FOOTNOTES
[1] The first Indian troops to reach Egypt arrived on October 30, the New Zealanders on November 30, and the Australians on December 2.
[2] It is a striking testimony to the fitness of the Lancashire Territorials—mainly recruited from large manufacturing towns—that, though the men had undergone no more than a hurried medical examination to ascertain their fitness for home service, very few broke down under the rigorous training in Egypt.
[3] Some declared that what the frogs said was “Bivouac! Bivouac!” A member of a new draft going up Krithia Nullah for the first time by night was heard to say: “I wish these ’ere b⸺ ducks ’d shut up; they’ll give away uz position.”
[4] General Bailloud, commanding a French Division, informed General Douglas that his men were always shelled when bathing in Morto Bay until, soon after the arrival of the 52nd Division, a kilted battalion went down to bathe, and from that day the firing ceased. He concluded that the Turks were under the impression that the wearers of “skirts” must be women, and, being of a gallant disposition, they refrained from shelling the bathers.
[5] Holberton could trounce an offender very effectively, but his comments never rankled nor ever affected the admiration and affection in which he was held. While Adjutant and at the same time O.C. of his battalion, he placed a newly-joined subaltern in charge of a working-party. An hour later, to his surprise, he saw the party returning from the task. “You don’t mean to say you’ve finished?” he said to the sub. “No, sir, but the men said they were tired and would work better after a rest and tea.” “Yes,” said Holberton, “they wanted to find out if they had to deal with an officer or a d⸺ fool! Now they know.”
[6] Was there ever a ship that lived through such shelling as this old hulk was subjected to for the period of nine months during which she lay aground at “V” Beach? Or on whose decks so much blood had been shed? The sale of the River Clyde to a Spanish firm at Malta seems hard to justify and shows a regrettable lack of imagination.
[7] Padre Kerby read the Burial Service over nearly one thousand graves of the Manchesters in Gallipoli.
[8] One man, indeed, tried to cultivate friendship with a horned viper. He had actually tied a string to its tail—how he managed this goodness only knows!—and was showing it round when it rose in its wrath and bit him. The fact that he was near the M.O.’s tent saved him, but he was left with a “dud” finger for life. All sorts of queer pets, lizards, tortoises, praying-mantis, etc., were kept by the men when their units were stationary, and one of these—a large lizard—proved to be of a rare species, and found an honourable refuge in the Cairo Zoo. Desert mice and rats of various kinds abounded, and were often tame and amenable, but of larger animals only a few gazelles and, once, an Egyptian wild-cat, were seen. Nearly every cookhouse acquired a pet goat, the diminutive black one of the 10th Manchesters being the most admired of those. The 6th L.F. goat “joined up” at Imbros and saw service in Gallipoli as well as in Sinai.
[9] The 42nd did not regard as a happy compliment to their marching prowess the fact that while the troops of other divisions were occasionally allowed to go by train, they had always to walk. A Tommy, home on leave, got into conversation with an Australian in a London bus. “Are you 42nd Division?” asked the Australian, who had been in the desert in 1916. “That’s so,” the Lancastrian replied. “Well,” drawled the other, “why don’t you get out and walk?”
[10] It was alleged and universally believed that Colonel MacInnes after each day’s hard work used to spend his few hours of “rest” in repairing Dam 66.
[11] About the middle of January the 126th Brigade found themselves opposed in this sector by the 126th German Infantry Brigade.
[12] Pigeons, working in pairs, were proving very useful at this period, and “Signals” thought it might be a good thing to teach our Portuguese allies something about the pigeon service. They accordingly sent two pairs of birds to the Portuguese Staff, with instructions as to their use, and awaited results. The pigeons did not return to the loft, but next day a very polite note arrived, thanking “our comrades, the British officers, for their hospitality.”
[13] The following extract from an infantry officer’s letter home, giving his impressions of the enemy’s methods of advance, is worth quoting here: “The Boche came on in ones and twos and small groups, apparently disorganized, and yet with wonderful speed and method. In a few moments hundreds would filter down into a depression of the ground, and from there advance in small sections, running anyhow, one after another, and making an exceedingly difficult target. Our artillery cut him to pieces when they saw him massing, but it was very difficult to inflict heavy losses with the rifle—though at times we had good practice, and all we had to do then was to take a rifle and shoot at odd parties of Boche. The German army is a wonderful organization. The pace at which they came on, and how they managed to pile up line after line of men in successive attacks, was almost incredible. One minute you would be watching the crest of a ridge and see a few men sauntering over the top in twos and threes, and two minutes later you would find the face of the ridge swarming with men, and more and more pushing on behind. As fast as their lines were shot down, other lines took their place.”
Note.—This method of “infiltration,” to which the writer refers, had formed part of the Division’s training while in the La Bassée sector, was still more assiduously practised in May, June, and July, 1918, and was put into operation with signal success as soon as the British Offensive began.
[14] The Dispatch Riders sometimes had the luck that dash and courage deserve. But not always! A corporal writes: “We were passing the canteen at Achiet-le-Grand as it was about to be burnt, so of course we looked round for what we could win, and in the dark stumbled over a box. When in the dim light we made out the name Abdullah on the side, we quickly strapped the box to a carrier. On arrival at Headquarters the box drew a crowd, and we learnt for the first time what decent fellows we were, and how everybody liked us. What was more to the point, we were offered up to five francs a tin for the contents. After a struggle with jack-knives, willingly lent, we got the box open. It was full of the cheapest kind of razor-strops.... During four years in France as Dispatch Rider I have been with several Divisions, and never met better sports than the Dispatch Riders and Headquarter staff of the 42nd. I tried hard to get back to the 42nd later, but couldn’t manage it.”
[15] It was not easy to make the men understand why they had to retire. They were holding their own and punishing the enemy. The Divisional Commander, on going the round of the troops later in the day, was asked by one of the men: “Why did you order us back, sir? Weren’t we doing right?”
[16] Colonel Davies, formerly an officer of the 6th Manchesters, went out with the Division in 1914, and served in Egypt, Gallipoli and Sinai. He was a gallant soldier with a charming personality, and his loss was keenly felt.
[17] During a bombardment of Fonquevillers a considerable portion of a house was blown into Major Johnson’s motor, and as he could not spare the time to empty it, he brought the debris to D.H.Q., where he had to endure much chaff on the subjects of looting and furniture removal vans.
[18] An officer of this battalion wrote home: “My C.O. is the most energetic man I ever struck; he is at it from morning till night, and in the night too. He does not stop for meals, and I invariably go to meals with a notebook and pencil, as all sorts of points strike him suddenly, and down they go in my notebook.”
[19] “Riddick was a tower of strength, combining energy, capability, and inventive genius with other soldierly qualities. His gallantry and unassuming loyalty to the Division could not be surpassed. Under his leadership no job of work, from constructing mined dug-outs or bridging rivers in the face of close enemy opposition, to fighting in the front line, came amiss to the sappers of the Divisional R.E.”—Extract from letter of the Divisional Commander to the author.
[20] The relations between officers and men are exemplified in the following extracts from two letters to the mother of an officer, the first being from the officer himself, dated September 4, 1918, and the second from a sergeant after the officer’s death—
“Oh, my splendid men! Even the most unlikely ones did wonders, and I never felt so proud of men!... It speaks volumes for Englishmen and for the righteousness of our cause. The British Tommy is a great man, and don’t let any one forget it.”
“His thoughts were always for the boys. He helped them in all fatigues as one of themselves. He worked like a slave carrying tents and doing anything to make the boys comfortable. When he saw that one of us was tired he would do his two hours trench patrol himself.... I fairly trembled for his safety on many occasions.... His first greeting was: ‘Well, sergeant, are the boys comfortable?’ He thought all the world of his platoon, and they just idolized him.”
[21] One tank caught fire and had to be abandoned on the ridge east of Trescault. It carried a number of T.M. bombs, and presented a most ludicrous spectacle, hopping about like a wounded rabbit as each bomb exploded.
[22] The following description of the barrage is taken from an officer’s letter, dated 30-9-18—
“Dawn had not quite broken, and a half moon was shining in a cloudless sky. All was as quiet as the grave when suddenly a big gun fired, and instantaneously, from one end of the horizon to the other, the barrage started.... Looking back it seemed that the sky was on fire for miles and miles, and the ground shook. In front there was one long flickering crashing line of bursting shells—a wall of fire 70 yards in front of us. What a barrage it was! I believe we could have followed it to Berlin.... A barrage is a terrifying thing to be under, as always a few men are knocked out by splinters or ‘shorts,’ but it is necessary to keep right under it and prevent the Boche putting his head up before you are on top of him. We would advance, then kneel down to wait for the barrage to creep forward, and by the light of the bursting shells I could see right down the line, and it was a wonderful sight. The men were in as straight a line as though dressed on parade, every man motionless on one knee, the moon glinting on bayonet and steel helmet. As we went forward again, the line would break up as men darted in and out of trenches and shell-holes to clear out the Boche, and then ‘back again to the line of the barrage!’ That is the secret of success.”
[23] One of the pack-mules, when crossing, deliberately jumped into the water, dragging his driver in. It was the second time the mule had behaved in this way. The driver got the animal and its load to the enemy’s side and, while shells and bullets were whizzing around, he admonished his charge on its folly. “This is the second ⸺ time you’ve done this,” he said. “If you fancy yourself as a ⸺ submarine, you’re ⸺ well mistaken. Coom on!”
[24] The Forêt de Mormal, covering more than thirty-four square miles, is referred to by Field-Marshal Viscount French, in his book “1914,” as a serious obstacle to his retiring army. It was a still greater obstacle to the Advance of November 1918, as by that time the roads had undergone four years’ heavy wear, without repairs, and there was no material other than logs and fascines that could be used in the work of making deviations round the huge craters.