ONE OF THE SERGEANTS OF “C” COMPANY IN THE TRENCHES.
IN THE TRENCHES.
The 22nd of October promised to be the most lovely day. Except for the usual amount of desultory rifle and machine-gun fire at “stand to,” there was nothing to show that the Germans were about to depart from the normal state of inactivity that characterised the warfare on this sector of the front. About 8 a.m. a corporal of the King’s Own who had been doing observation work reported that the Germans had removed all their own wire, with the exception of a few strands, on their front opposite the sector held by C and B Companies. This Captain Woodgate, commanding B Company, confirmed himself. In the “Comic Cuts,” or Corps’ Summary, of the previous day it was noted that the enemy had also removed his wire opposite the line held by the French, north of Hebuterne. The natural conclusion was, therefore, that he was going to attack. The state of the wire in front of our own trenches was wretched. A month before, during the period of fighting in Champagne and the battle of Loos, the wire all along the front had been removed in readiness for a possible advance, and little trouble had been taken to replace it afterwards. At 9-35 a.m., Woodgate, Vance, Brown (one of Woodgate’s subalterns), and myself were having breakfast in the “Catacomb.” Suddenly—“whiz-bang, whiz-bang” right at the door of the dugout. The blast from the shells knocked the cups and plates off the table. There was a pause for a second, then a terrific explosion which shook the whole earth. In half a minute we had on our equipment, and Woodgate, followed by myself, Brown, and Vance, ran up the stairs of the dug-out. The air was full of dust, and the ground in front of us seemed to be in a blaze of bursting shells. “This way,” called Woodgate, and following him we ran down a communication trench leading to the front line. We had only gone a few yards when we ran into a man rushing back, blood pouring from his shoulder and arm. Woodgate stopped and caught hold of him, calling to us to run on. We ran down the trench, bending low, for a hail of shells was passing us and bursting on all sides. In a few seconds Woodgate caught us up again. I led, then Brown, Woodgate, and Vance. Suddenly, just round a curve in the trench, and about ten yards in front of me, there was a terrific explosion. I was lifted clean off my feet into the air, and thrown flat on my stomach on the ground. Almost simultaneously another shell hit the top of the trench, and before I could think where I was, or recover my breath, the whole side of the trench leant over, and fell on top of me. It was a wonderful sensation, and I remember saying to myself aloud: “I wonder when this is going to stop.” Still the earth kept falling, and the weight on my shoulders and the small of my back became oppressive. One thing was pleasing, there was dead silence under ground. I began to heave with my shoulders, and took a deep breath. There was no difficulty in breathing as the earth seemed full of air. On the second heave I felt I was able to move, and after what seemed ages I got my head and shoulders clear. I was firmly fixed from my waist down, but in less than a minute had dragged myself out. I looked round, and saw that the entire trench had been filled in. There was no sign of any of the others, but a small bit of British warm coat was sticking out of the hole where I had been which represented Brown. I got hold of it and pulled hard. Gradually Brown emerged, cursing like a trooper, and spitting clay out of his mouth. With little difficulty we got Woodgate out, and Vance appeared behind him. We then ran on, and when we came to the fire trench Woodgate called out: “Get the men out of the living trench into the front line.” The living trench was one running just behind and parallel to the fire trench. In it were a large number of what were called “funk holes,” scooped out of the front of the trench, in which the men slept when off duty. Leading from each company in the fire trench there was a passage to the living trench. It should be explained that by day the minimum number of men possible are on duty in the fire trench. Sentry duty is most exhausting work, and it is possible for one man by day to suffice where it would take ten or even twenty men by night. In a company frontage of perhaps 500 to 600 yards three sentries, one to each platoon would be ample in the firing line provided there was a clear field of view to the front; but of course it is entirely a matter of situation and the nature of the ground. Woodgate called to me: “You take the two centre platoons and get everyone into the trench as quickly as possible.” I ran along the living trench rousing the men, who despite the terrific din of bursting shells were mostly sound asleep, and telling them to get out. Shells were falling mostly in the living trench and just behind it, and I had to go round by way of the fire trench as the passage behind was blocked up. Meanwhile the air was thick with flying debris of every kind—posts, iron sheets, great baulks of timber were flying everywhere as the enemy blew our wire to bits. In particular I watched with fascination, a sheet of corrugated iron, blown from the roof of a dug-out, which flew about in the air like a card, and dashed hither and thither, finally coming down with a great slant on the parados of the bay next to where I was. It is no easy matter to wake the sleeping soldier, and as I worked my way down the living trench I thought I would never get the men out of the dug-outs. Here and there, however, where a bit of trench had been blown in, men were creeping out, pulling their rifles from under the fallen clay. At last, after what seemed an age, they began to file into the bays. The front trench was very narrow, deep, and well sand-bagged, and once they had thoroughly realised what was going on they knew it was the safest place. Owing to the double number in the trenches nearly every bay was manned by at least two men. Bayonets were fixed, and ten rounds fixed into the magazine, and we felt quite ready for what I expected would come any minute. The shell fire now became terrific, and practically the whole living line was filled in, the shells just missing the front line and lighting on the step of ground some ten yards inside separating it from the living trench. Curiously enough no shells were lighting in the fire trench. Two bays on the right of the two platoons under my charge had been knocked in during the first few minutes of the bombardment. They formed a small salient, and presented a very easy target to the enemy, whose artillery was mostly operating from Serre wood. Once the fire trench was manned there was little to do except go up and down the trench and see that all was well. The stuff the Germans were sending over was composed of every imaginable form of ordnance. The biggest shells were probably eight inch, and the air was thick with aerial torpedoes, minenwerfer, and oil drums. The latter came hurling through the air turning over and over and exploding with a terrific crack, making a very large crater. Aerial torpedoes, designed more for moral effect than to cause actual damage, burst with a nerve shattering explosion. I noticed that the closer one was to a bursting shell or aerial torpedo the less the noise, it was more of a sharp click, the greatest effect would be at almost 30 yards, under that the sound did not seem so great, though the concussion of course was terrific. Meanwhile the Germans, though they had blown most of our wire away showed no signs of attacking. It was just one of those small intensive bombardments known at the front as “a morning hate” or “straffe.” When this had lasted about an hour and a half, our artillery began to retaliate. Those were the days when ammunition was precious, and each battery strictly limited. It was a pleasant sound, however, to hear the whiz of our own shells overhead and see a great mass of earth rise from the German lines, and this had a marvellous effect on the men. They at once became cheerful, the Lancashire men especially. “Thar goes a Lloyd George for you,” as the whiz of a heavy shell like an express train overhead was heard. “Bah, he’s a dud.” “Say, Jock, the lassie ’as made ’im forgot to put in the vital spark.” “There goes Fritz’s iron rations” as a salvo of shrapnel burst over the first line. On the whole, however, our artillery retaliation was poor.
About 11-30 the bombardment began to die down, and by 12-30 it was over. The damage done, considering the number of shells fired into such a small sector was very small. Two bays on the right of “B” Company were completely flattened, otherwise there was no damage done to the fire trench. The living trench and communication trenches suffered more. Two of the latter had been knocked in, while the living trench along the company line had been badly battered. One very gruesome effect was noticed. There were a large number of Frenchman’s graves in the parapet of the fire trench, for the French have a habit of burying a man where he falls, whether at his post or not. A hole was opened in the side of the trench, the body was shoved in, and the grave filled up. A little cross surmounted by the dead man’s cap, and often his bayonet and rifle, marking the spot. In places where the fire trench had been hit or shaken many of the remains stuck out, and in many cases buttons and badges were “souveneered” by the men.
When the bombardment was over Woodgate told me it was the most severe they had experienced since May 8th, at Ypres, and quite an unusual occurrence on that front. Two men were killed and sixteen wounded, very small casualties taking into consideration the intensity of the fire. That night we dug a new trench behind the small sector blown in. There was a full moon, and walking about on top was very interesting. The ground was honeycombed with shell holes, while in all directions unexploded shells were lying about. A trench which had been used by the French for the purpose of burying dead had been unearthed in many places and the ground was littered with old equipment, clothes, and bones. I remember thinking it was the most appalling refuse heap I had ever seen. Next day was very quiet, we began work on the new trench at about 7-30, and I took charge of the three working parties in it. A considerable amount of work had been done the night before, and only a short piece remained to be dug in the centre. At 8-55 I told the men to take a ten minutes “easy” and went up to the left platoon to see one of the Sergeants about rations. I had gone about five minutes when a salvo of “whiz bangs” (77 mm shells) burst right in the trench where the men had been working, and immediately afterwards very heavy rifle fire broke out on our right. The “stand to” was passed down and the rifle fire went on for about half-an-hour, especially in the direction of “C” Company. All had quieted down about 10 o’clock. I then ascertained that a party of Germans had endeavoured to bomb “C” Company’s trenches. A very large number of bombs were thrown, and in all sixteen men were wounded. For their coolness in this attack our men were greatly commended, and one man, Andrew Marshall, of No. 11 platoon, was specially recommended for devotion to duty. Badly wounded in the hand, and unable to use his rifle, he refused to leave the trench, and kept loading rifles for the men on the fire step.
The remainder of our time in the trenches was very quiet. On Sunday, 24th October, we took over the line held by “A” Company King’s Own as a Company the King’s Own going back into support, and the following evening we marched back to our billets in Mailly-Maillet. Our period of instruction had been most useful, for “C” Company in particular. We had experienced a bombardment and a bomb attack in both of which the men had proved their metal, and shown what was in them. As far as the Officers of “C” Company were concerned, those who came in contact with Capt. Woodgate will never forget the lesson they learned from him. “A” and “B” Companies attached to the Essex and South Lancs. Regiments had a quiet time, but “D” Company attached to the Lancs. Fusiliers in the Redan salient had their initiation into mine warfare, a platoon being in the salient when the Germans blew up a mine without, however, causing any loss of life. A good story is here told of Lieutenant W. He was out one night with a small patrol, the pass word being “Shakespeare.” A large German patrol was sighted and W and his patrol had to retire in some haste. W himself fell headlong into a sap on the top of the astonished sentries with the ejaculation “For God’s sake let’s in, Shakespeare.”
