each averaging 60 lb. in weight, a quite sufficient load for a man to carry over a mile of trench duckboards on a slippery day in winter. A pioneer battalion (three companies) was lent by the 55th Division, one pioneer company and one field company being with each infantry brigade in line, the remaining pioneer company working in back areas under the orders of the C.R.E. By some men duty in the line was preferred to any other form of employment. A batman from rear headquarters was returned to duty for some misdemeanour. Being seen in the line a few days later looking particularly fit and cheerful, he was asked how he liked the change. “It’s a cinch!” he replied. “Keep your buttons clean and call the C.S.M. ‘Sir,’ and it’s a soft job.”
PTE. W. MILLS, V.C., 1/10 BN. MANCHESTER REGT. DIED OF WOUNDS
BETHUNE—LA BASSÉE CANAL, SHOWING NO MAN’S LAND, THE CRATERS, ORCHARD KEEP, ETC.
Red Dragon Crater, December 10, 1917
Though there were no infantry operations beyond occasional raids, the trench warfare was not lacking in incident, and snipers and patrols were active. Here the enemy snipers gave little trouble, and our patrols, of which several went out nightly from each front-line battalion, rarely encountered the enemy in No Man’s Land, where British mastery was tacitly admitted. Particular attention was paid to the systematic collection of intelligence by patrols, and a standard form of patrol report was introduced, and was incorporated later in the 42nd Division Pocket Book. Gas projectiles were freely used by the enemy, and on the first occasion these caused heavy casualties. But this incident gave the 10th Manchesters the opportunity to show their grit and tenacity. They seized the chance with both hands, and grievous as was the loss sustained, the story of the night of December 10 is one that Oldham men look back upon with pride. The battalion had only been in the front line for an hour or two when the enemy, knowing that a relief had just taken place, bombarded their trenches with gas-drums preliminary to an attack. Practically every man in Red Dragon Crater, occupied by men of “C” Company, was affected by the poison-gas, and most were out of action when the Germans attacked. But though choking, blinded, and reeling—and well aware from lectures on the subject that exertion under such circumstances is likely to be fatal—every man who could stand made for the parapet, and with bombs, rifles, and Lewis guns put up a memorable fight, one after another sinking back into the trench to die from the poison. But they held their post and beat the Boche, and every man who took part merited recognition. Private Walter Mills, realizing the deadly nature of the gas and the danger of the post being lost, sprang at once to the top of the trench, and fought magnificently to save the situation. Though suffering acutely from the gassing, he remained there, throwing bombs and beating off the attack, and fell back to die just as victory was assured. He was selected for the posthumous award of the V.C., and four other men of the company received the Military Medal.
A snowstorm in December was followed by a frost of more than a fortnight’s duration. When the sudden thaw came, with torrents of rain, the old trenches collapsed in many cases and were almost waist-deep in mud and water. Huge craters, due to former mining and counter-mining activity, abounded in the sector, and these were waterlogged, as was most of this marshy region, and the work of the night patrols was rendered still more difficult and exciting. Every available man was put to work, and the 55th Division lent their pioneer battalion and a field company.
Christmas arrived before the thaw, and, with twenty degrees of frost, the weather was appropriate to the occasion, and the blood tingled as it ought to do. The festival was celebrated by each unit on the date most convenient to itself, so the festivities continued well into January. Quartermasters had become expert in buying pigs “on the hoof” and fattening them. Béthune yielded oranges, apples, and nuts, and even beer at a price. Rations were supplemented lavishly from canteen funds, and there was no lack of cash, for it was intended that the men should have a good time. Mess-rooms were gay with garlands and bunting; dangers and hardships were forgotten, and the troops gave themselves over to merriment and good-fellowship. During the entertainment that followed one of the Christmas dinners an officer, much impressed by the radiant happiness, physical fitness, and morale, remarked: “I wonder what the parents would think if miraculously transported into this room? They would imagine that being at the front is regarded as the most glorious fun in the world, and that their boys are having the time of their lives.”
The pantomime, Cinderella, given by Th’ Lads, under the direction of Major Maude, D.A.A.G., Captain Webster, R.A.M.C., and Captain Makin, 9th Manchesters, drew large and enthusiastic houses, and richly deserved its popularity, the acting, staging and dresses being remarkably good. It was held at Le Quesnoy, within range of the enemy’s field-guns, and parties of officers and men were taken by motor-lorry from their billets in adjacent villages. In addition, each unit organized concerts and entertainments, and the 7th Manchesters were specially prominent in this respect, Major Hurst’s delightfully funny sketch “Gwendolen de Vere of Greenheys Lane” being hugely enjoyed. Each Brigade or unit had its favourite songs and its own peculiar jokes, many of which were incomprehensible to the outsider. Perhaps none was quite so esoteric as the weird Lament of the 10th Manchesters, known in three continents and many countries as “On Owdham Edge beaut ’at” (sung to an old Methodist tune combining swing and solemnity), wherein the gruesome fate of the lad who, without head-covering, courts Mary Jane upon that eminence is foreseen by the fond parent in a way that vies with Darwin’s logic in tracing the super-excellence of the roast beef of Old England (pre-war) to the prevalence of old maids in rural districts, via cats, mice, honey-bees, and clover. First a cold, then death, burial, eaten by worms, worms devoured by ducks, which in turn appear upon the family dinner-table. “Then we’s soon be ettin’ thee,” begins the last verse of this lugubrious but fascinating lyric. No doubt it recalled the loved, if unlovely, streets and mills of Chadderton, Mumps, Glodwick and Hollinwood, and visions of home and of potato-pie. A young “roughyed” who had taken a Blighty one at Nieuport got home-leave from a South of England hospital just after Christmas. “Eh, lad, but aw’m glad to see thi agen,” was his mother’s greeting. “Did they feed thi well?” “Feed me, mother! I’ve never ’ad such feedin’ in aw me life as this Christmas. ’am an’ eggs for breekfast, turkey an’ sossidges, plum-puddin’ an’ mince-pies for dinner. Cakes an’ grapes an’ apples an’ oranges as much as we could put away. Then yesterday we wur taken to a big house for dinner, and ’ad it all o’er agen, an’ other things too.” “Eh, lad, but they’ve done thi well!” “Aye, everything we could want—except one thing, mother, as I’m fair longin’ for, and that’s a gradely tater-pie.” “That’s aw reet, lad! There’s one a-waitin’ for thi i’ th’ oven, Aw knowed as they wouldna be feedin’ thi proper.”