I left the 15th Brigade with regret, and the regret I felt would have
been deeper if I had known what was going to happen to the brigade.
I was given interesting work and made comfortable. No despatch rider
could wish for more.
Not long after I had returned from the 15th Brigade, the Germans
attacked and broke through. They had been heavily reinforced and our
tentative offensive had been replaced by a stern and anxious defensive.
Now the Signal Office was established in the booking-office of Beuvry
Station. The little narrow room was packed full of operators and
vibrant with buzz and click. The Signal Clerk sat at a table in a
tiny room just off the booking-office. Orderlies would rush in with
messages, and the Clerk would instantly decide whether to send them
by wire, by push-cyclist, or by despatch rider. Again, he dealt with
all messages that came in over the wire. Copies of these messages were
filed. This was our tape; from them we learned the news. We were not
supposed to read them, but, as we often found that they contained
information which was invaluable to despatch riders, we always looked
through them and each passed on what he had found to the others. The
Signal Clerk might not know where a certain unit was at a given moment.
We knew, because we had put together information that we had gathered
in the course of our rides and information which--though the Clerk
might think it unimportant--supplemented or completed or verified what
we had already obtained.
So the history of this partially successful attack was known to us.
Every few minutes one of us went into the Signal Office and read the
messages. When the order came for us to pack up, we had already made
our preparations, for Divisional Headquarters, the brain controlling
the actions of seventeen thousand men, must never be left in a position
of danger. And wounded were pouring into the Field Ambulances.
The enemy had made a violent attack, preluded by heavy shelling, on the
left of the 15th, and what I think was a holding attack on the right.
Violaines had been stormed, and the Cheshires had been driven, still
grimly fighting, to beyond the Rue de Marais. The Norfolks on their
right and the K.O.S.B.'s on their left had been compelled to draw back
their line with heavy loss, for their flanks had been uncovered by the
retreat of the Cheshires.
The Germans stopped a moment to consolidate their gains. This gave us
time to throw a couple of battalions against them. After desperate
fighting Rue de Marais was retaken and some sort of line established.
What was left of the Cheshires gradually rallied in Festubert.
This German success, together with a later success against the 3rd
Division, that resulted in our evacuation of Neuve Chapelle, compelled
us to withdraw and readjust our line. This second line was not so
defensible as the first. Until we were relieved the Germans battered
at it with gunnery all day and attacks all night. How we managed to
hold it is utterly beyond my understanding. The men were dog-tired.
Few of the old officers were left, and they were "dead to the world."
Never did the Fighting Fifth more deserve the name. It fought dully and
instinctively, like a boxer who, after receiving heavy punishment, just
manages to keep himself from being knocked out until the call of time.
Yet, when they had dragged themselves wearily and blindly out of the
trenches, the fighting men of the Fighting Fifth were given but a day's
rest or two before the 15th and two battalions of the 13th were sent to
Hooge, and the remainder to hold sectors of the line farther south. Can
you wonder that we despatch riders, in comparative safety behind the
line, did all we could to help the most glorious and amazing infantry
that the world has ever seen?[11] And when you praise the deeds of
Ypres of the First Corps, who had experienced no La Bassée, spare a
word for the men of the Fighting Fifth who thought they could fight no
more and yet fought.