Captain,
Brigade Major, 148th Infantry Bde.
12.11.16.
Interpreted, this meant that three hours later, five forty-five a.m., on the thirteenth, the infantry would go "over the top" on the first assault of the battle of the Ancre. The infantry in the trenches just in front of us were not to be in the attack, but were instructed to throw large numbers of smoke-bombs and maintain rapid fire, the idea being to make a good bluff that they were also going over and keep the enemy guessing in the trenches opposite them. At five forty-five exactly, the artillery around us all burst loose, and the fireworks started. Several batteries of 9.2-inch howitzers, not a hundred yards from us, soon tested the drums of our ears. The twelve-inch batteries just half a mile away also started firing as hard as they could, together with the others all around. The combined noise was naturally deafening, and reminded us of our experiences on the Somme. Above and around in all directions the whistle and swish of the shells made the air seem almost alive, all carrying their messages to the poor devils of Huns opposite us. The return shelling that day in Hébuterne was not intense. I imagine that their guns were too badly needed a little farther to the south. The push was to be made by eight divisions at first, and extended from about a quarter-mile south to Thiepval, about six miles below. We captured the village of Serre, just to the south, but were driven out again. Later on, it was retaken. As in almost every action, villages and points were captured and lost, then recaptured, and so on. A Boche general and his staff, who were at the time inspecting the enemy front lines at Serre, were captured. Beaumont-Hamel was taken the first day, and other villages to the south. At the start we captured over 6,000 prisoners, and our own casualties were very light. The weather then took a change to our disadvantage. The frost disappeared and was followed by rain, which made the ground very sodden and muddy. This state of affairs occurred so often after the first day or two of an attack that it almost seemed as if the weather was in league with the Germans.
Time and again it has happened that the British would capture the first and second objectives and then on account of bad weather developing the attack would come "unstuck" and troops unable to advance at any speed in the heavy mud.
We were obliged often to ride up on our motorcycles at night. Some fellows got used to this and the regular motorcycle despatch-riders do it habitually, but I can't say I ever enjoyed it. To a short-sighted man it isn't much fun. The fact that one of the despatch-riders one night was killed by running into our truck as we were coming out didn't encourage me. I have seen some fellows blown into ditches, and others crashed into walls by the concussion of shells exploding near them. Fast riding is usually a necessity and many accidents happen. I had many falls, but was fortunate enough to only spend one night in an ambulance-station.
The observation-balloon (or kite-balloon) section officers had bad times occasionally. One day at Souastre I noticed one of these "sausages" being carried away by a strong wind. The cable had broken and the wind was carrying the balloon very quickly toward the enemy trenches. As I looked up I saw the first officer observer drop out, hanging on to his parachute. Somehow it failed to open, and he dropped over 4,000 feet like a stone. The other man probably stopped to secure his maps and instruments, and a few seconds later, he dropped. Several hundred feet below the balloon his parachute opened and he came slowly sailing down, some four or five minutes later, fortunately landing in our lines. In the meantime two flying men had raced after the balloon and set the hydrogen bag on fire with tracer bullets from their Lewis guns, in order to prevent it from falling into the hands of the Huns. The poor fellow whose parachute had not opened was formerly a well-known and popular London actor, Mr. Basil Hallam.
Busy as all the engineers were, we couldn't build enough dugouts for all the troops. One day I went over to a very inadequate and shallow shelter in a part of the front line which was used as a company officer's dugout. They needed a new one badly, and we arranged to start the work the next day. As bad luck would have it, the Boches landed a five-nine on it that same night and killed or severely wounded every officer and orderly in the dugout at the time.
Occasionally some of the men would get what is known as "shell-shock"; most of the cases are undoubtedly genuine, but a small few are suspected malingerers. To reduce the number of the latter, most of the British army doctors required evidence confirming the details of the specific shell explosion causing the shock, that is, when it was not the result of cumulative conditions. My experience is that when a shell bursts very close to you, your heart seems to tighten and jump up. Actual displacement of the heart really occurs sometimes, my medical friends tell me, and the old expression of "one's heart is in one's mouth" takes on a real meaning. Fortunately in most cases as one becomes accustomed to shelling, the shock to the nervous system decreases, and an explosion or concussion which would thoroughly unnerve a new man is taken by a veteran with a nonchalance which certainly shows the development of strong will-power. However, the continued nervous strain tells its tale in gradually lowering the vitality of the men exposed to constant shelling.
CHAPTER X
THE RETREAT OF ARRAS
In January, 1917, we were directed to proceed from Hébuterne to the trenches near Arras. Our rest-camp was at Beaumetz, a village about two and a half miles back of the lines, and our work was the construction of forward underground galleries under No Man's Land and deep-dugout construction in Arras and the villages and trenches to the south. Another man and myself were billeted at B. with a French family, four generations of whom were occupying the kitchen, while we used what was formerly the parlor. I think we paid Mme. —— about five francs a month rent (which is incidentally by way of being quite a contrast to the rent of apartments in Washington this last winter). My forward billet was at Achicourt, a suburb of Arras. This part of the line was then pretty quiet and we were not sorry to get into a comparatively peaceful sector for a while. In Achicourt, a village about half a mile from the Germans' front line, a few civilians were still living. The troops would buy eggs, butter, bread, vegetables, and such like articles from these French residents. Another man and I used to make a practice of going down to the house of a French carpenter's wife and having the usual meal of omelet, "petit pois" or "haricot vert" and café au lait. She was a wonderful cook, as most of the French women are, and seemed to find a good deal of amusement in our attempts at conversation with her. Like many other French women still living in their homes close to the line, shelling did not bother her much. We used to have our meals in her kitchen. The room adjoining, the parlor, had been entirely destroyed by a shell, and several bullets had gone through the window of the kitchen. Shells would often land in the road outside and in the garden at the back while we were at meals here.