It’s very little love indeed there is lost between us and the Germans,
and when they get to grips with Irish soldiers they don’t get much
chance of saving their skins. The things the Germans do in Belgium
are ten times worse than anything you ever heard tell of in ’98, and
there’s few Irishmen can stand what they’ve done without wanting to
tear them to bits in good, honest fighting. We saw the Irish Guards
give the Germans a fine basting at Compiègne, and we were proud of the
way they behaved. When they came back to our lines after it was over
they had a grand cheer from all of us, and the French troops, who were
nearer to the fight and saw it better than us, weren’t behindhand in
giving our boys a good pat on the back. It would have done your heart
good to see the Frenchmen standing up in their trenches and shouting
like mad as the Guards passed by. The poor chaps got shy and sick of
all the fuss that was made over them. They didn’t like the idea that it
was their first time on active service and that they were only babies
at fighting, and there was many a row in the camp that night over men
saying fine things about the Guards, and reminding them of the fact
that they never had had any battle honours before that day: _Private P.
Heffernan_.
“Up, Guards,” and at ’Em?
Shrapnel began to burst around us, and the Guards had to prepare to
engage the cavalry now creeping closer. Suddenly the cavalry remounted
their horses, and came crashing down on our chaps. “Now, Guards!” was
all the officer in command said, but his men knew what he meant, and
they braced themselves for the tussle. They lined up in the good old
British square that has proved a terror to European armies before, and
the front ranks waited with the bayonet, while the men inside kept
blazing away at the advancing horsemen. They came closer and closer,
and the earth seemed to shake and quiver beneath their rush. “Steady!”
was all the commander of the Guards said, and he said it in a dull way,
as though he were giving a piece of advice to some noisy youngsters
who had been making a row. The men answered not a word, but they set
their teeth. Then the crash came. Steel met steel, and sparks shot out
as sword crossed bayonet. The game of the Germans was to ride down our
ranks, but they didn’t know that that trick won’t work with British
troops, and the Guardsmen kept their ground, in spite of the weight of
men and horses. The Germans came to a dead stop, and just then they got
a volley from the centre of the square. They broke and scattered, and
then they got another volley: _A British Guardsman_.