took part. Things were nearly always very brisk in this sector of
the line. I remember one particular night, my chum and I were out on
listening posts when my chum thought he saw the enemy advancing. I
looked and could not see them. He started making a row, and I warned
him to be quiet, but he didn't heed me, when suddenly he went down
mortally wounded. I dived to the ground, and in diving my hands came
in contact with a man who had probably been dead some days. This was
not an unusual occurrence. About Sept. 15th, when we were up at Ypres
again, there was a party of us who went on a bombing raid one night.
Nearly every night a bombing party went out into No Man's Land. At
this particular time, however, we were returning from a bombing raid,
perhaps without as much caution as usual, when a shell burst right
among us, killing every man except myself and a chum, who was badly
wounded. I, however, found I had escaped with but a few scratches, and
taking along my chum who had a bad wound in the leg, managed, after
much trouble, to return to our lines. My chum, not being able to walk,
made it difficult for me. I had to carry him back, and to look out for
"whizz-bangs," and avoid tumbling into shell-holes. The weather at this
time of the year was very bad; raw and cold weather, up to our knees
in mud and water, stuck in the trenches, day after day, and week after
week. Such is trench life in winter time. But when springtime came
again, then things started to "liven up." "Fritz" was at it again. Our
battalion was up at Ypres salient, where a terrific artillery duel was
being put up at the time. Shells were dropping all around, star shells
illuminated the skies, and the word was passed around for getting ready
to go "Over the Top."
It was dawn, and, the rum ration having been handed around, the order
was given, and over we went. Some were just up and over and down they
went. I remember our captain was one of the first to fall. His words
as he fell were: "Carry on, boys, don't mind me," and the boys carried
on. All I could see before me was blood. It seemed as if I had no other
object in mind but to kill. Such were my feelings as we went over. We
hadn't advanced above 300 yards when a bullet whizzed too close for
my liking, and, turning my head, I saw my chum fall, and dozens of
others, but our orders were "carry on," and get our objective. Next
our first lieutenant fell and mustering us together, our remaining
lieutenant, a mere youth of eighteen years, and a small handful of men,
reached our position, not without severe loss of life. I remember one
little incident. A German officer lying severely wounded, called in
almost perfect English for a drink. One of the boys (probably a little
more human than some of us) went to give him a drink out of his water
bottle. Then the Prussian officer drew his revolver and shot this boy.
Those who witnessed the incident, I being among them, made short work
of the Prussian beast, but this incident goes to show the Prussians'
hate of his enemy.
The Saxon troops are the most civilized of the bunch. An incident of
just the opposite, I witnessed down at the Somme. A wounded German
soldier called for water to drink and one of our Tommies kindheartedly
went and gave it to him. They conversed for a minute or two. The German
spoke in broken English. He said to the Tommy, as he undid his tunic
and displayed a Salvation Army jersey, "I am a Salvationist," and the
British Tommy replying said, "So am I." They shook hands and the German
fell back dead. Never shall I forget the sights that I have seen in the
trenches we took from the Boches. I remember one particular trench we
took, we found a young girl about nineteen years of age, who had one
of her eyes taken out, an ear cut off and her right breast severed.
This was not an isolated case of the Boche's villainy. I personally
witnessed, in villages in France and Belgium, the bodies of old men
that had been crucified or slowly tortured to death. I have seen a
little baby bayonetted to a doorpost and the bayonet left sticking in
the body.
It was down at Loos that I was gassed. I have a recollection of the
gas coming over and was unconscious for twenty-four hours, and had
oxygen pumped into me. When I returned to consciousness I found myself
in a hospital with a Red Cross nurse bending over me. Another sector
of the line I was in was at Cambrai (after my recovery from the
hospital). Here we caught it pretty rough. It was the time that British
divisions were being drafted off to Italy that things were lively.
Several battalions were being marched off to Italy, when "Fritz" broke
through part of our line down south, and advanced in mass formation.
Then we were ordered to retreat. It was some retreat! Guns were left,
ammunition dumps not blown up, and we retreated about thirty miles.
Our losses there were great. However, in small counter-attacks and
skirmishes, which our battalion took part in, we captured quite a few
prisoners. I was quite surprised to notice how young some of these
German soldiers seemed--not more than seventeen years of age. In the
early part of 1918 I was up in Ypres again where one night we had after
severe fighting recaptured a few hundred yards, I was just standing
around in the captured trenches, when a shell burst and a piece of
shrapnel caught me. Down I went, to awake once more in a hospital,
where the boys were all content and happy, in spite of wounds. So was
I, especially when I heard I was for "Blighty" once again.
MY SERVICE IN FLANDERS
BY SERGT. ALEXANDER GIBB, NO. 444476, CO. A. 26TH BATT., N. B. REGT.,
CANADIAN INF.
IN THE month of October, 1914, the second Canadian Division was being
formed. I being too young at that time, could not enlist, but in the
month of February, 1915, I did enlist with the 55th Battalion. The
commander of that battalion was Lieutenant Colonel Kirkpatrick. It was
in the month of March of the same year that our regiment went into camp
at Sussex, N. B. Every day of our life in camp was work, day and night,
but of course our battalion found time for their sports; even if we did
have to work very hard during the day.
In the beginning of June of that year there was a call came to our
regiment for volunteers to go overseas, with the 26th Battalion, which
is now known as the Famous Fighting 26th; at that time under command of
Lieutenant Colonel McAvity, better known as "Colonel Jim." Of course
I was eager to get over and do my bit. I was one of the many who
volunteered. It was on the most unlucky day of that month, June 13,
1915, that the 26th sailed on the transport _Caledonian_ for an unknown
port in England. As the transport moved from the pier amid cheering
crowds, the boys were happy and gay.
[Illustration: SERGT. ALEXANDER GIBB]
Our voyage across the pond was uneventful, only we were all given life
belts which we had to wear all the time of our trip, and of course we
had our life boat drill, which took place in the morning after our
physical training. The afternoon was spent in sports of all kinds,
boxing, running, etc. We did not come in contact with any U-boats and
I might say we had very little seasickness on board. Our trip of nine
days was the most enjoyable trip I have ever had on the water. When we
were a few miles from our landing place, away off in the distance we
could see two destroyers coming toward us. At first we thought they
were "Fritzies" but as they came nearer we found them to be British
destroyers coming to escort us into the harbor at Southampton.
On arriving at that port, amid cheering crowds, we disembarked for our
training camp in England. We marched to the station and boarded the
train. At every step we made, the English people would give us hot tea,
cake and fruit, and we sure did enjoy it.
We arrived in the City of Folkestone, and from there marched to the
training camp, known as West Sandling camp. We were tired out from
our long train journey, and had a quiet repose in our new home. Our
training started in real earnest there. A lot of it was quite new to
us, such as musketry, bayonet fighting, trench warfare, bombing, etc.
After two months of hard work, and long marches, the word came at last
for us to show the Huns what we were made of. We received orders for
parade in full marching order--then were marched about five miles to
the transport, which was waiting for us at Folkestone. I might say that
was in the month of September, 1915. Our voyage across the channel was
very rough, but of course we did not mind it.
We arrived in the city of Boulogne, on the coast of France, and marched
from there to a rest camp, staying there for three days. Once more we
got orders to move on. We marched about forty or forty-five miles to
St. Omer, then on to a rest camp behind the lines at Kemmel Hill, which
is in Flanders.
After a brief rest, our battalion went into the front line, at the
above mentioned place. As we were nearing the front lines we could
hear the big guns and shells bursting overhead; also the whistling
of bullets. Of course, I naturally started ducking my head, and I
have been ducking ever since. In the week of the 12th of October, our
battalion was in the front line, in the P. E. O. trenches at Kemmel,
and on that day "Fritzie" sprung a mine in No Man's Land which formed
a big crater. On the morning of the 13th we got orders that we were
to take that crater. The time set for going "Over the Top" was 2 A.M.
and every man was ready and eager to show what he was made of. To the
minute a blast of the whistle came, and we were over. "Fritzie" saw
us and he also came over. Then a hand-to-hand fight started. I came
in contact with a big Hun, and of course we went to it. Before many
seconds had passed, I got his bayonet over the bridge of the nose,
but it did not knock me out, and a short time after I got him; my
first Hun. My, but I was a proud boy. I put my hand to my face and it
became covered with blood--so I started back to the trench to get my
wound dressed. On arriving at my battalion dressing station the doctor
started operations. He put four stitches in my nose and then I was sent
back to a field hospital for further treatment. While at the hospital I
heard that our battalion had taken the crater and covered itself with
glory, but our losses were heavy. It was during that fight that my
regiment made itself famous.
After two weeks in the hospital, I was sent back to my regiment which
was in a rest camp. I carried back with me two lovely black eyes from
the effect of the wound.
Once more we moved into the trenches, under a heavy downpour of rain.
The winter had just set in. It was cold and damp under foot, and the
water reached up to our knees. During our stay in the line at that
time, I recall an incident which happened. I was sitting in a dugout,
having a bite to eat with some of my pals, and enjoying the meal quite
well. Something had to spoil our lunch, of course. A shell came over
and burst on top of the dugout and buried us for about four or five
hours. We were in darkness--then we were dug out, and were none the
worse from our little experience.
MY SERVICE IN FLANDERS
Part 2
BY SERGT. A. GIBB
DURING our stay in the line at Kemmel Hill, after the crater fight,
the winter started in real earnest. The snow and sleet was something
awful. Nothing but wet feet all the time. Had it not been for our rum
ration, we should have died from disease. A great number of our boys
did die. Some of the boys in our working party who went up the line,
while we were in billets, were drowned in the shell-holes, that were
filled with water, or got trench feet and were sent to the hospital.
During the Christmas of 1915 we were in the front line, and it was
very cold. We had our Christmas dinner there, which consisted of our
regular rations, but when we came to our billets again, after six days
in the front line, we had a Christmas dinner which consisted of turkey,
dressing, pudding, tea and other nice things. I am sure all the boys
enjoyed it to their heart's content. In fact, it was the best meal we
had since arriving in Flanders. We also had our New Year's dinner out
on the line, much to our joy. During Christmas and New Year's we had
entertainments at the Y. M. C. A. huts and a few movie shows.
About two days after New Year's we went back into the line; also the
mud and water. The rest of that winter was very uneventful.
It was on June 21, 1916, that the third battle of Ypres started,
our regiment being in the line at Kemmel Hill, and our 3rd Canadian
division at Ypres. On the second of that month "Fritzie" made his drive
for Ypres. The battle started about 2 A.M. The Huns came over in massed
formation, and very strong in number, almost six to one of "ours." All
the boys in my battalion were sitting on top of the trench, looking
on at the attack. The noise from the big guns was dreadful; also the
machine gun fire. The prettiest sight I ever saw was the star shells
bursting in the air. They were of colored red, white, and green, which
was the Hun's S. O. S. call.
On the fourth of June, "Fritzie" managed to drive our boys from their
position in that part of the line. Our third division put up a very
strong fight, but they were outnumbered and could not hold. So the Huns
advanced quite a bit, and gained a lot of ground. The 48th Battalion
was separated from the other battalions and other regiments were in
the same fix. That was the reason the Huns drove them back.
On the 11th of June our battalion, the 26th, was taken out of the line
at Kemmel Hill, and after a few hours rest, started for the support
line at Ypres, which was Bedford Farm. On arriving there we stayed
for two days, and on the 12th of the next month our famous Canadian
Scottish made an attack on "Fritzie" and succeeded in driving him back,
after very hard fighting and hand-to-hand work.
It was on the 14th that our battalion, accompanied by others, moved
up to relieve the tired-out Scotties, who were tattered and torn.
They came straggling back, but not in the same strength as when they
went into the conflict. They had a great number killed, wounded and
missing. As our battalion moved up the road leading to the trenches,
under heavy shell fire, we lost two hundred men, killed and wounded.
As we moved along, we could see our chums falling. That made us more
eager to get at the Hun. On arriving in the front line, late that
evening I was detailed off as a battalion runner, and, of course, it
was very interesting work. I was to report at battalion headquarters
which was about three-quarters of a mile behind the line. After great
difficulty I found myself at that point, and reported myself to the
sergeant-major. A short time after I was ordered to take a battalion
into the trenches at Hooge, and after great difficulty, going over the
shell-torn ground, I landed the regiment safe at their port.
On the following morning at 9 A.M. I received another order to take a
dispatch to every boy in my battalion. Of course there is always two
men who go with the dispatch. The idea of that is in case one man gets
wounded, the other can look after his wounds, and carry on with his
orders. My partner and I started out from battalion headquarters, and
going up the communication trench, found it all blown to pieces, so
we decided to take to the open. On arriving at a company we delivered
the dispatch and went on to the next company. It was very uneventful
but it took us from 9 A.M. one day until 4 A.M. the following morning
to get back. On our way back we arrived at a company in time to get
a little party out to headquarters, but at the same time "Fritzie"
started shelling us very heavily, so we took different routes. About
fifty yards from the front line my pal got a bullet in the back, which
brought him down. I dressed his wound, then carried him for a distance
of about fifty or sixty yards. I then laid him down, so I could get a
rest and straighten myself up, but when I picked him up again he was
dead. I continued the rest of my journey alone, but before long I got
hit myself in both legs. I dressed them and crawled to headquarters,
delivered the dispatch, then fell into a fainting spell. When I came to
I found myself in a hospital in Boulogne.
Canada's casualties in the war up to eleven days before the capture of
Mons on the final morning of the conflict totalled 211,358 men.
These classified as follows:
Killed in action 34,877
Died of wounds 15,457
Wounded and presumed dead 52,779
Missing in action and known
prisoners of war 8,245
Canada's losses have been very great and she has fought very bravely
for a just cause, the freedom of the world and everlasting peace.
WITH THE AMMUNITION TRAIN
BY FREDERICK GERALD MC AVITY, GUNNER NO. 91805, 8TH BATTERY, CANADIAN
FIELD ARTILLERY
IT WAS back in 1914 when the word came to Canada for soldiers to serve
for King and Country. As I was very young, not quite eighteen years
of age, I thought I would like to enlist, and go to war, not really
knowing what I was going into.
At that time, anyone enlisting under age had to have his parents'
consent, which, I will say, was no easy matter. After having a little
battle of my own, with all my relatives, I finally managed to get the
signature of my parents.
We went to camp a few days later and had about two months' training at
Valcartier, and then sailed for England. After training a few months in
the Old Country we sailed for France the early part of February, 1915,
where we first got our taste of war. I was more than surprised, because
I was young, and my idea of war was sniping at each other from behind
a tree or stump, but this trench warfare was a new thing. At that
time I was attached to an ammunition column which fed the guns with
its ammunition. Then it was a case of starving the guns, because the
shortage of ammunition would only allow each gun of each battalion four
rounds a day and as the soldiers call it out there, they had our "wind
up" all the time.
[Illustration: GUNNER F. G. McAVITY]
We had lost quite a number of men at Ypres and pulled out of that
position for another part of the line, when I was wounded on the
forenoon of September 21st. It was only a slight wound in the left
foot. After a few months at the hospital and proving A-1 again, I was
sent back to the line, and joined my unit at Ploegstreet in the fall of
the same year. Now, as you know, the fighting was not so great, but the
hardships were terrible through the winter. It is simply wonderful what
a human being can stand. If anyone had told me before I enlisted that I
could lay in mud and water for day in and day out, I think I would have
called him a "liar," but I have come to the conclusion that nothing is
impossible nowadays.
Some days when it was a little quiet, we would spend our time in fixing
up our bivouac, which we had built on the ground, as huts to live in.
After the winter of 1915 and the spring of 1916, we moved to the Ypres
salient and we had a pretty tough time of it there, as they had us
pinned in the shape of a horseshoe, and they could hit us from all
sides except the rear. The Germans had us overwhelmed at that time, but
even with their wonderful fighting mechanism, they couldn't drive back
the fighting race from North America.
We fought on in the salient until July, 1916, when the first division
got word we were to move to another front. It was rather a surprise.
We thought we were to have a rest at that time. The fighting was heavy
on the two fronts--the Somme front in France and the Salonica front in
Greece. So it was a question with the boys which one we were going to.
At last word came to move somewhere and after a number of days on the
train and on foot, we at last came to a sign along the roadway marked
Somme River.
Well, then we knew we were on our way to the Somme front, going into
action the same night. We arrived on the battle scene, and that was
the introduction of the Canadians in the Battle of the Somme. It was a
tough fight and we lost a number of men, but it was much worse for poor
"Fritzie."
We had it pretty rough all the time on the Somme, and oftentimes when
the rations did not get up from the divisional train, we had to lay
back on the hard-tack, which looks like dog biscuits, and we thought
one of these biscuits dipped in bacon grease was a great treat at that
time.
I fought on the Somme through the summer of 1916, until the fall of the
same year, and in the early part of the evening of November 9, as I was
in horse lines of our battery, having a nice friendly game of "crown
and anchor," the corporal of my section called me from my game (I was
winning and did not like to leave the game) and said:
"McAvity, you will go up with rations to the battalion tonight. I think
you had better leave about eight o'clock." Well, I went back to the
game and played until eight, and then I started for the line. As we
placed the rations over pack horses and started to plough through the
mud, leading our horses, it was a case of ups and downs, stepping in a
shell-hole here, and on a dead body there. Fritz was putting a lot of
gas shells over, and it was getting late in the night and raining like
Hell.
We had one of our boys up in the air by the concussion of a shell and
he also lost his ration. At last we got to the battery. The gas shells
still poured over and the major gave us orders to get back as quickly
as possible after delivering the goods. I think we were about fifty
yards away from the battery when a big shell burst, or at least a "Jack
Johnson" as the boys call it. The boy behind me, the one who lost his
ration, said to me:
"Mac, we had better hurry as it was pretty close," and let me tell you
the next one that came over "got" both of us, killing him and wounding
me severely. At 11.20 P.M. on the eve of November 9th, after spending
nearly two years in hospital, I was discharged, May, 1918, in St. John,
N. B., Canada.
HOSPITAL EXPERIENCE
BY GUNNER FREDERICK GERALD MC AVITY
BEING wounded on November 9th, my first stop was at a stationary
hospital, Rouen, France. I had one operation there, and had some
shrapnel removed from my body. One of the pieces was taken from my
left shoulder; a nice-sized piece, which is shown in the photograph
illustrating this story. When I came to, after being under the
operation, I felt something hard on my shoulder. The nurse, seeing that
I did not pay much attention to it, came to my bed and asked me if I
did not want my souvenir, meaning my shrapnel. Well, as I was in great
pain at that time, I did not prize it very much, but I value it quite a
lot today.
After a few months in France, they moved me to a Red Cross hospital at
Southampton, England, called Netley hospital. I had a long stretch of
hospital life in Netley. When I was sailing from France to England,
aboard the hospital ship, they asked me where I would like to go.
Naturally, being a Canadian, and having no relatives over there, I
promptly said, London, so I could meet some of my pals. When I got off
the boat, and aboard the hospital train, I asked the orderly if I was
near London, and he gave the answer: "Don't worry. You are not going
to London. You are on your way to Netley, and will be there in ten
minutes."
I was a little downhearted at first, but after a few weeks, I was
satisfied with my treatment, which was the very best.
When I got my little lot of wounds, on the Somme, I also was exposed
to gas shells, which left my stomach in such a condition that I could
not eat for two months until after I had that sea voyage from France
to Netley. The nurse there asked me if I would try a poached egg on
toast, and that was my turning point. From that day until the day I was
discharged I have not missed a meal, except after an operation.
I had nine operations altogether, eight in the Netley Hospital at
Southampton, England. After the shrapnel was removed, the doctor found
out that the bone in my shoulder was severely fractured, and I had
four different operations, just to clean out the loose bone which was
keeping my wound from healing. All the time I was in the hospital
and even until three months ago my arm was completely paralyzed. But
through the wonderful treatment they gave me I am very glad to say I
have pretty good use of my left arm.
[Illustration: TREATING GUNNER McAVITY'S WOUND, PARKS CONVALESCENT
HOSPITAL, ST. JOHN, N. B.]
Another one of my large wounds was in my left thigh, where I lost about
eight inches of flesh, from the knee up. I have had four operations on
this limb. I lay for eight months in suspense, awaiting the official
word, whether I would have to lose the left limb. I can honestly say I
had a great deal of confidence in my surgeon, and one day he came to me
and had a personal chat with me. He talked to me just like a father. He
asked me if I thought I could stand another operation because he stated
that I was in a pretty bad condition. I was very anxious to know his
view on the subject as I put all confidence in him. I promptly asked
him his decision, and he replied that he thought I could stand it.
Knowing he thought I could pull through, it did not take me long to let
him do anything to get me healed up.
The operation was performed and I had all the skin taken from my right
thigh and grafted on the wound on the left. I can say it was a success,
and after a few months I was able to get along on a cane. The doctor,
seeing I was able to move about, had me sent to a Canadian Hospital so
I could be boarded and sent to Canada.
I was in the Canadian hospital for about a month and was very anxious
to see my native land again, when one day at noon the word came for me
to pack up and get ready for the boat.
After nine days at sea on a hospital ship, with all lights aglow, at
the time the Germans were sinking Red Cross ships, we pulled into
Halifax, N. S., safe and sound. Here I was detailed off for a hospital,
after I had my furlough, to visit my relatives.