Spoiled Their Appetite
“It’s a fine night for the Germans,” is what we say when it’s so dark that you could not see your finger before you, and it was just on such a night that I was nicked while serving my gun. Just about two in the morning there was a heavy rattle of rifle fire on the hill where our advance men were posted, and soon the whole camp was alive with noise and bustle as the men sprang to arms. We always sleep beside our guns so as to be ready for anything, and in five minutes we were at our posts waiting for information about the range. That came later, and then we began plugging away for all we were able. We caught sight of a mass of Germans swarming up a slope on the right to take cover in a wood there, and they didn’t know what we knew. We dropped a few shells into them just to liven things up a bit, and keep them from thinking too much about the Fatherland, but we had to be careful because some of our own chaps were posted in that wood. The Germans kept rushing along gaily, and there wasn’t the slightest sound from the wood, where our men were securely posted behind felled trees. Now the German searchlights began to play all around and the air was lit up with bursting shells, so we could see the Germans getting nearer and nearer to that wood. Suddenly the whole side of the wood was one big sheet of flame as our hidden men sent volley after volley ripping through the ranks of the advancing Germans. They were fairly staggered at the suddenness and fierceness of the fire, and before they had time to collect their wits a big body of our chaps were into them with the bayonet. Just when this little show was in full blast the Germans obliged with more limelight, and we saw it clearly. That spoiled the German appetite for breakfast in that part of the field, though from what we heard later there was no doubt that this was the point where they expected to break through, and they cleared off quickly: A Gunner of the Royal Field Artillery.
“A Jigsaw Puzzle”
The Germans came on at a smart pace with the plan of seizing a hill on our right. At the same moment our cavalry came into view, and then the whole Guards Brigade advanced. It was really a race between the two parties who should reach the hill first; but the Germans won easily, owing to their being nearer by half a mile. As soon as their guns and infantry had taken up a position the cavalry came along in a huge mass with the intention of riding down the Irish Guards, who were nearest to them. When the shock came it seemed terrific to us in the distance, for the Irishmen didn’t recoil in the least, but flung themselves right across the path of the German horsemen. We could hear the crack of the rifles and see the German horses impaled on the bayonets of the front rank of the guardsmen, and then the whole force of infantry and cavalry were mixed up in one confused heap like so many pieces of a jigsaw puzzle: A Guardsman, from Compiègne.
“Erin Go Bragh!”
We are British soldiers, and proud of the name and proud to belong to the great British Empire, but in doing our duty for the glory and honour of the Empire we have always also in our minds to add, if we can, more lustre to the fair name of Erin. Our flag of green with the harp and shamrock and the words “Erin Go Bragh” is now faded and torn, but still loved and cherished. Talking about that dear old flag, I shall endeavour to describe how, at ——, when the fate of the day seemed to waver in the balance, when the ruthless enemy by sheer weight of numbers was pressing onward at every point of vantage, that faded flag turned a threatened defeat into decisive victory. On our left were the Munsters, on our right the Leinsters and Connaught Rangers. All were hard-pressed and were about to retire, when suddenly from the firing line one of our comrades rushed out flourishing the old green flag and shouting “Erin Go Bragh.” With the blood coursing fast through my veins, I watched with pride and admiration the marvellous effect produced these simple words. With a mighty cheer that seemed to rend the heavens, and that rose and swelled even above the din of battle, those hard-pressed sons of Erin charged down on the advancing enemy with fixed bayonets. The Germans were completely staggered by this unexpected turn of events when victory seemed just within their grasp, but they were given little time for hesitation, for, to slightly alter the words of a well-known Irish ballad:
Like lions leaping at a fold,
When mad with hunger’s pang,
Right up against the German lines
Those Irish heroes sprang.