Our time for loading at railhead was usually about midnight, and at about this hour on the night of the 17th the weather changed, and the heavens began to pour forth rain and continued to do so throughout the night. We were not the only Division to be loading at the time, and the chaos of traffic in the pitch-black darkness and pouring rain can only be described as appalling. The amazing thing is that accidents and collisions between lorries are of such rare occurrence; their almost entire absence is due to the careful handling of the vehicles by the drivers. To back a heavy lorry up against a railway truck in the dark without damaging the tail-board or trying to knock the train over requires care and much practice. During the night a few shells came over; they fell in a field at the far side of the railhead yard, doing no damage. The change in the weather had evidently upset the Hun gunners. It had been very cloudy in the earlier part of the evening of the 17th, and they had even omitted the usual hour of "hate," except for a salvo of shrapnel shells, some half-dozen or so, which went over Albert and burst on a brow of a hill beyond. No doubt they were trying to strafe the guns, which from that direction had been firing at them continuously all the previous day and night. Loading being finished, we got back to our camp and between the blankets at 4 a.m. Fortunately, we had by now been issued from Ordnance with a few bell tents, which we pitched alongside the entrance to a dug-out. A subterranean gallery, some forty or fifty yards long, ran underneath, and opening out of it were several spacious dug-outs—some of the best I have seen; as good as many German ones, which is saying a good deal. The whole earthwork was dug deep into the chalky soil, its perpendicular walls wire netted; it was roofed with stout tree-trunks, and laid across these were sandbags. It was conveniently situated for us to beat a hasty retreat into when the shells became too frequent and fell sufficiently close to make us wonder how much nearer the next might come. This dug-out was behind a row of shell-shattered and deserted small suburban houses, and extended under the back gardens of some of them, now all joined into one. These had evidently once been well stocked and cultivated gardens, as there were the remains of strawberry beds and patches of all the domestic vegetables. Our mess cook was not long in discovering and picking enough spinach for dinner one night, and a patch of thriving young turnips provided the vegetable courses for several days following. What, one wondered, would be the feelings of the unfortunate owner of one of these houses should he one day come back to find his garden connected by subterranean passages with those of his neighbours? Incidentally, there is little to be seen above the surface of the ground to indicate the existence of the large cellars and passages underneath.
Throughout Monday, the 18th, the rain continued. We convoyed the rations in the afternoon to the cavalry, who were still bivouacked. Nothing could have looked more miserable than those miles of horse lines on the rain-sodden ground, now a quagmire of mud. A line of small flags had been stuck in the ground, and stretched away in the distance, indicating the route across country which the mounted men were to take when the time for them to go up to the line came. But that day no one was very optimistic; somehow, in the rain everything seems hopelessly impossible! At about 8 that evening the rain ceased for a time, the sky cleared, and our guns, which had been very quiet all day, started on their exploits once more, much to the annoyance of every one in their vicinity who was at the time anticipating a night of undisturbed and well-earned slumber. On the night of the 19th we turned in early; the supply train was not expected to arrive till 3 the following morning. Hardly had I blown out my candle, when once more the German shells started to come over. All through the night they shelled Albert intermittently, and we were glad of the homely dug-out. For every one they sent over they seemed to get about twenty back, including some from a 15-inch gun that had suddenly got busy. The supply train eventually arrived at 7 a.m. on the 20th. At the station there were a few big shell holes, but little damage. True, one had exploded on the permanent way; one short length of line had been torn up as a result and was pointing skywards, several sleepers being destroyed; but the damage was only such as could be repaired in a few hours, and did not hold up the traffic at all. The Germans were still shelling, and continued to do so throughout the morning in several directions, in their attempts, no doubt, to search out the guns that were bothering them so much. So things went on from day to day. On the afternoon of the 21st, half a dozen shells landed in the field adjoining our little camp. One, which fell on a house, killed several soldiers; the others did no material damage. Towards night they started to strafe again, and succeeded in hitting the ammunition dump near our lines which I referred to earlier in this chapter. The whole sky was lit up by the red glow from the fire, which was, of course, the result, and for some hours afterwards there was a succession of "ping-ping-pom-poms," as the fire spread and the ammunition became ignited. All night long, as usual, the strafe continued, the Huns, also as usual, getting back good measure for what they sent over, including some useful efforts on the part of a large howitzer battery which had recently joined in the fray. When fired at a distance of a mile or so away, one could literally feel the blast in one's face. The resulting din can be better imagined than described. On such occasions, even from the point of view of getting away from the noise, there are worse places to spend a night in than in a dug-out 7 feet high, 8 feet broad, and 15 feet long, 12 feet below the level of the ground.
Albert at this time was distinctly unhealthy. The shells exacted their daily toll. Occasionally the Huns varied their hate by sending over a few lachrymatory or tear shells, which, however, falling a fair distance away from us, only had the effect of making our eyes smart for a time. We at first attributed this to the lorry "exhausts" and the quality of the petrol.
On September 25th one squadron of a Native lancer regiment was put into action. Cavalry patrols were sent on ahead, and returned to report that the village of Gueudecourt was still held by the enemy. The squadron galloped to the outskirts of the village; dismounting, they got their Hotchkiss machine guns into action and engaged the enemy for several hours. They had a few casualties amongst men and lost some horses, but achieved their objective. At Albert there was a sudden and unmistakable lull in the enemy's shelling. The reason was soon forthcoming. On the 27th we heard that not only Combles, but the fortress of Thiepval, which had for so long been bombarded by our artillery, had at length fallen to the Allied arms. Doubtless it was there that the guns which had been shelling Albert were situated; the shells had at any rate invariably come from that direction. Along the road from Thiepval to Albert that day were to be seen Hun prisoners being marched back not by tens but by hundreds. Many were wounded and looked pitiful as they came hobbling along, helping one another, guarded by mounted men—not that they needed guarding or were capable of escaping. Those that were not wounded seemed dazed and demoralized; here and there was one who had obviously been driven mad by the ordeal he had been through—the continual and ever-increasing hell fire which had been directed on Thiepval. One prisoner taken that day I heard, much to my surprise, had before the war been employed as chief telephone clerk in a big London hotel. At midnight on September 27th the Column left Albert and moved back to Corbie. Thence, in conjunction with the cavalry, we retraced our steps by gradual stages westward.
Chapter XIV
TO BAPAUME, PÉRONNE, AND BEYOND
Events sometimes occur quickly and unexpectedly in this war. Recent ones justify another chapter. The 1st day of November 1916 found us on our way to winter billets; and in the same "back area" as that occupied the previous year we spent the long, dreary winter months. They were chiefly characterized as being the coldest on record and by the most prolonged and severe spell of frost within recollection. The thaw was, if anything, more unpleasant. French roads, even the main ones, seem to lack a sufficient foundation of metal, and the results caused by the passage of heavy transport over them during a thaw are, to say the least, disastrous to both roads and transport. They consist in the giving way, and in places utter collapse, of the roads. The difficulty is theoretically overcome by a procedure known as barrières fermées, which roughly means that when a thaw sets in all main roads are closed to heavy motor traffic until the thaw has been in progress for several days. After that, barrières fermées become barrières ouvertes once more. Whether it was owing to the impossibility of carrying out this scheme for a sufficient length of time, or due to a failure in the perfect working of the system, it is difficult to say, but the results were unfortunate. Many roads became impassable, and mechanical transport lorries were constantly getting "bogged" everywhere. A period of rain did not improve matters, and when they were almost at their worst for the moving up of ammunition and guns, the astute Hun began this retreat to the more salubrious neighbourhood of the Hindenburg line. Immediately, almost, we were on the road towards Albert.
The last week of March found us encamped just outside it. The cavalry had made a forced march, covering the best part of seventy miles inside two days. Not bad going, taking into consideration the heavy, muddy roads. Once again there was a wave of optimism and confidence in the air. The Huns were in retreat, unable to hold any longer the line they had fortified and stuck to for so many months; Bapaume had fallen; our troops were still advancing and meeting with little opposition from the enemy. Three very good reasons for optimism!
The town of Albert was, we found, little changed in appearance since our departure six months before, but it was a very much more healthy spot, being out of range of artillery. Even its civilian population was returning in considerable numbers. One of the largest Expeditionary Force Canteens had been established, also quite a good Officers' Club.
During the first few days of April enemy aeroplanes came over and dropped several bombs. The damage done, however, was negligible, except to a motor-lorry, in which three men who were sleeping were unfortunately killed. Later on, when the last week of April brought fine weather and clear blue skies, Taubes became our daily visitors, though the barrage of anti-aircraft batteries kept them too high to make bombing worth while. Heavy snow marked our arrival at the front, and it certainly seemed that spring operations had started in weather that was as unfavourable as it was reminiscent of mid-winter. To add insult to injury, on almost the coldest night of all the British Expeditionary Force advanced its clock an hour and "summer time" came in! Railhead was moved up as far as ——, as soon as railway communication was opened up. It had been a village of some hundred and thirty houses. Now, of course, it was completely ruined, but none the less a place of considerable importance. Surprisingly few "traps" were left behind there by the Germans. On two occasions only, mines exploded, each leaving fair-sized craters under the permanent way, but only causing such slight damage that traffic was not seriously interfered with.