Shortly after the attack on Loos had been made, the cavalry were again sent back to their former billeting area, no opportunity for cavalry fighting having presented itself. It was sad indeed to see these fine troops, superbly mounted and in perfect fighting trim, marching back from the front, useless for the time being in the general scheme of things.
Any descriptive account of the Indian Cavalry would be incomplete without mention of its veteran Rajput warrior, Lieut.-General Sir Pertab Singh. He is in a sense the raison d'être of the Indian Cavalry. Over seventy, short, but as alert and erect as a man half his age, he has literally lived in the saddle, and is a born fighting man. "'One charge, one bullet' sums up his philosophy, and it is not a bad one to live up to in these times," remarked a writer in Blackwood's recently.
Sir Pertab, before leaving India to come to France with the Indian Cavalry, made over his principality to his descendants, in the belief that he would never return to his native country. He is frequently to be seen—his breast covered with the ribands of many decorations and medals—amongst his regiment, the Jodhpur Lancers, and his wish is to lead them into action, charge and "pig-stick the German brutes," as I believe he once expressed it. Writing of him in 1897, Winston Churchill, in The Story of the Malakand Field Force, remarks: "The spectacle of this splendid Indian Prince, whose magnificent uniform in the Jubilee procession had attracted the attention of all beholders, now clothed in business-like khaki and on service at the head of his regiment, aroused the most pleasing reflections."
So history repeats itself twenty years later!
Chapter XII
BETWEEN THE ANCRE AND THE SOMME
In previous chapters I have referred to the intense bombardment which preceded the attacks on Neuve Chapelle and Loos during 1915. Looking back they seem as nothing compared with what our artillery has been able, thanks to the munition workers at home, to treat the Huns to in August, 1916, a bombardment audible very far back from the scenes of action. At, say, nine o'clock one night the guns will suddenly start: one man turns to another and remarks, "There must be a strafe on to-night." The guns continue without cessation, till perhaps just as daylight is stealing across the sky they stop for a time abruptly. This may signify that at this very moment the infantry are over the top, or parapets, of the trenches at the particular point where the attack is being made. More names for the Roll of Honour, for "Somewhere in the universe, God's awful dawn is red."
Newspaper correspondents at the front have recently, in a sense, come into their own: they have been granted more latitude in writing and allowed to see something of the show. It is good that this should be so, both from the point of view of the fighting-men themselves and also that of the people at home. Much has, therefore, appeared in the Press and elsewhere on the subject of the advance north and south of the Somme, and for this reason there remains little left unwritten, so far as the actual fighting and the scenes of its surroundings arc concerned.
On many occasions, in the course of duty, I have had the opportunity of going over a good deal of the ground captured from the enemy in the great Allied push which started on July 1, 1916. It almost baffles description. Without actually seeing the results, it is difficult to realize the pulverizing effect of continued and heavy artillery bombardment.
In this sector, such villages as Contalmaison, Fricourt, and Pozières, to mention only three, have literally ceased to exist; the fact that there have ever been villages in these particular spots is indicated only by their names on the map and heaps of debris and rubbish. They are not like such places as Ypres or Arras, where still here and there remain standing a few forlorn-looking bits of outer walls and the skeletons of destroyed houses. To give one instance, the curé of a village in the Somme district, after it had been taken from the Germans, sought leave from the British authorities to be conducted to it in order to see if it were possible for him to recover any of the possessions, or relics, of his church. The privilege was duly afforded him, and thither he was escorted. Unfortunately, however, he was quite unable to find either the church, his own house, or even his way about "the village"; but then, as the officer remarked who told me this story, all these things were scarcely to be wondered at, for Monsieur le Curé had only spent forty years of his life there! I give this story to indicate what is the state of the land over which this heavy artillery preparation has been necessary in order to dislodge the Hun and destroy his ramifications.