INTRODUCTION
A few words on the manner in which the story of the 1st Battalion was written will not be out of place, and may help to explain the delay in producing the book and the obvious errors of omission which have been committed.
When the Battalion went to France two diaries were kept at headquarters—the War Diary, in which were recorded all the military exploits of the Battalion, and the Regimental Diary, which contained all the “personal gossip” in the Regiment, as well as accounts of tours in the front line. This Regimental Diary was started by Capt. Parish, who was then Adjutant, with the idea that it should be printed and published at the end of the war. But owing to frequent changes in the personnel of Battalion Headquarters, the book was not kept up to date, and there are, in consequence, several big gaps in its pages. It was finally closed early in 1918, when Colonel Segrave decided that as the keeping of two diaries entailed a certain amount of duplication of work, the War Diary should, in future, be a complete record of the history of the Battalion. From that time, therefore, the War Diary contained every item of interest to the Battalion, including such details as the names of the members of football teams and the artistes at Battalion concerts.
With these two books, therefore, I began in the winter of 1919 to collect material for a history. A committee was formed, on which I tried to get a representative of each Company and Specialist Section, and here I should like to acknowledge my indebtedness to these gentlemen, each one of whom has taken an active interest in the preparation of the book:—R. H. Burden, D.C.M., R. G. Callingham, S. L. Clements, E. Cooke, D.C.M., C. Ibbett, M.M., F. A. Lewis, M.M., R. H. Maddocks, F. C. Robertson, D.C.M., G. M. Sladden and R. C. Sugars, D.C.M.
In addition C.S.M. T. P. Brett, M.C., and Sergeant C. M. A. Tucker were kind enough to place at my disposal a book of notes, letters, and extracts from private diaries which they had collected, dealing with the first year of the career of the Battalion in France. Sergeant Tucker has been most energetic throughout in his efforts to collect further material and to improve the crude story which I presented to the committee.
The story was written in instalments and so read to the committee, who criticised it and amended it, and it was then typed by Sergeant Tucker. The typed copy was then circulated among different members of the committee, who suggested further amendments, and the result is now presented to the Regiment as a simple record of the outstanding features of life in the 1st Civil Service Rifles in France.
I am fully conscious that there are grave omissions, notably in respect to paragraphs of appreciation of individuals. There are many more members deserving of special mention than appear in these pages, but I have included all who were brought to my notice and who, in my opinion, played a prominent part in the success of the Battalion. At the same time there are some whom I have missed, and to avoid doing these an injustice it was at one time suggested that all references to individuals should be cut out, but there are some who played such a big part in our history that no story of the Battalion would be nearly complete without mention of them.
As to the literary style and arrangement of the book, I am told by one of my critics that it is dull and lifeless, and that the descriptions of battles are not sufficiently picturesque. My only reply is that I have aimed at an accurate description rather than at a highly coloured style, and I hope my critics will bear in mind that, prior to this effort, I have never attempted anything more ambitious in the literary line than a love letter.
In addition to members of the committee the following members of the Regiment have very kindly written contributions:—G. C. G. Andrews, C. E. Bassett, E. De Ath, C. N. Burdock, C. Manthorpe, L. C. Morris, M.C., V. Stewart, J. H. Swain, and W. G. Skillern. To these gentlemen I should like to express my grateful appreciation.
February, 1921. Paul Davenport.
CHAPTER I
“17TH OF MARCH MEN”
At the annual dinner in London on St. Patrick’s Day the survivors of those who constituted the original 1st Battalion of the Civil Service Rifles commemorate the historic day on which the Regiment first sent a Battalion on active service—the 17th of March, 1915.
It was hardly realised when that Battalion went to France that it would soon become the highest of distinctions in the Regiment to be described as a “17th of March man,” but this distinction is fully recognised now, and he is a much envied man who has the right to attend the Annual Commemoration Dinner.[10]
[10] This dinner was instituted on the 17th March, 1916, in the Reserve Battalion Camp at Hazeley Down, Winchester, where already a number of the originals who had been wounded, had returned. To Captain G. C. Grimsdale fell the honour of taking the chair at the first of these functions, which it was decided should be held annually so long as any “17th of March men” should live to attend them.
There were about 1,100 all ranks who, after eagerly awaiting, during seven long months of training, the summons to join the B. E. F. in France, achieved their ambition on St. Patrick’s Day, 1915, and entrained at Watford in the early hours of the morning. Throughout their stay in Watford, where they had been billeted since November, 1914, they had received the warmest hospitality, and it is not surprising, therefore, that their pride in going to the front was tinged with regret at leaving such good friends.
After a roundabout journey, Southampton was reached at 11.0 a.m., and the Battalion had to confine itself for the rest of the day to a few hundred yards of quay, impatiently awaiting embarkation, which was not carried out till dusk. Four boats were used—the Balmoral, City of Chester, Jupiter and Munich—boats used in the piping times of peace for pleasure trips along the coast. There were no bands playing, no cheering crowds, but just three or four bored officials, embarkation officers, and dock policemen. Thus the 1st Civil Service Rifles,[11] under the command of Lieut. Colonel A. M. Renny, left England, having on board the four boats thirty officers, 1,046 other ranks, and 78 horses.
[11] See Appendix for list of officers.
In addition, Captain H. B. Farquhar had taken a small advance party some days earlier.
On the whole the Civil Service Rifles were not favourably impressed with Havre where the battalion disembarked at about 9.0 a.m. on the 18th of March, the chief disappointment, perhaps, being that there were little or no signs of the Great War. No welcoming crowds of pretty French girls were there to meet them, and almost unnoticed they marched through the town and up the hill which led to the camp above Harfleur. Here the troops, perspiring after the steep climb, in what they thought was full marching order, learnt that there were many more things for the unfortunate Infantry soldier to carry in France. Winter clothing was issued, and although it was very welcome on that bitterly cold afternoon, the weight of it made everyone look forward with more than usual keenness to the coming of Spring.
A bitterly cold night was spent in the tents, and at 3.0 p.m. on the following day, the Battalion made its first acquaintance with the troop trains of the B. E. F.—the men’s compartments of which bore the now familiar legend:—
| Chevaux (en long) | 8 |
| Hommes | 37-40 |
Lieutenant A. Roberts and fifty-nine other ranks had to be left behind as a first reinforcement—an arrangement made by a thoughtful G. H. Q. to ensure that the whole of the Civil Service Rifles should not be wiped out in their first battle.
After a most wearisome journey, lasting twenty-four hours, the Battalion detrained at the little station of Berguette.
The march from Berguette to the billets in the village of Cauchy a la Tour was an ordeal never to be forgotten by those who suffered it. Fifteen miles on pavè roads, in full marching order with a blanket in addition, tested to the uttermost men who were already fatigued by the extreme discomfort of the cattle train. But Cauchy was reached, without loss, at midnight, and to the consternation of all ranks, no trace could be found of the billeting party or of the billets. This was indeed a bitter blow to the exhausted troops, who settled down in the main street, and began to wonder whether they had to march still further, for there were no signs of life in Cauchy. The situation was eventually saved by waking up M. le Maire, on whom, it is said, Lieutenant Carlisle so successfully tried his French that billets were found after the Battalion had been waiting in the road for two hours. Some say the straw was clean, others say it was otherwise, but it mattered little that night. Any place was good enough, provided the troops could be left to sleep in peace.
It is believed that after the billeting party had left Havre, the destination of the 47th Division was changed, and the Civil Service Rifles were already at St. Omer before any message reached the billeting party, who did not arrive at Cauchy until about twenty-four hours after the Battalion was billeted.
The Battalion trained, somewhat impatiently, for three whole weeks at Cauchy a la Tour. The troops, it must be admitted, were bored with it, as would appear from the following description in a letter home:—
“The village is in the middle of a flat colliery district. The northern horizon is filled with great hills of slag from the mines—like Egyptian pyramids, whence comes an eternal shrill whistle. The well in the market square from which we draw our water is 100 feet deep, and it is difficult to get near the bucket for the crush of civilians and khaki. The women are mostly fat and sans corsets. They sell French papers and herald their approach with a toot of a horn. Mud carts are drawn by dogs. Horses can be seen working treadmills. The constant stream of motor lorries bringing food stores to the front passes along the highway. We hear the distant boom of big guns—a famous part of the firing line is 18 miles away. But the preponderant thought with us all is ‘Where is this bloody war?’”
On the 22nd of March, the Battalion was inspected by Field-Marshal Sir John French, accompanied by General Sir Douglas Haig and General Sir Chas. Munro. The Commander-in-Chief’s remark “The men are splendid” was afterwards reproduced in large type on the Civil Service Recruiting Posters in London underneath a photograph of Sergeant G. L. Eager, looking very much at home in a trench.
The first Civil Service Rifles Sports Meeting in France took place in a small rough field in Cauchy a la Tour, on the afternoon of the 28th March. The following account of it is taken from the Regimental Diary:—
“The events included 500 yards—winner, Private L. P. Winter, of ‘D’ Company; 250 yards (Sergeants)—Sergeant Rathbone (a dark horse) ‘thrown in’ with 20 yards start; 250 yards (officers)—Captain and Adjutant F. W. Parish 1st, Captain W. F. K. Newson 2nd; Second Lieutenant Benké 3rd. Inter-Company tug-of-war—‘A’ Company beat ‘B’ Company on the third pull. Officers three-legged race—Second Lieutenants Benké and Stevens easy winners. Lieutenants Chalmers and Carlisle next. Inter-Company team race (1 officer, 20 other ranks)—‘B’ Company 1st, ‘D’ Company 2nd. Inspection of Officers’ chargers and also of transport horses for best turnout; two races of 250 yards for ‘visitors’—the small boys of the village who also participated in scrambles for small change. Obstacle race, where one obstacle proved too much for all but six starters—Lance-Corporal Cocky Oliver 1st; Lance-Corporal H. Battersby 2nd; Lance-Corporal W. J. Irving 3rd. The Commanding Officer afterwards distributed prizes to the winners. Much amusement caused by their nature. We had broken away from the salad bowl, tea spoon and tobacco cabinets, etc. and substituted packets of chocolate, tinned fruit, tins of sardines, box of candles (though Cauchy is illuminated throughout by electricity), and, for officers, tins of dubbin and bully beef tin openers.“
It may, perhaps, be remarked that all the winners at this Sports Meeting mentioned in the Regimental Diary have survived the war—with the sad exception of Lieutenant R. Chalmers.
The only other incident of note during the training at Cauchy was the visit to the Division of the Bishop of London, who, according to the Regimental Diary, was touring the back areas. His Lordship preached to the 140th Brigade on the 29th of March, but the only comment that can be found is that “We had to wear our heavy packs and were kept waiting for some time.”
On the last day at Cauchy, the 6th of April, news was received of the first death in the Battalion on active service. Private W. E. Little of “D” Company, who had left the Battalion on the 4th, suffering from cerebro spinal meningitis, having died in hospital at St. Omer. Thus the 17th of March men had already lost one man before they reached the firing line.
CHAPTER II
GIVENCHY AND FESTUBERT
On the 7th of April the Battalion left for Bethune and the forward area. The villagers gave the men a very hearty send-off, for the Civil Service Rifles had thoroughly captured the hearts of all at Cauchy, who had done their best to fête their heroes overnight.
After sleepy Cauchy, Bethune was voted top hole. The shops in the old town were quite Parisian, and every one indulged in dainty but unsatisfying gateaux and steaming bowls of hot chocolate. For the bon viveurs there were excellent dinners in the ancient Hotel du Nord; for the artistic the delicate traceries in the fine old church.
Bethune already showed some scars of the war, and the building in which the Battalion was housed, Le College des Jeunes Filles, had lost most of its windows, but otherwise it made a comfortable billet. Here Lieutenant A. Roberts arrived with thirty other ranks from the Base—evidently O.C. Reinforcements thought it was high time the Civil Service Rifles suffered some casualties. On the following day the Civil Service Rifles made its first acquaintance with the trenches. “A” and “B” Companies were detailed for working parties in support trenches, while to “D” Company fell the honour of being the first Civil Service Rifle Company to go into the front line. It was the good fortune of the Battalion to be initiated in the mysteries of trench warfare by the 4th (Guards) Brigade, and the arrangement was that each Company should go in for twenty-four hours “under instruction” before the battalion held a section of the line alone. “D” Company accordingly joined the 2nd Coldstream and survived their twenty-four hours without loss, but the first battle casualties in the Battalion were suffered by “B” Company, who, with “A” Company, were returning from their working party at Cuinchy, when Privates W. Bartram and H. H. Russell were wounded by a rifle bullet, which passed through the thigh of one man and hit the calf of the other. It is said that the wounded men were deeply concerned on two accounts—they had seen no Germans either alive or dead, and it was pay day and they had not drawn their pay!
There is no doubt that this first visit to the front line was productive of a sense of disappointment. War had, till then, been regarded as a glorious thing, a thing of bugles and flashing bayonets, of courage in hand-to-hand encounters, and above all, of excitement. But this first experience showed it to be a thing of drab monotony, of dull routine, of the avoidance of being killed, of an invisible enemy. And so the letters of these days, which were to have been of enthralling interest, were, instead, just catalogues of the minor duties and details of trench life. Among them, however, is one that cannot but prove of subtle humour to the infantryman of later years—1916 and onwards. An extract is here reproduced.
“You should see the R.E. out in front mending the barbed wire—and when a flare goes up, dropping instantly and looking like sandbags, to be up and working like mad as soon as darkness ensues again—cool beggars they are—odd bullets flying all the time.”
On the other hand, R. W. Softly’s account of the first journey up to the line would not make the soldier of 1918 envy the man of 1915:—
“‘B’ Company had come provided with all kinds of supplies—firewood in abundance—and tied on to most of the packs was a ‘grand pain.’ Though man may live on bread alone I defy him to live solely on Army biscuit. We certainly thought we had reached the limit as beasts of burden, but as we waited at the first communication trench, some Guardsmen passed by. Instead of our modest bundles of firewood, they carried enormous tree branches. Half of them possessed frying pans or braziers, and many of them carried a pair of rubber trench boots so hung round the neck that it looked as if they were carrying on their shoulders a limp individual whose head and trunk were missing. When I add that they also carried picks and shovels, you will understand if we were inclined to regard them as a race of supermen as they filed past us in the setting sun.”
An important event was the taking-over by the whole Battalion, on the 13th of April, of a sector of the line—the real thing at last! Here, indeed, was an event to set the many scribes of the Battalion busy. Of all the experiences of the war, probably none made such a vivid and lasting impression on all ranks in the Regiment, and certainly none was more fully written up by the members as this first tour in the firing line of a Battalion of the Civil Service Rifles. In the light of after events in the war, it was a very quiet and peaceful tour, and probably much the same as the initial experience of many other Battalions, but it was none the less the realisation of all that these men had been training for since the outbreak of war, so it is small wonder that no detail was omitted, so far as the censorship regulations allowed, from the hundreds of descriptive letters sent home at this time. Probably all of them described how the Battalion paraded in Bethune (the names of places are included here, though they were doubtless suitably disguised in those letters home) in full marching order, wearing greatcoats, on the afternoon of April 13th, 1915, and marched via the village of Beuvry to the La Bassée Canal, the latter part of the march being by platoons at 100 yards distance. Here was the old familiar “artillery formation” in real life at last!
Even the landmarks along the side of the Canal received their share of attention, and mention is made of the two pontoon bridges, between which at one point the stiff hind legs of a horse stuck out of the water, of the broken telegraph wires along the Canal bank, and of the ruined buildings just short of Windy Corner, where the mile-long, narrow, winding, brick-paved communication trenches were entered. These had homely names—“Cheyne Walk,” “Battersea Road,” “City Road,” and the dug-outs had such names as “St. Albans Villa,” “Le Petit Riche,” “Funland,” and so on.
Of the many trying journeys of an infantry battalion, none is worse than the “hesitation march” along a communication trench. The floor of the trench is uneven and is full of holes, there are numerous obstructions across the top, causing the weary soldier to go down almost on all fours; there are numerous momentary halts for no apparent reason, and whenever the party does seem to get moving, sure enough the cry will come along, “lost touch in rear.” A few muttered curses as the troops sink down on the bottom of the trench to await the word “all up in rear” when another start is made. It is now found that they have lost touch in front, and the leading men are going “all out” to catch up.
The communication trench leading to the front line at Givenchy was apparently no exception to the rule, as will be gathered from the following account:
“It takes half an hour to trudge up to the firing line, and, if in rear of the platoon, it is exceedingly difficult to keep in touch. No matter how desperately you strive to catch up, the pack of the man in front is always just on the point of disappearing round the corner. Stray shots whizz past from time to time....”
The perspiring troops, having negotiated the communication trench, arrived at last in the front line at Givenchy, and the Battalion relieved the 1st Herts Regiment in the sector known officially as B1, but better known as the Duck’s Bill.
The frontage held was about 400 yards, and the front line was about half a mile in front of Battalion Headquarters and the Battalion Reserve.
Two Companies, “B” and “D,” occupied the front line, and “A” and “C” were in reserve in the ruined houses of Givenchy on both sides of the canal. The village post office was used as Battalion Headquarters with the Signal Station in the cellar.
The tour was a distinctly peaceful and uneventful one, which later on would scarcely have been mentioned in a letter home, but the regimental diary describes it in detail and tells how, after a quiet day, things livened up at night and in the reserve billets “a curious sound is heard every few seconds—smack, smack, as bullets spend themselves on the walls around. These are probably fired by the Germans at our fellows in the trenches, and, going high, hit the houses at a height of perhaps ten feet from the ground. Others, however, are probably fired from fixed rifles at gaps where we are supposed to pass frequently—along the bridge and other places, and a lucky shot might catch one of us. At nine o’clock we are startled by a tremendous explosion. It is one of our big guns, nicknamed ‘Little Willie,’ on a railway mounting. It moves along the railway by the canal, and after firing four or five rounds it wisely goes home.”
The Companies changed round on the second day, and in the evening of the third day the Battalion was relieved by the 1st Herts Regiment, and returned to the college at Bethune. The troops now felt they were real soldiers, though doubtless some were surprised to find that they could spend three days in the line without seeing a German. The only unpleasant feature in an otherwise very satisfactory forty-eight hours in the line was the casualty just before the relief to Private R. Pulman, of “D” Company, who was badly wounded in the head by a bullet. Private Pulman died in hospital in Bethune the following day, and his platoon attended the funeral.
The only other casualties were also in “D” Company—Sergeant G. F. Anderson and Private I. Spielman—both wounded.
The novelty of front line trenches had not yet worn off, and having had a not unpleasant taste of trench life, the troops were quite keen to go in again. So it is recorded that “We had heard a rumour that after doing our forty-eight hours in the trenches we were to return to Cauchy, so we are now pleased when we hear that we are to go again to the trenches to-day (the 19th of April)”.
The second trip to the line was very much like the first one, but on the first morning the Battalion lost one who for many years had served with great distinction. Private A. E. Snellgrove, of “B” Company, who was killed outright by a bullet through the head, had been a crack shot in the Regiment as long ago as the Volunteer days. Although he had left the Regiment some time before the war, he was one of the first men to rejoin in August, 1914. A quiet, modest and unassuming fellow, Private Snellgrove had many friends in the Regiment, to whom his death came as a great shock. He was buried in the Guards’ Cemetery at Givenchy.
The Battalion was holding a section of the line immediately north of the previous sector, and the area now held included what was known as the “Keep” at Givenchy. This was an old farm building with a courtyard in which the Guards had made a flower bed, which they called St. James’s Park. Here were regimental badges of various Guards Regiments worked in box or privet hedging. Not to be outdone, the Civil Service Rifles planted their crest in privet hedging alongside the others.
Two days in this sector, one day’s respite in billets at Le Preol, and then two more days in the former sector B1, brought to a close the first experience of the 140th Infantry Brigade in holding the front line, for on the 24th of April the Brigade was relieved and the Civil Service Rifles marched via Beuvry, Bethune and Chocques to rest billets at the village of La Beuvrière—a village a little larger than Cauchy and a little more pleasantly situated.
The village lay between two well-wooded uplands. Companies were billeted in small farms by the side of main roads and the men slept warmly on straw of suspicious character. As often as not there was a pigsty next door. Battalion Headquarters was in a house in the square next the grey old monastery—then used as a hospital. The parade ground was down the hill over the railway, bounded on one side by a swift-flowing brook good for a dip after a game of football. A favourite morning’s training was to steer a way by compass through the thick undergrowth of a wood, six square miles in area, to the east of the village.
The troops now felt quite familiar with the trenches, and were glad to have an opportunity of talking over their experiences in the comparative comfort of the estaminets. As there had been no further casualties there was a fairly cheerful atmosphere to greet the remainder of the first reinforcement—twenty-eight N.C.O.’s and men who joined from Havre on the 27th of April. The Battalion had, however, lost a good many men through sickness—an outbreak of measles being the chief cause. Already two officers, Lieutenants Radice and Benké, had returned to England through sickness, and, in addition, 2nd Lieutenant F. J. Smith, “A” Company, was so badly injured in a football match at La Beuvrière on the 2nd of May against the Post Office Rifles, that he had to return to England. The loss of Frank Smith was keenly felt in the Battalion, of which he had been a member since 1906. As a sergeant in “B” Company he was very popular, both with his brother N.C.O.’s and with the men. He was a thorough sportsman in every way, and his appointment to a commission in the Regiment only about a month before was very popular with all ranks.
It was while at La Beuvrière that the Battalion received for each Company a travelling kitchen. Hitherto cooking had been done in the camp kettle, or “dixie,” and there had been very little variety in the meals. After a long march, there was always a tedious waiting for meals, but the “Company Cooker” was to revolutionise that, for dinners could be cooked on the march—and what is more, they were. So the infantryman salutes the inventor of the “Company Cooker.”
After nearly a fortnight’s rest the Division went back to war, and the Civil Service Rifles, pausing for one night in very dirty reserve billets at the village of Gorre, found themselves on the 9th of May on the fringe, as it were, of the battle of Festubert, where they were holding the intermediate line of breastworks, behind the 6th London Regiment.
Although Festubert was not a battle of such magnitude as the operations of 1916 and later, it was an event of no small importance at the time. The first attack was delivered on the 9th of May with the object, ultimately, of gaining the Aubers Ridge—which dominates Lille and La Bassée. The battle went on intermittently for some days and in the end was not successful.
But although the Battalion held a kind of “watching brief” during this battle, recollections of Festubert are not by any means pleasant. The ground was so marshy that it was impossible to dig trenches, and the line hereabouts was held by a series of sandbagged barricades, approached by two roads (Willow Road and Yellow Road) devoid of any kind of cover. Having negotiated these roads, the men of the front line of barricades were little, if any, better off than those in support at the so-called Welsh Chapel, while the Reserve Company “billets” between Welsh Chapel and Le Plantin could not be called healthy.
It was at Festubert that the Battalion first became acquainted with the realities of war, and although the men were employed practically throughout in holding the line, burying the dead, and on working and carrying parties, with a little patrol work thrown in, there were many gallant deeds done, and at the same time many gallant fellows were lost.
The most vivid impression of Festubert is associated with the enormous number of dead, who were not only lying about the ground, but in some places actually formed the barricades. It was often necessary for the members of burying parties to wear the primitive gas masks, and it was here that “Paddy” Brett, the C.S.M. of “D” Company, a man in his forty-third year, smoked for the first time in his life.
The actual number of dead buried by the Civil Service Rifles in this area is not known, but a very reasonable estimate puts it at 350 in three days.
The survivors of “B” Company, in particular, have most unpleasant recollections of the night when they had to crawl over piles of corpses in order to go forward to occupy an advanced position.
Among other incidents of Festubert, mention should be made of the scouting and patrolling done almost nightly by 2nd Lieutenants W. E. Ind and F. F. Trembath, Sergeant B. K. Ware, Lance-Corporal G. C. G. Andrews, and Privates R. W. Kelley and T. Taylor. The work of patrolling No Man’s Land was not at this time so simple and commonplace as it became later on, and the patrolling done by these men is mentioned specially, not because it was the first time it had been done in the Battalion, but because more than at any other time it was done in earnest, and was productive of really useful information.
But although the first day of the battle was uneventful so far as the Civil Service Rifles were concerned, it must not be imagined that no fighting at all was done at Festubert. For it was here that the first decorations for gallantry in the field were awarded to men of the Battalion. On the night of the 25th of May, eight bombers were sent to the assistance of the Post Office Rifles in an attempt to clear a trench. After a stubborn fight the position was captured, but of the eight bombers only four returned alive, and two of these were wounded. The excellent work of these four was recognised by the award to each of them of the D.C.M. These were thus the first members of the Regiment to receive decorations in this war:—
Private W. H. Brantom, “B” Co.
Private H. Harris, “A” Co.
Private S. Lawrence, “C” Co.
Private S. W. Mills, “A” Co.
The four who were killed were Privates W. S. Curtis, “B” Company; A. J. F. Tracey, “D” Company; P. A. L. Madell, “D” Company; and A. N. Sharp, “C” Company.
On the same night Lieutenant R. Chalmers, known affectionately as “Cissie,” was in charge of a working party of “B” Company digging in No Man’s Land, when he had occasion to take out a small patrol. He came across a party of bombers of the Post Office Rifles who were short of bayonet men. Without a moment’s hesitation, Lieutenant Chalmers picked up a rifle and bayonet from a man who had become a casualty, and joining the bombers, rallied them on the parapet to resist an enemy “rush.” He was soon in the thick of the fight and, while gallantly leading this party of strangers, he received two bullet wounds which afterwards proved fatal. Like the unselfish fellow he had always been, he ordered the stretcher-bearers to attend to the other wounded first. When he himself was afterwards carried back, he died in hospital at the village of Chocques.
It is difficult indeed to do justice to Lieutenant Chalmers. He had only just joined the Regiment when war broke out, but from the first he proved himself a real enthusiast, thoroughly unselfish, and ever ready to volunteer for any work—however unpleasant. He became a great favourite with the N.C.O.’s and men who served under him, and his death was keenly felt by his many friends in the Regiment. He had already been commended by the Commanding Officer for good work in the front line on three occasions, and his behaviour at the time when he was mortally wounded was typical of one of the bravest fellows any Battalion could wish for.
The 25th of May was indeed a bad day for the Battalion for, in addition to Lieutenant Chalmers and the bombers before mentioned, many of the stalwarts were killed or wounded on that day. Captain A. E. Trembath,[12] O.C. “C” Company, who had served with great distinction in the South African War, was killed in helping one of his wounded officers (Lieutenant F. C. Olliff). It was an unfortunate affair for “C” Company, who also lost old friends in Lance-Sergeant J. Smith (killed) and Lieutenant A. C. Bull (wounded) at the same time. “C” Company having already lost more than their share of old stagers in this area could ill afford to lose any of these, and another who had had long service in the Company was Lance-Corporal Battersby—well known for his football and long distance running—who was so severely wounded on the 17th of May that he lost an eye.
[12] Captain Allen Edward Trembath, born 22nd October, 1879, joined 12th Middlesex before the Boer War, transferred to Middlesex Yeomanry, 1899. South Africa mentioned in despatches, D.C.M.; later, wounded and invalided. Granted commission Middlesex Yeomanry; returned to South Africa till end of war. 1914 rejoined Civil Service Rifles, later taking a commission.
The “C” Company losses by no means exhaust the Battalion’s chapter of accidents, for “B” Company lost one of the finest men in the Battalion in Lance-Corporal G. S. Scarr, who died on the 26th of May in hospital at Chocques from wounds received on the previous night. Lance Corporal Scarr was well known throughout the Battalion for many years for his pure unselfishness and nobility of character. He was a man who always played for his side and not for himself.
It was at Chocques, too, that Lieutenant H. R. E. Clark, the Battalion Machine Gun Officer, died of wounds received on the 24th of May. He had joined the Battalion soon after the outbreak of war, and had quickly won the confidence and respect of the men whom he led so well. The loss of Lieutenant Clark was a particularly sad blow for his father, Lieutenant and Quartermaster W. H. D. Clark, who for many years had been such an enthusiastic worker for the good of the Regiment. The hearts of all ranks went out to him in sincere sympathy in his very sad bereavement.
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(Photo by Hennigan, Watford). W. H. BRANTOM, D.C.M. 1st Batt. | (Photo by Coles, Watford). CAPT. ALLEN EDWARD TREMBATH, D.C.M. D.C.M., South Africa, 1900. | (Copy by Plâté). LIEUT. ROBERT CHALMERS. |
To face page 66. | ||
Amid so many bitter memories it is good to have one incident of an amusing nature, and the story of the capture by “B” Company, assisted by a platoon of “D” Company, of what became known afterwards as “Civil Service Trench,” affords the one note of comic relief in the dismal story of Festubert. The gallant charge was led at dead of night by Major H. V. Warrender (who was then commanding “B” Company), ably supported by the veteran Robb, who was in charge of the Company Officer’s Mess. Robb, it is said, was armed with a Primus stove, but it is not known whether this was meant for a miniature flammenwerfer attack or whether it was to ensure a hot meal for his Company Commander on arrival at the objective! Any hopes of V.C.’s in the Company were doomed to disappointment, for the trench when reached was found to be deserted, save by the few corpses that had been left behind. So at last an operation was undertaken without a casualty, and shortly after this the merry (!) month of May came to an end, and the Battalion said good-bye to Festubert—the land of mud, blood and stench!
CHAPTER III
A “BON WAR”
The inhabitants of the little mining village of Les Brebis displayed little or no surprise when they were called from their beds in the middle of the night to greet the Civil Service Rifles on their arrival from Sailly Labourse—another mining village where a peaceful week had been spent after Festubert.
The natives of Les Brebis were now quite accustomed to being awakened at all hours of the night to receive new lodgers, for their houses were the billets of the Battalion in reserve to the front line at Grenay and Maroc, near by.
The heat during the day of the 7th of June had been of the real midsummer variety, and it was little better at night, when the march from Sailly Labourse took place. It was not a long march, but the troops were very thankful when it ended, for they found their equipment very heavy on that hot June night.
Les Brebis had had a most extraordinary experience during the war. Here was a village only about two miles from the front line, practically untouched, and fully inhabited with civilians who still went about their daily round as in pre-war times. The mines were still being worked, and an excellent bathing place was found under the water tower of the electric light works.
The men were billeted for the first time in France in close billets, six men on an average sleeping on the small attic floors of the miners’ cottages. The miners and their families were very friendly disposed towards the Civil Service Rifles to judge from the scribe who says:
“Mesdames were very good to us and cooked the delicacies we purchased in the town with the utmost care. There was a barrel of beer in almost every billet, and veal cutlets, cut thin and ‘done to a turn,’ with pommes de terre frites, egg salad and stewed fruit made a favourite meal. Indeed, a French housewife, whose mari was having a hard time in the Vosges on a couple of sous a day expressed her conviction in a burst of confidence that ‘English soldat do no work and eat too much.’”
The early months of the summer of 1915 were passed very pleasantly in this mining district without any event of importance.
The front line was well furnished with various home comforts taken from the almost deserted village of Maroc, the enemy was some distance away, there was little shelling and there were very few casualties. Indeed it was, after Festubert, very much in the nature of a picnic. No Man’s Land was a field of waving corn, with scarlet poppies and blue cornflowers to complete the rural scene. New potatoes and other fresh vegetables, red currants and gooseberries could be picked in abundance from the gardens near the trenches, and there are men who claim to have slipped away from the line to a neighbouring estaminet “to have a quick one” between their turns of sentry duty in the line.
The chief enemy was the ferocious fly, which, according to one victim, “crawled under our clothes, down our backs, between our eyelids and into our mouths and ears. Over one dug-out a wit had inscribed Itch Den (Ich Dien) below the Prince of Wales’s feathers, testifying to the fact that we were now not only doing our bit but being well bitten in the process.”
More than one scribbler relieved the monotony of trench routine by recording this phase of the Great War in his diary:
“‘The chief fatigues,’ according to Loxdale, ‘were sand-bagging, water fetching and dug-out digging, and the game in connection with them all was to dodge them. This was generally effected by never being about when fatigues were going. Other methods which still worked occasionally were preoccupation with imaginary duties, profound slumber, or serious indisposition at the psychological moment.’”
A night fatigue was humorously described by Beatty as follows:
“To the uninitiated who have only witnessed the carrying of a plank along the King’s highway, plank-carrying may appear, at first sight, a very humdrum occupation. But when two men endeavour to negotiate the twists and turns of a tortuous trench—some alliteration, what!—bearing on their shoulders a 12 ft. plank, the possibilities are endless.
“It was a beautiful summer night: the stars were starring in the heavens as is their wont: the poppies on the parapet were gaily popping and Ebo Smith and I were lying in the trench bottom wrapped in slumber, overcoats and waterproof sheets.
“Suddenly we were rudely awakened by the raucous voice of an N.C.O. exclaiming, ‘Five men wanted for fatigue.’ We told him ‘Yes,’ and went to sleep again. But it was no use. He kept on chanting in a dismal monotone:
“‘Five men from No. 2 are wanted for fatigue,’ and we had perforce to rise and follow him. After wandering for some distance, we reached a pile of planks which we had to carry, and this is where the fun started.
“The diabolical malice of things inanimate is well known. The propensity for bread-and-butter to fall face downwards on the best Brussels carpet, and the elusive gambols of the wily collar stud are everyday occurrences; but for absolutely fiendish cunning commend me to a 12 ft. plank.
“We had not gone more than one hundred yards along the trench before my rifle got between my legs and the piling-swivel caught in my puttee. I, naturally enough, leant the plank on the parapet and bent down to unfasten my leg. This was the opportunity for which the plank, having lulled us into a false sense of security by its apparent docility, was waiting. With diabolical malice it leapt from the parapet and smote me on the back of the head. As there were no stretcher-bearers in the neighbourhood I quickly recovered, and we proceeded on our pilgrimage.
“Ere long we arrived at an exceedingly sharp turn, the projecting piece being made of sandbags. We were just thinking of sitting down to discuss the matter when one of the men in the traverse came to our aid. Poor lad! He didn’t know that plank.
“‘We’ll shove it over the top,’” quoth he! and, seizing one end, leapt lightly to the top of the pile of sandbags ere we could warn him.
“His retribution was swift. The pile of sandbags collapsed, our good Samaritan was hurled through the air, the plank swung round and hit him on the head, while the avalanche of sandbags buried Ebo Smith. I dug Ebo out. We thanked our friend, hoped we hadn’t upset him, and left him seated and thinking deeply amidst the debris of this ruined traverse.
“Whether the plank had satiated its lust for blood or whether it was again a case of the triumph of mind over matter, I know not, but it gave us no more trouble, and we returned to our slumber glowing with self-satisfaction at the thought of work well done.”
These long spells of trench life gave splendid opportunities for letter writing, and P. J. Tickle, in one of his letters, tells how the Battalion thus early had experience of the guide who got lost—a bitter experience which became all too common later on.
“After three days at Le Philosophe we wended our weary way to the beginning of the small French communication trench, where we picked up a guide from the battalion we were relieving. Did I say ‘Guide.’ By all the gods man ever swore by, but he was no guide. Before reaching the support line there is only one turning—newly cut by the British and perhaps the narrowest I have ever cursed about. This guide managed to get us a mile down it before discovering his mistake. We didn’t half laugh. It’s an hour’s hard pushing to achieve such a distance through such a trench in full marching order. Not satisfied with having lost his way, he endeavoured to make up for lost time, and finished the course an easy first with the rest of us breathless and knocked, straggling at wide intervals....”
So the summer wore on, the war being so quiet that it was not uncommon for the Battalion to remain sixteen days in the front line without relief. One tour was very much like another, and the following by Irving is an excellent description of a typical relief and march to billets.
“24th July, 1915.
“Hurrah! Hurrah!! Hurray!!! I’m clean! clean! clean! Also lice free! Oh, it is simply great!
“After a second stay of 16 days we left the firing line on the night of the 22nd in the usual downpour. These affairs are rather impressive in a way. Let us try to give you an idea.
“First of all, there’s the packing up and the cleaning of the trench and dug-out for the new-comers. Then the long wait, each man in his firing position, for the relief. Then the crushing past the full laden crowds in the narrow trench.
“Then the long winding, never ending, communication trench with its slippery floor, treacherous holes and deep muttered oaths in the caressing whisper of the drizzle and the soft darkness. Till you emerge into the quiet deserted streets of the cemetery-like town, cross the main road, enter the twisted iron gates and pass up the dark avenue of trees—a long, black line of dirty, merry warriors. Now you’re within the shadow of the ruined church, fit place for poets to weep. There it is outlined against the flying clouds, its jagged grey tower, its dead clock always pointing at ten to two—and the huge gaping black wounds in its sides. As you pass, the edifice is lit up grotesquely and ghostlike by the pale light of a distant trench flare, and you catch a fleeting glimpse of the ruined interior where now the rude winds roar over the heaps of debris and round the tottering pillars and broken altar making sport of all these sacred things long held dear by so many—the whole an eloquent and terrifying protest against the God-defying Hun!
“Then you go out into the wind-swept plain, following the line of broken telegraph poles, dodging stray wires and shell holes—the long, dark, single file—trudging, silent and sodden. Till at last you reach the warm shadows of the village with its odd lights veiled, and at the far end our farm billet with its clean straw and a dry and dreamless slumber.
“That was the night before last.
“Yesterday was a good day’s work. I cleaned up everything I had, equipment and kit, and with wild glee flung myself into washing all my underclothes, socks and handkerchiefs, and drying them, for it was a washing day to gladden Mother’s heart. And to crown all, a starko behind the yellow stack—free, unfettered and with an unlimited supply of water. One of God’s most wonderful creations. How we worshipped it body and soul. Oh, the glory of it! To be clean again is great! Great!!!! We sang and danced and ran and jumped and shouted and flung our glad laughter to the blue skies, and were thankful withal. Oh, Earth and Sky, and Wind and Trees, and Green Grass and Strength of Man, Glory!”
“W. J. Irving.”
During the whole of this time the French were making a desperate struggle in the neighbourhood of Souchez and the Lorette Heights—and occasional glimpses of this area were to be had, though it was mostly enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke from the bursting shells. The efforts of the French, however, may have diverted the attention of the Boche, for he was certainly very kind to the neighbourhood of Grenay and Maroc during this pleasant summer weather. In fact, he seems to have been more severe on the villages of Le Philosophe and Mazingarbe (where the Battalion was sometimes billeted when in reserve) than he was on the front line. At Le Philosophe on one occasion a shell hit Battalion Headquarters, wounding a number of Headquarters Company, including all the regimental police.
The event of the summer was the granting of leave to England to a small party of the Battalion. The news was first received on the 4th of July at Mazingarbe, and the C.O. (Colonel Renny), the R.S.M. (Sergeant-Major A. Toomey) and Sergeant F. S. Thurston were the first in the Regiment to enjoy the most coveted privilege of the British soldier in France. Thereafter the allotment of leave to the Battalion was at the rate of two officers and four other ranks per week, though this rate was not kept up for very long.
Colonel Renny, it should be mentioned, did not return from leave, as he was detained in hospital in England. As Commanding Officer, he was very popular with all ranks, and for his age his energy was marvellous. The Battalion was very sorry to lose its “little Indian Colonel,” as he was called. The men felt they would miss him most in the front line, where it was a very familiar sight to see him wandering round, indifferent to danger or discomfort, but determined to see things for himself. Colonel Renny was succeeded by Major H. V. Warrender, who had hitherto commanded “B” Company. Major Warrender was gazetted Lieutenant-Colonel in August, and remained in command until the end of 1916. He thus holds the distinction of having commanded the Battalion in war for a longer period than any other commanding officer.
Trench life in the Grenay lines got very monotonous by July and the popular grouse in the Battalion hereabouts referred to the absence of the much-advertised Kitchener’s Army. A notice chalked on a billet door in Quality Street read:
“Lost, stolen or strayed,
Kitchener’s Army.
Last seen in England in early spring.”
and the ditty often sung about this time which ended
“If Kitchener’s Army don’t come out very soon
’Twill be all up with this ’ere blasted platoon.”
gives evidence of the general feeling of boredom which began to threaten the Battalion.
BREVET COL. A. M. RENNY, Ret. Ind. Army.
Commanded 1st Battalion, November, 1914-July, 1915.
To face page 72.
However, a portion at least of Kitchener’s Army appeared in due course in this area, and during the last two days spent in trenches to the right of the Double Crassier marked on the map as W-2, the Battalion shepherded a kilted regiment on its trial trip in the trenches. They were Scotch right enough (15th Division), both in speech and character, and one of them, after breakfast on the first day, asked in all seriousness what time the “char-rge” was. He considered there ought to be at least one every day. Another canny one, suspecting the “bona-fides” of his tutor, when asked what port he had embarked from, replied “Ah’ll no tell ’e.” Yet another youthful Jock when told to go on sentry immediately climbed out in front and began to march up and down at the slope.
Their commissariat went wrong and they got no food for twenty-four hours. Their hosts saw to it that they had enough to eat, and before dawn had picked sufficient mushrooms for the combined messes, and by dinner enough young new potatoes, carrots, red currants and gooseberries for a good meal.
After a few days in trenches at Le Philosophe, the 47th Division moved into Corps Reserve, the Civil Service Rifles occupying their old billets at La Beuvrière early in August.
The Battalion now lost a very old friend in Lieutenant and Quartermaster W. H. D. Clark, who was ordered to England to take up an appointment in the Ministry of Munitions. Lieutenant Clark had joined the Civil Service Rifles as a private in 1888, and had served continuously since that time, rising through the various ranks of N.C.O. to R.Q.M.S. until he was appointed Quartermaster in 1910. Mr. Clark had been at all times a most enthusiastic worker for the Regiment, and his energy knew no bounds. He took away with him the most cordial good wishes of all ranks. Another old friend in R.S.M. A. Toomey, a Scots Guardsman who for many years had been on the permanent staff of the Battalion, succeeded to the appointment of Quartermaster, and C.S.M. Jolliffe of “C” Company acted as R.S.M. Bernard Jolliffe was undoubtedly one of the most popular members of the Regiment, and it was distinctly unfortunate that ill-health compelled him to return to England a few months after taking up his new duties.
The time at La Beuvrière was spent in Sports (Brigade and Divisional), Football and Cricket, Inspections and Training.
The Battalion distinguished itself by easily defeating both the 6th London Field Ambulance and the Post Office Rifles at cricket and the 4th London Field Ambulance at football. As these teams had previously done well, it was considered a fine performance on the part of the Civil Service Rifles to beat them all. G. Wright, H. E. R. Warton and J. H. Hunt of “D” Company shone as batsmen, and Wright and Second Lieutenant Stevens were the most successful bowlers. Lance-Corporal C. Palser of “C” Company won the quarter mile at the Brigade Sports, and Corporal Williams of the Transport Section was second in the High Jump at the Divisional Sports, where Private W. H. Domoney, an “A” Company bomber, won the open competition for bomb throwing.
It was not all Sports and Pastimes at La Beuvrière, however, and soon the numerous parades and inspections began to pall even as trench life had done. The now historic Brigade Order ordaining that in future the brass tabs on the equipment and the metal parts of entrenching tool handles were to be polished caused one of the Regimental scribes to break into verse, and his effort was a popular item at Company and Regimental Concerts. It was described as the turn of the evening at a Regimental Concert held some months later, and attended by the offending Brigadier himself and the Commanding Officer.
CHAPTER IV
LOOS AND THE SPINNEY
A return was made to the trenches at Maroc on the 1st September, when it was found that the war had livened up considerably during the three weeks’ absence at La Beuvrière. The aerial torpedo made its first appearance to the Battalion, and to judge from the following letter home from a member of “B” Company, caused some consternation:—
“When we first took these trenches over from the French there was hardly a shell or a bullet all day. Now Hell is let loose. The very first morning we were introduced to a novelty in the shape of a gigantic bomb. The trench trembled and the air rushing into our dug-outs almost blew us off our seats. We rushed out to see what damage had been done, and could hardly believe our eyes when we found that the bomb had exploded about 300 yards in front of the trench. The next one burst not 40 yards away, and after the blinding flash and the crash of the explosion I felt nothing. The explosion is apparently upward rather than outward. It is thought that the offending mortar works on a pair of rails and is whisked back by the force of the recoil into the side of the slag heap. Smoke rises when the bomb is fired, but a heavy shelling at this spot failed to silence it. Now an Artillery Observation Officer watches the spot all day, and immediately the smoke is observed his battery fires and tries to catch the mortar before it gets back under cover.”
Preparations for the big attack at Loos now overshadowed everything else, and the Battalion was out every night on working or carrying parties—such light jobs as carrying gas cylinders, digging assembly trenches and bridging trenches. All who took part in them are agreed that these gas cylinder fatigues were the most strenuous they ever had to do. On the first night there were two men to each cylinder. The cylinder weighed 180 lbs., and the men in addition carried their rifles and 100 rounds of ammunition in bandoliers. The numerous turns in the trenches were almost impassable obstacles, and to realise the difficulty of lifting the cylinders round the corners one must have done the deed. Arrived at last at the front line, the cylinder had to be lifted up high and a sort of juggling feat indulged in to get it into the correct position desired by the critical Royal Engineer.
Fatigues generally in these days were much more difficult than at any other time of the war. Light railways had not yet been developed, and it was not realised at this time how great a handicap it was for a man to have two bandoliers of ammunition swinging round his neck while he worked.
Apart from the working parties, a happy time was spent at the little village of Houchin, where there was much cricket and feasting and very little drill, and it was here that the Battalion first had the use of motor buses in France.
When the battle eventually took place on the 25th September, the Civil Service Rifles, as at Festubert, held a watching brief, being in Brigade Reserve to the 6th and 7th Battalions, and it was thought that this was the origin of the title of “God’s Own.”
To the Civil Service Rifles the battle of Loos was chiefly a spectacle, since, with the exception of two platoons of “B” Company, the whole Battalion looked on from the reserve trenches. The fate of those two platoons, however, brought home to their friends the realities of battle.
Soon after the attack started, No. 6 Platoon went forward over the top as a bomb-carrying party. Starting out twenty-five strong the party soon suffered heavy losses, and only three men of the party survived unhurt. No. 8 Platoon went to the rescue, and although their fate was much better, they, too, had their losses.
The killed included the ever-popular Lance-Corporal Tommy Dodge, a great personality both in the Civil Service Rifles and in the Civil Service Rugby Football Club.
Of the survivors, mention must be made of Corporal F. H. Chinn, who had been sent with five men to establish a bomb store in the second German trench. As the five became casualties, he made three journeys up the side of the Double Crassier alone, carrying each time as many bombs as he could collect.
After Loos there was a short rest at Verquin and Nœux-les-Mines, where, on the 8th October, the Battalion lost the valuable services of Captain H. H. Kemble, who became second in command of the 23rd Battalion. As officer in command of “D” Company, Captain Kemble had won the admiration and respect of all ranks who served with him, and who were genuinely sorry to lose him.
The winter campaign of 1915-1916 now set in in earnest, and from this time onwards there was a long struggle against the rain, mud, and trenches that were continually falling in.
A fleeting visit was paid to the neighbourhood of Hulluch, where the Battalion was in reserve during the struggle on the 13th October, and narrowly escaped the fate which befel a Battalion of the Black Watch who went down in attempting the impossible feat of cutting their way, under very heavy machine-gun and artillery fire, through enemy wire of incredible thickness.
On the 28th October, “A” and “C” Companies had the honour of representing the Battalion at an inspection by His Majesty the King in a field near the village of Haillicourt.
Soon after their return the weather went from bad to worse. Everywhere men were huddled on the firestep with just a ground-sheet rigged over a couple of rifles placed across the trench—the “shelter” thus formed carefully collecting and depositing the rain-water down the neck of the passer by! On every ration fatigue to the “lone tree” you floundered up to the knees in mud and water. Private Beatty, of “A” Company, soothed his feelings one night on slipping head first into a slimy shell-hole with the following impromptu:—
“Mis-ry unspeakable,
Horrible, shriekable,
Groundsheets unleakable,
I don’t think.
Rain never ending,
On us descending,
Simply heartrending.
Gawd——!”
when he fell backwards into another shell-hole, and the rest is unprintable.
The effect of the incessant rain and water-logged trenches began to tell on the spirits of all ranks. The days of hot meals in trenches had not then arrived. Sheepskin coats, leather jerkins and woollen gloves had not, at any rate, been issued to the Civil Service Rifles, while gum boots, though sometimes heard of, were seldom, if ever, seen. On many occasions, too, the only implements available for the work of baling out the water and thin mud from the trench bottom were picks and shovels!
It is characteristic of the spirit of the troops that there are so many good stories told of this period of discomfort. Although it was found that the working parties increased as the strength of the Battalion decreased, it was also found that the rum ration increased, and one man of “A” Company benefited so much by the extra ration that when his next turn for sentry duty came, he faced the wrong way on the fire step and called the attention of his platoon sergeant to a wood, which he said he could swear was not in front of him during his previous turn of sentry duty!
Another story is told of the same man, who was a Scotsman, during another of his turns of sentry duty. His platoon commander suspected him of being asleep, and brought his sergeant along to confirm or allay his suspicions. The man was resting his head on the parapet and apparently gazing straight to his front. The platoon sergeant said he felt sure the man was awake, but suggested to his officer that he might test him with a franc. The officer thereupon slipped a franc note on to the parapet in front of the sentry’s face. Without taking his eyes off his “front,” the sentry promptly opened his mouth and took the bait. “The franc is yours,” said Lieutenant Bates, whose doubts as to the alertness of his sentry were now dispersed.
By way of a diversion, the Battalion was inspected during one of the short rests in support trenches, by a civic dignitary from London, accompanied by his Press photographer. Of all the discomforts of life in France few, if any, were more irksome to the British soldier than being visited by a civilian, looking clean, and fat, and comfortable, who would return home and have it duly advertised in the Press that he had just been to the front to see things for himself.
It will always be a mystery to the troops why so many civilians were allowed to come on these “Cook’s tours” to France at the nation’s expense, and if the visitors had only thought for a moment what effect their “patronage” had on the weary soldier, who generally had to give up a few hours of his well earned rest for an extra parade, there would not perhaps have been so many photographs in the Press of “Mr. —— wearing his steel helmet and box respirator while visiting the troops in France.” The troops would not have minded so much if only the distinguished civilian had included a visit to the front line in his “tour of the trenches”!
In addition to the physical strain due to the continuous exposure to atrocious weather, Companies in turn occupying the “Spinney” trenches towards the end of the period had their nerves sorely tried by the eccentricities of enfilade fire. Shells burst against the inside of the parapet, and there were some parts of the line in this very narrow salient which appeared to be exposed to fire from the rear as well as other directions!
There were as many as thirty casualties a day—a high average for a trench tour. At one place in front of a steep quarry—subsequently evacuated during bombardments—men were constantly employed in filling and placing sandbags on the parapet as fast as they were knocked down.
The communication trenches were impassable and consequently the wounded could not be taken down until night, when a perilous journey had to be made over the open country, the stretcher bearers picking their way between shell holes filled with water. There were no roads leading up to the line, the district seemed to be unusually difficult to explore, and parties of men were continually going astray.
The wastage in personnel due to the appalling weather and shelling had so mounted up, that when eventually relief came, the Battalion marched, or rather dragged itself out only about 300 strong.
The following extract from the diary of a bomber gives a characteristic description of the close of this extraordinarily uncomfortable period of the winter campaign of 1915-16.
“We were thankful, I can tell you, to make tracks at last for the reserve line, but it was raining hard and it damped our spirits to find our new trench waterlogged. We bombers had not been in our dug-out an hour before one earth wall collapsed and buried our equipment and belongings. We were too tired to grumble, but propping up the fallen corrugated iron roof to form a side, we slept soundly beneath the ruins. In the morning, in spite of the rain and liquid mud, we set to and made a dug-out with groundsheets and one or two pieces of corrugated. Our new abode was the envy of our comrades. It had even a covered in hall where we cleaned our boots before being permitted to enter. Then we won a brazier, collared some wet coke, charcoal and wood logs and kept up a good fire. I took off my boots every time I came in from a fatigue and dried my socks and puttees. We sat round the brazier at night, and by the light of the glowing and smoking logs—for candles we had none—told stories and sang songs and were some company. But our nerves were still strung, and when whizbangs came over our way we fell down on the floor in strategic positions. The mud was still awful, and everywhere the trench and ramshackle shanties were falling in.
“It happened, however, a fine frosty night on that 13th November, when we were relieved by the 1st Cameron Highlanders—as fine a regiment of Scotch troops as you could wish to see. The Highland accent was particularly soothing. We marched as far as Mazingarbe that night.
“Next morning was the day for Divisional Relief, and as the Battalion marched out of the village, other troops were marching in. It was a fine, dry, frosty morning, and official War Office cinema operators took pictures all along the route—we with our trench mud still on us, some wearing sleeping helmets in lieu of caps buried in fallen trenches, a be-draggled and motley band, hardly able to put one foot before another—and the incoming troops marching on the other side of the road spotlessly clean and fit.
“As we neared the railhead at Noeux les Mines the Battalion found its old self and tried to sing with as much vigour as trench throats would allow:
‘As we’re marching down the Broadway side,
Doors and windows open wi—de:
We know our manners,
We spend our tanners,
We are respected wherever we may go,
We are the London Bhoys!’”
“It was fine to be in the train again, and to see cows once more browsing at peace in the fields. We all fell in love with Lillers and soon forgot our troubles.”
Memories of what was afterwards known as “the 1st Lillers” (for the Battalion visited Lillers again at the next Corps Reserve) are of the pleasantest. The billets were good, there were plenty of sports and amusements, and there was an appreciable increase in the leave allotment to the Battalion.
CHAPTER V
WINTER IN THE LOOS SALIENT.
The last month of 1915 found the Civil Service Rifles in trenches in what was justifiably called a “hot corner.” After the holiday at Lillers, the Battalion went to occupy the well-known Hairpin trench, near Loos.
Some months previously the general run of the German front trench had been along the crest of a ridge, the English line being parallel and about 100 yards below. An attempt to capture the crest had only partially succeeded, and about fifty yards of the German trench was occupied by English troops. A trench was dug from each end of this strip to the English front line, thus forming the Hairpin. On each side of the captured piece of trench a stretch of about 50 yards was left unoccupied by either side, but obstructed by the usual block guarded by bombers.
To connect up their front line again the Germans dug a trench in front of the captured piece.
It will readily be understood that this was not a healthy spot, and the advantage of holding the captured 50 yards of German trench was a very doubtful one, as the occupants came in for a very liberal bombardment.
But the tragedy of the Hairpin came on the night of the 20th December, when the Battalion was ordered to send all its bombers, together with some bayonet men from “B” Company, over the top on the right of the Hairpin to jump into the German trench and bomb along it, while a party from the 7th Battalion restored a barricade (in the German front line adjoining the afore-mentioned captured strip of 50 yards) which the Germans had rushed early that morning.
The attack was most gallantly led by the Battalion Bombing Officer, 2nd Lieutenant A. M. Thompson, an officer of the 14th Royal Fusiliers, attached to Civil Service Rifles, but from the outset there was not the slightest chance of success. However, 2nd Lieutenant Thompson and the N.C.O.’s and men with him went to their end unflinchingly, and though the enemy put down an impenetrable barrier of bombs, rifle grenades and machine-gun bullets, the tragic scheme went on until all officers and N.C.O.’s taking part had been put out of action.
There were many most valuable lives lost on that night unfortunately, as it turned out, to no purpose, for the Germans a few days later blew up the whole trench and a number of the 23rd London Regiment, who were holding it, went with it.
Although Second Lieutenant Thompson had only been with the Battalion a few months, he had speedily won the confidence and respect of all ranks, for at all times he set a fine example of courage and devotion to duty. He was buried the next evening in the right leg of the Hairpin.
Of Lance-Corporal L. H. Druett, who died a true hero’s death in that disastrous enterprise, it is difficult indeed to speak sufficiently highly. His sterling qualities as a soldier, a companion, and a real white man, won for him the respect and admiration of the most careless.
Associated for a long time with Lance-Corporal Druett was Private A. B. Evans, otherwise “Taff” Evans, known to the bombers as “The Bird” (having a trick of putting his head to one side like a magpie), another of the stalwarts who lost his life in the struggle at the Hairpin while going to the assistance of another bomber; and, among others, mention must be made of Lance-Corporal M. Roach, who was in charge of a large party of “B” Company bombers and bayonet men, and who was fatally wounded whilst working on one of the barricades, after doing splendid work that night, and of Private E. G. Crockett, who, although severely wounded in the stomach, walked unaided to the Dressing Station over 100 yards away, but it was impossible to save his life, and he died in hospital nearly a fortnight later. Both were great favourites in “B” Company, where they had been well known for their good sportsmanship and cheerfulness.
The bombers were naturally hit harder than other sections in this sad business, and another who could ill be spared was Private H. M. Nash, a modest and unassuming fellow, who had only recently become a bomber. It is said that he threw his bombs like a cricket ball some 45 yards, and, after his officers and N.C.O.’s had been hit, he performed many deeds of gallantry before he met his death.
Enough has been written to give an idea of the losses at the Hairpin. They were all men whose places it was felt could never be adequately filled, and consequently the Battalion was not in a particularly joyous mood for Christmas, which was spent in trenches and cellars near the Water Tower at Vermelles. The conditions did not lend themselves to a merry Christmas, for there was no chance at all of celebrating Christmas Day, and it was not until Boxing Day that the Christmas letters and parcels were received.
In consequence of an alarm, a sudden move had to be made on Christmas Eve to support positions at Vermelles, and the whole of that day and Christmas Day were spent in “standing to,” so there was little opportunity for merry-making. But on Christmas night the alarm died down and a move was made to huts at Noyelles, where some succeeded in dining not wisely but too well on parcels from home, puddings from the Daily News, and Army rum. The Battalion canteen managed at this time by Ibbett, had now got into its stride, and its stock included welcome barrels of stout, in addition to champagne, port, sherry, whisky and a few other “dainties.”
BETHUNE SQUARE.
DOUBLE CRASSIER, LOOS, 1915.
To face page 82.
New Year’s Eve was not even as cheerful as Christmas Eve, for the Battalion was now in the front line at the Hohenzollern Redoubt, and the artillery on both sides were busy playing the old year out—the infantry in the front line getting the full benefit of it.
But before the New Year was many hours old, the Battalion had a real stroke of good luck—a German mine blew up prematurely in front of them, thus saving them from what was easily the most unpopular frightfulness of the war!
The New Year was also marked by an act of gallantry which was afterwards recognised by the award of the Military Medal to the two men concerned—Corporal P. J. Tickle and Drummer H. Hogwood.
The Hohenzollern Redoubt was not a pleasant spot. There had been a good deal of fighting in the neighbourhood during the past three months, and khaki figures still lay stiff and grim in No Man’s Land where they had fallen. There were therefore no regrets when the Division was relieved by a Cavalry Division about the middle of January, 1916, and the 47th Division relieved the 18th French Division in the Loos sector.
The Civil Service Rifles brought to a close its long association with this neighbourhood by a short spell of trench warfare in the trenches on the eastern fringe of the village of Loos, and on the famous Double Crassier. The situation on the Double Crassier was unique in a way, for both English and German trenches ran across these two big slag heaps. The troops invariably returned from these trenches looking like so many coal miners, for there was coal dust floating about everywhere.
The district lived up to its peace-time reputation as a centre of mining activity, for the hated mine warfare was pursued freely about this time with the usual accompaniment of minenwerfers. Otherwise life hereabouts was more or less uneventful, except for a big display of war-time fireworks on the Kaiser’s birthday, January 27th. It was thought the great War Lord would celebrate his birthday by making a big attack, but on the front occupied by the 47th Division he was apparently satisfied with a heavy bombardment.
There have been numerous poets in the ranks of the Civil Service Rifles, and there are many creditable effusions which, perhaps through the modesty of the poet, will never see the light of print. Some, however, have been saved, including some verses on the exploits of Private Beatty, a bomber of “A” Company, an odd, scraggy little man, with a husky voice, known to his intimates as Potgut Woodbine. He is immortalised by Hanna in his