At Givenchy, on the night of May 25-26, 1915, the 24th Battalion made a successful assault on the German trenches, and strove to follow up their success by a bomb attack, during which fifty-five men out of the seventy-five who took part in it were either killed or wounded. During this very fierce encounter Lance-Corporal Keyworth, a Lincoln man, stood fully exposed for two hours on the top of an enemy's parapet, and threw about one hundred and fifty bombs amongst the Germans, who were only a few yards away. In a letter to his sister Lance-Corporal Keyworth thus describes the incident: "I was with the bombing party, and was the only one to come through without a scratch. I went along a ridge on my stomach, and threw bombs into the German trench, my distance being about fifteen yards. Men were shot down by my side. Still I continued, and came out safe. I was at once recommended for a decoration. It is supposed to be for bravery, but I cannot understand where it came in. I only did my duty; but how I came out God only knows." Unhappily this gallant lad, who was only twenty-two when he won the Victoria Cross, died of wounds six months later.
Lance-Corporal William Angus, 8th (Lanark) Battalion, Highland Light Infantry (T.F.).
On the night of 11th June Lieutenant Martin of the Highland Light Infantry went out with a bombing party to wreck a German sap. Suddenly a mine was exploded by the enemy, and the lieutenant fell stunned and bleeding at the foot of the enemy's parapet, only a few feet away from the foe. He was half buried, but after a night of horror managed to extricate himself from the heap of earth that covered him. As he struggled to get free, his own men saw him through their periscopes and made signs to him. He called aloud to them for water, and the Germans hearing him, flung a bomb at him. Happily it was unlighted. Our men now determined that their fallen officer should not be murdered. The best shots lined the parapet, and neither side dared lift a head. At last a German sniper shot the wounded officer in the side, and he feigned death so well that his men began to prepare a cross for his grave. About three o'clock, however, he was seen to move, and a Canadian officer proposed that, under a hot covering fire, a man should rush out with a lasso and haul him in.
Lieutenant Martin belonged to Carluke, a village in the Clyde valley; and there was another Carluke man watching him—Corporal Angus, who had just returned to the front fresh from an hospital bed in Rouen, where his leg, badly smashed at Festubert, had healed. He now went up to his officer and said, "Let me go, sir." He was assured that he would be going to certain death; but he replied, "Well, sir, sooner or later, what does it matter?" So saying, he crawled out, and wormed his way along the torn and heaped ground, amidst fragments of burst shells, broken wire, and the stark, still bodies of the slain, and in half an hour reached the officer, and put a flask of brandy to his lips. The two men lay side by side for a space, gathering strength for the return journey.
Suddenly the Germans lobbed a bomb over the parapet, and a cloud of smoke and dust arose, under cover of which Angus, half carrying, half dragging the wounded man, was seen staggering forward. When the smoke drifted away the German rifles cracked viciously, and more than a dozen bombs were hurled at him. Angus was literally riddled with wounds. "I could see the bombs coming," he said later. "I actually watched the one that cost me my left eye. I thought both were blown out in that awful, burning flash, so fearful was the pain in my face." The sight of the two wounded men being mercilessly pelted by the enemy aroused the fiercest indignation in the British trench, and only with the greatest difficulty were the men restrained from dashing out against the cowardly foe. A hurricane fire broke out on both sides, and in the midst of it the two men rolled into the Scottish trench.
When the heroic collier lad was sufficiently recovered to present himself at Buckingham Palace, and the King pinned the coveted cross on his breast, his Majesty murmured, "Forty wounds!" "Yes, your Majesty," responded Angus; "but only fifteen of them serious!" The gallant fellow's father was called into the presence of the King, who said, "Your son has won his decoration nobly. It is almost a miracle he is spared to you, and I sincerely hope he may fully recover and live long to enjoy it. May you, too, be long spared to feel pride in him and his achievement."
On a Saturday afternoon, a few days later, the village of Carluke, crowded with dwellers from all parts of the Clyde valley, made holiday, and prepared to welcome the hero who had dared death a hundred times to save the life of a friend. Flags waved, bands played, troops presented arms, and amidst loud cheering Angus limped through the streets with the man whom he had saved supporting him on the one side, and Lord Newlands on the other. Thus did he receive the deep gratitude and the handsome gifts of his neighbours and friends, and return home to his moorland cottage to nurse his "honourable" wounds. He was the first Scottish Territorial to win the Victoria Cross.
