The trench seems endless, but, at last, the front line is reached. Other men, covered with mud and wearing equipment, are waiting there. The relief goes smoothly. Sentries are changed, duties are handed over, the latest intelligence about “Fritz” or “Jerry” is imparted. “Quiet tour. Not a casualty in our company. He doesn’t fire if you lie doggo.”
With every sign of satisfaction the relieved troops withdraw. Men who are not on sentry seek their shelters and grouse at the condition they have been left in. The platoon commander inspects his line, swears that the people he has relieved have done no work during the whole tour, and goes off to air his grievances at Company H.Q. The Company Commander wires “Hundred gallons of rum urgently needed,” “Love to Alice,” or some such message, which has been agreed upon to signify “Relief complete.”
The tour has begun.
For the first time, the Battalion was responsible for the defence of a sector of the line, with no one between it and the enemy. There it was to remain for about two months, inter-relieving every few days with the 6th Battalion Duke of Wellington’s Regt., and spending its rest periods in and near the village of Fleurbaix.
No. 3 Section was about a thousand yards in breadth. There was a continuous front line but, apart from a few strong points with all-round defence, there were no fortifications in rear of it. Those were the days when artillery was scanty and shells few; when Lewis guns were unheard of and the only machine guns available were the two Maxims owned by each battalion. Hence it was to the rifle that everyone looked for the defence of the line, and, in order to secure the maximum of fire effect, as many men as possible were permanently stationed in the front line. At that time there were practically no men extra-regimentally employed, and the personnel of the Transport and the Q.M. Stores was cut down to a minimum. No “trench strength” for this first tour has been preserved, but the Battalion must have been at least 900 other ranks strong. Thirteen out of the sixteen platoons were stationed in the front line, so that, making due allowance for the men attached to Battalion H.Q., there must have been nearly 700 men in that 1,000 yards of trench—in other words, well over a man to every yard of fire bay. It can easily be imagined how crowded the line was. At stand to men stood shoulder to shoulder on every fire step.
During the Battalion’s first tour in this Section, A Company was on the right, D Company in the centre, and B Company on the left. C Company lent one platoon to strengthen the garrison of the front line, the remainder occupying Dead Dog Farm and another strong point in the neighbourhood. In subsequent tours these positions were inter-changed in order to give each company its turn in battalion reserve. The main feature of the sector was the Convent Wall, which lay almost at right angles to the front line, near the junction of B and D Companies. There were no communication trenches up to the line. Reliefs were carried out straight up the Rue des Bassiéres and then along the side of the Convent Wall. From the front line the ground sloped gently up to the crest of the Aubers Ridge. No Man’s Land was covered with thick grass and rank weeds, and was intersected by many derelict trenches.
The country was so low-lying, and water lay so near the surface, that digging was practically impossible. Hence the defences consisted almost entirely of breast-works, built of sandbags. The line was of the usual stereotyped kind—six yard fire bays alternating with four yard traverses. Shelters were built into the parados. They were very flimsy structures, affording protection against nothing but bullets and the weather. It is doubtful whether there was a shelter on the whole sector which would have stopped a “whizz-bang.” Such was the line in which the Battalion served its apprenticeship.
From the G.O.C. to the latest-joined private, every man in the 49th Division was new to trench warfare, and so had everything to learn. Training in England had mostly taken the form of open warfare, and practically no one in the Infantry had had any instruction in field engineering, or in looking after his own comfort. So necessity became the main teacher, and perhaps a better one could not have been found. At first rations were carried up by the reserve company, but later it was found possible to bring pack animals right up to the Convent Wall; a light cart,—one of the many unauthorised vehicles owned by the transport at one time or another on active service—was fitted with axle and wheels, salved from a derelict motor car which was found lying in a ditch, and was used for carrying ammunition and R.E. material. All rations were sent up uncooked, and for a day or two they were issued in that form to each man. But the waste and futility of individuals cooking for themselves was so apparent that the system was quickly given up and section messes were instituted, one man in each being detailed as cook. The main source of water was the Convent pump, but the reserve company sometimes sent men down to the nearest inhabited houses to replenish, and it is rumoured that beer occasionally came back instead of water.
About the time the Battalion reached France the enemy first made use of poison gas in his second great attack on the Ypres Salient. This caused great anxiety among the allied armies and measures were at once taken to protect the men against it. The Battalion received its first issue of respirators a few days after it arrived in the neighbourhood of Fleurbaix. They were clumsy affairs—a piece of cotton waste, saturated with a solution of hypo, and wrapped in black gauze. When in use the cotton waste covered the mouth and nose and was gripped in the teeth, the respirator being held in position by tying the gauze at the back of the head. Old ammunition boxes, filled with hypo solution, were installed in the front line, and the respirators were often worn at stand to for practice. One awful wet night the Divisional Commander visited the trenches to see the working of the respirators. Most men were carrying them in their great coat pockets instead of their haversacks, and when he ordered them to be put on there was great confusion. The rain poured down; in the darkness men dropped their respirators in the mud and the crepe became thoroughly soaked. Altogether the practice was not a success. These first respirators were very uncomfortable to wear, difficult to keep in position, and practically useless against anything more dangerous than a weak concentration of chlorine. Before long the P. helmet superseded them but, though rather more effective, it was quite as uncomfortable. Having no outlet valve, it was difficult to breath through, and made the wearer terribly hot. Its single mica window was very fragile and the least crack in it rendered the whole helmet useless. As helmets had to be inspected at least three times a day at that time, the wastage was very great.