At last we moved on, and debouched from the town without further loss. We could clearly see the German lines, which were lit up by large coloured flares, as a safeguard against night attacks. The flares reminded one of fireworks and were quite pretty to watch. We had not gone far before we turned off into a field, and lay down and rested. Each platoon lay in a group by itself, so as to minimise the danger from the enemy’s shells, which were falling thick and fast. It was also wet and damp, and however elevated we might be morally, we felt extremely miserable. An hour or so before dawn on the 25th we were collected together, and more ammunition was issued. This operation took some time in the dark, and ought to have been done before we entered Ypres, as a few shells might have wiped us out.
At last we were on the forward road again, and after a mile or two turned to our left down a narrow lane, and were there halted. Dawn was now breaking, and none of us had the least idea what we were going to do. It was cold, muddy, and sopping wet. I never felt more miserable in all my life. However, there was nothing we could do but try and make the best of it, till the sun should come out and dry us.
I afterwards discovered that we were rather to the right of Hill 60, and that the British position, a mile or two ahead, was being held by a handful of men. In parts of the line this handful had been overwhelmed, and we were ordered to go forward and try to save the situation. The Canadians had been fighting against enormous odds, and were almost exhausted; a great many of them had been gassed, and some, whom our men came across, said that they could do no more. In such circumstances we were ordered to advance, although we had no precise instructions; apparently we were to go on as far as we could, and drive the Germans back, or at least hold them.
We commenced our advance in ‘artillery formation,’ but soon extended into ‘open order.’ I won’t attempt to give many details of that long morning, as they are too complicated. We advanced and retired, and then advanced again, during which time several casualties occurred. The bursting of the shells all round one was rather trying, and a very strange experience to the uninitiated! A shell unfortunately burst in the middle of No. 1 Platoon (Morpeth), very seriously wounding Second Lieutenant Adams, and killing and wounding several of his men. Captain Flint, also of this company, was blown up by a shell, though not actually touched. He jarred his spine on landing again, having been carried to a great height. Some of the Germans were very close, and several of our men almost ran into them accidentally. This was made possible by the undulating nature of the ground.
Our advance was a complete success, and the advance posts of the enemy withdrew. They could probably have overwhelmed our battalion, but fortunately were under the impression that they were opposed by a much larger force than they really were. The G.O.C. used our brigade as a bluff, and the fact that our men, in their enthusiasm, advanced at a great pace, lent colour to this. A Seaforth Highlander’s letter appeared in an Edinburgh paper, in which he said that they had received a terrible shelling, and had made up their minds that their last hour had come. Then suddenly they observed that the shells were passing over their heads, and looking back they saw to their joy the Northumberlands, advancing in perfect order, as if on parade.
These Germans, who withdrew before us, I have since discovered, were beginning to come through the gap which had been made in our front line. If they had only known the number of British reinforcements, and had pushed their attack home, they might perhaps, to use an expression, have been marching into Ypres ‘in fours’ in the evening. As it was, our advance in open country completely bluffed them: they hesitated and were lost. Their hesitation enabled our front line to close its gap, and several of the enemy, who had broken through, and then withdrew before our advance, were captured.
Finally on that day we took up a defensive line on the hillside. We had not a very large ‘field of fire,’ because after about 60 or 100 yards the ground sloped downwards, and so if the enemy should attack we should have to be extremely smart with our rifles. In front, however, somewhere on the slope, out of sight, the London Rifle Brigade were entrenched. We did not know for certain, but heard rumours that they were hard pressed and that a party of Germans had broken through and might be on us any minute. My platoon was in a ditch with a hedge in front of it, and underwent a terrible shelling in the afternoon, which slackened off towards the evening. Shells burst continually all along the long, thin line of our battalion, some bursting just short, some just beyond, and others crashing through and making cruel gaps among our men. I had many almost miraculous escapes. A bullet passed through my cap, and I was all but buried by a shell, which tore away half of a little shelter I had crawled into. One shell, which burst a yard or two off me, killed two of my men and injured another. The two men displayed great heroism in their dying agony. One of them, Bob Young, as he was carried away, minus his legs, called upon an officer, who was almost overcome by the sight, to ‘be a man’; and I was further told that he died kissing his wife’s photograph, with the word ‘Tipperary’ on his lips. Such were the men the Germans failed to break, men with an unconquerable spirit which no human horror could overcome.
The most trying time was when it became dark, because, had the Germans attacked us, we should have been unable to shoot many. We waited with fixed bayonets and found it bitterly cold. I spent a good part of that long afternoon and evening in sorting out my men, finding them scattered about the line, and getting them together, so that when we should march off there would be less confusion, and No. 7 Platoon would be ready. There was a ruined farm just behind our line, and there we obtained some good water from a pump. There Donkin showed me his bleeding foot, which had received a dose of shrapnel.
At last, between ten and eleven P.M., under cover of the night, we were relieved by other troops, and retired to almost the same place from whence we started in the morning. We lay down in a field and slept, in spite of the cold, for we were worn out; we had been marching and fighting for about thirty-six hours on end, and the only food we had had was the iron ration we carried with us, and the water we got at the farmhouse. I lost my ration as a matter of fact, as it became unfastened from my belt in the course of the advance. The battalion in these operations lost about 150 killed and wounded, including the two young Wakes (Wilf and Tom) of Bamburgh, both killed by the same shell.
Three officers were wounded, whom I have already mentioned, viz. Captain Flint, Second Lieutenant Adams, and T. Donkin of Rothbury. Donkin’s injury was slight, and we rather envied him. I should mention that the officer in command of my company, Captain T. O. Wood, was absent, having been detained at Havre, while the second in command, Captain Hugh Liddell, was temporarily incapacitated by a shell which burst near him, so I, as senior subaltern, commanded No. 2 Company for most of the day. In my own platoon I had thirteen casualties, most of them only wounded, and all the lads gave me the greatest assistance and seemed quite fearless, so much that I feel the praise bestowed upon us, both by Sir John French and the Commander of the Canadian Division, was fully justified. During the day I had to throw away my greatcoat, as I found it so heavy, and now, as I lay on the field, which was very damp, I felt bitterly cold. I got in, however, between two of my men, and notwithstanding the possibility of more shells and the intense cold I was soon fast asleep.