"The train left Dover at 4.30 p.m. We reached Manchester at midnight and I and seven others were immediately motored to Worsley. So here I am in a nice cosy bed in the spacious mansion of the Egertons of Ellesmere—Worsley Hall. What vicissitudes one does go through!" ...
So, as far as the writer of this book was concerned, Ypres and all that its name implies was now but a memory: I was safely back on the right side of the water once again. My feelings on leaving "Wipers" behind me can best be expressed in the words which a poet of the 55th Division dedicated to the British Soldier in the second number of Sub Rosa:
"Good-bye, Wipers! though I 'opes it is for good,
It 'urts me for to leave yer—I little thought it would.
When I gets back to Blighty, and all the fightin's done,
Mebbe the picters of the past will rise up, one by one.
Like movies at the Cinema, they'll bob up in my brain,
The places that I knew so well—I'll see them all again.
The battered-in Asylum; the Prison scorched and scarred;
And 'ole Salvation Corner with the guns a bellowin' 'ard.
The muddy, ruddy, Ramparts; the mist upon the Moat;
The grey Canal between whose banks no barges ever float.
An' them Cathedral ruins—O Gawd, the fearsome sight!
Like mutilated fingers they points up through the night.
The blighters what relieves us—we'll treat 'em fair an' kind,
They're welcome to the soveneers what we 'ave left be'ind.
Good-bye, Wipers! though I 'opes it is for good,
It 'urts me for to leave yer—I little thought it would."
It was with a thrill of pride that I read in the newspapers during the following days of the magnificent achievement of the 55th Division—of the "Lancashire Men's Great Fight:" "Stubborn in attack and withdrawal." I read of heroic fights round Pommern Castle, of Wurst Farm being captured by a gallant young officer, and, particularly, the case of: "An officer who was left last out of his battalion to hold out in an advanced position (who) said to the padre who has just visited him in hospital, 'I hope the General was not disappointed with us.'" The General, I am sure, was not disappointed with these Lancashire men. No one could think of them without enthusiasm and tenderness, marvelling at their spirit and at the fight they made in the tragic hours—because it was a tragedy to them that, after gaining all the ground they had been asked to take, and not easily nor without losses, they should have to fall back and fight severe rear-guard actions to cover a necessary withdrawal.[15]
It was, naturally, a matter of great interest to me to determine to what particular officers these remarks referred, as no names were given and no battalions mentioned by name. Now, of course, we all know. The officer who reached Wurst Farm was John Redner Bodington, and the gallant young officer who fought like a hound at bay, while wounded over and over again, and hoped that "the General was not disappointed," was none other than the hero whose name is upon the title-page of this book—Bertram Best-Dunkley. And, as the days rolled by, one familiar name after another was recorded in the casualty lists. It was the bloodiest battle in History; the casualty list which contained my name was the longest I have ever seen in the Times.
I wrote to Sergeant Baldwin for information as to the fate of my platoon, and, some time afterwards, received the following reply:
"Ward 24,
"Ontario Military Hospital,
"Orpington, Kent.
"August 15th, 1917.
"Dear Sir,
"I have much pleasure in replying to your letter dated August 5th, 1917. I am very pleased indeed to know that you are safe in 'Blighty.' Well, sir, you ask me where I got to when we went over the top. I think you will remember halting and lying down in no man's land. Well, as I lay there the time seemed to be long; then I got up and went to the front of the platoon to see what had gone wrong. When I got there I found you had gone on and the remainder of the men had not the sense to follow you. So I led on with the remainder, taking my direction from the compass. I reached the hill and passed Schuler Farm on the right. We started to climb the hill and then a funny thing happened: those already at the top came running back again shouting 'Get back and dig in; they are outflanking us.' I took the warning and retired to a suitable position and got the men digging themselves in. We could see the Boches coming over the ridge like a swarm of bees. When they got nearer we opened machine gun and rifle fire. All the time this was going on the artillery had ceased firing, and I began to feel a bit downhearted. Then things quietened down a bit; so I told the lads to make a drink of tea for themselves, which they did gladly enough. All the time we could see Fritz preparing for a counter-attack and we knew it had to come. I waited patiently keeping a look-out for them coming. The men were getting knocked out one by one, until I had only five; and the Lewis Gun had got a bullet through its pinion which rendered it useless. Nothing happened until the evening, and then the bombardment started and we knew we had something to put up with. I sent up an S.O.S. rocket and our artillery opened out, but the shells were dropping short and hitting our men. Then we retired for about fifty yards and took up some shell-holes. I looked round and found all my men had vanished. I was amongst some of the Cams. and Herts. I really did not know what to do. The artillery became more intense and still our shells were dropping short. There was another sergeant out of the Cams. in this shell-hole with a few men; so I told him I would go back and try and get in touch with the artillery. On my way back I got wounded in the leg, so I rolled into a shell-hole. It began to rain and rained heavily all the night. When day broke I found myself covered with clay and mud, and wet through to the skin. I crawled out and looked about me. It was a quiet morning except for a shell bursting now and again, and I could see some men through my glasses, about a mile away, working on a road. I made my way towards them. How I got there I do not know, for I was more dead than alive. I inquired for the dressing-station, which I found after a long walk. I was sent down to the Base to hospital and was sent to England on August 6.
"I am pleased to say that I am feeling much better and my wound is getting on nicely. I hope my letter will find you feeling much better for the rest you have worked so hard for. I saw in the casualty list that the Colonel had died of wounds, the Adjutant killed, Sec.-Lt. Gratton missing, Captain Andrews wounded, and Lt. Telfer missing. I think I have told you all the news you require, and hope you enjoy reading it.