THE SOMME SHOW
Two sections of our company left Soastre the next day and proceeded to
Albert. In going down we ran into a very severe thunder-storm. The
roads were filled with a heavy traffic, troops marching into Albert
and to neighboring towns, all going into the Big Push. Immense
quantities of supplies and ammunition were being sent down. Shells and
ammunition were piled everywhere on rough wooden platforms by the side
of the road. Most of the troops were bivouacked near the roads, and on
this day were having a very rough time, especially where they were
camped in the valleys. Many of them were up to their knees in water
and their small bivouac or "pup" tents nearly submerged. The whole of
the countryside around Albert was dotted with camps. Inside of a few
hours of this rain the camps were simply quagmires. Roads were cut up
badly as a result of the heavy traffic, and our progress was slow. For
several miles before reaching Albert we could see the figure of the
"Madonna Holding the Child" outstretched against the sky-line. This
bronze statue is a notable landmark and could be discerned for miles
around. It was situated on the top of the Albert church, and the
church and tower had been shelled so badly that the figure had by this
time almost reached a horizontal position. It was common belief among
the French that as soon as the figure fell to the ground the war would
be ended.
We found that our billet at Albert was to be in a corner house facing
a crossroads from which four roads radiated. Albert was being badly
shelled at the time, and our billet had met the same fate as many
others. No windows were left in the house and very little plaster on
the walls or ceilings. However, we were well used to billets of this
description and promptly proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as
circumstances would allow.
The next day we started on our work in the trenches and in the evening
I took in my party. We drove up in our trucks as far as the hill
overlooking Ovilliers-la-Boisselle, and then walked the remainder of
the way into the trenches which we had to consolidate. We had said
good-by to underground mining for a while. Here our work consisted in
consolidating the trenches as they were captured by the infantry. I
think this night, incidentally my birthday, was the worst night that I
have ever spent in the trenches. We had to march in single file, my
party of seventy men, separated into small groups, along a road which
at that time was being terribly shelled by the Huns. We were obliged
to keep to the road on account of the fact that all the trenches
captured since the 1st of July by our infantry had previously been
flattened out by our own and the German artillery-fire, and only small
depressions showed their original location. We marched for the last
mile in pitch-darkness in mud up to our knees and passed through
several barrages of enemy fire. The bombardment on both sides was
terrific. The British guns were so numerous that in this La Boisselle
valley they stood almost limber to limber. I had some four guides with
me. These men had been up in the daytime and were to take our four
parties to our new work here. Three of them lost themselves hopelessly
in the dark, but fortunately one lad managed to find one of our dugout
positions. The surface of the ground everywhere around was so pitted
with shell-holes that it was impossible to find a piece of ground five
feet square which did not have one or more shell-holes in it. The
bodies of German and British soldiers were lying around us in
thousands. The fitful glare from the star-lights and flashes from the
guns showed these bodies and portions of bodies lying in every
conceivable pitiful and grotesque position. Most of them were lying
face down in the shell-holes and almost filled trenches, while others
stretched on their backs stared up to the skies with glassy, unseeing
eyes. Rifles, bombs, and all manner of small weapons and equipment,
German and British, were scattered around on all hands. We had all
seen plenty of the horrors of war before and were just fresh from the
Vimy Ridge trenches, where bodies also were numerous, but here it was
a veritable shambles. These men had all been killed within the last
two or three days. Freeman, the reliable guide with me, warned us
about stepping on the bodies in the dark. To my disgust, I stepped on
a body right away, and in climbing over an earth mound, placed my hand
on another. I thought I was pretty well inured to these horrible
sights, but my revulsion was so strong that I vomited on the spot. Our
men here were working in six-hour shifts. I remained in charge for two
shifts, some twelve hours, and I can say truthfully that I was never
more happy in my life than when I was relieved in the morning. It
certainly was not a pleasant way of celebrating one's birthday. We
wanted to bury some of the poor British lads whose bodies we found
there, but this was impossible. We did bury a few bodies the next
night after taking their identity tags and effects from their pockets.
It is impossible for me to even half describe the scenes in these
terrible battles known as the first Somme offensive.
We started work at once on some five dugouts. The entrances to three
of them were destroyed the first night, some of our fellows being
caught in them and buried at the time. Fortunately, we were able to
shovel them out not much the worse for wear. A working-party of
cavalry were assisting us here, and I shared my breakfast of hard-tack
biscuit and cheese with the officer in charge. This officer, it
appears, was the son of a very wealthy tobacco manufacturer in England
and, as his brother officers afterward informed me, the heir to
$65,000,000. No wildcat insurance company even would have insured his
life for thirty cents during this time.
Our work was near Mouquet Farm and to the left of Pozières. A mile to
our north was the famous Thiepval. The Australians were fighting all
around here when we arrived, but about a week later were relieved by
the Canadians. We had some two weeks of this work, going up for eight
hours out of every twenty-four. At our back billet at Albert we did
not get much rest. The Huns were shelling the town regularly with
heavy shells as they retreated, and sleep was almost impossible by
reason of the continual rumbling of traffic on the granite pavé road
alongside our billet. It seemed to us that the whole British army must
have driven past that house. There was no rest day or night on account
of this noise. As my brother was with the Canadians, I looked forward
eagerly to their arrival. However, this did not mean that I was likely
to see him; as things happen at the front, your lifelong friend or
your brother may be in the next sector to you and yet you will never
know the fact or, even if you do, you would probably never get the
chance to see him.
At Albert we were some twenty-eight kilometres from the beautiful city
of Amiens. All troops, officers included, have a weakness for this
city, and whenever it was possible to get a few hours away from the
line, they would try and reach it somehow, on horseback, by truck, or
any means of conveyance. We were fortunate in having motorcycles, and,
when time permitted, would ride down from Albert to Corbie, get on the
tow-path of the river Somme there, and ride into Amiens. The horrors
of war were soon forgotten, and we would get a good meal at the Café
Godabert or at some other place, and soon feel at peace with the
world. An American bar we patronized would furnish us with champagne
cocktails and other so-called American drinks, and, if time allowed,
we would see a cinema.
In riding back along the tow-path, we would see the Red Cross barges,
full of badly wounded men, being slowly towed down. Numerous French
and British troops were camped by the river. In summer it was very
pleasant there for the troops at rest. This is the country where
several of our own divisions are now fighting, brigaded with the
British and French troops. We were riding back on motorcycles from
Amiens one day along the tow-path when Captain B. rode right into the
river and stuck in about four feet of mud and water. It was amusing to
watch his struggles from the bank, but when he insisted on our helping
him out with his machine, not quite so funny. We put it on the rack
and in a few minutes had it going again. They furnished us motorcycles
that would stand anything. We had many thrilling rides on these up to
the trenches, being shelled consistently. I was lucky enough to get my
leave whilst here--seven days in England. I never enjoyed a leave
more. The officer who relieved me was wounded in the leg the same
night, and now, though still crippled, has rejoined my old company in
the trenches. Within twenty-four hours of leaving these terrible
scenes of wholesale slaughter I found myself in a theatre in London.
Naturally enough, life seemed to be going on much as usual, and I
proceeded, as every one else does, to have the very best time possible
in the short and infrequent leaves. Not many hours were wasted on
sleep during our furloughs from the front. We figured we had plenty of
time to catch up on sleep when we got back to the front, but the
luxury of being able to take off all your clothes, have a real bath,
and then sleep between linen sheets again is never really appreciated
until you've lived for months in a dirty, muddy trench.
One of my brother officers was an Irishman who lived in Dublin, where
he invariably spent his short furloughs. He went back once when the
Sinn Feiners were busy with their revolution in Ireland. On his return
he complained that it was more exciting dodging the machine-gun and
rifle fire around the streets of Dublin than it was in the front line,
but, being a cheery soul, he appeared to have enjoyed to the utmost
their little private war in Ireland.
On my way back to France I was held up for three days at Folkestone on
account of loose mines in the channel, thick fog, and enemy
submarines. Stopping over at Boulogne in waiting for the Third Army
train to go up to the line again, I went to the movies at the Kursaal.
Curiously enough I saw a film there entitled "L'Invasion des
Etats-Unis." I had seen this picture in New York on my way over in
October, 1915. The French audience greeted it with much enthusiasm and
plainly showed their warm feelings toward our country.
I met H., a brother officer at Boulogne. While travelling together to
Amiens we discovered the fact that we had less than forty francs left
between us. Economy is not a strong point with men on furlough from
the trenches, and I know that most of us managed to spend all of our
pay and usually overdraw a month in advance by the last day. H. and I
figured that we could get by, but dropping into the Café Godabert in
Amiens in a lordly way to luncheon we found to our dismay that our
bill was over thirty francs exclusive of wine, which we had carefully
refrained from ordering. With our bad French we had ordered "à la
carte" instead of the regular meal, and we were obliged to content
ourselves with a small packet of malted milk until breakfast the next
morning. That luncheon, however, was good.
On my return to Albert I found that my section were now constructing
Russian saps and dugouts in the trenches opposite Thiepval, and we
were there when the capture of this enormously strong fortress was
effected at the end of September, 1916. The underground defenses of
the Germans at Thiepval were very elaborate. Many of their
machine-guns would be run up on elevators as occasion demanded from
the dugouts below. Thiepval had withstood the most terrific hammering
and pounding since July 1, of that year.
The tanks were first introduced in the fighting near us in the battle
of the Somme, and were very successful.
In going up to Thiepval we drove every day through Aveluy Woods. These
woods were shelled with persistent regularity and intensity by the
enemy. One day as we were driving up, some shells burst among an
infantry party marching just ahead of us on the road. Among the
resulting casualties one of their officers was lying in the road with
one leg blown off, while his orderly lay headless a few feet from him.
A Tommy called attention to the head of the orderly in a tree near by.
We had five casualties ourselves on this particular trip. One of them,
not wounded very badly, danced with delight. "Good-by, sir, any
message for Blighty," was his last call as we sent him back to the
nearest aid-post. None of us enjoyed this daily ride through Aveluy
Woods.