The Diggers: The Australians in France

by Patrick MacGill

But the Americans, I understand, don't waste time in dealing with little affairs like these. Full of the call of battle they rush forward to get right into the thick of the struggle. Their business is in front where the fighting is hardest, and they do not care to linger in dug-outs and trenches apparently disbanded and deserted.

"They're bad moppers-up," the Australian repeated. "But they're great fighters, these Yanks."

It was in this district near Hamel that heavy fighting took place last summer, when the grass and self-sown crops stood high on the field of battle. Here the Australians adopted a certain kind of guerilla warfare, which kept the Germans in continual suspense and which greatly helped the forward penetration of the attackers. For certain periods no direct frontal attack was opened in force, but during the time the Diggers did not remain inactive. Patrols stole out through the long grass, crawling to certain localities occupied by the Boche, sunken roads, valleys, shell-holes and ruins of farmhouses. Here at various points were many encounters in which bomb and bayonet were used and in this way many nests were cleared of the enemy. Platoons and squads adopted these tactics on their own bent, stealing ground bit by bit from the Germans. Even solitary soldiers, working on their own initiative, did a lot towards chasing the enemy back. Stories of deeds accomplished by Diggers, the capturing of dug-outs, the rushing of machine-gun positions are spoken of, but as the Australian is one of the most modest of men, many stories of desperate deeds and high enterprise will never be known beyond the limits of camp and the field of war.

At various points along the route the officer conducting our party told us of various incidents, comic and sublime, which had taken place on the wide field of the Somme. Here it was the story of a one-armed Captain who went into an attack at the head of his platoon, carrying only a walking stick. Leading his men on the tail of a barrage and holding them back when they pressed too close to the bursting shells, he regulated the line with his stick like the conductor of an orchestra.

Again it was the story of a machine gun, untouched by the barrage, resuming firing when the first wave of Australian attackers almost reached it. A machine gun is a vicious little weapon, and the Australians had to fling themselves flat to avoid being cut to pieces. Then three men, a sergeant, a corporal and a private, rushed the gun from the flank, bayoneted the gunners and captured the gun. This prompt manœuvre, planned and executed in the space of time necessary for the lighting of a cigarette, saved many lives.

Another story was of a crew of desperate Germans who brought a machine gun into the open and fired through the barrage on the Diggers. The Australians saw the gun, and a company commander without a moment's hesitation turned to two of his sergeants and put the trite question: "Are you game?" The sergeants, who were game, nodded, and without further ado the three men rushed through the bursting shells on the gun. Bullets hissed past their ears, flying shrapnel splinters wounded them, but with impetuous dash and sublime indifference to death they swept on the gun crew and destroyed it. Later one of the sergeants died of his wounds; the officer, with his shoulder badly torn, continued to lead his men and stayed with them all the next day through a heavy bombardment.

Again we were told of a private, whose crime sheet spoke of innumerable petty delinquencies. This man, when his platoon officer became a casualty and the non-commissioned officers fell, led the way to a trench where the Germans were stoutly resisting, and with bomb and bayonet drove the Germans back. Hand-to-hand fighting of the stiffest nature took place, and this private killed at least twenty-five of the enemy before they were routed. Having accomplished this herculean task he led the Diggers to the objective line, organized and took charge of it for the two days following.

Then there are many other stories of men, eager and exultant at the prospect of making an attack and getting into grips with the enemy. There was a certain private who had been detailed for a soft job at the baths in the back area. On hearing that his battalion was going to attack he absented himself from his post without leave, joined his regiment and took part in the attack. Another man, a corporal of the same battalion, was away at some training school, did the same, but by ill-luck he arrived late and joined his men the day after the battle.

"On the day when we attacked on that ridge across there an officer of the infantry came in an aeroplane to take part in the attack," said the driver of the car when we came to a momentary stop on the St. Quentin road. He pointed his finger towards a bluff that rose from the Somme and stood a little higher than the country round it. "He was an officer, hit on the head by a splinter of shell a few days before the attack, and sent to hospital at the base," said the driver. "Word that his battalion was going to cross the bags reached him, and he implored permission to return, as his wound was healed. But the doctors wouldn't allow him to go. On being told this he went to a mate of his, an airman who was flying towards the front, and asked for a lift. He was given a lift, and got in touch with his battalion in time to get into the attack."