James Lusk: Letters & Memories

by James Lusk

The Battalion was all ready to march off to its assembly trenches in rear of the main trench, when an order came from the Brigade that operations were postponed for 24 hours and that all orders held good for the following day.

I happened to be senior of all the six Transport Officers in the Brigade, and so I was told that I would perform the duties of Brigade Transport Officer, and that all orders for movement of the transport of all six Battalions would be sent to me direct from the 8th Divisional Headquarters. There are four Regular Battalions and two Territorial Battalions in our Brigade.

At two minutes to five o'clock on Sunday morning our Artillery bombardment started, and continued for two hours, tapering off after the first hour and a half. It was my duty to stay back with the Brigade transports about three miles from the trenches. Everything was ready to move at a moment's notice, and I could do nothing but await orders.

About 7.30 the first motor-ambulance came down the road leading from the trenches with wounded on it, then they became more frequent, then groups of men and single men came walking back with slight wounds to arms and hands, then more ambulances with lying-down cases in them, and men sitting beside the drivers with bandaged heads.

Then the stream seemed to stop for several hours and only a few came back at intervals.

You can imagine how we who were kept back watched all this.

Despatch-riders on motor-cycles came tearing along the road in both directions. There was no speed limit; they passed like streaks. Mounted orderlies came back from our Artillery positions at full gallop, and we knew that it was ammunition that they had been sent for. Later on up the road came the teams with their loads, team after team of six horses, some at the trot but most at the gallop, with their riders sitting tight with their right arms over the shoulders of their off horses. The limbered wagons with their load of shells rattled behind the horses' hoofs. Towards the afternoon things seemed to be a little quieter, and rumours came back about all sorts of things. Then, after all that waiting, my turn came at last. Just before eight o'clock p.m., a Despatch rider on a motor-cycle brought me a message from the Headquarters of the Division.

It said that the Brigade would be moved to a certain place given by a map reference, at a time not definitely known, and that I was to get into touch with the Brigade and arrange for the bringing up of rations. It was getting dark by this time. I sent round a message to all the Transport Officers to have everything ready to move up when I gave the order, and I set out to find the Brigade. I took my fastest horse and had with me the Transport Officer of the Second Battalion Scottish Rifles and three mounted Orderlies. What a relief to get something to do! Off we went down the road towards the trenches at a gallop. My horse,—bought at Carluke,—was the fastest of them all and I led the way. Within about half a mile of the trenches we dismounted, and, leaving our horses at a farm in charge of the orderlies, we—that is Stirling (the other Officer's name) and I—went forward on foot. The positions of the different roads and fields were quite familiar to us, as we had been there many times before under the comparatively peaceful conditions of merely holding the trench line, and we knew approximately where the Headquarters of the Brigade might possibly be.

It was by this time 9 o'clock, and the night was dark. We had to turn along a road that ran parallel to the trenches, go along it perhaps a quarter of a mile, then take a track across fields in the direction of the trenches till we struck a second road, also running parallel with the trench line. Then the next thing to be done was to go along this road, and try to get touch with the Brigade by field telephones, which are laid between Brigade Headquarters and Artillery Batteries.

Crossing these fields the fire had been bad enough, but when we reached this second road there was a perfect inferno round about us. There were our own guns in every field along its length shooting across the road just over our heads, and the German shells were searching for them. Flash followed flash lighting up the darkness,—-bang followed bang with terrific force, as shells went from our side and shells burst from their side, and rifle bullets pinged and whistled through the air. There were blazing hay-stacks on one side of the road, that lit up the darkness with a weird light. Along it we went from battery to battery. The first one told us that they had been speaking to our Brigade, but that the plug had now been taken out. On we went to the next one: 'Sorry, the wire must be cut,' they said. On to the next: 'Can't do it, sir,' they said. Then on again. The firing was getting worse, and we doubled to the next place, where they had their telephone down in a cellar. This time they could do it, and I sent a message down to arrange a spot to which I would bring rations and water for the Brigade. Then we set out again on that same road to order up the Transports of the six Battalions. When we were about to leave the shelter of this place on the backward journey, the shells were bursting so near us and in such rapid succession that I said we must wait till this quietens a little. We made certain arrangements between us about the carrying back of the message, that, if either of us was knocked out, the other would 'carry on,' and then we started and ran for about half-a-mile—then lay down flat on our faces to recover breath—then up and on again, stopped under cover of a farm building to get breath again, then started down that track across the fields once more, and here we walked, for there were too many telephone wires about the height of one's chin across the pathway to make running much good. By now we had got out of the hottest part of it, and it was only an occasional shell that came across us and an occasional bullet that whistled close.