We were roused up early in the morning (April 25), still feeling extremely cold. We made some tea, however, at a ruined farmhouse close by, and this brought warmth and comfort. One of my men lent me his greatcoat, and insisted that I should wear it for a bit. Captain Wood turned up, and took over the command of the company. Before long the sun came out, and we had a gloriously fine day. The battalion moved into an adjoining field, and rested there for the morning; this rest was very welcome, and the sun dried our clothes. We spent the time cleaning our rifles, several also taking the opportunity to write home. The subalterns busied themselves making out lists of casualties for the Divisional Staff Orderly. Rations arrived, and by mid-day we sat down to a good meal.
We were much interested by a force of Indians close to us, the Lahore Division I heard afterwards, and they seemed full of the stoicism of the East. Though no shells fell amongst us, we saw one burst with sad effect among a column of Indians on the march. Our quiet morning was a great contrast to our desperate advance in the afternoon. I must here explain in a few words the situation. We were in the Ypres salient and were thus exposed to the enemy from the east, north, and south. On the previous day we had checked the enemy on the east, but a new danger now threatened the British positions from the north side of the salient, the French colonials having been driven out of the village of St. Julien. There was thus a danger of the troops in the salient being overwhelmed by an advance of the enemy from St. Julien, with the consequent fall of Ypres. As this town was the old capital of Flanders, the moral effect would have been great, besides opening the road for further progress towards Calais; it had therefore to be defended at all costs. The position of the English troops was insecure; they had suffered great losses; their artillery was almost powerless owing to lack of ammunition, and England’s new armies were hardly yet ready. In such circumstances the arrival of the Division was most opportune, and behind them more troops were being hurried up from all directions. Cavalry, even the Life Guards, were compelled to do infantry work in the trenches, and it was thought that by sending our Brigade against the strong position of St. Julien (an almost impossible task) the Germans would be bluffed, and would remain on the defensive.
This being the state of affairs, we were ordered shortly after lunch to attack St. Julien immediately, and to take it at all costs. We were off almost at once. We advanced at a great rate, in artillery formation, soon extending, however, into open order. If yesterday had been heavy, to-day was ten times worse. The German fire was terrific, and we had to face a hail of shells and bullets. The neighbourhood was infested with snipers, cleverly concealed, who made a point of picking off senior officers or despatching the wounded. It is a wonder that the whole battalion was not exterminated. The men, however, went forward with such spirit, and kept such magnificent discipline, that casualties, heavy as they were, were thus minimised. Now, perhaps, some of us for the first time realised the value of good discipline and good training.
We found that the only way to advance was for a few men, under an officer or an N.C.O., to make a short rush forward, and then to lie down flat and regain their breath. The whole battalion was mixed up, and I found myself on its left flank, where it joined on to the 6th Northumberlands. It was a case of every man using his own intelligence with courage. We made a good deal of progress, and took up a strong line with a hedge in front of it, which afforded some shelter. The order came down, however, that the advance had to be continued. I consulted an officer of the 6th and we decided to lead the men on at once. We advanced about thirty yards where the men could take cover behind another hedge, while others a little more to the right could take cover behind a sandbag wall, made on some former occasion, and which acted as a continuation of the hedge. On the right of this wall was a ruined farm building. In front of this position was a large open field, and at the other end of it, a few hundred yards distant, lay the village of St. Julien and the Germans. To cross this field without adequate artillery support was impossible, and yet we had been ordered to advance. Our present position by the farm, however, was being shelled to such an extent, that as far as our safety went it did not much matter where we were.
While I was taking a short rest behind this last sandbag wall, I met a young officer of the 6th Northumberland Fusiliers wounded in the arm, who told me that he was in the office of Messrs. Dees and Thompson, my father’s solicitors. He and some other officers all insisted that I was their senior, and must take command of the troops in this part of the attack. We began our last advance, and made two or three short rushes. I had just finished the last of these, and was going to lie down, when I received a staggering blow on the back and fell forward. I suffered an agonising pain, and soon felt another blow on the back, also extremely violent. I began to find difficulty in breathing, and wondered if I would ever leave this spot. Any moment I expected would be my last. I felt faint, and called to a soldier near by, and asked him to give me some water; he at once threw me his water-bottle, and that somewhat revived me. I felt, however, that I might bleed to death, and I called to the man to see if he could come and help me. He came at once, but was unfortunately wounded in the leg in so doing. My position was a perilous one, as the Germans swept the plain with their murderous fire, and to stand up was certain death. Projectiles of all kinds were falling round me, and I began to realise that my chance of getting out alive was dubious. The man who had already befriended me now said that there was a ditch close by, and if I could crawl on my stomach he would try to pull me along by the leg. Every movement was agonising, but at last we managed to reach the ditch and lie there exhausted. By this time our advance was quite held up, and we had reached further forward than the other part of the battalion. Soon others began to crawl into the ditch, including two very nice officers of the 6th Northumberland Fusiliers, who were most sympathetic. Besides them, I heard Corporal (later Sergeant) Renwick’s cheery voice, and he was straining every nerve on my behalf, regardless of danger to himself. He afterwards told me that a colour-sergeant, when I had finished my painful trek, pushed me into the ditch, to be himself blown to pieces immediately after by a shell. There were two dead men, apparently, lying by my side, though I was unaware of these facts.
The afternoon wore on, and I continued in great pain, though some brandy was passed up to me. After a long wait, it seemed likely that our men would have to retire a little, and as I could not move I was in danger of being captured. To have carried me away would have been an impossibility, as we should most certainly have been shot down by a heartless enemy. Sergeant Renwick was anxious to risk it, but the young officers insisted on taking the risk themselves. At last, when Sergeant Renwick had crawled away to get help, one of the young officers told me that it was imperative I should make every effort to get away; so I crawled for about fifteen yards over a specially dangerous zone, and was then helped up, and supported by an officer on one side, Lieutenant Bruce Ramsay of the 6th, and by a soldier on the other. I managed to struggle along, supported by them, to the ruined farmhouse, which was being defended by some soldiers of the D.C.L.I., I think. The officer in command told Ramsay that it was against the regulations to help me and that he must therefore join his own battalion, while he himself would look after me. Part of the ruined farm was being used as a field dressing station; but before I could reach it I had a miraculous escape from two shells, which apparently fell on a manure heap close by which I was standing, and which prevented them doing any further mischief.
I was most kindly treated at this station, and the D.C.L.I. officer soon had me sent away on a stretcher towards the Ypres road, and it was with a feeling of relief that I left this infernal charnel-house, and found myself gradually entering a safe zone. We stopped at a farm building by the roadside, where I was laid on some straw in the open courtyard. Darkness was now coming on, and for some time I received but scanty attention. At last some medical men came and questioned me, and I told them my name and regiment; they seemed interested, and asked me if I was Lord Armstrong’s son. There were very few ambulances, and by mistake I was not put into one of them. When the officers discovered this they had me taken down by stretcher to a dressing station near Ypres where I was well attended to, and received an injection of morphia to deaden the pain. It was probably here, unless it was at the first field dressing station, that I received the anti-tetanus serum, and was given a Tommy’s greatcoat. I slept here apparently for several hours, and Major Wright, also wounded, remembers seeing me here. Eventually I was placed in an ambulance which brought me to Poperinghe, several miles from the front. We had gaily marched through this town only a few days before.
In the meantime my battalion was unaware that I had been rescued, and Sergeant Renwick, who, as I stated, had gone to get help, came back with a party only to find that I had disappeared. Company Quartermaster Turner also went out to look for me, and I understand that all betrayed great anxiety on my behalf and feared the worst. Major Mackay, who displayed the greatest gallantry in attending to the wounded throughout the battle, and who has since been awarded the C.M.G., was also very upset in being unable to find me.
On arriving at Poperinghe, I was taken with others and placed in the church, which had been turned into an emergency hospital. Before recounting my experiences in the church, however, and those that followed on afterwards, I must finish off the account of the battle of St. Julien.
After I was wounded, it was found impossible for the 7th to advance any further. The plain in front of them was simply swept by a shower of lead from the enemy’s machine guns, rifles, and artillery, and the wounded were in a most precarious position. As darkness came on they gradually removed the wounded, and the battalion held on where they were. Various reports of the battle were circulated through the Press, and it appears that some members of the brigade advanced to the outskirts of the village, but were unable to capture it. The object of the British Staff, however, had been gained. Ypres was in deadly peril, and its defenders were short of artillery, ammunition, and men. Every moment saved was of value, as reinforcements and ammunition were being hurried up. In the meantime the Germans had to be kept busy and so prevented from advancing. Hence our brigade was hurled against their position, though there was no prospect of real success. As has been said before, it was a case of bluff, and it succeeded, for the Germans, thinking they were going to be attacked in great numbers, remained on the defensive, and invaluable time was gained. The cost of more than half of one of Britain’s best infantry brigades seemed heavy, but what did it matter if Ypres and the worn-out second army were saved?