The big offensive which took place in the Ypres Salient from July to September, 1917, is remembered more by the atrocious weather which accompanied it throughout—and finally ruined it—than by any other feature. Hopes had run high, as details of the ambitious scheme leaked out, that this great push was going to hasten very considerably the end of the war. The Bosche evidently feared that such might be the result, to judge from the stubborn resistance he put up, and the number of big guns he brought to bear on the district, and it was the eternal shelling during these three months, combined with what was probably a record in bad weather even for France, which caused men ever after to speak with bated breath of “Passchendaele.”
To have been through Passchendaele was regarded as having endured the most severe trial of the war, but “Passchendaele” when referred to in this connection, included not only the little village of that name and the ridge adjoining it, but the whole of the devastated area in the Ypres Salient where the fighting was so keen during the last wretched months of the so-called summer of 1917. Passchendaele, therefore, can be stretched to include Glencorse and Polygon Woods and the Westhoek Ridge, for here the full fury of this terrible battle against the combined forces of the Bosche and the weather was felt, and as far as the Civil Service Rifles were concerned, they were knocked out by the weather before they reached the “starting gate.”
Throughout the last few days of August the rain fell almost continuously. The marsh referred to, through which two men had to wade, had now become a pond, and the rest of the country on Westhoek Ridge had become a sea of mud. The attack, after being postponed from day to day, was finally abandoned on the 31st of August, when the advance party, under the Adjutant, was actually on parade ready to start for the trenches. A limber containing medical stores, signalling equipment, etc., had already been despatched for the Menin Road, where it was to await the advance party. The advance party was dismissed, the limber brought back, and later in the evening it became known that the attack was definitely abandoned so far as the 47th Division was concerned.
The news created something akin to consternation in the Battalion, where the men felt the keenest disappointment at the loss of such an opportunity to prove their worth, but none felt it more keenly than Colonel Parish. It transpired that he had not recovered from his head wound received on the Somme in 1916,[14] and he was therefore to return to England, but he had succeeded in persuading the authorities to allow him to see this battle through before going away. It thus came as a very bitter blow to him, who had devoted so much energy and zeal to improving the fighting spirit, that he should have to leave without ever having commanded his Battalion in the front line.
[14] This wound contributed to his untimely death on 9th Oct., 1921. He is buried at Hawarden.
His grief was shared by all ranks in the Battalion, for although he had only been in command for six weeks, he had worked a wonderful change, and had inspired every one by his enthusiasm for the Civil Service Rifles.
There was not an officer, N.C.O. or man who had served under him who did not feel how very much the Regiment owed to Colonel Parish. It had been a real pleasure to serve under him in any capacity, and there was a genuine and universal regret felt at his departure. The benefit of his six weeks’ command was felt in the Battalion throughout the rest of the war.
Colonel Parish said good-bye on parade on the 23rd of September, when he told the men how sorry he was to go, but assured them all that it was only for a little while, for he would be back as soon as the powers that be would allow him. He felt sure that when that time came, Colonel Segrave, to whom he was handing over his command, would be able to tell him that this was still the finest Battalion in the Division.
This, then, was the explanation of the “quiet, unobtrusive Colonel in the Scotch cap” who had been living with the Civil Service Rifles for the past fortnight. He had a difficult task before him, coming as he did, after one who had become such a hot favourite with all under his command. Colonel Segrave did not start off with the “new broom” tactics, for there was very little that he wished to alter, and it was his desire to continue on the lines of his predecessor. He told the Battalion, when he took his first parade on the 4th of September, how proud he was to be given command of the Civil Service Rifles, but it is safe to say that not even he guessed how great was to be his love for this Regiment before the end of his régime.
Very soon afterwards the Battalion relieved the 2nd South Lancashire Battalion in support trenches round about Hooge and Château Wood on the Menin Road, and here were spent the last seven days of the eleven months’ sojourn in the Ypres Salient. The experience of these seven days was a fitting conclusion to all that had been endured in the past year, for they were days during which the Salient lived up to its worst reputation.