noticed a man walking who aroused his suspicions. He was dressed in an
odd assortment of military uniform and civilian clothes, and on his coat
were several regimental buttons, both French and English. Moreover, he
was unable to produce any pass or papers of identification. My friend,
first ascertaining that his prisoner was unarmed, invited him to get
into the back of the car, which he did, not neglecting at the same time
to pull over his knees a fur rug which happened to be there--one of
those magnificent bear-skin rugs which were sent out as presents to
certain members of the Expeditionary Force by the Grand Duke Michael of
Russia in the winter of 1914. In a few minutes the next village was
reached, and passing through it my friend noticed with some surprise
that his fellow-traveller was being greeted with cheers, thrills of
laughter and hand-waves by the children and a few people who happened to
be about. Stopping at the _mairie_, the man was at once identified. He
was the local "rag and bone" man, quite harmless, though somewhat mad.
Nevertheless, he thanked my friend profusely for the lift, which he
explained had not only saved him a two or three miles walk on a dusty
road, but provided for him a new sensation and experience, for this had
been his first ride in a motor-car. I need scarcely add that spies have
since been a sore point with my friend.
And here I must tell a story against myself. Returning to railhead
about ten or eleven o'clock one evening, I had occasion to halt the
convoy _en route_, as I noticed that it was beginning to spread out too
much and several vehicles in the rear were becoming "stragglers." As I
pulled up, a man approached from the direction in which I had been
proceeding and walked past along the line of lorries drawn up on the
roadside. He aroused my suspicions, for although he wore the usual
service jacket of a British officer, he appeared in the dim light to be
also wearing red-coloured "slacks" of apparently the same hue as a
French soldier. My first impression was that he was dressed in a
mixture of British and French uniform, possibly an ill-informed German
spy, who, having heard of the _belle alliance_, imagined it to be
carried to such lengths in practice that the uniforms of the two Armies
were combined. I watched him for a minute, then followed, and getting
even with him, wished him "Good-evening." There was no time to lose, so
I got straight to the point and asked him his name and regiment. He
inquired the reason of my apparent curiosity, and I admitted that the
shade of his trousers had aroused my suspicions. He replied that he was
in the 11th Hussars--the only regiment in the British Army, he added,
who were privileged to wear "cherry-coloured" slacks. I apologized and
withdrew, feeling quite crestfallen. The following day I told this to a
cavalry officer who had been a good many years in the Service. He was
much amused, and said, "Oh yes, that's quite right; no doubt he belongs
to the 11th, always known in the Service as the 'cherubims'!" I have
never run up against my cherubim friend again, but if he should ever
chance to read these lines and recalls the incident, I trust he will
forgive me, and realize that I only carried out what I deemed, in my
innocence, to be my duty.
_*Chapter X*_
_*WITH THE R.H.A. BATTERIES*_
(CONTRIBUTED BY A LORRY DRIVER IN THE COLUMN)
In the capacity of motor-lorry driver on a converted London General
Omnibus attached to the ---- Indian Cavalry Supply Column, and carrying
rations to the Royal Horse Artillery Batteries of the Division, I have
been fortunate in having had the opportunity of driving my lorry as near
the line as lorries go, and have witnessed many exciting incidents. The
author of this book has asked me to record some of the more interesting
of them.
My first occasion to leave the Column was in the early part of 1915,
when, amongst others, my lorry was for a time "on detachment" and we
left Aire for ----, from which latter railhead we rationed the batteries
whilst in action. Leaving ----, we early sighted hostile aircraft,
flying fairly low, passing over the lorries. We quite expected some
bombs to be dropped, but as nothing of the kind occurred, the machines
may only have been out on a reconnaissance flight. On this particular
day, having returned to our own lines, our load being dumped, we had not
been there many minutes when I observed an aeroplane bearing the British
mark, a red bull's-eye on a target of blue and white circles, which
distinguishes our aeroplanes from those of the enemy, the latter being
marked with the familiar "Iron Cross." The signs are, of course,
readily distinguishable from the ground, being painted on the underside
of the planes. Much to my surprise, on the aeroplane coming over us,
there was a loud report in the field alongside where I was standing,
followed by four others in rapid succession. After the disguised
hostile machine, as it proved to be, had disappeared into the blue, we
made for the field and found deep holes, measuring some five or six feet
in diameter, in the soft ground. One bomb exploded close beside a
cottage, but fortunately no one was near at the time, so no casualties
occurred. At the Gendarmerie, where I was billeted, a note, dropped
from one of the aeroplanes evidently, was picked up, bearing the
message, "A present from Uncle: many happy returns." This was on April
1st, but as the only victim of the "raid" was an old hen, the "fool" can
scarcely be described as having been a success. One bomb certainly
succeeded in claiming the back premises of an estaminet, but this was
the full extent of its day's work. We dug up a "dud" bomb in a newly
ploughed field, which was at once taken apart and "flogged," as we term
it, for a few francs by the finder. Its propeller now forms part of a
lady's hat-pin.
Our journeys were now to ----, by no means a healthy spot, but there was
too much interest attached to the job for time to think of the dangers
lurking around.
We watched the church being shelled--twenty-seven shells in all were
sent over by the Huns; but they did not get the tower, which, was, no
doubt, their objective. The deserted village afforded considerable
interest--the village pump standing over at an angle of 45 degrees, the
unroofed houses and roads ploughed up with shell holes. The various
notices on the doors, to be seen in every shell-shattered village, such
as "Men must not linger here," "Out of bounds," etc., were hardly
needed, for no one desired to linger any longer than curiosity prompted
him. As I returned to my lorry, one of the R.H.A. batteries was just
starting to make itself heard. Although at this time the guns were only
13-pounders, they spoke volumes, and to be a short distance away in line
with the firing gun was as much as one wanted. On one occasion, when we
went in advance of the gun-pits to dump the rations, a salvo was fired
just as we approached the battery; a terrific flash came through the
hedge, a matter of thirty yards away. We scarcely needed the order
given by the battery sergeant to "halt."
Constantly we met parties of weary, wounded Tommies, walking cases,
making their way to the ---- Field Dressing Station, smoking and always
cheery--no doubt thankful to get off so lightly: one had an arm in a
sling, while he wielded a mouth-organ with the other. Those passing in
the opposite direction on their way up to the trenches were a contrast.
The only semblance of cheerfulness was a slight wink given from a very
sober countenance. Their jaws set, there was no "Tipperary" here. The
contemplation of what is to come precedes the indifference in the heat
of battle, when the time arrives to go over the parapet and excitement
is at its highest pitch.
I had many talks with fellows just out of the trenches, mud-clobbered
and wet. One I recollect who had lost his mate beside him, taken by a
stray bullet penetrating his forehead, his brains falling in his lap;
the mud-plastered and blood-stained tunic, turned back for my
inspection, showing the truth of the boy's statement. Such incidents,
alas! are an everyday occurrence. Neuve Chapelle claimed an army almost
in itself. One had only to see at railhead lorry loads of rifles
twisted beyond recognition almost, with bullet holes through the stocks,
in some cases stockless; blood-smeared and broken bayonets, which had
done their work and whose period of usefulness had for the time being
passed--all on their way to the Base, there to be sorted out, and, where
possible, overhauled for further service; kits, which were hardly to be
recognized as such, German knapsacks and accoutrements all mixed up in
utter confusion with those of our men.
German prisoners we saw daily brought in. Yellow-faced as Chinese, due
to lyddite or high explosive shells and gas fumes, which had changed the
colour of everything. Big men, many of them, of fine physique; others
spectacled, or puny little baby-faced boys, all bearing the same dazed
expression of men who have been through "Hell's gates." This phrase I
borrow from one who was in the first gas attack at Ypres. He was
resting on account of broken nerve when I met him, having carried out no
less than eighteen of his comrades, some never to recover, who had lain
down oblivious of the gas being heavier than air, the communication
trenches being choked with men who had dropped from the suffocating
fumes. How many cases of "unconspicuous" and unnoticed gallantry occur
almost hourly!
On April 24, 1915, we left this part of the line with many regrets. The
forest of Nieppe is one of the most beautiful that I have ever seen;
thickly timbered and with innumerable ponds and lakes in its interior
was an easy matter to lose one's way, unless one kept to the paths. The
length and breadth of the forest are twenty-six and five kilometres
respectively. My temporary home was built by bending and crossing
branches of nut-trees, the young foliage forming a roof or covering.
Some fellows erected most elaborate bivouacs, approached by a pergola of
nut-trees. Beside a railway level crossing near by was the grave of a
Private, who was shot dead by a French sentry, through failing to reply
to his challenge. This was in the days when parties of Uhlans were
still in the locality. Nightingales sang at night overhead and frogs
croaked on the ground as an accompaniment, the concert being at times
interrupted by the bombardment of the guns, which resounded through the
forest. The earth shook and the din reminded one of a number of
traction engines travelling over sets, only louder; the sky was lit up
by the gun flashes, intermingled with star shells. The batteries around
were all in action from Fleurbaix to south of Bethune. This
necessitated our moving about a great deal. On one occasion we left
---- at 2.45 a.m. Taking the road to Bethune, which town was then under
shell fire--several French soldiers and civilians were killed there
during this particular night--from there we went on through Hinges,
passing across former German trenches and over the La Bassee Canal.
There were many graves of soldiers dotted about in the fields; one we
passed by the roadside had received special attention, having been
planted with rose-trees and evergreens.
After receiving directions from the battery quartermaster-sergeant, we
made our way up the road to a moat farm, the road being screened by a
wood, the interior of which was a mass of earthworks and fortifications.
Desperate hand-to-hand fighting had taken place here; now, all was
peaceful and quiet. Hundreds of crosses were dotted about the fringe of
the wood, and the bodies of some of those who had fallen during the
night before were being placed in their last resting-places. The road
was lined on either side with tall trees, now clothed in young foliage,
silhouetted against rugged timber which would never see the green on it
again. A nightingale, oblivious of what was going on underneath, was
singing as I walked down the road, in close proximity to the line.
Having a few minutes to spare, I took a turning to my left, when a voice
from behind a hedge demanded, "Where are you going?" "Just having a
look round," I answered. "Well, I should come down if I was you." The
voice came from the communication trench, and I about-turned, following
the further advice of the man who had just come out.
The battery wagon lines were shelled that night and the camp had to be
shifted, which was scarcely to be wondered at, for the field in which it
was pitched, whilst we were dumping the rations in it earlier in the
day, was under shell fire; several, screaming over us, had burst within
a matter of a few yards from our dumping-ground. The battery being on
the move, we took up a fresh position, this time at a little place near
Bethune. I had a bed for the first time for many months, but was unable
to sleep, owing, I suppose, to the sudden change from the hard
floor-boards of the lorry to the softness of a box-spring mattress.
Early the following morning shells were bursting in the town, and the
_strafe_ continued for about half an hour. Once again it was the unhappy
inhabitants who suffered. Two women and a child were killed.
Our next delivery of rations was well within range of the German
gunners, who had pretty well knocked the place to pieces; there were
shell craters all around. We halted at a farmhouse for the night, and
the following morning a shell carried away the roof of our improvised
cook-house. Nobody, however, was injured. It is really amazing what
good luck follows some of our men; they seem to have charmed lives.
Three of the gunners while at ---- were sitting in a garden, where the
guns had been placed; a few yards divided them. They were chatting,
seated on ration boxes, and a little peasant girl was amusing herself
standing behind them, tickling the ear of one of the gunners with a
straw. A shell burst directly in front of one of the guns. Two of the
gunners were killed outright, the little girl was very severely injured,
and the third gunner was simply knocked over by the force of the
explosion, but absolutely untouched. The same man, on another occasion,
was with the Commanding Officer of the battery, looking for suitable
positions for guns, when a shell burst quite near them. Seeing an old
French dug-out, the Major dived in and the gunner did so simultaneously.
The result was a jamb, neither being able to get right in. The Major
asked him where the devil he was going to. "Same place as you, sir,"
was his quiet retort. On another occasion an R.H.A. gun was knocked out
by a direct hit. Parts of one of its wheels were found almost a hundred
yards away from the gun, and pieces of it were scattered everywhere, yet
an officer who was sleeping on the ground only ten yards from the gun
was untouched. Towards the end of August 1915 the rumour "Batteries on
the move again" came through, generally from the battery cook-house,
where all matters, military and otherwise, are discussed. The 1st of
September found us on the road again, this time to Corbie, near to which
town the batteries had taken up their position on the Somme. To reach
the wagon lines, where rations were dumped, it was necessary to travel
along a road under enemy observation, along the Somme Valley, a
beautiful part of the country. At that time we saw the French troops
leaving this part of the line to make room for our men. The Saxon
regiments were in the trenches just across the valley, their line being
visible on the side of a hill. A distance of three hundred yards has to
be maintained between each lorry on such roads, it being possible to
only use this road after dark; no lamps were allowed on the lorries.
This, of course, made driving exceedingly difficult, especially on one
occasion when it happened to be a particularly dark night and a lot of
horse transport was on the road. One could only judge the centre of it
by the camber and listen for the jangle of chains, the only means of
knowing when we near the horse wagons. That night a thunderstorm raged
nearly the whole of the way to the batteries, the flashes lighting up
the road at intervals and making matters even worse. One might as well
have driven blindfolded as be dazzled by the lightning and star-shells.
The risk of delivering rations at night being so great, the order was
given to deliver in the early morning, trusting that the mist would hide
the lorries as they travelled over the roads under observation. Very
often such roads run between high banks on either side, and if one
clambers up to the top (which, of course, must be done very stealthily,
otherwise there is always liability to draw fire), a perfect view of the
trenches may be obtained.
I took a walk with my glasses one day and found a more or less concealed
position from which I could see both lines clearly, and traces of the
German attempts to shell the road below, which were evident everywhere.
Here it seemed was a veritable dumping-ground for their shells, which
had been, however, used to no account. Many had fallen in the
marshes--no less than thirty fell in an hour, prior to our arrival,
nearly all in marshland within a small radius.
Our journeys were not without excitement; one, particularly, I shall not
easily forget. We were first forced to make a halt outside Bray, on
account of the very heavy shelling which was in progress at the time.
During the halt we filled in the time by going round a very fine garden.
The inhabitants having left, we regaled ourselves with some luscious
pears which lay ripe on the ground, when suddenly a shell burst within
forty yards of the roadside. We picked up a large piece, weighing seven
or eight pounds at least. A few minutes later the order was given to
continue our journey. This we did, although the shelling was still
going on. It is an uncanny feeling, driving a motor-lorry along roads
under observation or under shell fire.
Whilst at Corbie I paid a visit to a large woollen thread manufactory,
which was still being worked, almost entirely by women--a staff of forty
against four hundred men prior to the war. I don't think I ever saw
such beautiful gardens as those which lay at the back of the chateau
belonging to the factory proprietor. Carpet-bedding and elaborate
borders, most beautifully kept, led down to a natural and intensely
cultivated garden--lakes fed by the Somme, connected up by rustic
bridges; weeping willows fringing the banks, and waterlilies floating on
the water by hundreds. Such a contrast to the country only a few miles
beyond, made ugly and desolate by war.
The lakes were full of fish, and many a good dinner I made off a pike
boiled in white wine. The French bourgeois of the Somme district knows
how to cook fish as I have never before tasted it.
Where I was billeted the worthy _grand'-mere_ cooked my rations for me
and supplemented them with delicacies which I had not tasted since I
left England. Omelettes au rhum, confiture of any variety I cared for,
was always made ready. Poulet en casserole frequently awaited me on my
return at midday. So I lived royally, and it was a sad day when I had
to leave such very charming friends.
_*Chapter XI*_
_*ALONG THE SOMME VALLEY*_
The move from Aire at the beginning of August 1915 was for the purpose
of taking up a position to the rear of the most southern portion of the
line that the British Armies then held, and for the time being the
Division came under the orders of the 3rd Army. To reach this position
entailed a move to some considerable distance for the cavalry; it was a
three days' march, and necessitated the loading of their rations from
two intermediate railheads _en route_ and "rationing" at different
points on the line of march. Eventually, we took up our quarters at the
new railhead, on the River Somme, situated between Abbeville and Amiens,
and here we found ourselves amongst entirely new surroundings--the
beautiful scenery of the Somme Valley.
Those large lakes or tracts of water which seemed to stretch for miles
gave splendid and, I should think, almost unsurpassed opportunities for
swimming, fishing, and boating, which we were not slow in taking
advantage of. The O.C. Workshops, who was, of course, equal to dealing
with any opportunity for ingenuity that might arise, immediately
procured some timber, and with the aid of his workshops staff, after
working hours, produced in an incredibly short space of time the most
ideal and comfortable 24-foot Thames punt imaginable--not to mention its
accompanying boat-hook, pair of paddles, and plush cushions, all of
which emanated from the same source. The punt was the envy of the
entire Division, not to mention the French inhabitants for miles around;
from it we bathed and fished daily throughout those summer months.
During August and September the cavalry were again given some spells of
trench fighting, for which they gained the thanks and appreciation of
the General Officer Commanding the 3rd Army. These spells in the
trenches gave the Supply Column some very long runs, with which were
mingled a certain amount of excitement, for the road was not
infrequently under shell fire.
Taking up convoys of motor lorries with rations to the R.H.A. batteries
was also a job not entirely devoid of interest and excitement at this
period. The batteries were in action at various points of the line due
east of Amiens, around which towns the lorries with rations had to pass
to reach them. Amiens is a picturesque and interesting town. It has one
of the most beautiful cathedrals in France, and its inhabitants being
naturally anxious that it shall not share the same fate as Rheims, have
taken the precaution of barricading it with piles of sandbags, which if
the worst came to the worst would at any rate, to a certain extent, save
the adornment of its exterior--porches and the like--from utter
destruction.
On these occasions we used to off-load the rations at the wagon line of
the battery, to reach which it was necessary to travel along roads that
were anything but healthy. One road which we frequently used was
particularly unhealthy, and was seldom safe, except after dark, for
transport of any kind. This was the long open road leading from the
village of Bray-sur-Somme towards Suzanne. The German gunners had
registered its range accurately, and no transport was allowed along it
in daylight without a special pass or permit from the Divisional
Headquarters. We frequently took convoys along it by day, however,
without any mishap of any kind, always taking the precaution, of course,
to keep the lorries a good two or three hundred yards apart from one
another. Taking these precautions, the possibility of a shell putting
the whole convoy or any part of it out of action is reduced to a
minimum.