AN OBSERVER’S MEMORIES
As I have already said, when sniping was started in the B.E.F., we
owed our fairly rapid and certainly very definite success in the task
of dominating the Hun to a single factor. Whereas the German sniper
usually worked alone, we put up against him two men, one of whom, “A,”
used the telescope and kept a close watch for “targets” upon a good
sector of the enemy’s line, while “B,” his comrade, used the rifle and
shot at the “targets” which “A” found. The result was that at a hundred
points along the line you could daily hear a conversation such as this:
A.--“Black Sandbags--left--two feet--’alf a ’Un’s ’ead showing.
D----! he’s down!”
B.--“Hope he’ll come up again.”
A.--“He’s up!”
B.--(Fires).
A.--“Close shave--six inches high--bad luck, ole son!”
Now the total result of the above passage was in all probability not
only that a German in the trench opposite had been fired at and missed,
but that “A,” the telescope man, had seen certain details which might
prove of interest. These details “A,” at once, as a matter of routine,
entered in his log book. He enters the time--11.18 a.m. let us say.
The place is C3d.25.85 on the squared map. So far all was simple; but
the next entry as to what he had seen was important. A Hun’s head, or
a yellow-bearded Hun, or an ugly Hun, meant nothing; but a Hun wearing
a Prussian cockade, or a Hun wearing a helmet with No. 119 on the
cover--these things were of importance, and soon, under instruction,
sniper-observers gave up reporting black-bearded Germans who leaned
over the parapet, and realized the value of the all-important game
of identification. They entered besides the details already given, a
note of the action taken and the result: In the case we have imagined,
“Fired one shot--missed.”
It will be further understood that a sniper’s observer (and do not
forget that the observer’s work is much the more trying, and that “A”
and “B” change places every twenty minutes to rest the observer’s
eyes), saw a great many things happen in the enemy lines which did not
come under the heading of “targets.” Earth being thrown up usually
meant work in progress. The occurrence was, of course, noted down in
the log book, with a map reference at which it took place and the spot,
if worth while, bombarded with trench mortars. Or the observer might
spot a machine-gun emplacement, or locate a _minenwerfer_.
But it will be seen that the possibilities are endless, and as the
war went on the snipers provided a mass of detail, much of which was
confirmed by raids and identifications taken from prisoners or from the
dead, and very little could happen near the enemy’s front lines without
our Intelligence being at once aware of it.
An interesting question which arose was whether a sniper should enter
deductions as well as facts in his reports, and this question was often
asked me. The reply was that he should invariably do this provided he
marked his deductions very clearly as such.
The most brilliant piece of deduction that I came across was that of
an officer in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, and it had a remarkable
sequel. At one point of a supposed disused trench, a cat was observed
sunning itself upon the parados. This was duly reported by the
observant sniper, and in his log book for three or four days running
came a note of this tortoise-shell cat sunning itself, always at the
same spot.
The Intelligence and Sniping Officer of the battalion, on reading
his entries, made his deduction, to wit, that the cat probably lived
near by. Now at that part of the British line there was a terrible
plague of rats, which was probably at least as troublesome upon
the German side. So our officer deduced that the cat was a luxury,
and that this being so, it had most certainly been commandeered or
annexed by enemy officers and probably lived in some enemy officer’s
headquarters--possibly a company commander’s dug-out.
Some aeroplane photographs were next taken and studied, with a result
that an enemy headquarters was discovered, located and duly dealt with
by one of the batteries of howitzers which made a speciality of such
shoots.
I give the full details of this incident in a later chapter. In fact,
in trench warfare there was a great deal of scope for deduction.
At one time, before the Germans received the large numbers of light
machine-guns which were issued in the later stages of the war, their
heavier weapons were mounted in fixed posts, which were very carefully
concealed. Sometimes these guns fired a burst at night, and we invented
a way in which it was possible to locate them. We had a large tin
structure, shaped like an oblong box and made of three walls of tin,
each some inches apart. This was mounted on straight square sticks
fixed at either end of the box. These sticks fitted into grooves which
were nailed on boards set into the parapet, and after dark were run up
until the tin box was above the parapet. Should it in this position
happen to catch even one bullet of a burst of fire, as an enemy
machine-gun sprayed our trench, it was only necessary to slide down
the legs through the grooves, and to place a periscope in front of any
hole the machine-gun bullets had made. In this way the observer found
himself looking down the course along which the bullet had come, direct
at the spot from which it was fired.
This was rather a clumsy and very uncertain device, but it was used in
a dozen other forms. Had it been invented earlier, before the issue of
light machine-guns which I have referred to above, it might have been
quite valuable, but it came too late, and was soon discarded.
To spot a hostile machine-gun emplacement was one of the most valuable
services a front-line observer could render, since of course a single
machine-gun can hold up an attack and inflict great casualties.
Therefore, when a machine-gun emplacement was spotted it was not
necessarily put out of action at once, but its map reference was noted
and sent to Intelligence, where it was filed, and action taken by the
divisional artillery at the correct time, usually just before a raid or
an attack.
On the 11th Corps front in 1916 our troops were continually making
raids, and there was a great deal of competition as to who should
make the most successful. The result was that the enemy was kept
continually upon the jump. The Germans were allowed very little sleep
during those months.
One night they decided to try and regain the lost initiative, and a
German raid was turned on, which, however, did not meet with great
success; in fact, things began to be critical for the raiders, and the
German Company Commander in charge came out into No Man’s Land to see
for himself what was amiss. There in No Man’s Land he was killed by
our men, and from his body a map was taken on which the position of no
less than eighty machine-gun emplacements was marked. At first it was
thought that the map on which these eighty emplacements were described
might be a fake intended to mislead us, but on comparing it with the
emplacements discovered during the previous weeks it was found that no
fewer than forty-two of the eighty had been spotted and ticked off,
though as yet no serious action against them had been taken.
Such a chance never comes twice, and a few nights later the gunners
blew up all the machine-gun emplacements while the South Wales
Borderers went across and raided the German trenches. To such a tune
was the raid carried out that, though a record number of prisoners were
brought in, the raiding party suffered hardly any loss themselves.
More than one officer in the war must have found himself in a dreadful
position when captured by the enemy with important maps of his own
lines in his pocket. Carelessness, darkness, or misadventure might each
or any of them be responsible, but bad as was the lot of the ordinary
prisoner, how much worse was that of one whose capture had given
valuable local information to the enemy! It is too painful a subject to
pursue.
Many people seem to think that all observation is now done from
aeroplanes, but this is absurd. The airmen can spot hostile
concentrations and do invaluable work in a hundred ways, but, as the
war went on, more and more was it recognized how necessary was the
ground-observer, for he looked at the enemy from a different angle, and
his reports were often of the highest value.
Once the Germans started a new and large form of periscope, and we
ceased destroying them at once the moment a clever observer found that
with the telescope he could read the reflection of the numbers on the
shoulder straps of the Germans who used them, thereby allowing us to
identify the opposing unit with both comfort and ease.
It was perhaps natural enough that when a sniper first won his way into
the sniping section of his battalion, he should desire to shoot rather
than to observe, yet, as a matter of fact, the observer’s was, in my
opinion, the post of honour. It was very hard work too, especially in
summer time, and more especially still in the chalk country. Some of
the happiest days of our lives were spent with the Ross telescope,
either watching the German lines from the front trenches or from some
observation post further back overlooking the wide areas that lay
behind them. On many occasions one became so interested that meals
were forgotten, as the telescope searched and waited for the artillery
observers’ observation posts.
Such a one there was at Beaumont Hamel. It was in the autumn of 1915,
and the leaves were falling, which is the best time of all for spotting
the posts of enemy observers. Right back in the village was a building
which, though it had been heavily shelled, still stood in a fairly
commanding position. A direct hit had at some previous time smashed
a jagged hole under the eaves through which one could see a beam
stretching across. It was the presence of this beam which first drew
attention to the spot, for it seemed strange that the shell should not
have carried it away. It looked, indeed, as if it had been placed there
afterwards; but it was a little back in the room behind, and it was
difficult to tell whether the shell might not have left it intact.
In the morning, when the light was bad owing to the position of
the sun, it was very hard to spot the shell hole, and the beam was
invisible, but one day when the light was very good in the afternoon,
the glass revealed five bricks standing on this broken beam. Natural
enough--but not quite so natural when the next day the five bricks had
changed their position. On the first day four had been lying along the
beam at full length and one was set upon its end. On the second day a
second had adopted the erect position.
Late in the afternoon of that clear day the officer who had observed
and who was taking interest in the five bricks saw through his 30-power
glass a German hand moving the bricks and the light glint on a pair of
German field-glasses levelled amongst them.
The second shell from our gunners removed for ever that post of
Beaumont Hamel.
That was one side of the game.
The other was when your own post got given away--as it sometimes
did--usually by the flash of a glass in some unskilled hands, by
aeroplane photographs, or by some idiot approaching the post when the
light allowed of good observation from the German line. Then the first
news you had of it was the arrival of the German shells. Followed
either the decision to stick it, or the climb, during the later stages
of the war in a gas mask, down the ladder and a dash for the nearest
dug-out.
[Illustration:
_From a drawing by_] [_Ernest Blaikley._
Inside the Observation Post.]
Once on a certain famous ridge riddled with our observation posts, I
can remember finding a path leading to every post clear in the new
fallen snow, and a German aeroplane imminent overhead. Now supposing
that plane happened to be a photographic plane, as it most probably
was, the whole of the posts would be given away as clearly as if we had
sent a map across with them marked upon it.
I can remember how we made false trails in little parties, and never
did soldiers double at a faster pace! A fall of snow helped us a great
deal as far as aeroplane photographs were concerned, and no doubt the
Germans also, but even at such times the German flying man did not come
much over our lines.
There was another post which we used for a long time, the only road
to which lay along a disused trench in which were several deep shell
holes. As this trench was full of a kind of thick dust or mud according
to the weather, and as the whole length of it had to be passed over
by crawling there was great fear that the trails of the observers
would one day be photographed from the air. At one point, therefore,
an entrenching tool was left with which each observer obliterated his
trail as far as he could. One becomes very careful in these small
details when one’s life hangs upon the issue.
Perhaps the most remarkable observation posts used during the war
were three famous ones in the French lines. At one point there was
a slight rise in front of the French position and above the German.
Both trenches cut across the Paris road, and exactly upon the top of
the rise between the trenches where the observation was best stood a
milestone on which was stated the number of kilometres to Paris.
This milestone the French photographed. The photograph was sent to the
Camouflage Works, where an exact copy of the milestone, with the number
of kilometres printed on it, was made in steel, but with an observation
eye-slit covered with gauze. Then one night a French party crept out
and removed the real milestone, putting in its stead the camouflaged
one. A tunnel from the trench was next dug, and for many months inside
that harmless-looking milestone a pair of keen French eyes noted much
of interest that happened in the German line.
In another case, a huge dead, yellow-bearded Prussian lay, on a point
of vantage, staring at the sky. He, too, was photographed and copied,
and from the hollow shell, clothed in his uniform, another observer
fulfilled his duty. A dead horse likewise was replaced and used.
In fact, the romance of observation was endless, forming, as it did,
one of the more human phases of the world-war, for here, at least, an
observer’s life was often dependent upon his own skill. Observers often
lay in full view, their lives depending upon quiescence and their art
of blending with the background.
When, at a later date, there was an issue in the British Army of
sniping robes for the use of snipers and observers--robes which
tallied with any background and were ornamented with all kinds of
dazzle painting--there was a tendency to send snipers and observers
out in front. As a rule I think this was a mistake, for the hours
out in front from dawn to dark were very long, and the observer had
to keep upon the _qui vive_ for too long a period. Also the smallest
movement would give him away, and he was rarely in a position to use
his telescope over any large area. Freedom of movement is necessary to
the observer, and as to the sniper, I always felt that it was wrong to
send him out except on a definite quest, for the man behind the trench
is always in a superior position to the man who is lying on open ground
without any chance of escape.
So far I have dealt with what is known as front line observation;
but besides this we have to consider the very wide subject of back
area observation. The sniper’s duty is to watch the enemy’s front and
support lines. The brigade observers, if any--and keen brigades were
always sending them to be trained--and the divisional observers working
from posts on their own support lines, or from some point of vantage
far behind, watched the areas lying at the back of the enemy fighting
lines as far as the glass could see.
To some of the Army Corps were attached the Lovat Scouts Sharpshooters.
This name turned out in a way really a misnomer, for the Lovats
were found to be so invaluable with the telescope that they were in
many cases forbidden to use the rifle. Many Corps also had groups of
observers formed from their Corps Cavalry. Besides these we had the
F.O.O.’s and Artillery observers who, however, do not come within the
scope of this chapter as their work is so largely for the guns.
In order to understand fully the tremendous mass of work done by
observers, you must realize that behind the lines the Major-General,
the Corps Commander, the Army Commander and the Commander-in-Chief
himself are all blind. Their brains direct the battle, but it is with
the eyes of Sandy McTosh that they see. And nobly through the war did
Sandy do his part. It is from him and his officers that the blind
General behind learns how the battle goes--that the brigade have gained
their first objective--that the --th are held up by wire--that at N26,
C4.3 at least six German battalions are massing for a counter-attack.
In the Vimy Ridge battle did not Lieut. Whamond and Sergeant Fraser
observe, and did not the guns they warned break up, a mighty
counter-attack before ever it was launched?
The duty of the battle observer is to obtain the information as to how
each phase of the battle goes, and then to get that information back to
where it should be of value.
[Illustration:
_From a drawing by_] [_Ernest Blaikley._
Lovat Scouts: Battle observers.]
The battle observer’s post or, rather, his series of posts, in an
advance, may begin in an observation post, proceed forward to a series
of shell holes and finish in a wrecked German lorry stranded upon some
convenient slope. He will use the telephone. His runners--who take back
his reports when the telephone wires are cut by shell fire--will escape
on one occasion almost unshot at; on the next gas shells will pursue
them with positive malignancy. The observer cannot observe in his gas
mask, so that gas shells are his particular enemy, and in many of the
later attacks the Germans at once drenched all possible observation
posts with gas.
But, as I say, the observer is the eye of the High Command. Far away
a General and his Chief of Staff are looking at a map. An orderly
enters and hands over a flimsy to the Chief of Staff. He reads out the
message. The General gives a sigh of relief. He knows now that the
danger spot is behind the remnants of the gallant battalions of the
381st Brigade. Sandy McTosh has made “siccar”--he has seen--he has
verified--he has got his report back. Those eyes, trained on the hill
among the deer, may have had their share, and that no small one, in the
making of history.
Battle-observing was the blue ribbon of observation. Although the first
battalion of Lovat Scouts went to Gallipoli, and later to Salonica,
only coming to their true work in France in 1918, yet since 1916
this splendid regiment was represented there by the Lovat Scouts
Sharpshooters whom I have referred to above, and of whom nine groups,
each about twenty strong, and each under an officer, were attached to a
certain Army Corps. Every man of these groups was a picked stalker and
glassman, and they were used largely for long range observation.
It fell to the First Army Sniping School to train their reinforcements.
Keener men never lived, nor more dependable. I remember once a
Zeppelin was reported as falling in the enemy back areas some six or
seven thousand yards behind the German line. This report was made by
divisional observers, but it was promptly denied by the Lovat Scouts,
who stated very gravely that there _was_ a difference between a
Zeppelin and a half deflated balloon!
Lovat Scouts Sharpshooters were trained at Beauly in map-reading,
compass work, etc., and first came out in separate groups. A little
later Lieut.-Colonel Cameron of Lochiel arrived in France to
co-ordinate their work. At this time their _raison d’être_ was not
always apparent to the units to which they were attached, and some
of them were put on to observe for enemy aeroplanes, in which work
their skill was rather thrown away. But this was largely put right by
Lochiel, whose work was invaluable. Later they were under the command
of Lieut.-Colonel Grant, and towards the end of the war, as I have
mentioned above, the First Lovat Scouts were brought home from abroad
to take up their true work of observation, just the whole period of the
war too late.
At first they were quarantined for a time, as most of them were
suffering from malaria, and from then onwards tremendous efforts were
made to train the whole regiment in the higher forms of map-reading.
It is, I believe, a fact that it was only on November 11th, the day of
the Armistice, that the order finally came through from the War Office
which settled the establishment of the Lovat Scouts with the British
Expeditionary Force.
The Lovat Scouts were intensely and rightly proud of their regiment and
its work. Once I received orders to train forty foreigners as Lovat
Scouts, and called up an old Lovat and told him so and ordered him to
make certain arrangements.
“Yes, sir,” said he and saluted.
One of my officers was lying behind a hedge observing, and on leaving
me the old Lovat walked down this hedge soliloquizing. He did not see
the officer, who, however, overheard his soliloquy. It ran thus:
“Forty Englishmen to be trained as Lovat Scouts!
Abominable!--Preposterous!--_and it can’t be done_!”
The 1st Corps had a splendid system under which the Lovat Scouts
attached to it worked. It possessed a grand group under Lieut.
Whamond, M.C., whose equal at his work I never saw in France. The
system was this: Scouts from the group were available on application to
the Corps Intelligence Office. Thus, if a battalion had been ordered to
raid the enemy trenches, the Commanding Officer of that battalion could
indent for some Lovats to go and make a reconnaissance of the enemy
wire for him. Or if a Divisional Commander thought the enemy activities
increasing, he could obtain some special pairs of Lovats to watch the
part of the line he considered threatened. The group, in fact, were at
the service of all units in the Corps, and the result was that when
they were applied for, their assistance was fully valued, and they went
always to a definite job.
Various scouts from this group used to come up to First Army School of
S.O.S. to recoup, for, during the long drawn out operations in front of
Lens, the continual use of the glass was very trying.
A story, probably apocryphal, was always told in the 1st Corps
concerning a gigantic corporal of the Lovats who stood six feet five
inches in height, and was certainly one of the strongest men in
the Army. He was talking with his companion--for the scouts worked
in pairs--when his conversation was overheard by some men of a new
formation. As the Lovats were speaking Gaelic, these men at once
jumped to the conclusion that they were listening to German, and
demanded an instant surrender.
The night was dark, but, as the story goes, it was not the new
formation who brought back the Lovats as prisoners, but the Lovats who
brought back the new formation.
The final arrangement in the B.E.F., which never took effect, allotted
groups of Lovat Scouts to each Division. At each Army there was to be a
Major in charge on the Headquarters staff, and a captain at the Corps;
but, as I have said, this system had hardly begun to operate when the
war ended.
In training glassmen, one wonderfully soon realized how impossible it
was to teach any man to use his telescope skilfully who had not been
accustomed to it from early youth. Every soldier can, of course, be
taught which end to look through, and how to focus, and such details,
but these men who began late in life never got the same value from
their glasses as did the gillies and the stalkers, and from the point
of view of accuracy they were in no way comparable. The truth, that to
use a stalking telescope well needs just as much time, practice, and
natural gift as first-class shooting, was soon recognized, and would-be
observers were sent to the First Army School from all over the B.E.F.
But work on them as we would, they never averaged anything like the
Lovat standard.
It sounds a bold statement to make, but the Lovats _never_ let one
down. If they reported a thing, the thing was as they reported it.
Certainly the men who follow the red deer of Scotland proved themselves
once again in this war to possess qualities which, let us hope, will
never pass from the British race.
As ammunition grew plentiful, and observation more and more adequate,
it naturally became less and less healthy for the German to move about
in his back areas in daylight. Thus, one day, two officers happened to
be in an observation post which was connected with the guns, when out
of a wood some thousands of yards behind the German line emerged three
figures. The light was beautiful, and as the figures came nearer and
nearer one of the officers began to take an interest.
As a rule, that observation post did not ring up the guns unless a
party of Germans over half a dozen in number was seen, but presently
the officer at the telescope spoke.
“I say?”
“Yes.”
“Get on to Stiggins” (the code name of the battery). “Tell them three
Hun officers with blue cloaks lined with light blue silk, blucher boots
and shining swords, will be at the cross-roads at H16, C45.5 in about
five minutes. Tell them they are probably Prince Eitel Fritz and Little
Willie. I will give the word when to let them have it.”
Through the glass could be clearly seen--it was afternoon, and the sun
was in a perfect position--the nonchalant way in which those three
arrogant-looking Hun officers stared about as they approached the
cross-roads.
Then, in due course, the observing officer said: “Now”--and a moment
later the shells passed over the observation post with a sound as of
the tearing of silk, and the three “princes,” blue cloaks and swords
were flying at all angles as they dashed back from the cross-roads,
only to run into another shell burst. Two fell--the other made good his
escape. It was never learned who they were.
Another incident. One very misty day two officers were in an
observation post looking out over the huge devastation of the Loos
salient. They were not in an artillery, but in an Intelligence
observation post, which, however, was linked up with the guns. Suddenly
the mist thinned, revealing far behind the German lines, 7,000 yards
away, a number of figures engaged in harvesting.
“Ring up ‘Compunction,’” said one officer, “and tell them that sixty
Huns are working on the corn at U22, A45.70.”
“By God, cancel that,” cried the other, whose eyes were still on the
telescope. “There are women among them.”
They were French women, with a sprinkling of Bavarian or Prussian
soldiers. The long distance observer saved lives, even behind the Hun
lines, as well as took them.
Sometimes it was the observer’s duty to watch a single German for days
at a time, not for the sake of watching a particular man, but because
the man happened perhaps to be a sentry on the particular piece of line
which was under observation.
I remember watching a German sentry in this way, or, rather, seeing
him from time to time from the Monday to the Thursday. He never gave
an opportunity for a shot, though periodically he used to peer quickly
over the parapet and as quickly subside; but one got quite used to his
routine. His dinner was brought him at his post, where he seemed to
remain for very long hours. Once a friend, who was engaged in painting
a notice, seemed to come and sit and talk with him. The sentry himself
was an exceedingly young German, and I should say an extraordinarily
bad sentry. He sometimes used to shoot at us if we gave him
provocation, but he was an appallingly bad shot. He was so exceedingly
young that I was very glad that I had not a rifle with me, for when at
last he did give a chance it was the Company-Sergeant-Major, who cared
not if he was young or old, who did what was necessary.
There were certain observation posts in or outside the British lines
from which no shot was ever allowed to be fired, lest the post should
be betrayed, so valuable were they for observation. From one you
could see at close range a German mounted military policeman--he was
not always mounted--directing the traffic. You could almost see the
expression on the faces of the Huns.
At another point an observation post which was linked up with the guns
had a long distance view of a straight road near a ridge running behind
the German lines, along which even in daylight Huns were wont to move
in small bodies.
One day an officer and a corporal were in this post, when the corporal
drew the attention of the officer to a single figure moving along the
road. By deduction it was that of a German officer, for every now and
again he would meet little parties of troops coming along the road in
threes and fours, not enough to shoot at.
“Sir,” said the corporal, “the officer stops each lot and kind of seems
to inspect them. I expect he is a disciplinarian.”
The officer smiled.
Some little distance further on he knew a point on the road was
registered by our guns. Before the officer came to this he gave the
word along the telephone to fire. As the shells approached the Hun
officer hurled himself to the ground, from which, after the smoke
cleared from a very nice shot, he was not seen to rise. But the
chances are he crawled away. If not, the German Army was certainly
short of an officer of “push and go.”
Of course the difference between the really skilled observer and the
makeshifts who sometimes had to act in their places came out in a very
marked degree at the longer ranges. The latter did not understand
the telescope, and were never able to focus it so as to get the best
results. In fact, when happenings were quite clear to anyone used to
the telescope, these men were all at sea and could not distinguish much.
Anyone who was a real artist with the telescope was, of course, always
trying different glasses and different magnifications. Apart from the
telescopes which I had purchased with Mr. St. Loe Strachey’s invaluable
fund, the Lady Roberts fund sent me out a number of very high-class
glasses of all magnifications, and after a great deal of experimenting
we came to the conclusion that during all the morning hours, when the
sun was facing us, we should do best for all our work with a 10-power
magnification, whereas, of course, when the sun went round behind us,
higher-powered glasses gave better results. Still, it was very rare
indeed that it was worth while to pull out the 30-power stop. Glasses
even of the same magnification vary to an amazing extent. Some are
what may be called sweet, that is, easy and restful for the eyes to
look through. Others, of perhaps exactly similar type and by the same
maker, are hard and unsatisfactory. Most of the Lovat Scouts brought
out their own glasses, nearly all Ross’s--indeed, I never knew of any
glass to compare with those made by this maker.
There was one duty of back area observers which was always interesting,
and this was watching enemy railway crossings. All these crossings
were, of course, registered by our guns, and it was the duty of the
observer to keep a good look-out on them, and when a train stopped in
the station, and consequently a good deal of traffic was held up on
either side of the railway crossing, he would ring up the guns. A few
well-placed shells would then wreak havoc upon the enemy.
A system which was extraordinarily clear and interesting was adopted by
one Corps. This Corps had, let us say, five posts manned by observers.
All these posts were linked up with artillery. Back at Corps, stretched
on an enormous table, was a large map, on which, of course, the five
observation posts were marked. The observers in the posts sent in their
daily diary of observation, and when anything in it was of importance,
it was entered on this large map. Thus, we will call the posts Tiger,
Lion, Leopard, Puma and Jaguar, the names by which they were known.
Everything observed from Lion was entered in red ink, everything from
Tiger in violet, and from the others also in different coloured inks.
It was thus possible at a single glance to tell exactly what had been
seen during the past week from each post. Of course sometimes two posts
observed the same thing, but only on the extreme limits of their area
of observation.
A good observation post was a great asset, and sore, indeed, were the
observers if it was given away. There was one such post on a certain
front which lay within six hundred yards of the enemy’s front line.
This post had been used, and had remained undiscovered for four months.
One day there was some change in the arrangement of Corps, and a smart
young staff captain arrived at the post and stated that he had orders
to take it over from the observers.
Luckily the observer officer, who shall be nameless, was in the post,
and he is reported to have addressed that staff captain as follows:
“There are two ways, sir, in which this can be done. The one would
be if you were to bring me a written authorization from the head of
Intelligence in my Corps, telling me to deliver up the post. That would
be the proper and official way. The other would be to throw me out.
Which are ye for?”
As the speaker was over six feet high, and had to pass most-doors
sideways, he remained in unmolested possession of that post.
One lingers over observation, because it was so intensely interesting.
During the long and weary period of trench warfare, when one saw so few
Germans in the ordinary course of events, it was delightful to be able
to go and look, with the help of a Ross glass, into their private life.
Many and many a time did officers say to me that one of the things
they most desired and would most enjoy would be to go for a short tour
behind the German lines and see what it all looked like. I quite agreed
with them, but by the use of the telescope we were able to visualize a
great deal of the German common task and daily round.
One early morning, when I was at First Army Sniping School, it became
necessary that a recently-joined N.C.O. who had just come out from
England, should be what Archibald Forbes’ German general called “a
little shooted.” Almost as soon as it was light we went down to the
line and crawled up through a wood which overlooked the German lines.
This wood would have been an almost ideal place for observation, and,
indeed, there were two or three observation posts there, but, as usual,
some incoming division had wanted some of the material which went to
the making of these posts and had torn it from them, thus giving them
most royally away. The result was that the woods were by no means a
health resort, as one never knew when the Germans would start shelling
them.
That summer morning, however, the sun had risen clear and bright,
throwing for a short period of time some kind of illusion over the sad
and war-worn landscape--for really after two or three years in France
one began to feel a horror of broken masonry and the ugly distortion
of war. Very rarely was a scene beautiful, on that part of the front
at any rate, but on this morning there was a tang in the air, and it
was good to be alive. With our telescopes, as soon as we reached a
point of vantage, we were able to see various slight movements in the
German lines. It was a curiously peaceful movement--fatigue parties
moving about carrying large pots full of cooked rations. In front of
us and at no great distance there was a little rounded hummock, which
had obviously been strengthened with concrete. Two men came up to this,
bearing two large pots slung upon a pole between them, and shortly
afterwards four more arrived. All went into a concrete fort which was
too large to be a pill-box. I suggested to an officer who was with me
that the place ought to be shelled, but he laughed and said: “They have
tried it a couple of times, but the shells have simply bounced off. And
now they have the place safely registered on the map, and if we come
to advance in that quarter we should put some howitzer on to it which
would do the work properly.”
Some of these German strong posts certainly did need heavy guns to
deal with them. No doubt there is a great satisfaction in having
an absolutely safe hole into which to creep when artillery fire
begins, but it is doubtful whether it is good policy to make too good
arrangements of this kind. Many Germans no doubt saved their lives by
going down their deep dug-outs and into their concrete pill-boxes, but
many more, as is common knowledge, when our men came over, stayed down
too long and were bombed to death.
But to return. Lying on that hillside in the early morning has always
remained, for no particular reason, one of my most vivid memories in
the war, probably because there was no shelling on either side, and one
had for once the opportunity of watching the enemy moving peacefully
about his tasks.
One point that struck me very strongly was the appearance of the
Germans, who were certainly very much less smart than our men. The
little round caps which the privates wore always reminded me of a
cook’s cap, and if the French steel helmet was a thing of beauty and
the British certainly not, the German was hideous beyond words. The
colour of the German uniform was splendid, and very difficult to pick
up.
When in a back area observation post, one was often watching both
Germans and British, and there is no question at all that the British
were much easier to see than the Germans. This was not because khaki
was a bad colour to blend with backgrounds, but because the tops of
the British caps were all of so much larger area than the German. The
flat-topped caps which so many of the British at one time wore were
simply an advertisement of their presence, and even the soft caps, for
wearing which officers were arrested when on leave by conscientious
A.P.M.’s, were too wide. Any flat surface worn on top of the head
is certain to catch every bit of light, and a flash of light means
movement, and draws the observer’s telescope as a magnet draws metal.
The ideal army, could I clothe it, would wear a very curious shape of
cap, with certainly an uneven outline.
But I do not need to labour this point. You have only to look at the
photographs contained in this book to see what a terrible handicap a
definite outline is.
[Illustration: The Fatal Cap.]
There was one incident of observation which, although it did not happen
often, gave one a distinct feeling of importance. Most shelling done
by the Germans was on registered cross-roads and suchlike spots, and
always when they saw a body of men of any size they would, of course,
shell it. But the observer, who usually went into his post rather
late--as in the early morning observation, owing to the mist and the
position of the sun, was impossible--often received the honour
of a special shelling all to himself. This was not the usual chance
shelling, as that, as I have said, was always done upon the roads, and
very often the observer made his way by footpaths or across the open
ground.
I think the Germans often suspected observation posts, and they paid
a compliment to observers by shelling all those who moved in their
neighbourhood.