These days at Watou, while being days full of work, were not unpleasant. We had plenty to talk about; and, seated on the grass on a summer evening, Joe Roake would make us rock with laughter at his quaint and humorous tales of his experiences when a sergeant at Loos and other battles. Roake was always a great asset to any mess when he honoured it by a visit. He hated Headquarters Mess; he was always ready to jump at any excuse to get away from the society of Colonel Best-Dunkley; and he was never happier than when, over a nice selection of drinks, he was retailing the Colonel's latest sayings and doings. And we, needless to say, were never happier than when listening to him on this most interesting topic! Roake and Humfrey with little "Darky," who was their invariable companion, were always welcome.
It was at this time that news came across that a son and heir had been born to Colonel Best-Dunkley. The event was one of considerable interest, and was widely discussed. "Poor little ——! To think that there's another Best-Dunkley in the world to look forward to!" exclaimed our humorous friend when he heard the news. "Well, when he grows up he will always have the gratification of knowing that his father was a colonel in the Great War!" mused Captain Andrews in a tone which suggested that he had a presentiment that Colonel Best-Dunkley would not survive the coming push. And, somehow—though nobody ever anticipated for a moment that he would win the V.C.—we all discussed the probability of his falling, and always thought that the odds were in favour of his falling. And to be perfectly frank (my object in writing this book is to tell the truth), nobody regretted the probability! If we had really known what kind of a man he was, if we had been able then to fathom beneath the forbidding externals, we might have felt very differently about it. But it is not given to man to know the future or even to discern the heart of his most intimate acquaintance! We only saw in him a man who was as unscrupulous as his prototype Napoleon in all matters which affected his own personal ambition, the petty tyrant of the parade ground, who could occasionally be very agreeable, but of whom all were afraid or suspicious, because none knew when his mood would change. In a few days this man was going to give everybody who knew him the surprise of their lives. Had he any presentiment or intention as to the future himself? I think he had both intention and presentiment. Throughout the whole summer of 1917 his whole heart and soul were absorbed in preparation for the coming push; never did a man give his mind more completely, unstintingly, and whole-heartedly to a project than Best-Dunkley did to the Ypres offensive which was to have carried us to the Gravenstafel Ridge, then on to the Paschendaele Ridge, into Roulers and across the plains of Belgium. He was determined to associate his name indelibly with the field of Ypres; he was determined to win the highest possible decoration on July 31: he knew what the risks were; he had seen enough of war to know what a modern push meant; he had not come through Guillemont and Ginchy for nothing and learnt nothing; he was determined to stake life and limbs and everything on the attainment of his ambition. He was determined to cover himself with glory; he was determined to let people see that he did not know what fear was. And I think—there was that in his bearing the nearer the day became which suggested it, everybody who had known him of old declaring that they noticed a certain change in him during the last two months of his life—that he felt that his glory would be purchased at the cost of his life.
I well remember one afternoon in the Ramparts when Captain Andrews came in and told us that it had been proposed that Major Brighten should take the Battalion over the top in the push and the Colonel remain behind on "battle reserve." Captain Andrews said that that would be fine, because if the push were a success—as it was sure to be—Major Brighten[10] would probably get the D.S.O. before the Colonel, which would annoy the Colonel intensely; and he said that he would do anything, risk anything to bring success to our beloved Major Brighten—feelings which we all cordially reciprocated. But Colonel Best-Dunkley would not hear of it. He implored the General to allow him to lead his battalion over the top; he waxed most importunate in his entreaties, almost bursting into tears at the thought of being debarred from going over with the Battalion; and, at last, his request was granted and the General agreed that Best-Dunkley should take the Battalion over.
Another very gallant officer was also very grieved when he was informed that he was detailed to be on "battle reserve" for the push. That officer was Kenneth Blamey. When Captain Blamey was informed that his second-in-command would take the Company over he implored to be allowed to go over the top with his company. But his request was not granted. Bodington was to take D Company over. It would not do for all company commanders to go over the top at once: the future has to be considered.
One more reminiscence before I close this chapter. It was at Watou that fat Joye used to come into the tent and get me to talk to him about the war. I remember him coming in to see us the last night at Watou and saying to me that we would both have nice "Blighties" in the leg in a few days. I replied that I hoped so. Things turned out exactly as Joye forecast: about ten days later I met him on the grand staircase in Worsley Hall!
FOOTNOTES:
[9] This refers to the newspaper controversy in the Middleton Guardian in which I had been engaged throughout the whole time I was at the Front.
[10] He afterwards won the D.S.O. and Bar, Belgian Ordre de la Couronne and Belgian Croix de Guerre.