With the Ulster Division in France.

From Bordon to Thiepval.

A Story of the 11th Battalion
ROYAL IRISH RIFLES
(South Antrim Volunteers).

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THIS BOOK
IS
Dedicated to the people of Ulster

In remembrance of those who have given their lives for their King and Country.

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WITH
THE ULSTER DIVISION
IN FRANCE.

A STORY OF THE 11th BATTALION
ROYAL IRISH RIFLES
(South Antrim Volunteers),

From BORDON to THIEPVAL.

IN FOUR PARTS,
INCLUDING PHOTOGRAPHS AND MAPS.
BY
A.P.I.S. AND D.G.S.

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Belfast: WILLIAM MULLAN & SON, 4 Donegall Place.

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PREFACE.

The appearance of this little book needs a word of explanation. While at the front with the Ulster Division, the late Captain A. P. I. Samuels, had kept a very complete record of events, and collected all the material available, with the object of being in a position, some day, to publish an account of the doings of the Division, and particularly of his own Battalion, the 11th Royal Irish Rifles (South Antrim Volunteers.) It has been willed, however, that he should not be spared to carry out his intention. Like so many of his gallant comrades he gave his life for his country, being killed in action on September 24th, 1916. His name is now on Ulster’s Roll of Honour, among those whose death has brought unspeakable grief to thousands of our homes, and yet has filled the hearts of Ulstermen and women with pride, and bequeathed such renown to our Province as will last while it endures. His papers, and the materials he had gathered have naturally come into my hands, and I have endeavoured, though in a very small and inadequate manner, to carry out the purpose for which they were collected.

This little book does not profess to be in any way a history of the Ulster Division, nor even of the 11th Batt. Royal Irish Rifles. Being compiled from the diary of Captain Samuels, supplemented by the records he was able to obtain, its scope is necessarily limited, and the story closes with the historic advance of the Ulster Division on the Somme at Thiepval on 1st July, 1916. In some respects this necessary limitation is a fitting one. To many in Ulster this great event marks in reality the passing of the glorious Division recruited during the first six months of the war, trained by Battalions in various camps in Ireland, and finally, as a Complete Division, at Seaford and Borden, before being sent to France. True, those permitted to survive that awful shock of July 1st, and those drafts in reserve at home remained to carry the fame of Ulster to Messines Ridge and Cambrai, but the Division was never again quite the same as before that memorable day. At that time it was unique. All its members were identified with the Northern Province. Each Battalion was recruited from some particular part, and even small districts and villages were represented separately in the Companies and Platoons. It was inevitable that after the Somme battle distinctive units should become merged, and that as the war progressed officers and men should find their way to the 36th Division who were not strictly representative of Ulster.

It is hoped that these memoirs may be of interest to Ulster people as describing the everyday life of a unit of their Division during its first eight months in France before the novelty of the life in billets and in trenches had worn off, and become merely monotonous, and while the point of view was still that of the native Ulsterman rather than the British soldier.

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PART I.

We fell in at 4 o’clock on the afternoon of October 4, 1915, on the parade ground of St. Lucia Barracks, Borden. So mechanical a proceeding is a regimental parade, and so extremely heavy were the packs that we carried, that there was little opportunity for pondering over the changed conditions that we were soon to undergo. As far as the men were concerned—and the same applied to a large number of the officers—they had left their homes and all that home implied when they left Ireland three months before.

As we marched to the station we were struck by the apathy displayed by the few civilians we saw. There was no cheering, waving of handkerchiefs, or kissing of hands; even the children, making mud pies on the side of the road did not trouble to look up. We were only one of the many units that had passed down that same road during the previous fourteen months. It was almost an everyday sight now for the people who lived there to see regiments entraining for France. So it was, that as we marched down the short road to Borden station, we felt that we were only going on our business, and that those plain-clothed civilians—many of them young and physically fit men—were going on theirs. At Borden station the somewhat questionable spirits of the men were revived by large cups of excellent tea, brought round by ladies, a parting kindness which was greatly appreciated, and which none of us will forget. The first train, with Brigade Headquarters, Battalion Headquarters, and A and B Companies, steamed out of the station at 5-10 p.m., followed at 5-35 by the second train with C and D Companies. Blinds were drawn in the carriages soon after starting, and with only one stop the train ran through to Folkestone Pier, where we went on board the transport “Onward.” At 9-35 p.m. we left the shores of England, bound for France and the unknown. A war-time cross-channel steamer, converted into a troopship for short runs, is as uncomfortable a form of craft as one can wish to sail in, and the “Onward” was no exception to the rule. In addition to our battalion there were several drafts, principally from Scotch regiments, on board. Luckily it was a fine, warm night, and the sea was as smooth as glass. The dining-room and lounge were boarded up and stripped as bare as a barrack floor, while

the corridors, and every available inch of accommodation below were packed with men, in all those extraordinary attitudes, recumbent and sprawling, which the sleeping Tommy can only adopt. On deck it was just the same, and quite impossible to walk from one end of the boat to the other. There were strict orders against smoking on deck, and the task of the unfortunate officer, whose sense of duty was sufficiently strong to prevent him from winking at any breach of discipline, was unenviable. A cigarette, like Nerissa’s candle, throws a long beam, and every effort to reach the culprit was fraught with such curses and mutterings from the bodies over which one stumbled, that it would have disheartened even the adamant spirit of the Secretary for War himself.

We reached Boulogne at 11-30 p.m., and, after the usual disembarkation formalities, in which the Disembarkation Officers and R.T.O.’s always seem to exercise their unlimited powers to the full, the Battalion fell in by companies about 300 yards down the pier. In the darkness and heavy rain which now began to fall this proceeding took a considerable amount of time, but after half an hour we moved off, all thoroughly soaked through. At the best of times the way from the pier at Boulogne to the Rest Camp, some distance out of the town, is not pleasant, but that October night it was particularly bad. The streets were wet and slippery, the men heavily laden with blankets and equipment, and the road up to the Rest Camp led up a steep incline. The leading company, however, stepped out at their normal pace. A few, mindful of the landing of the original Expeditionary Force, and the ever famous “Tipperary” scenes, burst into song, but the Frenchman retires early to bed, and, with the exception of one long, thin arm fluttering a pocket handkerchief from a top window, we saw no sign of life in the deserted streets. After a very steep climb of about two miles, we came to the Rest Camp, and a series of gasoline flares lit up the muddy flats on which the tents were pitched. The mud, ankle deep, sucked up round our boots, and torrents of rain danced in the puddles. It was a matter of ten minutes before each company was allotted its area, and after that, in less time than it takes to tell, the sleep, which only those who have spent a night in a Rest Camp at Boulogne know, had fallen on all.

The day after we landed was an easy one. No orders came as to moving, and the time was spent by our men in parading about the camp, sleeping, and talking to the numerous women and small boys who wandered round the railings, clamouring for “biscuit,” “penny,” or “bully beef.” So urgent was the appeal for these commodities, that the men took it for granted that the entire population of France was starving, and handed over that somewhat elusive “unconsumed portion” of the previous day’s ration, or any that remained of it. As the day wore on and word was received that there would be no move until the following morning, some of the officers were allowed into town in the afternoon. Boulogne in war-time is not an interesting place, and an hour was sufficient for exploration purposes. With the exception of a few French territorials, guarding the bridges and railway station, the town seemed to be entirely handed over to the British, whose motor ambulances glided in every direction. The “Cambria,” with her green and white topsides and large Red Cross flag at her masthead, lay alongside at the quay, a sight to make one home-sick, which brought one’s mind back to Dublin Bay and Kingstown Harbour in the days of peace. It rained off and on all day, and was bitterly cold, an early foretaste of the bitter winds we were to experience in France. We fell in next morning, Wednesday, 6th October, at 10-15, and marched to the Central station, where we entrained. Speculation was rife as to where we were going, whether Belgium, which savoured of Ypres and all that that name implied, or the new line between Arras and the Somme. The latter was a sector taken over by the British from the French in the July preceding, and had the name of being quiet and pleasant compared to the more northerly parts of the line. As the day wore on and we steamed South through Abbeville, and finally came to Amiens, there was no doubt as to our destination. From Amiens we moved on to a side line, and at 6-15 came to Flesselles, a small town about 15 miles south of Amiens, where we detrained. It was a lovely autumn evening, and with a slight breeze blowing from the East, and as we stood fallen in ready to move off from the station, we heard the low rumble and occasional growl of a big gun. From Flesselles we had to march some twelve kilometres to Rubenpre, which was to be our billeting town. Very heavily laden as we all were, officers and men, again the mistake was made of setting too fast a pace. It was an exceptionally warm evening, the men were tired, hungry and thirsty, after the long train journey, and as an hour, and then two, passed by, and we still appeared to be some distance from our town, the softer hearts in the battalion collapsed. There is no necessity to dwell on the unpleasant memories of our first route march in France; it was the most trying experience for both officers and men that we had for many a long day. As we marched East, and as the night grew darker, the flares, and the lurid flashes of gunfire became more vivid, and helped to keep up the interest of the men and distract their attention from the general weariness; at any rate we were, after eleven months’ training, getting to the “Front” at last.

When we reached Rubenpré, at 11 o’clock at night, many of the men done up and all very tired, we halted at the head of the village. The second in command had gone on the previous day with the advance party to arrange the billeting, but in the darkness, of a more than usually dark night, the result of his effort was practically impossible to find. The village consisted, as far as one could judge by the light of electric torches or matches, of a series of long barns with doors most of which were barred and bolted, and presented a remark[Pg 12]
[Pg 13]ably inhospitable appearance. A few days before we had left Borden we had been paraded, and in the course of a ten minutes’ harangue, the Commanding Officer had dwelt upon the good name of the battalion, and its excellent conduct while in England. He told the men that he relied on them to maintain that high record in the country to which they were going. Especially he told them to respect the religious susceptibilities of the people. “Hanging over your beds in your billets you will find crucifixes, pictures of the Virgin Mary, and the Saints, and other emblems of the Roman Catholic Church and religion. You will respect these emblems, and remember that you and your Allies have come to free these people from the Germans.” So throughout that march from Flesselles to Rubenpré, the men had before them the vision and anticipation of feather beds which all the saints in the catalogue might adorn, so long as it was a bed. No such luck, however, as feather beds could be hoped for in the land which the men had already christened “No man’s land.” So dark was the night, and so impossible to find were the billets allotted to each Company, that after nearly half-an-hour’s halt at the entrance to the village, Company Commanders and Officers took the matter into their own hands, threw off their packs and equipment on the side of the street, and led their worn-out men down the village. They burst open the doors of barns, and put in, here 20, there 30, men, despite the irate remonstrances of the owners, often punctuated by some shrill scream from some female

proprietor, who thought that at any rate her last hour had come. At length, on straw and hay, on floors hard and soft, everyone found a bed, and, tired, as they were, one or two were heard to mutter, Orangemen though they might be, that they wouldn’t mind a bed even if the picture of the Pope himself hung at the head. In this part of France there are no farms. The country is dotted at intervals of a kilometre or two with villages, some small, some large, mostly the same in appearance, with their orchards, and grey church spires sticking up above the knots of trees. All round these villages the country stretches away in gently rolling plains, like a great checkerboard, no ditches or hedges, reminding one of what England must have looked like in the days of the “common field” system. This part of the country is intensely cultivated, not an inch of land is allowed to go to waste, and in war time the work is done entirely by young girls and old women. A young man was never seen, either in the fields or villages; there seemed to be few old men, and the small boys spend most of their day at school. These Picard villages are intensely dirty, and Rubenpre was even dirtier than most of them. The barns were in a bad state of repair, and the yards were swimming with filthy water from the great heaps of manure which were piled up in front of each house, often right up against the windows, yet, curiously enough, the houses themselves were in most cases neat and clean. The houses are built of laths, plastered with mud and straw, poor in construction, and, owing to lack of men, in many cases whole villages presented a dilapidated and tumbled-down appearance. Rubenpré was, therefore, an inhospitable place, and the reception we received from the people themselves was not what we expected. We felt that we had come to the country to fight for the people, and to free them from the enemy; in other words we looked upon ourselves in a mild way as deliverers, and felt to a small extent that we were entitled to be received as such. But our eyes were soon opened,—those bolted barns and inhospitable entrances were an index of the regard in which the people held us; we were received with suspicion, and often with dislike, in every village to which we came during our long peregrinations in Picardy. It speaks volumes for our men to be able to say, as we can say with truth, that we always went away with the good wishes and blessings of the people, and there were many in the battalion who, when a day off came, would walk eight or ten miles to revisit some of their French friends. It was only after we had been some time in the country that we discovered the reason for this coldness. Robbed first of all by the Germans, they had endured successive invasions of Zouave, English, Scotch, and Indian troops, and now an Irish Division, a form of terror formerly unknown was thrust upon them in its entirety. We saw that there was a certain amount to be said for their apparent inhospitality, and put up with it.

The first couple of days at Rubenpré were devoted to “shaking down.” As far as my Company was concerned, we were, on the whole, fortunate with regard to our billets. There was at first a lack of straw, but this was soon remedied, and the men very soon accustomed themselves to the novelty of their surroundings. Large fatigue parties were put on from each Company, and within a week the town was cleaner than it had been for many a long day. The people looked on with quiet amusement, but they too soon became resigned to what they considered the British mania for cleaning.

Battalion headquarters were in a cottage, and at first a battalion officers’ mess was tried in an estaminet which had a room in which a stove was riveted in the centre. In a short time, however, the difficulty of running a four company and headquarters mess in the same house became apparent, and two companies, A and B, seceded and formed a mess of their own in another café. C Company and headquarters remained in the same house, but before we had been many weeks in France the advantages of company messes became evident. Our company headquarters was in a disused and rather tumbled down house, but it had a good orchard and field behind, which we used for musketry and range finding. In return for the use of the house, we lent the owner a few men every day as a help to thresh his corn and milk his cows. There was no lack of fresh milk, eggs, potatoes, and apples. Eggs cost three sous each, milk four sous per litre.

We remained at Rubenpré for about two weeks, and during that time had the usual routine of parades and training as at home. We were inspected by the G.O.C. Third Army, Sir Charles Munro, who expressed himself very pleased with our bearing on parade. We had two or three brigade field days and one divisional day, the latter the first divisional exercise under the eyes of our new G.O.C. Division, General Nugent. The remarks of our General on the day’s performance were, to say the least of them, hardly as complimentary as we should have wished. They left an impression on the minds of those who heard them that will never fade, and they had their effect on all ranks.

On 18th October we left Rubenpré to go up to the line for that instruction period which everyone in the New Army in France knows so well. As we got nearer to the line the sound of the guns became more distinct, and the tiny puffs of white smoke in the sky from the German aircraft guns was the first sign of the nearness of the trenches. The country was just the same as at Rubenpre every inch cultivated. At Varennes we were met by a band of the South Lancs., and played through the town and along the road as far as Forceville. Here we halted in a field for dinners. After dinners we fell in, and marched off by companies at ten minutes’ interval, for we were now within the zone of artillery fire, being about 3½ miles from the trenches. It was only when we left Forceville that we saw any change in the aspect of the country. We now passed several lines of heavily wired trenches, which made long, white streaks across the otherwise brown and regular landscape. In other respects there were the same signs of intensive agriculture as far behind the line. We reached, at length, Mailly-Maillet, which was to be our billeting town during the instructional period. In peace time Mailly-Maillet had evidently been a very pretty little town of about 1,000 to 1,500 inhabitants, considerably better built and evidently much more prosperous than any of the villages we had seen since we came to France. There was a chateau with a fine avenue of elms which had its entrance on one side of the main street. The chateau was a Brigade Headquarters, while the avenue of elms was used as a park for transport, and was crowded with limbers and G.S. waggons up to the axles in mud. There was not a pane of glass to be seen in any of the houses; many were without doors, and some were pierced by great shell holes. Generally Mailly-Maillet had a dejected and war-worn appearance. A battery of howitzers close by caused all the window-frames in the place to shake, and every now and then a[Pg 17]
[Pg 18] few slates would come tumbling down. As the town was full of troops, and we were an additional battalion, our billets were very poor. The men were in a very bad outhouse with little straw, while C Company Headquarters was an empty room with a tile floor in an extremely rickety condition. The first few

days in Mailly were devoted to working parties. A Company was attached to the 1st Batt. Essex Regt., B Company to the 8th South Lancs., and C to the 1st Batt. Kings Own Royal Lancaster Regiment, and D Company to the 2nd Royal Lancaster Fusiliers; all belonging to the 12th Brigade of the 4th Division.

The more or less eventful period of instruction which C Company experienced with the King’s Own began on the night of 19th October, when No. 11 and 12 platoons working at the second line trenches on the Mailly-Serre Road, were fired on by a machine gun. It was the christening. On the 21st we paraded at 5-30 a.m. and with guides from the King’s Own supplied to each platoon, marched to the trenches by platoons at five minutes’ interval. The front held by the King’s Own ran from the Serre Road on the right to slightly below and to the left of La Ligny farm. On our left was the Essex Regiment, while on our right were the Lancs. Fusiliers. No. 12 platoon was attached to A Company of the King’s Own on the right of the Batt. line; No. 10 was attached to C Company in the centre; No. 11 to B Company on the left, and No. 9 to D Company in reserve. I was with B Company on the left with Vance. The line held by the 12th Brigade formed part of the trenches taken from the Germans by the French in the preceding June. These trenches, known as the “Toutvent” trenches, had been subjected to a prolonged bombardment by the French. The latter would cease firing at intervals, during which the Germans would man the front line, and on the bombardment recommencing would retire to their dug-outs. This sort of thing went on for over a fortnight, and finally, one morning, the Germans got tired of coming out of their dugouts when the bombardment stopped, and the French swept down from their trenches behind La Ligny[Pg 19]
[Pg 20] farm, and caught them. The victorious French advanced as far as the village of Serre, but had to fall back in the face of a terrific German counter attack, and eventually took up their position in what had been the old German second line. This trench they consolidated and held. The regiment which took the trenches was a local one, consisting of men from the region around Hebuterne, Mailly, and Bapaume. There had been reports of terrible outrages committed by the Germans on the villages behind the lines, and evidence was found in the trenches themselves to prove the truth of these reports. The story goes that little quarter was given, and the French took few prisoners, the Germans, caught like rats in a trap, being bombed in their dugouts.

B Company of the King’s Own, to which I was attached, had its headquarters in a dugout known as “The Catacombs.” Built by the Germans, no labour had been spared to make it shellproof and comfortable. Twenty feet deep, cut out of solid chalk, it was about twenty yards long by seven feet broad. It was divided into sections for signallers, mess, and servants’ quarters, but into the wall from the mess were nooks containing beds for six officers. The whole inside of this dugout was riveted with massive planks four to six inches in thickness. There were five entrances approached by flights of steep, narrow steps. This was typical of the living dugouts in this hive of trenches. The English never built dugouts like this one in front line trenches, owing to the difficulty of getting men out of them in a hurry in case of emergency, and time after time they have proved death traps to the Germans themselves. The method of training for a battalion up for instruction is as follows:—Officers, N.C.O.’s and men are attached to their opposite numbers. Company Commander to Company Commander, Platoon Commander to Platoon Commander, sergeant to sergeant, corporal to corporal, and sentry to sentry. For three nights this proceeding is carried out, then, on the fourth night, the instructing companies withdraw to reserve, and each company takes over a sector of line on its own. Thus, bit by bit the officers and men are broken in. The first night we were in the trenches was an ideal one. A full moon made things easy, and it was quite possible to get the lie of the trenches and those of the enemy. Opposite B Company the Germans were about 100 to 120 yards away; in the centre their trenches ran to within 40 yards, and on the right about 100. There were a number of “saps” formed out of what had originally been old German communication trenches. Sand bag barricades built by each side in these formed the “sap heads.” In one “sap” these barricades were about 15 feet from each other.

One may forget the incidents of one’s first night in the trenches, but one never forgets the first dawn. Gradually, out of the darkness, things begin to take upon themselves their proper shapes. The first impression is that of desolation, for there is nothing so utterly forsaken or forlorn as “No man’s land” at first grey dawn. A maze of misty barbed wire, some in loose coils lying on the ground, some draped from stumps and stakes driven in at all angles, some in shell holes, all in a shapeless and indescribable jumble, stretches for about three yards in depth in front of the parapet. Then there is that desolate and shell-pocketed strip of land which terminates with the German wire, and beyond that again great heaps of chalk and brown earth begin to appear as the daylight comes. These are the German trenches, and behind them is the rolling country out of which the sun now begins to rise; country that is in the hands of the Germans, away beyond the pale. Those coils of rusty wire, hung on the rickety posts, form the boundary of civilization.

The 22nd of October promised to be the most lovely day. Except for the usual amount of desultory rifle and machine-gun fire at “stand to,” there was nothing to show that the Germans were about to depart from the normal state of inactivity that characterised the warfare on this sector of the front. About 8 a.m. a corporal of the King’s Own who had been doing observation work reported that the Germans had removed all their own wire, with the exception of a few strands, on their front opposite the sector held by C and B Companies. This Captain Woodgate, commanding B Company, confirmed himself. In the “Comic Cuts,” or Corps’ Summary, of the previous day it was noted that the enemy had also removed his wire opposite the line held by the French, north of Hebuterne. The natural conclusion was, therefore, that he was going to attack. The state of the wire in front of our own trenches was wretched. A month before, during the period of fighting in Champagne and the battle of Loos, the wire all along the front had been removed in readiness for a possible advance, and little trouble had been taken to replace it afterwards. At 9-35 a.m., Woodgate, Vance, Brown (one of Woodgate’s subalterns), and myself were having breakfast in the “Catacomb.” Suddenly—“whiz-bang, whiz-bang” right at the door of the dugout. The blast from the shells knocked the cups and plates off the table. There was a pause for a second, then a terrific explosion which shook the whole earth. In half a minute we

had on our equipment, and Woodgate, followed by myself, Brown, and Vance, ran up the stairs of the dug-out. The air was full of dust, and the ground in front of us seemed to be in a blaze of bursting shells. “This way,” called Woodgate, and following him we ran down a communication trench leading to the front line. We had only gone a few yards when we ran into a man rushing back, blood pouring from his shoulder and arm. Woodgate stopped and caught hold of him, calling to us to run on. We ran down the trench, bending low, for a hail of shells was passing us and bursting on all sides. In a few seconds Woodgate caught us up again. I led, then Brown, Woodgate, and Vance. Suddenly, just round a curve in the trench, and about ten yards in front of me, there was a terrific explosion. I was lifted clean off my feet into the air, and thrown flat on my stomach on the ground. Almost simultaneously another shell hit the top of the trench, and before I could think where I was, or recover my breath, the whole side of the trench leant over, and fell on top of me. It was a wonderful sensation, and I remember saying to myself aloud: “I wonder when this is going to stop.” Still the earth kept falling, and the weight on my shoulders and the small of my back became oppressive. One thing was pleasing, there was dead silence under ground. I began to heave with my shoulders, and took a deep breath. There was no difficulty in breathing as the earth seemed full of air. On the second heave I felt I was able to move, and after what seemed ages I got my head and shoulders clear. I was firmly fixed from my waist down, but in less than a minute had dragged myself out. I looked round, and saw that the entire trench had been filled in. There was no sign of any of the others, but a small bit of British warm coat was sticking out of the hole where I had been which represented Brown. I got hold of it and pulled hard. Gradually Brown emerged, cursing like a trooper, and spitting clay out of his mouth. With little difficulty we got Woodgate out, and Vance appeared behind him. We then ran on, and when we came to the fire trench Woodgate called out: “Get the men out of the living trench into the front line.” The living trench was one running just behind and parallel to the fire trench. In it were a large number of what were called “funk holes,” scooped out of the front of the trench, in which the men slept when off duty. Leading from each company in the fire trench there was a passage to the living trench. It should be explained that by day the minimum number of men possible are on duty in the fire trench. Sentry duty is most exhausting work, and it is possible for one man by day to suffice where it would take ten or even twenty men by night. In a company frontage of perhaps 500 to 600 yards three sentries, one to each platoon would be ample in the firing line provided there was a clear field of view to the front; but of course it is entirely a matter of situation and the nature of the ground. Woodgate called to me: “You take the two centre platoons and get everyone into the trench as quickly as possible.” I ran along the living trench rousing the men, who despite the terrific din of bursting shells were mostly sound asleep, and telling them to get out. Shells were falling mostly in the living trench and just behind it, and I had to go round by way of the fire trench as the passage[Pg 24]
[Pg 25] behind was blocked up. Meanwhile the air was thick with flying debris of every kind—posts, iron sheets, great baulks of timber were flying everywhere as the enemy blew our wire to bits. In particular I watched with fascination, a sheet of corrugated iron, blown from the roof of a dug-out, which flew about in the air like a card, and dashed hither and thither, finally coming down with a great slant on the parados of the bay next to where I was. It is no easy matter to wake the sleeping soldier, and as I worked my way down the living trench I thought I would never get the men out of the dug-outs. Here and there, however, where a bit of trench had been blown in, men were creeping out, pulling their rifles from under the fallen clay. At last, after what seemed an age, they began to file into the bays. The front trench was very narrow, deep, and well sand-bagged, and once they had thoroughly realised what was going on they knew it was the safest place. Owing to the double number in the trenches nearly every bay was manned by at least two men. Bayonets were fixed, and ten rounds fixed into the magazine, and we felt quite ready for what I expected would come any minute. The shell fire now became terrific, and practically the whole living line was filled in, the shells just missing the front line and lighting on the step of ground some ten yards inside separating it from the living trench. Curiously enough no shells were lighting in the fire trench. Two bays on the right of the two platoons under my charge had been knocked in during the first few minutes of the bombardment. They formed a small salient, and presented a very easy target to the enemy, whose artillery was mostly operating from Serre wood. Once the fire trench was manned there was little to do except go up and down the trench and see that all was well. The stuff the Germans were sending over was composed of every imaginable form of ordnance. The biggest shells were probably eight inch, and the air was thick with aerial torpedoes, minenwerfer, and oil drums. The latter came hurling through the air turning over and over and exploding with a terrific crack, making a very large crater. Aerial torpedoes, designed more for moral effect than to cause actual damage, burst with a nerve shattering explosion. I noticed that the closer one was to a bursting shell or aerial torpedo the less the noise, it was more of a sharp click, the greatest effect would be at almost 30 yards, under that the sound did not seem so great, though the concussion of course was terrific. Meanwhile the Germans, though they had blown most of our wire away showed no signs of attacking. It was just one of those small intensive bombardments known at the front as “a morning hate” or “straffe.” When this had lasted about an hour and a half, our artillery began to retaliate. Those were the days when ammunition was precious, and each battery strictly limited. It was a pleasant sound, however, to hear the whiz of our own shells overhead and see a great mass of earth rise from the German lines, and this had a marvellous effect on the men. They at once became cheerful, the Lancashire men especially. “Thar goes a Lloyd George for you,” as the whiz of a heavy shell like an express train overhead was heard. “Bah, he’s a dud.” “Say, Jock, the lassie ’as made ’im forgot to put in the vital spark.” “There goes Fritz’s iron rations” as a salvo of shrapnel burst over the first line. On the whole, however, our artillery retaliation was poor.

About 11-30 the bombardment began to die down, and by 12-30 it was over. The damage done, considering the number of shells fired into such a small sector was very small. Two bays on the right of “B” Company were completely flattened, otherwise there was no damage done to the fire trench. The living trench and communication trenches suffered more. Two of the latter had been knocked in, while the living trench along the company line had been badly battered. One very gruesome effect was noticed. There were a large number of Frenchman’s graves in the parapet of the fire trench, for the French have a habit of burying a man where he falls, whether at his post or not. A hole was opened in the side of the trench, the body was shoved in, and the grave filled up. A little cross surmounted by the dead man’s cap, and often his bayonet and rifle, marking the spot. In places where the fire trench had been hit or shaken many of the remains

stuck out, and in many cases buttons and badges were “souveneered” by the men.

When the bombardment was over Woodgate told me it was the most severe they had experienced since May 8th, at Ypres, and quite an unusual occurrence on that front. Two men were killed and sixteen wounded, very small casualties taking into consideration the intensity of the fire. That night we dug a new trench behind the small sector blown in. There was a full moon, and walking about on top was very interesting. The ground was honeycombed with shell holes, while in all directions unexploded shells were lying about. A trench which had been used by the French for the purpose of burying dead had been unearthed in many places and the ground was littered with old equipment, clothes, and bones. I remember thinking it was the most appalling refuse heap I had ever seen. Next day was very quiet, we began work on the new trench at about 7-30, and I took charge of the three working parties in it. A considerable amount of work had been done the night before, and only a short piece remained to be dug in the centre. At 8-55 I told the men to take a ten minutes “easy” and went up to the left platoon to see one of the Sergeants about rations. I had gone about five minutes when a salvo of “whiz bangs” (77 mm shells) burst right in the trench where the men had been working, and immediately afterwards very heavy rifle fire broke out on our right. The “stand to” was passed down and the rifle fire went on for about half-an-hour, especially in the direction of “C” Company. All had quieted down about 10 o’clock. I then ascertained that a party of Germans had endeavoured to bomb “C” Company’s trenches. A very large number of bombs were thrown, and in all sixteen men were wounded. For their coolness in this attack our men were greatly commended, and one man, Andrew Marshall, of No. 11 platoon, was specially recommended for devotion to duty. Badly wounded in the hand, and unable to use his rifle, he refused to leave the trench, and kept loading rifles for the men on the fire step.

The remainder of our time in the trenches was very quiet. On Sunday, 24th October, we took over the line held by “A” Company King’s Own as a Company the King’s Own going back into support, and the following evening we marched back to our billets in Mailly-Maillet. Our period of instruction had been most useful, for “C” Company in particular. We had experienced a bombardment and a bomb attack in both of which the men had proved their metal, and shown what was in them. As far as the Officers of “C” Company were concerned, those who came in contact with Capt. Woodgate will never forget the lesson they learned from him. “A” and “B” Companies attached to the Essex and South Lancs. Regiments had a quiet time, but “D” Company attached to the Lancs. Fusiliers in the Redan salient had their initiation into mine warfare, a platoon being in the salient when the Germans blew up a mine without, however, causing any loss of life. A good story is here told of Lieutenant W. He was out one night with a small patrol, the pass word being “Shakespeare.” A large German patrol was sighted and W and his patrol had to retire in some haste. W himself fell headlong into a sap on the top of the astonished sentries with the ejaculation “For God’s sake let’s in, Shakespeare.”

We left Mailly early in the morning of October 26th, and marched down through Forceville and Varennes to Puchvillers where we stayed the night. Next day we marched to Fienvillers and went into billets. Fienvillers was a better town than Rubenpre. There were better barns for the men, and for a company headquarters mess we were lucky to get a lovely house standing in its own grounds with bedrooms for each Officer. We now had heard our fate, it was that the 107th Brigade was to go up to the trenches to take the place of the 12th Brigade of the 4th Division, which was coming out and going to be attached to our Division. Our two remaining Brigades were to be in Army reserve for about three months. Our Battalion, with the 14th R.I.R. from the 109th Brigade, was attached to the 12th Brigade under General Auley, taking the[Pg 29]
[Pg 30] places of the Essex Regiment attached to the 109th Brigade, and Lancashire Fusiliers attached to the 108th. We joined the 12th Brigade at St. Leger-les-Domarts on the 5th November, the King’s Own being billeted in the same town. We now began a new and extensive system of training, both in march discipline and attack. General Auley, during the first week that we were in his Brigade gave the Officers a series of lectures on the retreat from Mons and the subsequent advance to the Marne. We heard the story from his own personal point of view, which made it a fascinating narrative rather than a tactical lecture. During the five weeks in which we were attached to his Brigade we obtained much practical and useful knowledge. In march discipline, especially, we improved greatly. We were taught that the most men can do with comfort is 112 paces to the minute. The pace was set from the rear and not from the head of the column. Company Commanders riding at the rear of their Companies were made to check the pace. The utmost importance was paid to keeping in step, and keeping the sectors of fours well dressed and well covered down. The rifle was carried at the sling, never over the shoulder, the reason for this being that men, when they get tired, will let their butts drop, and keeping hitting the man in the sector of fours behind, thus causing loss of space in the section, in the Company, and so on down to the Brigade and Division on the march. We did many long route marches, and the General used to hide in all sorts of weird places to watch us go past, and take us unawares.

ST LEGER