT ALL 238
NOTE
The following abbreviations are used:
B.H.Q. = Brigade Head-quarters.
C.C.S. = Casualty Clearing Station.
C.O. = Commanding Officer.
C.T. = Communication Trench.
D.A.Q.M.G. = Deputy-Assistant-Quartermaster-General.
D.H.Q. = Divisional Head-quarters.
F.A. = Field Ambulance.
H.Q. = Head-quarters.
L.-C. = Lance-Corporal.
N.C.O. = Non-commissioned Officer.
O.C. = Officer Commanding.
O.P. = Observation Post.
O.T.C. = Officers' Training Corps.
Q.M. = Quartermaster.
R.T.O. = Railway Transport Officer.
Y.M.C.A. = Young Men's Christian Association.
Q. 6. A
RECOLLECTIONS OF 1916, 1917, AND 1918
I
WHEN IT BEGAN
Before the war I was living in London, with chambers at Lincoln's Inn.
I was not surprised when the trouble started. Ever since 1904 it was
reasonably clear to me that our country would have to fight the
Germans or go under.
The days before we declared war on Germany were spent in London.
During the last few of them it was as though a terrible thunderstorm
was hanging overhead, ready to burst: gloom and foreboding on the
faces of all. There is no doubt that most of our people were taken by
surprise and that they were aghast at the sudden gathering of the war
cloud. But when the stroke of fate fell and we were committed to the
war, there was a curious sense of relief in many hearts. Better death
and ruin than dishonour. A shameful peace or neutrality is for most
Englishmen harder to bear than all the horrors of war. Besides, this
struggle for freedom had to be fought out, though few can have
foretold the cost.
I had been rejected for the Territorial Force by the Army authorities
in 1908 on account of weak eyesight. I had therefore few hopes of
better luck in August 1914. At first only trained men were enrolled at
the Inns of Court O.T.C., and this went on for some months--till the
nation in fact began to realise the size of its task. So after two or
three vain attempts to find my way into the services, I had to be
content with the truncheon and armlet of a special constable. With
this force I had no special adventures, but I learnt a good deal about
the Vine Street Police area, and about the electric power stations of
the West End. Christmas Day was spent on duty in the streets, and
Easter Day found me still there. Then something happened which decided
my own little fate, as well perhaps as the fate of Europe. This was
the sinking of the good ship _Lusitania_ on May 7, 1915, under
peculiarly barbarous and inhuman circumstances. Eventually it brought
the Americans into the war, when they came to understand that the
German people gloried in the deed of shame. As for me, it took me once
again to the doors of the O.T.C. in Lincoln's Inn. If I could not go
as an officer I would at least go into the ranks. But by this time the
rush of officer recruits had died down, and they were not so
particular about eyesight. So on May 10, 1915, I found myself in
possession of a suit of khaki. It was second-or third-hand and an
indifferent fit, but it enclosed a glad heart. The die was cast, and
one little boat fairly launched on its perilous passage. Never have I
had cause to lament this step. If it has brought me great troubles and
anguish, it has also given peace of mind and the satisfaction of using
to the full such energy as I possess. It took me out of the stifling
heat of the town and gave me at least four years of an open-air life.
For which God be thanked! If it did not bring much promotion or
honour, it brought the friendship of real men, and a treasure greater
than all the stars and ribbons in the world.
A recruit at the Inns of Court O.T.C. had nothing to fear from those
in charge if he was willing to do his best. There was little
boisterousness or horse-play among the recruits, the dark shadow was
too close for that; and the spirit among my new comrades was one of
great earnestness. For the first two or three weeks we were trained in
Town near the H.Q. of the Battalion in Lincoln's Inn. After that
recruits were sent on to the camp at Berkhamsted for field training.
We were billeted on the local inhabitants. I stayed at the house of
Mr. Charles Dipple, from whose family I received much kind
hospitality. It was a sudden change for one who had spent the greater
part of ten years in London chambers. And at Berkhamsted they worked
you hard, almost to the last degree of physical endurance. Save once,
during a dark two weeks in France, I have never before or since felt
the same fatigue of body. Also the change of food was a little strange
and startling at first. The drill and discipline could do nothing but
good to a healthy man. The enthusiasm of nearly all was great, our
chief idea being to get ready and out to France or elsewhere before
the war should be over. Little did we know what the future had in
store.
There is nothing much to tell of this part of one's experience. One of
the most pleasant incidents was a fortnightly leave of thirty-six
hours at the week-end, which I used to spend with my friends in Town.
Night manoeuvres on Wednesdays and Fridays and guard duty were perhaps
the most unpleasant part of our lot. Some would add the adjutant's
parade on Saturday morning. But that was short, if not always sweet.
I had the good luck to win an unpaid lance-corporal's stripe towards
the end of my stay, chiefly, I think, on account of a certain aptitude
for drill, a clean rifle, and clean boots. Of this small achievement I
was and still am a little proud.
I left the battalion on getting my commission with respect for the
officers in charge of the training. The short experience in the ranks
was to be of great value afterwards, when I came to deal for the first
time as an officer with men in the ranks. It gave a certain sympathy
with them and taught what to avoid. It was the custom of our C.O.,
Lieut.-Col. Errington, to give a few words of advice to those leaving
the battalion to take up commissions. And I have never forgotten two
of the principles which he urged upon us. One was the constant
necessity for a soldier to deny himself in little things. The other
was the idea that every officer in his own command, however small, had
a duel to face with another officer in a similar position on the other
side; and that in this duel the one that used his brain best would
win. And so this embryo existence came to an end--a careless, happy
time with no particular thought for the troubles ahead. In the middle
of July 1915 I obtained a commission in the 3rd line Battalion of the
7th Northumberland Fusiliers, Territorials, supplying drafts to the
1st line battalion in France. I had no desire to display my ignorance
of things military before a group of neighbours and possibly
relations, so I applied for a commission, not in the Territorials of
the West Riding Regiment, but in a north-country battalion of
Territorials, with the 1st line fighting in France. The Territorial
Force seemed to me most suitable for one who had no military career in
view. And France, the land of old time romance and chivalry, gave a
more urgent call than Egypt or the East. The choice of a unit, if one
can be said to choose it, is fraught with greater consequences to
oneself than might be supposed. I cannot say after a lapse of three
years that the choice has proved unfortunate to me. It came about in
this way. We were doing a rifle parade one day at Berkhamsted, when
Lieut. Reynolds (N.F.) appeared with our company commander, Capt.
Clarke, and asked for the names of any men who would like to join the
3rd line of the 7th N.F. The 1st line battalion, he said, had just
been badly cut up in France, and we should be out there in four months
perhaps, certainly in six months. That was all the information we had,
but it was enough for me. A north-country territorial battalion and
France in six months--those were the attractions. I had never spent
more than one night in Northumberland and I knew of Alnwick only by
name. It was therefore rather a step in the dark; but to one who was
still ignorant of the meaning of a 'Brigade' or a 'Division' only
general considerations could appeal. And so on July 30, 1915, I set
off for Alnwick to join my battalion, with a new uniform and kit, with
a somewhat nervous feeling inside, but with a determination to do my
best.
II
THE MEN OF THE NORTH COUNTRY
I have a great respect and admiration for the men of Northumberland.
Especially for those who come from the country towns and villages, the
farm-lands and mines in the northern parts of the county. As soldiers
they have gained a name the world over, of which it would be idle for
me to talk. A cold climate and a fighting ancestry that goes back many
hundreds of years have produced some marked qualities in the race of
Northumbrians to-day. There are few of them that are not true to type,
few that you would not care to have as comrades in a tight corner.
Their stubborn courage and contempt for danger have been proved again
and again. The worse the outlook the more cheerful they seem to
become. Sturdy independence is there, and for this allowance has to be
made--slow to like and slow to change; if you are known as 'Mister'
So-and-so, whatever your rank, you have won their respect. No better
soldiers in the land can be found to hold or to fortify a position.
But I doubt whether they have quite the same genius for the
attack.[1] A certain lack of imagination, a certain want of
forethought, have always, as it seems to me, been a handicap to these
brave men when they attack. Again and again during an assault they
have fallen in hundreds, they have shown themselves as willing to die
in the open as in the trenches. But have they the wild fury that
carries the Scot, the Irishman, or the Frenchman over 'impossible'
obstacles? No, they are not an enthusiastic people, nor a very
imaginative one. And these qualities are needed to press home a
difficult attack. They are not as a whole a quick or a very
intelligent race. But for stark grim courage under the most awful
surroundings they stand second to none. There is a streak of
ruthlessness, too, in their dealings with the enemy; a legacy from the
old Border wars with the Scots. They are quite ready, if need be, to
take no prisoners. A hard and strong, but a very lovable race of men.
Yes, I think all the world of the men of the north, although I am not
blind to their faults. Taken as a whole no more handsome or manly set
of men can be found in the British Isles.
The Northumbrian dialect is difficult to understand until you get the
trick of it. And the trick of it is in the accent and intonation, and
not so much in any peculiar form of words. They have a peculiar way of
dropping their voices, too, which is sometimes disconcerting. But it
is a clean wholesome language, undefined by the disgusting and
childish obscenity which is too often a disgrace to other districts in
England. It reminds me a little of the Scottish tongue, but rather
more of the country speech in the northern parts of Yorkshire, but in
some ways it is all its very own. It must indeed be one of the
earliest surviving types of the Anglo-Saxon speech. I had no great
difficulty in understanding it, but to this day I am sometimes puzzled
to pick up what is said owing to that curious drop in the voice.
A word or two as well about the officers of the Northumberlands,
meaning, of course, the natives of the county. For them as well as for
the hardy miners and farmers of the north I have a very sincere
respect and liking. Better comrades on the field of battle no man
could wish for, better officers for a Territorial battalion it would
be hard to find. Their unbending courage, their gallant bearing in
danger, their cheerfulness and their care and thought for their men
have been responsible in a great measure for the successes won by the
Northumberland battalions and for the lamentable but noble sacrifices
when success was denied. Gallant and devoted soldiers they have been,
and well they have earned the love and admiration of their men. Always
cheerful whatever was on foot, readiest of all to turn a danger passed
into a jest. There could not be a better spirit in which to face the
long delays and the bitter disappointments of the war. Two outstanding
features in their character are, to my mind, practically universal,
whatever form they happen to take. An inherent pugnacity, and a
whole-hearted belief in and love of their county, which amounts to
something more than clannishness. They know everything about every
one in Northumberland, and with others they do not trouble themselves
much. They do not talk about it like the Scots, but it is there all
the same; and it has a profound influence on their actions and
judgment. Within this sacred circle, into which no outlandish man can
break, their pugnacity develops countless local feuds. And these feuds
can be bitter enough, and I do not think I ever met a north-countryman
without one. Generally there are two or three on foot at a time. One
town against another, the men who did against the men who did not.
Sometimes I have thought that these queer hereditary instincts, for
such they undoubtedly are, have led the men of the north astray. The
house has been divided against itself, justice has not been done, or
it has been delayed, incompetence has been allowed to spread its
blighting influence. In other words the love of their county and the
strength of their local feuds have at times blinded the men of the
north to the real interests of their country, when a united front and
a concentration of the best effort available were absolutely necessary
to get on with the war. To me the Northumbrian officer has been
universally kind, and I have never had the least discourtesy or
injustice from any of them, but many acts of kindness. But I have seen
with regret on several occasions a loss of effort and strength through
the divisions caused by prejudice. Thoroughly cheerful and a generous
and charming comrade, much given to hospitality, I do not think the
Northumbrian officer is always a very brilliant person intellectually.
There are many notable exceptions, but they are notable enough to
establish the impression.
Beyond these general observations it would be unwise--and I do not
intend--to enter into the domestic history of any battalion or
brigade. Better comrades one could not have, and a nobler and more
devoted body of men I have yet to meet.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This criticism can of course be made of any troops of English
nationality.
III
ALNWICK
A short sketch of my stay at Alnwick may not be out of place. For
though it did not seem very adventurous at the time it had a great
influence on my subsequent career, both in France and afterwards. It
is a most romantic spot, with one of the finest castles in England.
The heather hills run down through corn-land towards the seashore; and
the general features of the countryside reminded me much of my own
home in the West Yorkshire hills. The curious battlements and gates in
the town and the monuments outside tell of a time when it was one of
England's front line posts against the raiding Scots. It seemed to me
to be a fitting spot to train men for the wars.
When I arrived at the end of July 1915 the H.Q. of the 3rd line
battalion were at the Star Hotel in Fenkle Street--very comfortable
but rather expensive quarters. Only a few of the officers had arrived
as yet. Just a few new-comers like myself, very green and raw, and
about four or five officers of the 1st line battalion who had returned
wounded from France. These latter had for the most part been wounded
at the battle of St. Julien in April 1915, during the 2nd Battle of
Ypres. They were now discharged from hospital and attached to the
draft battalion for training before going out once more. They were
very friendly and nice to the new-comers; and indeed we looked upon
them quite as veterans, although their active service in France had
not exceeded a few days. Capt. J. Welch, Lieuts. J.W. Merivale, E.
Nixon, and E. Fenwicke Clennell became special friends of mine, and I
am grateful for many acts of kindness from them both then and later on
abroad. The men of the battalion, also raw recruits and wounded men
returned from hospital, were quartered in the houses in the town. The
O.C. battalion was Major (afterwards Lieut.-Colonel and Brevet
Colonel) J.J. Gillespie, T.D., and the Adjutant Capt. W.A.C.
Darlington. The C.O. was a man of great personality, so much so that
he is one of the best known and most talked of persons in the
Northumberlands. A great organiser and a hard worker, who generally
got his own way with small and great, he has done much to make the
drafts efficient. I was lucky to find favour in his eyes, and our
relations were always friendly.
We had as near neighbours in Alnwick the Brigade of Tyneside Scottish,
who were encamped in the Pastures near the Castle, as fine a body of
men as you could wish to see. After staying for a while at the Star
our battalion moved out to Moorlaws Camp and we remained there under
canvas till the middle of October. In the meantime I was lent for
about five days to the 21st Provisional Battalion N.F., a home service
battalion, who were encamped at Cambois ('Cammis') on the sea-coast.
This was like a picnic for me, for all the officers there treated me
kindly and did not work me hard. One night I volunteered for night
duty and had the experience of visiting the sentries (all with loaded
rifles) at the various posts along the shore. Shortly after returning
to Alnwick I was sent, on September 2, to the Army School of
Signalling and Bombing at Tynemouth, and went through the Bombing
course, which lasted about a week. So primitive were the arrangements,
even at this date, that we were only taught how to improvise grenades
out of old jam tins, and how to fire them out of iron pipes as
trench-mortar bombs. We were indeed allowed to handle precious
specimens of the famous No. 3 (Hales) and No. 5 (Mills), but there
were not enough available for live practice. The West Spring Thrower
had not arrived, but I saw a trench catapult in action; and some dummy
Stokes bombs were fired off for us to see. At this course there was an
examination, and I got a first-class certificate as a grenade
instructor, an event which had considerable influence on my career in
France, as will appear later on. When I got back to Alnwick I found
the battalion under canvas at Moorlaws. Here I became 'grenadier
officer' to the battalion, and I had daily classes of men who had
volunteered to become bombers, or 'grenadiers' as they were then
called.
Live practice was carried out entirely with improvised bombs, old jam
tins and black powder. But we procured a certain number of dummies of
Nos. 1 and 5 to practise throwing. Major N.I. Wright (who had returned
wounded) took a great interest in our proceedings and had some dummy
grenades made for us. A gallant soldier with hard service in South
Africa and the Great War, he has always been a good friend to me. I
went on with the bombing till about October 20, when the battalion
returned to Alnwick and went into wooden huts in the Pastures. The
officers were billeted at a house called 'Alnbank,' a mansion some
little distance from the men's quarters. After this move I was
appointed Company Commander to C Company, a newly formed company with
only raw recruits in it. My second in command was Lieut. Joseph
Robinson, a dear friend, who had come all the way from the Argentine,
and whom I first met at the O.T.C. at Berkhamsted. He was known as
'Strafer Robinson' on account of being physical drill instructor, and
a pretty exacting one. I found the recruits in C Company most willing
and anxious to learn their job; and they never gave me much trouble
either in orderly room or on parade.
I was kindly treated by every one at Alnwick. My stay there has only
pleasant memories. Major the Hon. Arthur Joicey, who had returned
from the 1st line, gave me several glorious days after partridges at
Longhirst. The number of these birds so far north fairly astonished
me. The doctors' families in Alnwick were also very kind and
hospitable to all our officers. Mrs. Scott Jackson, the wife of the
Colonel of the 1st line battalion, could not do enough for us; and
many happy evenings have been spent at her house; notably a great New
Year's Eve party for all the officers, just before I left for the
front. I took part in a Rugby football match, the first time for
eleven years. The 3rd line 7th N.F. succeeded in defeating the reserve
battalion of the Tyneside Scottish, largely through the prowess of
2nd-Lieut. McNaught at half-back. There was rather a pleasant
institution towards the end of my stay--namely, a meeting of the
senior officers for dinner every Wednesday evening at the Plough Inn.
They did you well there, and it was a pleasant change from the mess
dinner.
About January 3, 1916, I was warned to proceed with a small draft of
officers to the front. Four of us were to go, and I was delighted to
find myself one of those selected. After a splendid farewell dinner
with the officers of the battalion on January 4, I left the same night
for London to spend my final leave.
IV
THE JOURNEY OUT
On Monday, January 10, 1916, I left England with three other officers,
bound for the Base Camp at Havre. My companions were 2nd-Lieuts.
Peters, O. Clarke, and Gregson. My final purchases at Southampton
included an extra haversack and some morphia pills. The latter had
been strongly recommended for certain kinds of wounds and they were
still sold without a prescription.[2] The journey across the Channel
was done at night. The transport left port about 8 P.M. and steaming
slowly without lights reached Le Havre about 5 A.M. next morning.
My last view of England was the dreary wet dock, and later on a few
distant and receding lights. Though we got into port at 5 A.M. we were
not allowed to leave the vessel till 8 A.M. But, at last, as a cold
and cheerless morning was breaking, I stepped ashore and set foot for
the first time on foreign soil. We soon found an hotel (? Hôtel de
Normandy) where they understood the English language and some of our
ways, and we got breakfast in the English fashion. After a look round
the shops and a shave in a small establishment in a side street, we
reported at a large office in the town. Here we signed our names in a
large register, and were given directions to proceed to a Camp, some
distance from the town, where reinforcements for the 7th N.F. were
collected and accommodated till they could be sent 'up the line.' Our
stay here was a short one, for which I was thankful. They did not seem
at all pleased to see us; it seems we had arrived a few days later
than had been expected, and the Camp Commandant appeared to think it
was our fault. We left Le Havre next day without having tasted the
joys of the 'Bull Ring' or any other educational entertainment
prepared for those staying on at the Camp. The train started about
midnight, and like most troop trains in France moved along in a
leisurely, dignified manner, with frequent stops and long waits
between the stations. When we did arrive at Rouen, which was about
midday on Thursday, we had to change. And feeling unrefreshed by our
night in the train, we spent the time resting at an hotel instead of
seeing the sights. But it is a fine looking old town and would be
worth visiting in more peaceful times.
We left Rouen again at night and wandered along in the same dilatory
fashion, arriving at Hazebrouck and eventually at Poperinghe.
The latter was railhead for the Ypres Salient. It was not surprising
then to find the houses near the railway station looking shattered
from the shells and bombs that had been aimed at the station. We had
tea with the Y.M.C.A., who had with their usual dauntlessness selected
a house close to the station. It had been struck by a bomb a few
nights before, and there was a hole in the roof and in the ceiling and
floor of one of the rooms; but I understood that no one had been hurt
by the explosion. These shattered houses and the distant sound of gun
fire, which we first heard about Hazebrouck, were the first signs of
war that we noticed. After a long wait a limber arrived at the station
to take ourselves and our valises to the camp of the 7th N.F. at
Ouderdom. It was not really a very long journey, I believe, but it
seemed so to us after our long and wearisome journey in the train.
To make matters worse the military police made us take a roundabout
road, and the driver lost his way. Of course a limber is not quite the
vehicle you would select for comfort, especially over roads that are
stony or pavé. The German flare lights could be clearly seen all the
way, and they seemed to be on three sides of us. A most brilliant and
interesting sight the first time you see it.
Eventually we reached the camp at Ouderdom. It was called 'Canada
Huts' and consisted of a cluster of wooden huts erected just off a
narrow muddy road. At one time I am told, the mud was thigh deep; but
now duck boards had been laid down, and though decidedly muddy the
camp was quite passable. When we arrived it was quite late, and we
found the camp in total darkness and every one asleep. But some of the
batmen (or officers' servants) were roused, and they not only showed
us a place to sleep in, but got us some tea and a scratch meal, very
welcome after our uncomfortable ride from the station. What wonderful
people these batmen are! Always so cheery and good to their officers.
Inside the huts we found wooden bunks in two tiers round three sides
and also a wooden table and forms in the middle. Not much room to move
about perhaps, but fairly dry and warm. After two sleepless nights in
the train we did not need rocking.
We found that we had arrived just in time to go with the battalion to
the front line trenches next day. For the battalion had just spent
three days in the rest area and was due to take over the line on the
fourth day. There was not much time, therefore, to get acquainted with
our fellow officers or to learn much about the platoons to which we
were assigned. Several of the officers we had known well at home in
the 3rd line battalion at Alnwick, and Major N.I. Wright and Capt. J.
Welch and Lieuts. J.W. Merivale and Fenwicke Clennell were old
friends. Also we had already met our new battalion commander
Lieut.-Col. G. Scott Jackson at Alnwick when he was last on leave. It
was nice to be greeted by friendly faces when our trials were so soon
to begin.
The last few hours before going back to the line are always rather
dreary and unprofitable, spent chiefly in packing up and deciding
what to leave behind. Valises of course were left behind with all
'spare parts' in the Q.M.'s stores. But in winter a fairly heavy load
of things was necessary, and the weather was wet and stormy. We had no
steel helmets in these days and no gas box-respirators, only two cloth
respirators of little weight. I found myself in charge of No. 4
Platoon in A Company, of which Capt. H.R. Smail was commander. There
were two other 2nd-Lieuts. in the company besides myself. The fighting
strength of a company did not much exceed 100 men, if as many.
Before we left Canada Huts, I was provided with a batman, coming of
course from A Company. And a good fellow he was and much I owe to him.
He has looked after me continuously from the day after I arrived until
he was demobilised on December 24, 1918--nearly three years. A miner
from Ashington, wounded at St. Julien in April 1915, he had rejoined
the battalion some months before in France. At a later stage I had to
rely much on his skill as a cook. A wonderfully cheerful person and a
smart and handy man at improvising little comforts for me. His name
was William Critchlow.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Fortunately I never had occasion to use them.
V
HILL 60
When it was beginning to get dark the battalion formed up in the road
and the roll was called over. At last we set off slowly, squelching
through the mud on the wet roads, the rain pouring down unceasingly.
We soon struck the pavé road that runs through Dickebusch, a long
straggling village, still fairly intact and occupied by Belgian
civilians. It was shelled now and again but not severely. When we
reached this place, the battalion opened out considerably, platoons
keeping 200 yards apart; a precaution necessary on roads that were
periodically shelled at night. After plodding along for some time we
reached the Café Belge, a mere ruin now, but a well-known halting
place for troops on the march. Here we turned off to the right and
left the pavé road which runs on to Ypres, and after this the roads
were much more difficult to travel. Shell holes were frequent and
generally full of water, so that in the dark it was only too easy to
stumble into them. 'Shell-hole on the right,' 'Shell-hole on the
left,' 'Shell-hole in the middle,' 'Keep to your right' were being
passed back continually. Progress was slow of course under these
conditions and with the heavy loads that we all carried. But it was
all so novel to me that I had not a moment to feel dull or depressed.
After a time we reached the notorious 'Shrapnel Corner' and turned
towards 'Transport Farm,' for we were bound for trenches at Hill 60.
This place was of course famous for the British attack in 1915, and
for the German counter-attack with gas a little later on which was all
too successful. It was also notorious for being one of the hottest
corners of the British front. Owing to their vantage ground on the
hill the enemy had little difficulty in sniping and shelling our
trenches effectively.
[Illustration: Hill 60.--Official Map, March 1916.]
As we approached Transport Farm I came for the first time under
indirect rifle fire. A number of bullets fired at our trenches
carried over and landed not far from the roads at the back. Though
rather alarming in the dark to one unaccustomed to them, they seldom
did much damage. Occasionally a man or two got wounded during these
reliefs. Our company turned to the left again near Zillebeke railway
station, and then struck off the road and reached the mouth of a C.T.
which led after about a hundred yards to the support trenches.
A glance at the official plan of the trenches at Hill 60 will give
some idea of the extraordinary place it was. Whilst the German line
ran solid along the top of the ridge, there were two complete gaps in
the British fire trenches between Hill 60 and Mount Sorrel on the
left. On paper it looks as if there were nothing to stop the German
from walking across and behind our lines whenever he chose. But I
imagine that these empty spaces were covered by machine-gun posts, and
that the artillery were ready to deal with any attempt of that sort.
Another feature of the place was the awful nature of the ground
outside the trenches. It was a morass filled with partially buried
bodies--that is, partially buried by nature in the ooze and mud.
During a dense mist about seventy identity discs were recovered from
the ground behind our support lines. And it was worse in front between
the opposing trenches. It was not likely, then, that the German would
wish to press us farther down the hill, at any rate for tactical
purposes.
A Company had two platoons in the front line trench 41, some 100 yards
from the enemy, and two platoons in a support line called '41
support.' The trenches themselves were well-built and revetted with
sand bags, and dry enough even during the wettest weather. We had in
these days only small shelters--the deep dugout was unknown. The three
subalterns in A Company took turns at duty in the trenches, four hours
on and eight hours off, night and day. The duty consisted chiefly of
visiting the sentries every hour, and keeping a general look-out, and
seeing that the trench rules were obeyed. A good deal of rifle fire
went on at night. Sentries on either side would exchange shots, and an
occasional machine-gun would open out. At close range the bullets make
a curious crack as they pass overhead. Being tall and having been
warned of the efficiency of the German sniper, I had to walk in most
of the trenches with a bend in the back, which soon became tiring.
On Sunday, January 16, I had a decidedly lively time for my first day
in the trenches. It was always said that the Germans got a fresh
supply of ammunition at the week-end, and Sunday was scarcely ever a
day of rest. However that may be, this Sunday was the worst day I had
for some time. After sending over a few small howitzer shells, the
German field-guns sent periodical showers of shells, 'whizz-bangs' we
called them, on to the support trench and C.T.
This went on all morning, and whilst the shoot lasted they came over
in a perfect stream. After a quieter afternoon a regular trench battle
opened out at night, rifle grenades and bombs being freely exchanged,
and a number of trench-mortar bombs--'sausages and rum jars'--coming
over from the enemy's trenches. Eventually our heavy guns opened out
with lively retaliation and the enemy quietened down. Rather a big
dose to get the first day in the trenches, when everything was so
strange and new. However I was assured that it was not an 'average'
day even on Hill 60, but something like an organised shoot. One of the
features of the place was the number and size of the rats; they looked
the size of rabbits as they scuttered along the trenches at night.
Another was the awful taste of the water we got to drink. It was
boiled and it was turned into strong tea, but it had a most
indescribably horrible taste. The food, on the other hand, was
excellent and plenty of it. In the light of subsequent rations these
were indeed the days of plenty. Owing to the kindness of some friends
of the battalion in England, both officers and men were supplied with
sheep-skin coats or jackets which were wonderfully good in keeping out
the cold at night. 'Stand-to' was a regular institution of trench
warfare, both an hour before dark and an hour before dawn. Naturally
the latter was the more trying, but at this time the rum ration was
served out; and it certainly prevented you from being frozen stiff and
enabled you to get to sleep again if your duties did not keep you to
the trenches. A very curious life in the trenches, a very small world
but every bit of it packed full of interest and novelty to me. From
the trenches, if you looked backwards, there was a splendid view of
Ypres, with its shattered spires and houses, still a beautiful grey
ruin, even in death. I was destined to have a much closer acquaintance
with it later. Beyond the usual rounds of shelling on both sides
nothing of particular interest happened during the next three days. On
the evening of January 19 we were relieved by a company of the 5th
N.F. (Capt. North M.C.), and moved out after dark for a short rest in
close support.
My career as a platoon commander in the trenches was a short one, for
as it happened that was my first and last experience as such. We moved
out and back for about a mile, eventually reaching a house called
Blauwpoorte Farm.[3] It was not a bad place then, and was not shelled,
though at night the bullets used to rattle round if you walked abroad.
Here on the second day I took a small party of men, as a working
party, to the shelters at the 'Sunken Road,' rather nearer the line. I
think we were engaged in clearing the road of mud and generally
cleaning up. On the way there I saw some rather humourous notices
stuck up at various points. 'This is a dangerous spot.' It was kindly
meant no doubt, but on the whole no part of the Salient afforded much
of a rest-cure, and it was practically all under direct observation
of the enemy. We existed simply through his forbearance.
On January 22, 1916, I became bombing officer to the battalion, or, as
it was then called, 'grenadier officer.' My predecessor had had bad
luck, getting his hand shattered by the accidental explosion of a
detonator. Accordingly I was sent to see Sergt. W. Moffat, the
battalion bombing sergeant, in order to pick up what I could of the
routine at so short a notice. Sergt. Moffat was a short withered man
with sandy hair, a quiet manner, but a cheery twinkle in his eye. He
had served in the South African war; and had been mentioned in
despatches for good bombing work during a German attack at Hooge. A
most conscientious and hard-working fellow, with a passion for all
sorts of bombs. I could not have fallen into better hands. He was an
admirable instructor and assistant, and knew all there was to be known
about trench routine. I could see he was universally respected in the
battalion. He was a Salvation Army man at home, and wore their red
woollen jersey under his tunic. Much do I owe him and much do I still
lament his untimely end.
Capt. Smail returned to England about this time, leaving me his woolly
coat, a priceless parting gift. Capt. J. Welch came to command A
Company and a cheerier fellow surely never existed. I was glad to
accept his offer of messing with A Company. There never was a dull
moment at mess when Welch presided.
We went back to Hill 60 for four days on January 23. I cannot
remember much of this stay in the line, and nothing special happened.
I was too busy learning all I could of the routine of the trenches and
locating and checking bomb stores. I had to visit all the trenches
held by the battalion, and thus got the chance of making the
acquaintance of the other Company commanders, Capt. H. Liddell (B
Coy.), Capt. C. Davies (C Coy.) and Capt. G.F. Ball, M.C., (D Coy.). I
remember being asked by our Brigadier-General Clifford to explain some
part of a derelict West Spring Thrower in the cutting at Hill 60 (I
had never even seen one before) and being saved by the timely
intervention of Sergt. Moffat.
On January 27 we were relieved and went back to Canada Huts for a rest
of four days. Oh, that first rest out of the trenches! The
accommodation was poor enough seen in the light of home comforts, but
what a palace of rest and refreshment it seemed to me then, and how
quickly the time passed. I had to practise the bombers (nineteen from
each company) in throwing dummy grenades each morning on the mud flat
(it was once a field) outside the huts. In order to stimulate keenness
I organised a competition and gave one franc each day as a prize for
the best score. I soon found out who were the most expert throwers.
We had a Y.M.C.A. hut close to the camp, and it was interesting to
drop in and have a chat with the men in charge and a cup of cocoa.
There was an old gentleman there, in command, who was rightly proud
of being the civilian nearest to the front line. He displayed to us
with great pride a souvenir found in Ypres, the huge base of a 17-inch
shell--it was almost too heavy for one man to lift. We had our Church
Service and our concerts in the marquee attached to the Y.M.C.A. hut.
Most of the officers got leave to go to Poperinghe during these rests
out of the line, but I never went there myself. There was an
attraction there in the 'Fancies,' a fine concert party, many of whose
songs I learnt at second hand.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Lieut. F.B. Cowen, a very cheery machine-gun officer, also 7th
N.F., had his quarters here.
VI
MOUNT SORREL AND CANNY HILL
When we went up the line again on January 31, it was to Mount Sorrel,
on the north of Hill 60. Here we had a good set of trenches, but they
were practically cut off from our trenches at Hill 60 by a swamp.
Through the swamp ran a watery sort of drain about four feet deep. It
was the old front line, now waterlogged and quite untenable. Although
the drain was not held by day, a patrol of bombers used to pass along
it at intervals during the night. And it was part of my duties to wade
through it every night. This was not a pleasant job, because you could
not show a light and the mud smelt abominably. We were provided,
however, with rubber boots reaching up to the thigh, so we did not get
very wet. The officers of A Company occupied an 'elephant' shelter
just behind the support line. All its occupants were killed by a shell
bursting in the doorway, just two days after we had left these
trenches. I first met Lieut. W. Keene here. He was the Brigade
Grenadier officer and had the supervision of all bombing arrangements
in the Brigade area, besides being responsible for the supply of
grenades. I always found him friendly and encouraging, and I was glad
to learn anything he could tell me. He asked me to send in a daily
report to B.H.Q.; and I have kept the copies of these reports to this
day.
During this stay in the trenches the Germans stuck up a notice board
with the following legend: _Attention Gentlemen_, and below in German,
'If you send over one more trench-mortar bomb you will get strafed in
the neck.'
On February 3 we were relieved and A Company stayed four days in the
railway cutting at Hill 60 in close support. The second day I went
with Capt. Welch and Lieut. Greene to the trenches north of Mount
Sorrel which were called Canny Hill. That journey was full of
incident, we seemed to be shelled or bombed all the way to Mount
Sorrel and back, and Capt. Welch has often humourously suggested that
I was the Jonah. It also meant crossing the dismal swamp in daylight,
and how we did it without being seen and shot I really do not know.
During our stay in the cutting I explored the old broken trenches
behind our support line at Hill 60, and found a fine dump of English
bombs of early types. I spent quite a long time drawing their teeth.
One little incident I remember at this spot. About 1 A.M. an elderly
R.E. officer came into our shelter, and told us in a voice shaking
with joyful emotion that he had just blown up a German counter-mine
which had been threatening our mine galleries at Hill 60.
On February 8 we marched back to Canada Huts, and had another four
days' rest. This time the bombers carried out a good deal of live
practice with Mills bombs at some bombing-pits about half a mile from
Canada Huts. It was my first experience of the sort; but Sergt. Moffat
kept me up to the procedure at the firing-pit. Also it was the first
time I had the chance of throwing a live Mills bomb myself. On
February 12 we were due to take over the trenches at Canny Hill, and I
went up early and by myself, riding to Café Belge and thence on foot
to Hill 60, Mount Sorrel, and so on to Sanctuary Wood. It was a long
way round but I knew no other way. My dugout was in the wood, rather
far from the front line and from the H.Q. of A Company in Davison
Street. Our front line trenches were about quarter of a mile away from
the German front line, but there were signs that the Germans were
digging a forward trench along a hedge about 200 yards away from our
front. This activity gave the Staff some uneasiness, and considerable
interest was taken in these forward workings. I went out with Capt.
Welch for a short visit in that direction the first night, but we saw
nothing of interest. The next night Capt. Welch brought back a
revetting stake from the new German trench. I believe it was on
February 13 that the Germans attacked and took the 'Bluff,' some
trenches south-west of Hill 60. About 3.30 P.M. our own trenches were
bombarded for about two hours continuously with field artillery, and a
lot of pieces were blown out of the top of our trenches, but no
infantry attack developed. After this a small mine was blown up under
our old trenches at Hill 60 and a platoon was wiped out there. But an
attempt by the Germans to occupy the crater was frustrated through the
initiative of a machine-gun officer. I saw and felt the shock of this
mine going up, and a wonderful sight it was in the evening light. The
shelling went on for some time after dark, whilst to our right our
artillery thundered away in support of several fruitless attempts to
recapture the lost trenches at the 'Bluff.'
On February 14 I was told to organise a series of bombing parties, one
from each company, to visit the German advanced trench at different
times during the night and if possible to bomb German parties working
there. I decided to accompany the first party, from A Company, between
8 and 10 P.M. Sergt. Dorgan, an experienced patroller, went with me,
also L.-C. Lowes, Ptes. Austin and Gibson, and two other bombers. As
it was very wet, I had a sandbag taken by each man to lie down on. The
scheme was to creep right up to the new trench near the hedge, and
await the arrival of the German working-party. So we crept out along
the wet ground and got to the trench, which was about two feet deep.
We found no one there, and Pte. Austin went on into the hedge to keep
a look-out. In the hedge were found a German sniper's plate, a steel
shield with a loop-hole in it, and a German entrenching tool, like a
small spade. These were at once annexed. Then we lay down again on
the sandbags and waited with eyes and ears straining for about an
hour. But no Germans came, though we had one warning from our sentry
to get ready to fire. After that, cold and thoroughly soaked, we
returned in triumph with the sandbags and our spoils, which we placed
in our own trench. The other parties went out later but found no
Germans at work. Possibly the wet night or the battle on our right
prevented them from coming out to work that night. The object of these
forward trenches was afterwards apparent, when four months later the
Germans attacked and took Mount Sorrel. On February 16 we were
relieved and went back into support for four days. I have forgotten
where we went, but I think it was to the Canal Dugouts not far from
Swan Château.