For France.
Wearers of the Fleur de Lys gazed their last upon one of the countries
of their toils from the deck of the ship "Kalyan" as they steamed out of
Alexandria harbour on March 3rd, 1917. There were many present who had
accompanied the battalion on their venture from this same harbour nearly
two years before, to try their fortunes upon ill-starred Gallipoli, and
I have no doubt they wondered what these new experiences would bring
them. One thing is certain, however, and that is no one imagined we
should be compelled to continue our wanderings for full two more years
before the last journey home could be made. And yet, so it was. The
Fleur de Lys, for the first time since it had been adopted by the
Manchester Regiment, was borne to the soil of France, the country that
gave it birth, and whose kings wore it proudly for hundreds of years, by
Englishmen who had pledged themselves to fight in and for that fair
land. "Fair Land!" I hear someone scornfully mutter. However much we
were destined in the days to come, when wallowing to our waists amidst
the soil and water of France, to think very much the reverse, it would
be impossible to forget the glory of our Southern entrance to this sad
country.
The battalion made the trip across the Mediterranean in good company,
for the ship was shared by ourselves and the 8th Manchesters (the
Gallant Ardwicks) commanded by Lt.-Col. Morrough. We had an opportunity
of renewing our acquaintance with Malta, so vivid in its intense
colouring, whilst our escort of torpedo boats was changed. Perhaps the
following extract from an officer's diary will suffice to epitomise
whatever incident there was in the journey:--
"... It was more or less boisterous all the way, and on occasion
decidedly so--a vastly different voyage from my journey out. The
much-vaunted German submarine 'blockade' was not conspicuous, for
we neither saw nor heard of a submarine. Undoubtedly, of course,
one is conscious of the menace, and a good deal of what might be
enjoyment of the sea is spoiled by this horror. One thinks not of
the sea as inspiration of sublime thoughts and all things the poets
tell us of, but as a receptacle for submarines ... and for us if we
are hit. It was decidedly disconcerting to contemplate a dip during
the heavy weather. There would be little chance of being picked up
I should imagine. Still, we were able to appreciate the colours of
Malta, the grand snow-capped mountains of Corsica and the
neighbouring islands, while the entrance to Marseilles is a sight I
shall never forget. For colour and form I think it is perfect. In a
sense Plymouth resembles it, but as a cat the tiger. Here the rocks
run down in their limy whiteness sheer to the sea, with chateaux
and churches on impossible peaks, backed by tremendous stern
giants. Why will they not allow us on shore to get a closer
view?... Just above my head the men are concluding a concert with
the 'King,' the 'Marseillaise' (I wonder do they appreciate that
here it was first sung in its grandeur under Rouget de Lisle), and
then with what should be our national song, 'Rule Britannia.' Well
might they sing that with zest after the voyage we have concluded
to-day."
After standing out in the harbour at Marseilles for 24 hours, we first
set foot in France on March 10th. No time was wasted at Marseilles, and
we were soon entrained for a long journey northward. In the first hours
before dark we were able to enjoy the magnificent scenery of the coast
region near Marseilles. At Orange we halted for a meal at midnight. Next
day was a glorious journey up the Rhône Valley, passing through Lyons,
Chalons-sur-Saone and Dijon. Wherever the train stopped crowds of
enthusiastic French people collected to greet us and the news of the
fall of Bagdad made us doubly important to them, for not only were we
British but they knew we had come from somewhere in the East.
The following morning we arrived at the environs of Paris, and after a
stay at Juvissy continued our journey past Versailles and on through
Amiens to our destination at Pont Remy, a few miles from Abbeville. It
was pitch dark and raining. Imagine the shock to troops straight from
Egypt, where they had left a beautiful dry climate, when they jumped out
of the carriages into four inches of squelching mud. Then we were told
we had to march six or seven miles through the cold rain to our
billeting area at Merelissart. However, we were amongst new surroundings
and new modes of doing things, and conditions were vastly different from
those we had just left, so the sooner we became accustomed to them the
better.
Despite the midnight hour everyone found subject for fun in the French
barns and shippons which were to be our temporary homes. Lt. Hodge and
Lt. Taylor who had worked hard allotting the billets for us joined the
battalion here. Lt. Sievewright had rejoined us at Alexandria on the
boat, he having been invalided to England from Gallipoli. Lt. G. Harris
left to take charge of a Divisional Bombing School, and ended his
service with the battalion, although later he became the Brigade
Intelligence Officer, when we saw a good deal of him again.
After three days the battalion moved back to Liercourt and there the
work of refitting commenced. We had much to learn about organisation and
methods of warfare as practised in France, and vigorous training was
commenced at once.
Major-General Sir W. Douglas left the division, and his successor,
Major-General Mitford, lost no time in getting us ready for the line.
Just at this time, and whilst Col. Cronshaw and other officers and
N.C.O's. were up in the line for instruction, the German retirement on
the Somme and the Ancre to the Hindenburg line took place. As soon as
brigades were fitted out they lost no time in moving forward into the
war zone, commencing with the Lancs. Fusiliers. At the end of March the
127th brigade entrained for Chuignes and from there the 7th marched
forward to Dompierre, which had been the scene of such heavy fighting
by the French in 1916. We thus got our first impressions of the
devastated area of France, and I am sure there was not a mind in the
battalion into which these impressions did not sink deep. The misery of
it was by no means diminished when we arrived at our destination, for
accommodation had to be found amidst impossible ruins and in the
scattered half-destroyed dug-outs amongst the trenches which
criss-crossed the village. All this had to be done in pouring rain. When
at last we settled down it was found that our new homes were also shared
by huge rats who capered about in a most homely manner.
Dompierre was our abode for a few days whilst the battalion made daily
excursions through the mud in the direction of Villers Carbonel to
execute road making fatigues. Major Scott concluded his long period of
active service with the battalion about this time, being invalided to
England. His place at the Q.M. Stores was later filled by Lt. Rose of
the R.W.F's. After this period we moved into Peronne, and were installed
in more comfortable dwellings, for although the town had been badly
knocked about, it was possible to find more or less good cover for
troops. The great boon here was the plentiful supply of timber from the
destroyed houses, and every group of men had its roaring fire. The
battalion and indeed the brigade was still on fatigue, repairing roads,
railways, bridges, etc. Meanwhile the division had made its debut in
France, the 125th and 126th brigades having taken over part of the line
during the pursuit of the Hun.
The 7th suffered their first casualty in the new theatre of war at
Peronne in a rather unfortunate manner. Whilst on a fatigue of salving
telephone wire on the battle-swept ground of Biaches, just outside the
town, Pte. Gibson of "C" company was accidentally killed by a bomb,
whose explosive mechanism he had unwittingly set in action when pulling
up the wire.