On the 10th of March, 1917, reveille was at an early hour, and by eight o’clock in the morning the 179th Brigade had formed up in column of route together with the Artillery, Royal Engineers, Machine Gun Corps, and Army Service Corps detachments which had joined it since its arrival at Katerina in December, 1916. The whole town turned out to bid us farewell, and the local band played appropriate music in the market place. Flags decked the low-built houses of the town, and the people of Katerina were sorry to lose the Brigade which, during its short stay, poured thousands of “drachmas” into the town coffers, turning indolence and poverty into business and wealth. The French Commandant also did honour to the British troops and furnished a strong guard of honour, which gallantly stood at the “Present” while the Brigade passed by. The first day of the march was to a place called Tuzla, near the coast some ten miles north of Katerina, and although ten miles on a good English road is a small journey, the badly cut-up roads of Greece and the heavy kit the men were carrying made the journey appear to be twice its actual distance. Mules were loaded to their fullest capacity, and many loads slipped off, causing disorganisation on the march. Eventually, after about five hours’ marching, the Brigade reached the night’s bivouac area, where a terrific cold wind was blowing from the sea. However, “bivvies” were erected and a meal prepared, and every one retired for the night, wondering what the next day would bring.
Every one was astir early the following morning, and after an early breakfast the camp was packed up. Then the real fun of the day commenced; this was the loading of the mules. Although I have not yet described this performance in detail it might interest those who did not actually participate in the trek. Loads were arranged and specially lashed with strong ropes. The great art was to prepare loads in pairs, each of which was of equal weight. Of course, with such articles as blankets, Lewis gun panniers, ammunition boxes, where an equal number solved the difficulty it was an easy matter; but when it came to the question of cooks’ gear, pioneer tools, officers’ valises, and so on, it developed into a matter of either exceeding great skill or pure luck. Having thus made up two loads of equal weight and examined the mule’s girth, the muleteer would stand at the animal’s head and say nice things to it with a view of taking its attention from the loads. Two men would then stand on either flank of the beast and lift the loads, with the intention of hooking them on to the saddle by the rings attached to the lashing ropes. The loading on both sides had to be performed simultaneously, or otherwise the weight on one side only simply twisted the saddle under the mule, annoying the animal to such an extent that it would immediately kick out and break loose, dashing about with the load under its stomach. Such escapades on the part of the mules were all too frequent; the mules hated the loads, and to add to the difficulties of the performance commenced to dance a “tango” on the feet of the unfortunate fatigue men trying to persuade it to carry a couple of heavy side loads. Towards the end of this trek, however, the men became aware of this side-stepping by the mules, and eventually experts in each Company developed, and the balancing of the loads, the synchronisation of the hooking-on process, became matters of skill as the result of sad experience.
From Tuzla the line of march was to Livanovan, and as a contrast to the very cold wind of the previous day the sun poured down, and the journey of twelve miles was over the same badly-made roads, while steep gradients were also encountered. On the 12th of March the Brigade proceeded to Gida, a further distance of twelve miles. On arrival a flat piece of ground was found for the camp. On the march each man carried a few pieces of stick or wood from ration boxes, and at the end of the day’s march a supply of wood for fires was immediately ready on arrival in camp. During this trek great credit was due to the cooks, both in the companies and the officers’ messes, for the splendid way in which they immediately set to and prepared meals for their expectant clients at the end of the day’s march. I know that at Gida, Evison (“D” Company’s mess cook) and his batman pals had so trained themselves that on the arrival of their Company Officers from the men’s lines, after seeing the mules unloaded and the men settled down, a splendid meal of fried eggs and bacon, biscuits and butter, tea, and Welsh rarebit was spread on the mess table-cloth. (“D” Company always boasted of this cloth, regardless of its doubtful snowy whiteness at times.)
The next day, the 13th of March, was very trying owing to the great heat and the distance covered, just over 20 miles. A midday halt was made on that part of the road where the transport section had had such a disastrous time on their journey from Salonica in December, and the mule drivers regaled every one with the horrible details of their experiences. The roads were being improved near the town of Topscin by parties of Bulgar prisoners under French guards. As the column approached Topscin village the sounds of music greeted it. The town was in the hands of the French, and their band had turned out to welcome us. The “Marseillaise” and “God Save the King” were rendered alternately while the whole Brigade marched by.
Just after leaving Topscin we crossed the Vardar River, and a couple of miles beyond, the new camping ground was reached; but the rain which had then set in made the arrival miserable. It was then 6.0 p.m. and every one was dead-beat, but an issue of rum livened us up a little.
The following morning bivouacs were struck and the march resumed as far as Amantovo, a distance of 14 miles, and it was during this march that the first man of the Battalion fell out, and only the excessive heat caused him to faint, showing how splendidly he had stuck to it. The camp at Amantovo was on soft, grassy ground, and the pegs of our bivouacs were driven in with ease, a change after the stony nature of our previous camping grounds. The last part of the day’s march had been over grassy downs, and the beautiful weather made it enjoyable. To add to the happiness, however, there was a surprise in store; a ration of oranges was issued that night. The next day’s march was to be performed in two parts. The start was made about 8.0 a.m., and the route lay through pleasant valleys and over undulating grassland. A few miles from Amantovo the Battalion marched past the Commander-in-Chief of our forces in Salonica, General Sir G. F. Milne, K.C.B., and his staff. The General was greatly impressed with the fitness of the Battalion.
About midday a halt was called and cooking commenced. Plenty of water, duly chlorinated, of course, was drawn from the local streams. In the afternoon small card parties were made up in the Battalion, others slept, while others read novels; each man in some sections carried a small sevenpenny novel, and by exchanging there was plenty to read. Just ahead of the Battalion was a tumulus, and from this point it was said that the “line” could be seen, but of course it was forbidden ground. The progress of the Battalion having been thus barred, we settled down to a very pleasant, restful afternoon in the warm sunshine, little dreaming of the eccentricities of the Macedonian springtime.
At twilight the order was given to move off, and with darkness came rain, and such cold rain, too! The wind sprang up and the first few miles were spoilt by “concertina work” by the column, a most dreaded thing for infantrymen with a heavy kit. However, after the first halt the movement of the column settled down and became more tolerable; but accidents to the mules soon disorganised the column again and connection in the dark became difficult. The Battalion floundered on through mud and slush over what must have been ploughed land, I think. Mules now began to fall out with unfailing regularity and men were constantly detailed from the ranks to reload them, and a very straggling column resulted. No one seemed to be certain of the way over this strange country in the pitch darkness. No one appeared to have a watch, either, for no halts were called; certainly the ground was too thick in wet mud for halting purposes, but after three hours marching over such ground in pouring rain all infantrymen felt the strain. Onwards the Battalion struggled, mile after mile, through this awful morass of mud and the pelting rain. Every one longed for a halt, but this was not to be; not until the Battalion arrived on the outskirts of Karasuli did that precious whistle break the silence. Then every one just sat down in the middle of the road. The men had marched for six hours without a halt or even taking off their packs. Remarkable to relate, the number of men who fell out was practically nil; there were no estaminets here, and to fall out would mean a lonely night in the desolate wilds of northern Greece; and this was an unpleasant prospect. At Karasuli a fairly long halt was made and spirits revived, but being under enemy observation no smoking was allowed; this was the last straw, and the Hun and his Allies had curses heaped upon their heads that night, if ever. Rumour that the final halt was only a few hundred yards ahead helped to improve matters, but even this flicker of hope was damped by the heavy rain that constantly poured down. The whistle sounded again, and off the Battalion moved, though no one knows the route taken to this day. Brigade staff certainly did its utmost to sort out the mixed column of men, mules and transport of all regiments.
The country here was broken by deep gullies or “nullahs” along which the water rushed in torrents. For over an hour the Battalion staggered along over the broken ground, one moment stumbling down a steep rugged bank of a nullah, the next crawling on hands and knees up the slippery bank opposite, and frequently wading nearly waist deep in water. About 1.0 a.m. the Battalion halted. Rain had fallen for hours and the ground was churned up into a quagmire, but a halt, even in these surroundings, was welcome. Men threw off their packs and, in spite of their weariness and exhaustion, it was to be admired that all the mules, which had also struggled through this terrible journey, were immediately unloaded. Kits, rifles and mule loads had been thrown on the ground by the overwrought men, and some just lay down from sheer fatigue; others stood in the bitter cold and awaited the dawn. Some of the more energetic dared to put up their bivouacs, but soon gave up the idea of sleeping owing to the terrific cold wind that blew. Those who were able to move were issued with rum, but I am afraid that owing to the difficulties of the situation and the fact that many men had fallen into a delirious sleep it was unequally divided, and in the darkness it was difficult to discern whether a staggering man was the outcome of too much marching or too much rum. Towards dawn the downpour ceased a little, but the shivering troops, mud from head to foot, still stood in the withering clutches of the Vardar blast, and one man remarked, looking at the surrounding swamp, “Guess I’m standing in the Blasted Vardar, too!” Gradually daylight appeared, and what a scene—drenched men, cold, miserable, hungry and tired. The sick parade was extremely large that morning. Many had become so exhausted that they had laid down in the wet mud during the night and the next morning were, of course, physical wrecks; others had reached a state of delirium and wandered about bereft of their senses, and mention has already been made of the third group, the men who had “really” got the rum. The balance of the Battalion simply felt done up. However, all those who had not been sent to the field hospitals at Karasuli set to work and dragged from beneath the mud, rifles, equipment, bivouac sheets and remnants of the mules’ loads, and sorted them into dumps. The sun shone and life appeared possible, even if not desirable, in this wilderness of mud. About midday the Quartermaster’s Stores sent fatigue parties to an A.S.C. depôt a mile or so away, and fresh meat and rations were issued. Small fires were soon started and the old “gyppa” was on the boil. Every one looked forward to a nice hot meal, when orders for an immediate move were received. One can pass over this scene without expressing the views of the troops; it can well be imagined how pleasing it was to see the half-cooked “gyppa” poured away into the mud, as the cooks’ gear had to be packed on the mules at once.
Soon afterwards the clank of the entrenching-tool handle against the rifle butt and the rattle of the water bottle and other impedimenta associated with troops on the march was heard. The Battalion moved off with Platoons at intervals of 100 yards. The road from Karasuli was in good condition and had dried up under the warmth of the sun and the constant wind, but a mile or so from the camping ground to that main road was covered with deep nullahs and ravines. As we passed over it we wondered how the Battalion had ever marched over such ground the previous night. Once on the main road a decent step was taken and the troops felt the benefit of a good road, and made headway. However, the wind renewed its violence of the previous evening and blew into the face of the Battalion so that the benefit of the better road was soon nullified by the Vardar Blast. Clothing was still saturated with the rain of the night before, and the cold wind simply pierced us to the bones. Snow fell and added to the misery of things and soon the country-side was white; to say nothing of the Father Christmas-like appearance of the troops. When darkness came things really became difficult and the march developed into a hopeless plodding along, fighting against a biting cold head wind the whole while. For the first nine miles the route was along the main road, and the mules retained their loads with comparative ease, and not like the previous day’s march when they slipped and fell over on the treacherous muddy tracks.