Late in the afternoon of the 23rd, Warminster was reached, and after a march of about four or five miles a city of comfortable looking huts appeared. Their apparent comfort, however, quickly disappeared when the mud of Longbridge Deverill came into evidence. The interior of the huts so recently vacated by a division which had left for France, was little better than the filth outside. However, the Battalion was now becoming accustomed to this kind of thing, and soon settled down. Improvements were made in the camp, and competition between the various units of the Division for the smartest camp was soon astir. The whole Division (now known as the 60th (London) Division) was concentrated between Longbridge Deverill and Sutton Veny. The divisional R.E., A.S.C., R.A.M.C., and R.F.A. appeared in reality, and it was obvious to all that the Battalion was at last part of a real fighting division destined at some time or other to go abroad.
Everything was advancing at a pace, and stores and material were brought up to War Establishment. Training and musketry was being completed, the Regular Army Course having been fired on the local range. Manœuvres by the whole Division became daily routine, and inspections were frequent. Hopes ran high for an early departure for France, when suddenly, on the 28th April, 1916, the Battalion was ordered to proceed to Ireland with the rest of our Brigade.
Political events in Dublin had developed into war during Eastertide, every one was full of the possibility of Dublin; others said that France was the real destination, and the orders for Ireland were mere camouflage to deceive the Hun; while others, less optimistic, imagined a permanent exile in Ireland for the duration of the war.
However, all rumours were soon dispelled during the night of the 29th April, and the Battalion entrained at Warminster bound for Neyland near Pembroke Dock.
The following day was Sunday, and the Battalion spent a beautiful summer day on the grassy slopes facing the sea, awaiting embarkation to an unknown port, while the officers were kindly entertained by the Officers’ Mess of the 4th Welsh Regiment, which was stationed a few miles inland. Late in the evening a large quantity of rations was issued, and the prospect of a long sea journey arose in the minds of most of us. The night, however, was without alarms, and not until the following morning did the Battalion embark. Part of the unit, together with the transport section, sailed on the Archangel, and the remainder on board the Rathmore; both transports leaving the harbour early in the evening.
Here was real adventure at last, sailing to an unknown destination through seas frequented by enemy submarines. At daybreak the coast of Ireland was sighted, and at 4.30 a.m. we were alongside the quays of Queenstown. The disembarkation was without incident beyond the warning that we were now in “enemy” country. We proceeded straightway through the town to Belvelly Camp on Fota Island. No demonstration was made by the Irish people, and no one could understand why they should be regarded with suspicion. Smiles greeted the troops, and the unfortunate Battalion Signalling Officer, who was leading the Battalion on the march, was severely reprimanded by his superior for talking to some charming Irish damsels. The B.S.O. excused himself on the grounds that he was asking the way; a reply which brought forth a still further admonition for “enquiring of the enemy.” The new camp on Fota Island was situated in a beautiful Irish park, the property of Lord Ballymore, and for the next few days the Battalion was engaged on ordinary field training and not a bloodthirsty battle as many had anticipated.
The weather turned wet, and this fact alone appears to be a sufficient reason for the “Staff” to order a move with its consequent discomfort. On the 6th May the Battalion left the camp at Belvelly and proceeded to Ballincorrig via Cork. The march was performed in the rain, though while actually passing through the City of Cork the weather became kinder, and the streets were lined with the citizens, none of whom appeared to be really warlike. The real sensation, however, was an officer of the Munsters who passed the Battalion. He wore a steel helmet, which at that time was unique and rarely seen in the United Kingdom, and the atmosphere of real war conjured up by that single steel helmet somewhat counteracted the peacefulness of Cork. Leaving the town was to leave the finer weather; for the rest of the journey the downpour was terrific, and when the Battalion reached Ballincorrig no one was sorry. The Battalion was housed in the local cavalry barracks, and every one will remember the splendid comradeship of the artillerymen stationed there, who did all they could to attend to the needs of the soaked Battalion. The riding school was full of tired Londoners, but how they welcomed those steaming “dixies” of tea prepared by the barracks cooks. Tiredness soon disappeared, and fraternising was the “order of the night”; officers to the officers’ mess, sergeants to the sergeants’ mess, and men to the canteen. The horrors of the day’s march of 16 miles in the rain were forgotten, and a pleasant evening was spent. A word of thanks is also due to those artillerymen who so kindly took over the Battalion transport on arrival and groomed and fed the horses. Here, indeed, was the brotherly spirit, which existed so strongly in the British Tommy, illustrated.
The next morning the Battalion was astir early, the march was resumed, our destination being Coachford. The journey was shorter, about 12 miles, and the Battalion marched through some of the most beautiful Irish scenery, small villages like Dripsey on the route, with its tiny hovels sheltering animals and fowls in the living rooms, gave us an insight into Irish village life. Coachford, a sleepy little Irish village, was reached in the evening, and tents, which had been conveyed in advance by motor lorries, were soon erected on the local recreation ground, and the Battalion nestled down for the night. The next day the march was continued as far as Macroom, the day was fine and the march fairly short. Early in the afternoon the town of Macroom was reached, and the population turned out to welcome the Battalion. The camping ground was situated on the river banks in the grounds of the ancient castle of Macroom. By evening time the Battalion had settled down and every one hoped for a long stay in this glorious spot. The following day was market day in Macroom, and the town was crowded with people from the surrounding villages and farms; officers and men were allowed in the town, a happy release after the restrictions in existence since our arrival in Ireland. Shops were besieged and luxuries were purchased to supplement the rations of “active service.” Talking of purchases, most members of the Battalion will remember the famous small goat bought by an officer, which although an affectionate animal, became a nuisance by thrusting its vocal efforts upon that tent in any battalion camp which should be approached with bated breath, a salute and the word “Sir.”
Mystery surrounded the first armed party of about 100 strong which left the camp that night under the guidance of the Royal Irish Constabulary. However, the following morning all was common knowledge; a few Irishmen had been arrested, while the farm in which they lived had been surrounded by the troops to prevent escape. These were the “rebels” which the Battalion had set out to quell.
The stay at Macroom only lasted a few days, and the Battalion continued its march inland under the command of Major A. A. Oliver; our Commanding Officer Lieutenant-Colonel Strange having been sent to hospital seriously ill. Only a privileged few knew the day’s destination, but towards dusk the Battalion halted near Mill Street and turned off the main road into a field where tea was soon prepared by the company cooks. No tents on motor lorries were to be seen; a drizzle set in, and every one wondered whether it would mean a night in the wet with only waterproof sheets, which had already done great service throughout the day. Several hours passed, no orders were forthcoming, and every one became pessimistic. Finally, however, an entraining officer was appointed with the usual complement of N.C.O.’s and this ended all discussion. The Battalion was to move off by train. The geography of Ireland had been forgotten since school days and the names of likely places were confined to the Limerick and Dublin areas; however, about midnight the Battalion marched to the station at Mill Street, entrained rapidly and steamed out into the gloom of a wet, misty Irish fog. Tired by the day’s march of 16 miles over the moorlands of the Bochragh Mountains every one slept, and no one troubled about our destination. Great was the surprise, however, the next morning to wake and find that the train had pulled up on Rosslare Pier. France was in every one’s mouth, and then the memory of the Quartermaster Stores and rear details at Warminster dispelled such ideas. The day was spent on the stone pier of the harbour and eventually at 7 p.m. the Battalion set sail on the Connaught, reaching Fishguard after a pleasant crossing of four hours’ duration. Little did one think that within a few weeks the same troopship would convey the Battalion to France. Within an hour of reaching Fishguard the Battalion was entrained and started for Warminster, which was reached about 7 a.m. on the 13th May, 1916. After a short march we arrived back at our old camp at Longbridge Deverill. The visit to Ireland soon appeared like a dream, so sudden and so short had it been. The value of the “Irish stunt,” as it was commonly called, cannot be discounted, even if actual warfare had not been encountered. The Battalion had learnt to entrain and detrain; embark and disembark; and move its home day by day and in general to become a mobile unit. The experience was invaluable.