speaking of "Night Operations," remarked that "the darker the night, the
more inclement the weather, the better the exercise"? "Strong words of
comfort these," says _The Young Officer's Guide to Knowledge_.
_*Chapter XIII*_
_*FROM ARRAS TO ALBERT*_
In the preceding chapters I have endeavoured to narrate a selection from
many and various episodes, disconnected, perhaps, due to the omission of
details of long periods of enforced inactivity or hum-drum daily
routine, during times spent miles behind the line, rationing the cavalry
in such places as the neighbourhood between Abbeville and Le Treport on
the seacoast. In this area our second Christmas was spent, and the
cavalry were billeted in winter quarters far from the scenes of action,
waiting, always waiting, for their chance. Then we moved up again and
settled down to our usual duties, seizing the opportunity of putting our
house in order, and for the time being carrying out the work with the
use of one echelon of motor-lorries only. The other echelon was
refitted, thoroughly overhauled in the workshops, and all the lorries
were given a coat of fresh paint, so that by the beginning of April they
looked brand spanking new, in keeping with their springtime
surroundings. During the spring and early summer nothing of importance
occurred. The cavalry were continually being shifted from one billeting
area to another, but always within the same neighbourhood, not so much
for strategical reasons as for the purpose of making room for new
Divisions of infantry from home and on their way up to the line.
Cavalry, it will be readily understood, has, under existing
circumstances, had to take quite a back seat on the Western front. As
usual, the R.H.A. batteries attached to the Division were almost
continually in action, and the cavalry regiments supplied a constant
stream of "digging parties," not only for reserve trench digging, but
chiefly for assisting in mining operations from the front line trenches,
such operations not being carried out without casualties.
The job of rationing the personnel so engaged and of moving them from
their billets to the trenches and back, or from one part of the line to
another, as occasion required, devolved, of course, on the motor lorries
and entailed a fair amount of work, including a good number of all-night
jobs on dangerous roads. During this time the Column was parked near
Arras, on the main roads leading thither. Dusty is not the word for one
of these on an August day, but it is straight, broad, and of good
surface, wide enough in many parts for three lines of traffic.
So time went on, and during July and August 1916 we surveyed "the big
push" from a little village not far from Arras, marking in daily on the
large-scale map which hung on the wall, with red pencil, the villages
captured from day to day, and the advance of the British and French line
on the Somme. The nearer one is to the front, the less one knows of the
news. The men in the front line trenches know nothing, except what has
happened in their immediate vicinity, and even then they are not able to
form an opinion of its relative importance, in comparison with what has
happened elsewhere, of which they know nothing. Further back there are
two sources of information: one is "rumours," on which some people
thrive. There are fresh rumours every day, and they invariably
contradict one another. The other never-failing source of news is the
Paris Continental edition of the _Daily Mail_, which reaches the
uttermost parts of the front by teatime daily and is well worth the 15
centimes usually exacted for it, and universally looked forward to
daily.
All day long and often all through the night there was a hum of
aeroplanes in the sky; fleets of them seemed to be always rising from
the flying-ground, a neighbouring village, departing on bombing raids
and reconnaissance flights. The Germans knew of this flying-ground, and
occasionally one or two stray Taubes managed to reach Savy at a very
great altitude and drop a few bombs, which usually landed in the
cornfields--the invaders being invariably driven off by British machines
and anti-aircraft guns. Doubtless they returned home to report the
complete and utter destruction of the aerodrome! Nevertheless, the few
and far between visits of the Hun planes caused a certain amount of
interest and excitement during the course of an otherwise dull
existence.
Wondering always how soon or if ever our Division would be called on to
play a part in the advance, we received quite a shock when one day,
towards the end of August, the entire ---- Indian Cavalry Division was
sent back to ----, only however, for a matter of a week. Here the
Division put in some manoeuvres and field-days, and immediately after
things began to get a move on at last. A little town, near which the
week was passed, nestles comfortably in a hollow at the foot of steep
hills, and possesses a large and beautiful cathedral, of Gothic
architecture, with a very decorative west portal. Its interior is bold,
and, unlike that of many such churches, has not been spoilt by the
addition of tawdry decoration and gilt paint. From the top of its square
tower can be seen a magnificent panorama of the surrounding country.
Incidentally, it contains a life-sized beautifully carved wooden
crucifix, in which the detail is marvellous. It is said to be the most
perfect example of its kind in the world. The story goes that an
American offered to pave the church with gold if he were allowed to take
it away. I do not know how true the story is, but, needless to say, his
offer was not accepted.
The initial move towards the line ---- for the Column was to ----, the
first railhead from which the troops were rationed on the line of march.
Being quite near Doullens, the country was very familiar to us. From
there we moved to the environs of Amiens, a new railway recently laid by
Royal Engineers being made use of for the supply train, whilst ---- was
railhead. Around here the country is flat and covered with cornfields;
by this time the harvest was just gathered in, and on these fields the
whole Division, including, of course, the Supply Column, bivouacked for
the night. What a wonderful sight was the arrival of the cavalry that
evening, miles of mounted men marching from all directions to the huge
camp. Every one was optimistic; the air was full of rumours. At last,
after all the weary months of waiting, the hour was soon to strike.
Cavalry was at length to have a "show." French, British, and Indian
Cavalry Divisions were "going through." On the 14th we packed up and
were on the move again and bivouacked for the night on the roadside just
short of ----, which was our railhead the following day. A sudden move
is no light matter! More fortunate than other branches of the Service
in the matter of carrying capacity, A.S.C. motor-lorries, when loaded up
to their utmost capacity with rations and forage, do not offer as much
accommodation for the carrying of kits and mess gear, though, as might
at first sight appear. With matters properly organized, and after a
little practice, it is quite possible to arrive at the resting-place for
the night, and within an hour of doing so the men's cookhouse is set up
and dishing out hot tea and rations--bivouacs and tents are in course of
erection, the officers' mess tent is pitched, and dinner is being
served. All is accomplished in an incredibly short space of time, even
in pouring rain.
However, during these moves we were particularly lucky in this respect,
for not only was there no rain, but we were favoured with a very bright
full moon.
During the night of the 14th and the following day, cavalry was to be
seen on the line of march across the country--massed cavalry marching
towards a point of concentration. Towards evening we got orders to pack
up at once, and later that night we arrived at Albert, pitching our tent
by the side of the main Amiens-Albert road. All night long our guns just
ahead were bombarding, whilst enemy artillery was by no means inactive.
We could see their shells bursting over Albert and the other side of it,
like huge balls of fire in the sky. In front and on each side Verrey
lights, which linger about thirty seconds in the air before falling, lit
up the whole horizon. There was, in fact, a "proper _strafe_" on that
night.
The following day, the 16th, in company with some ten other Divisions,
we refilled the lorries from the supply train, which, however, did not
arrive till the early hours of the following morning. I was continually
reminded of my first visit to Albert, over a year before, and which I
have referred to in a previous chapter. Then it was deserted, except by
a very few French civilians, who, in spite of periodic shelling, still
remained. They were still there in September 1916, and mostly made a
living by selling such provisions to the troops as they were able to
obtain--and goodness knows how the supplies ever reached them. Scarcely
any troops were to be seen there at the time of my first visit. Now,
more than a year later, it was a hive of activity, and the town was
literally packed with troops and motor-lorries, a constant stream of
traffic passing through its streets and along the main roads leading
into it--loaded supply and ammunition lorries and wagons going up,
ambulances full of wounded and empty lorries coming back. Cavalry horse
lines and troops bivouacked in almost every field on its outskirts. A
far greater number of vehicles passed any given point in an hour than
would travel along Piccadilly during the same time at the height of the
season. Motor-ambulances, the most frequent users of the roads, passed
to and fro constantly in streams--towards the line, very fast; on their
way back, very slowly, laden with wounded, British soldiers and German
wounded prisoners alike receiving the same care and attention, each man
with a label or ticket pinned on to his coat, giving particulars of his
wounds and recent medical history. The more severe, lying-down cases
were in ambulance cars; the slightly wounded in motor-char-a-bancs or
empty lorries, all the latter with a Blighty smile, as it is called, if
they were fortunate enough to have got off with a slight wound which
would send them home. It is really marvellous how the wounded are
bandaged up at the first-aid posts and field dressing stations. I have
stood at a first-aid post and watched the R.A.M.C. officers at work.
The post is usually just behind the trenches and indicated by a Red
Cross flag, visible from a good distance. The wounded make for this
flag, and one sees them, some walking, others crawling, coming from all
directions towards it. It is a pathetic sight; even sadder is it to see
those who do not survive, but eventually succumb to their wounds,
perhaps on their way to the field dressing station.
Close to our camp a battery of big howitzers was loosing off in the
direction of Thiepval at the rate of about two shells per minute. It
was only one of many within a radius of a few miles, and all were
equally active. Later in the day the Column was moved off the main road
and parked in a narrow street. I have previously described the hanging
statue that surmounts the church tower. It was still in the same
position as it was a year previously, and to the minds of many the most
striking and wonderful sight of the war.
On the afternoon of the 16th I went out with the convoy and delivered
the supplies, as usual, to the cavalry, who were still bivouacking in
fields around Albert. Returning to Albert, we stopped for two or three
minutes on the road to pick up a few men on the empty lorries. They
were carrying their rifles and packs, and being bound for the same place
as the convoy, naturally got a lift. As matters turned out, it was
rather fortunate that the convoy did halt these few minutes; the slight
delay probably saved us. We proceeded on our journey, and when about a
kilometre short of Albert there was a terrific crash, and the town was
momentarily hidden from view by a huge black cloud of smoke and dust.
The Huns had put a "crump" right in the middle of the town. We pulled
up, and as we did so, crash went another as it burst on an already
demolished house by the roadside just ahead of us. The air was thick
with smoke and dust. A good many troops that were on the road at the
time dived headlong into the nearest dug-outs. Several more shells
whistled over and exploded. Fortunately, there was a small turning at
right angles to the road, almost exactly where we had stopped. Up it we
were able to run the lorries one by one, and thus turn them round in the
opposite direction. We then proceeded home by making a detour into
Albert, leaving the road that was being shelled to its fate. Reaching
our camp, we found that some twenty or more shells had dropped all
around it, and more on other parts of the ruined town. Several landed
within a few yards of the lorry lines, one beside the men's cookhouse.
Fortunately, there were no casualties amongst our men or lorries. One
unfortunately exploded in a bit of ground where vegetables were growing,
and thus deprived us of cabbages: not one was to be seen the following
morning. The shelling lasted from 7 to 8.30, and at that hour the
episode ended. The Huns, by way of letting us know that they were still
there, had a little evening "hate" regularly at this hour every day. We
were indeed lucky to get the convoy turned round and safely away, for
almost on the very spot where we had pulled up when the shelling
started, some limbers were knocked out a few minutes after we had got
away, three men and several horses being killed. After all, the Hun
gunners could scarcely be blamed for sending over a few "five point
nines"; doubtless they were quite friendly towards us personally, but
the column of lorries was parked midway between a large ammunition dump
and a battery of our own guns. No doubt it was these latter that they
were searching for. During the whole of that night the British gunners
returned the compliment, and all the batteries in the sector seemed to
loose off continually. Sleep for us was almost out of the question, as
the shells whistled over our bivouacs. "Whistle" is the word, I
believe, usually employed in describing the sensation; as a matter of
fact, the noise of a shell passing overhead is more comparable with the
screech of an express train passing through a railway station.
Sunday, 17th, was a gloriously fine and sunny day, and during the
morning a Taube circled around very high, but was quickly chased away by
our 'planes. It was very seldom that an enemy 'plane was able to remain
for long over our lines or behind them. The number that our airmen
brought down, and the hot reception which invariably awaited the
invader, were the simple reasons. Fifteen hostile machines were
destroyed on the 15th September, nine others being driven down in a
damaged condition.
During this period, smoke helmets and gas goggles were invariably
carried, and anti-shrapnel helmets always worn. The Native Cavalry
soldiers looked strange in this form of head-dress, after seeing them in
the familiar turban. All wore them except the Sikhs, whose caste does
not allow them to completely cover their heads and their long hair.
This is never cut, and is tied in a kind of bun on the top of their
heads, and would, of course, make the wearing of the helmet a matter of
impossibility in any case.
Our time for loading at railhead was usually about midnight, and at
about this hour on the night of the 17th the weather changed, and the
heavens began to pour forth rain and continued to do so throughout the
night. We were not the only Division to be loading at the time, and the
chaos of traffic in the pitch-black darkness and pouring rain can only
be described as appalling. The amazing thing is that accidents and
collisions between lorries are of such rare occurrence; their almost
entire absence is due to the careful handling of the vehicles by the
drivers. To back a heavy lorry up against a railway truck in the dark
without damaging the tail-board or trying to knock the train over
requires care and much practice. During the night a few shells came
over; they fell in a field at the far side of the railhead yard, doing
no damage. The change in the weather had evidently upset the Hun
gunners. It had been very cloudy in the earlier part of the evening of
the 17th, and they had even omitted the usual hour of "hate," except for
a salvo of shrapnel shells, some half-dozen or so, which went over
Albert and burst on a brow of a hill beyond. No doubt they were trying
to _strafe_ the guns, which from that direction had been firing at them
continuously all the previous day and night. Loading being finished, we
got back to our camp and between the blankets at 4 a.m. Fortunately, we
had by now been issued from Ordnance with a few bell tents, which we
pitched alongside the entrance to a dug-out. A subterranean gallery,
some forty or fifty yards long, ran underneath, and opening out of it
were several spacious dug-outs--some of the best I have seen; as good as
many German ones, which is saying a good deal. The whole earthwork was
dug deep into the chalky soil, its perpendicular walls wire netted; it
was roofed with stout tree-trunks, and laid across these were sandbags.
It was conveniently situated for us to beat a hasty retreat into when
the shells became too frequent and fell sufficiently close to make us
wonder how much nearer the next might come. This dug-out was behind a
row of shell-shattered and deserted small suburban houses, and extended
under the back gardens of some of them, now all joined into one. These
had evidently once been well stocked and cultivated gardens, as there
were the remains of strawberry beds and patches of all the domestic
vegetables. Our mess cook was not long in discovering and picking
enough spinach for dinner one night, and a patch of thriving young
turnips provided the vegetable courses for several days following. What,
one wondered, would be the feelings of the unfortunate owner of one of
these houses should he one day come back to find his garden connected by
subterranean passages with those of his neighbours? Incidentally, there
is little to be seen above the surface of the ground to indicate the
existence of the large cellars and passages underneath.
Throughout Monday, the 18th, the rain continued. We convoyed the
rations in the afternoon to the cavalry, who were still bivouacked.
Nothing could have looked more miserable than those miles of horse lines
on the rain-sodden ground, now a quagmire of mud. A line of small flags
had been stuck in the ground, and stretched away in the distance,
indicating the route across country which the mounted men were to take
when the time for them to go up to the line came. But that day no one
was very optimistic; somehow, in the rain everything seems hopelessly
impossible! At about 8 that evening the rain ceased for a time, the sky
cleared, and our guns, which had been very quiet all day, started on
their exploits once more, much to the annoyance of every one in their
vicinity who was at the time anticipating a night of undisturbed and
well-earned slumber. On the night of the 19th we turned in early; the
supply train was not expected to arrive till 3 the following morning.
Hardly had I blown out my candle, when once more the German shells
started to come over. All through the night they shelled Albert
intermittently, and we were glad of the homely dug-out. For every one
they sent over they seemed to get about twenty back, including some from
a 15-inch gun that had suddenly got busy. The supply train eventually
arrived at 7 a.m. on the 20th. At the station there were a few big
shell holes, but little damage. True, one had exploded on the permanent
way; one short length of line had been torn up as a result and was
pointing skywards, several sleepers being destroyed; but the damage was
only such as could be repaired in a few hours, and did not hold up the
traffic at all. The Germans were still shelling, and continued to do so
throughout the morning in several directions, in their attempts, no
doubt, to search out the guns that were bothering them so much. So
things went on from day to day. On the afternoon of the 21st, half a
dozen shells landed in the field adjoining our little camp. One, which
fell on a house, killed several soldiers; the others did no material
damage. Towards night they started to _strafe_ again, and succeeded in
hitting the ammunition dump near our lines which I referred to earlier
in this chapter. The whole sky was lit up by the red glow from the
fire, which was, of course, the result, and for some hours afterwards
there was a succession of "ping-ping-pom-poms," as the fire spread and
the ammunition became ignited. All night long, as usual, the _strafe_
continued, the Huns, also as usual, getting back good measure for what
they sent over, including some useful efforts on the part of a large
howitzer battery which had recently joined in the fray. When fired at a
distance of a mile or so away, one could literally feel the blast in
one's face. The resulting din can be better imagined than described.
On such occasions, even from the point of view of getting away from the
noise, there are worse places to spend a night in than in a dug-out 7
feet high, 8 feet broad, and 15 feet long, 12 feet below the level of
the ground.
Albert at this time was distinctly unhealthy. The shells exacted their
daily toll. Occasionally the Huns varied their hate by sending over a
few lachrymatory or tear shells, which, however, falling a fair distance
away from us, only had the effect of making our eyes smart for a time.
We at first attributed this to the lorry "exhausts" and the quality of
the petrol.
On September 25th one squadron of a Native lancer regiment was put into
action. Cavalry patrols were sent on ahead, and returned to report that
the village of Gueudecourt was still held by the enemy. The squadron
galloped to the outskirts of the village; dismounting, they got their
Hotchkiss machine guns into action and engaged the enemy for several
hours. They had a few casualties amongst men and lost some horses, but
achieved their objective. At Albert there was a sudden and unmistakable
lull in the enemy's shelling. The reason was soon forthcoming. On the
27th we heard that not only Combles, but the fortress of Thiepval, which
had for so long been bombarded by our artillery, had at length fallen to
the Allied arms. Doubtless it was there that the guns which had been
shelling Albert were situated; the shells had at any rate invariably
come from that direction. Along the road from Thiepval to Albert that
day were to be seen Hun prisoners being marched back not by tens but by
hundreds. Many were wounded and looked pitiful as they came hobbling
along, helping one another, guarded by mounted men--not that they needed
guarding or were capable of escaping. Those that were not wounded
seemed dazed and demoralized; here and there was one who had obviously
been driven mad by the ordeal he had been through--the continual and
ever-increasing hell fire which had been directed on Thiepval. One
prisoner taken that day I heard, much to my surprise, had before the war
been employed as chief telephone clerk in a big London hotel. At
midnight on September 27th the Column left Albert and moved back to
Corbie. Thence, in conjunction with the cavalry, we retraced our steps
by gradual stages westward.
_*Chapter XIV*_
_*TO BAPAUME, PERONNE, AND BEYOND*_