Out of battle

A Grateful Heart by Nancy Meek

2011-11-10T22:44:00.000-08:00

This Armistice Day i have posted a 'modern' poem from an American lady whose husband was a combat soldier.

It is not First World War but i read it recently and i thought i captured the spirit of that lost generation.

A Grateful Heart

To the combat soldier
Who has seen his time in Hell,
Thank you for your sacrifice
And for coming home to tell
That no glory is found in war,
Nor honourable thing residing there
Which should light a candle in the eyes
Of our children so innocent and fair.

Thank you for your prayers
That we cast aside our hate,
To put on the armour of love
And no more wars create.
To all the fallen roses
Who answered freedom’s call,
Please know that you are more
Than names upon a wall.

Without you there on foreign land
Staring down death face-to-face,
Our lives would be on shifting sand
Our freedoms torn from our embrace.
Our saviour bravely died for us
Upon the cross at Calvary,
So we could have eternal life;
That, through His act, we might be___

He was called, as were you
To meet His bitter end.
No greater love has any man
Than to lay down his life for a friend.
For this, a grateful heart swells,
For soldiers who gave their all
For fighting the good fight
And rising to the call.

May you find peace in God’s arms,
As the sheep in the shepherd’s care.
May love be found there waiting
At the end of your thousand-yard stare.

by Nancy Meek

Patriotic Music and Pictures in Eastbourne

2011-09-18T01:27:00.000-07:00

This article appeared in the Eastbourne Gazette on 19th August 1914.

I wonder what the famous Belgian airs were that the audience stood and sang ‘heartily’ with?

Miss Buckman was indeed a very famous opera singer and would have been a treat for any audience.

“Patriotic Music and Pictures

At Devonshire Park

Shown in the afternoon in conjunction with the vaudeville entertainment in the Pavilion and in the evening in the second part of the programme in the Floral Hall, the pictures of the French Fleet are arousing considerable interest this week. This film is a remarkably fine one and the evening is exhibited with full orchestral accompaniment.

Last Saturday evening there was a crowded audience in the Floral Hall when the great British Army and Navy film “For The King” was shown. During the evening the orchestra played the national airs of Belgium, Russia, France and England. The audience standing and singing heartily. The “Franco-British” march and the fantasias “Life on board the Dreadnought” were included in the programme. Miss Rosina Buckman (the New Zealand soprano) concluded a very successful week’s engagement, receiving double encores after each of her songs.”

Rosina Buckman (March 16, 1881-December 30, 1948) was a New Zealand soprano, and a professor of singing at the Royal Academy of Music. She was born in Blenheim, and studied in England at the Birmingham School of Music. She then returned to New Zealand, toured Australia and debut in London with La boheme at Covent Garden. She continued performing into the 1920s, and recorded prolifically.

For more info on miss Buckman:

http://www.nzetc.org/tm/scholarly/tei-Whi021Kota-t1-g1-t3.html

http://www.ourregion.co.nz/theregion.php?category=history&subcategory=Our+People&articleID=189

Water from Wells where Abraham Drank.

2011-05-27T08:11:00.001-07:00

This excellent article comes from 'the War Illustrated', 6th July, 1918 and is entitled
'Watering the Regiment' in the Middle East.

Across the open desert a small column of mules is flinging a brisk trail of dust up to the brassy sky. They are in strings of three, and a native drabie is hanging on to the lead rope of . each string. Each mule has a squat tin tank hooked on either side of his pack Caddie. Two of these pakhals, as these rope-netted tanks are called, will fill the water-bottles of a platoon.

At intervals along the column a British soldier strides along, bare-armed and bare-kneed, his shirt open over his brown chest, one sun-blackened arm through the sling of his loaded rifle. A big curved cover of green-lined khaki hangs from the back of his pith helmet, and a broad quilted band of the same material drapes his spine from neck to waist in protection from the blazing sun that swings directly overhead. He carries no pack, but his entrenching tool and water-bottle hang from his equipment, and two hundred rounds of ammunition fill his pouches. He wears a stocked haversack, too, for one must always be ready for emergencies in the desert, and slung from his bayonet scabbard flaps a grey canvas bag, shaped something like the hot-water bag of civilisation.

Trudging along the hot earth with the mules and their escort arc a number of native camp followers, bearers and syces chattering in cheery monotones, and tarrying canvas buckets, water-bottles, chargals — the grey canvas bags. These are voluntary members of the party who wouldn't walk a yard in the ordinary course of life if they could help it.

Back to Camp

A mounted sergeant completes the party. His saddle has four chargals suspended from it, and a water-bottle is slung across his shoulders. From beneath his dust-laden brows his eyes stare keenly ahead as the column smokes along. There is nothing visible in the dead flat levels from horizon to horizon to tell you whence the column has come or whither it is heading.
Presently the sergeant's horse whinnies loudly, and the mule strings begin to crowd and jostle forward. In the distance the shimmering haze falls away and discloses a long line of tents, the divisional watering-place, and the river. When its bank is reached, it needs all the strength of drabie and Atkins to keep the mules out of the water at the place where the pakhals are unloaded. But the unloading is completed, and then the mules are led down-stream to drink. In the meantime, pakhals and chargals and water-bottles are filled ready for reloading. Half an hour later the regimental watering-party fades away again into the desert spaces where twelve miles away from the watering-place the regiment is dug into the left flank of the army that is pushing the Turk back into his own country.

This from my diary:
We have just pushed the Turk out of the------position. It is about 5 p.m., and the thermometer is somewhere near 120 in the shade. We have been on the move since 3 a.m., and are now bivouacked in a nullah near the river. Through unavoidable causes connected with the surprise nature of the operation, our water-bottles were only half full when we commenced, and our pakhals were practically empty. Upon the track of our advance field hospitals are being erected to deal with the big casualties of the march.

It has been a hot-weather day; the ground too hot to lay the bare hand upon ; a rifle barrel untouchable. The sky is a lid of burning brass, and the sun a low-hung blast furnace. All the day we have been the target for hundreds of "dust devils” pirouetting from one rim of the lid to the other, silting our eyes and ears and nostrils with finely-powdered earth that stings and scorches as though it had come from a red-hot crucible.

Scarcely a shot was fired by the Turk in his evacuation, but the rigours of the blazing, waterless march have more than decimated the hardest of units. More than half my regiment have been knocked out, and the survivors just managed to reach the objective. Water must be got immediately. A water-party has just come in, dead beat, to say there is a section of Turks on the opposite bank with a Maxim, and there's no chance of getting water before nightfall. They have just managed to fill two pakhals.

We divide one of these between a party of picked men and a few drabies, rinse the mouths of half a dozen mules, and set out for another try. The nullah runs down to the river edge. Up-stream of the nullah I spotted a belt of reeds on the river bank, and observed that they could be approached most of the way by a fold in the ground.

We unhooked all the pakhals in the nullah, as near as we could get to the water without being observed. Leaving most of the watering-party behind under a sergeant, the mules and the rest of us began another trek back along the nullah to where it crossed the fold of ground. Along this the party proceeded towards the reed bed. We had almost got into the reeds before the Turk spotted our water mules, and got his machine-gun aligned on the new target. He opened fire for about fifty rounds. The result being unsatisfactory, he ceased fire, and shifted the position of his gun. We could track his course by the movement of the reeds in the belt on the opposite bank where lie was concealed.

Reducing risk as far. as possible, we made great play with the mules and our reeds and ourselves, and successfully counterfeited the movements of a watering-party. We carried on for about a quarter of an hour, and at intervals replied to his fire with bursts of "rapid" from our rifles.

We had just lost a mule when a volley of musketry broke from the nullah where we had left the real watering-party. This was the signal that our simple strategem had succeeded, and that the pakhals had been filled under cover of our demonstration. The diversion caused by this new fire attack upon the concealed machine-gun enabled the "camouflage" party to withdraw without further casualties. The mules were taken back to the pakhals.

The water was being consumed by the exhausted survivors and sick of the battalion before night fell.

Victory in the Water-Bottle

We are occupying one Turkish position while we prepare to eject the enemy from the line upon which he has retired. It is the middle of the hot weather — and the middle of the desert — and every man and beast is getting as much water as is required. I have a bath each evening. In the centre of our perimeter a big wide pit has been dug and lined with tarpaulin. Every morning and evening this is retired from three wells, which are shared by the brigade. In addition, when the wells fall dry, our water-party goes to the divisional storage tanks, and can draw enough daily from this source for the cooking and drinking needs of the whole regiment.

The divisional tanks are walls of sand-bags supporting tarpaulins, which rest on the ground. The water is carried up from the river about fourteen miles away. It comes by convoy, and is carried in ordinary A.T. carts, lined with-tarpaulin, and in pakhals stacked inside big motor-lorries.
That is how we safeguard our water requirements when we "sit down" for a while.

Here, in Mesopotamia, water is life. It is more. It is a thing for which the straightest man in the regiment would cheerfully break all the Commandments. When a soldier's body is watered he can march and fight and win. But when lie is without water the sap of life is from him. He is like the perished tree, the branch of which breaks in the hand. He is Nothing. His rifle is lumber. His big guns are Mockery. A well-filled water-bottle is a won battle. So water is the first article of war, and as we water the regiment do we sweep the Euphrates-Tigris plains and push the Turk towards Aleppo.

Sanitary Arrangements

2011-05-16T08:36:00.000-07:00

Sanitary in the trenches is described here at Gallipoli by Joseph Lievesley Beeston in his book Five Months at Anzac - A Narrative of Personal Experiences of the Officerc ommanding the 4th Field Ambulance, Australian Imperial Force

SANITARY ARRANGEMENTS

In order to keep the health of the troops good it was necessary to be exceedingly careful in the matter of sanitation. Lieutenant-Colonel Millard was the Sanitary Officer for our Division, and Lieutenant-Colonel Stokes for the 1st Australian Division.

The garbage at first was collected in casks, placed in a barge and conveyed out into the bay; it was found, however, that a lot of it drifted back. It reminded one so much of Newcastle and Stockton. The same complaints were made by the men on the right as are put forth by Stockton residents regarding the Newcastle garbage. We, of course, occupied the position of the Newcastle Council, and were just as vehement in our denial of what was a most obvious fact. The situation was exactly the same—only that, instead of dead horses, there were dead mules. Three incinerators were started, enclosures built up with stone, and a fire lighted. This was effective, but gave rise to a very unpleasant smell along the beach. The only time I was shot was from an incinerator; a cartridge had been included in the rubbish and exploded just as I was passing. The bullet gave me a nasty knock on the shin.

It was a fairly common practice among men just arrived to put a cartridge in their fire just to hear the noise. Of course down on the beach it was not usual to hear a rifle fired at close range, and the sound would make everybody look up to "see where the —— that came from." The discovery of the culprit would bring out a chorus from the working parties: "Give him a popgun, give him a popgun!" "Popgun" was preceded by the usual Australian expletive.

The water found on the Peninsula was always subjected to careful examination, and, before the troops were allowed to use it notices were placed on each well stating whether the water was to be boiled or if only to be used for washing

A True Story of the Tanks

2011-05-05T04:50:00.000-07:00

This comes from 'the War Illustrated', 28th October, 1916 'A True Story of the Tanks'
by Lance-Corporal Harry Rayner

Told by the Rank and File

I shall never forget the roar of laughter that went up from all the boys when we first saw the armoured-motors which have eventually come to be called "tanks." We were distinctly scornful of what they would do, and expected to see them crunched up in no time by the German artillery. The names that were attached to them in the first place would fill a book, and most of them have appeared in various papers. But there are one or two more that aren't quite common property yet. For instance, the Canadians call the machines "The Land Navy" ; while the north-country regiments refer to them as "The New Infantry." "The Caterpillars," and ,"Kelly's Eye" are others, the last coming from a game called "House," where number one is always called out in this way.

My Leave Stopped

I have been out in France for twenty-two months, and through the whole of the Somme offensive. This latter started just as it was about my turn to return to "Blighty" for a few days' leave, and I can tell you that when we first started the "big push" I strafed more than a bit at my bad luck in missing my run home. But I'm glad I didn't go then—I should have missed two glorious sights if I had: the "tanks" and the charge of the Guards.' These were worth stopping out here another year for.

I never saw the lads in the trenches so eager to go over the top as they were on that day when the "tanks" first appeared. We all wanted to see Fritz in a real fright, and I think we all got what we were wanting.

Fun in a Crater

One of the "tanks" came and stationed itself in front of my platoon, and we were told to advance astern of it, and to take advantage of all possible cover as we went. We could hardly advance for laughing at its antics. The ground was soft and slushy, and in one place the "tank" went walking down the side of an enormous crater made by three or four "Jack Johnsons" which exploded pretty well together. As it went down it was squirming all over the shop, and the wheels would slip round and round in the soft ground, throwing big chunks of it out astern on top of us lads. Then it tried to back pedal, and slithered still farther down, and at the bottom it side-slipped three yards, and nearly collared me. I had to jump quick or the wheels would have grabbed me and rubbed my nose in the mud.

But it was when it started to climb the other side that the fun started in real earnest. It was like the old tale of the snail who climbed up the side of a wall three feet and then slipped back two feet. That was exactly what was happening, and every time "Black Bertha" made a big dash and climbed partly up the crater side, only to slip back as soon as her stroke was exhausted, we nearly convulsed with laughter. We lay in that shell- hole holding our sides; we actually couldn't stand for laughing.

At last, with a supreme effort, "Bertha" reached the rim of the crater, and with a final cough dragged herself out on to comparatively level ground. Then the German machine- guns started taking aim at her, but the bullets only slithered harmlessly off her thick hide with little blue flames.

Getting Behind "Bertha"
Where "Bertha" was there the fire was hottest; she seemed to draw machine-gun bullets like a magnet. Most of the troops gave the "tanks" as wide a berth as possible, but my platoon satisfied themselves with getting behind Bertha as she trudged on, and thus we dodged all the bullets that came our way.

Every time we saw a German we would yell out, in unison, "Kelly's Eye!" and the "tank" would turn her machine-guns on and strafe him. "Bertha" accounted for a great many Germans that day. And at last we got into the village of Flers, and what we had laughed at before was child's play to what happened there. "Bertha" swung into her stride, and made down the main street, with us close under her lee out of the way, and her guns. walloping into the Germans at the rate of several hundred bullets per minute.

At last we cleared the street, and .got to the far end again, where fallen masonry blocked our way. The Germans sniped at us from the upper windows as we went on, and we thought we should have had to turn back and run the gauntlet again, on our way out of the town. But we hadn't reckoned on "Bertha."

We made for the German trenches next, and the shells started falling all round "Bertha." Evidently somebody was keeping a watch on her movements, for we found it unhealthy to stick too close to her. So we dropped back about two hundred yards, ready to take a hand in the fighting if we were wanted.

Futile Bavarian Charge

She got to the trench, where about four companies of Saxons and Bavarians were massed ready for a counterattack. They charged at her, but they couldn't stop her. She turned on all her guns and strafed them as they came. But they were evidently annoyed, for in spite of the carnage she was doing, they raced up to her, while all the time their machine-guns were firing over their heads. And the bullets glanced off and went among their own troops, while the others went down before "Bertha's" advance like ripe corn.

And then, suddenly, there came a big shell over the town, and dropped clean in front of "Bertha," hiding her from sight with smoke and dirt and stones. We thought the dear old lady had been done in, but when the rough stuff cleared away she was perched across the German trench, talking to them quite loudly and trying to get her own back for the insult they had put on her.
She wasn't moving, and the Germans thought she was a capture, and with loud yells of "Hoch!" they started to scramble all over her put-side. This was where we came in, for we lay in a friendly shell-hole, and did a good bit of sniping on our own.

And then the machine-guns inside "Bertha" stopped firing, and we thought the old lady was done for.

"Come on, lads!" I yelled. "We can't let them take her prisoner like that! Charge!"

We started out across that two hundred yards of ground, but before we had gone fifty "Bertha" started to move, and, though she was running all over the place and steering very wildly, she was certainly moving towards the other German lines.

Shaking Off the Hun

The Germans on her back went slipping and sprawling all over the show, and fell off as she went on. Then her guns spoke again, and they raced for cover like rabbits. We followed her up again, and when we reached the fifth German line we thought we should have had a scrap of our own, but the Germans had received enough. They surrendered to us, and we sent them over the top under charge of two wounded lads.

"Bertha" was still going ahead, and large batches of Germans with their hands in the air doing the "Kamerad" trick were coming down. Suddenly she stopped again, and a man got out of her. He approached a wounded British soldier on the ground, and we thought that, after all, the Germans had captured her. We thought that he was going to kill the wounded chap off.

Mistaken for Fritz

"Hi, there!" I yelled. "Come out of that! Put your hands up!"

I had him covered with my rifle, and walked up to him, making him keep his arms up all the time.

"What's up with you?" he asked. "Gone loopy, or what?”

He spoke broad Lancashire, and I stared hard at him. "Well, I'm damned!" I said. "I thought you were a Fritz, and that they had captured the old waggon there."

And there were a couple of lads in my platoon who even then wouldn't believe that he was one of our own Tommies, until at last he fished his pay-book out of his breast pocket and showed us his name, fully convincing us by comparing it with his identity disc.

Gallipoli Landings

2011-04-28T04:25:00.000-07:00

This more formal account of the action on 25th April 1915 comes from The Story of the Great War, Volume III (of VIII) History of the European War from Official Sources.

By one o'clock on the morning of Sunday, April 25, 1915, the allied expeditionary force had arrived within five miles of the Gallipoli shore. Under cover of darkness the final dispositions were made and the ships maneuvered so that the timing of the several landings would be accurately synchronized. Shortly after one o'clock the landing boats were lowered from the transports.

Strung in lines of four and five the boats were slowly towed toward shore by steam pinnaces. Not a sound was heard but the panting of the engines of the little boats. The speed was accurately calculated to bring the parties close in shore with the first break of the dawn.

Accompanying the Australian and New Zealand troops, were a number of destroyers. Just as they reached the shallow water in front of the cliffs of Gaba Tepe, a Turkish lookout spied them in the hazy light of the morning. Instantly he gave the alarm and a flaring searchlight flashed its rays on the little flotilla.

The need for silence had disappeared. With a cheer the British troops leaped from their boats into the shoal water and splashed their way ashore. While many of them were still in their boats, however, the Turks opened fired. The whole ground had been carefully prepared and from every cover on the shore and the cliffs beyond a deadly fire was poured upon the Colonial troops.
Without faltering, however, the Australian and New Zealand troops, supported by a squadron of battleships and destroyers, came on straight at the strongly intrenched Turks. The first of the Australians to reach the shore were the Third Brigade under Colonel Sinclair Maglagan. With a rush they charged the first Turkish lines, bayoneted the defenders, and scrambled up the steep cliffs that rise a hundred feet in the air.

Fortunately for the British troops, as these and subsequent events proved, there had been a slight miscalculation in the landing, and the men had actually gone ashore a mile and a half northeast of Gaba Tepe, instead of at that point. Gaba Tepe is so rugged and uninviting that it was believed that the Turks would not trouble to intrench it. Actually the Turks appeared to have intrenched and prepared every inch of the coast. But at Sari Bair, where the Australian and New Zealand troops actually landed, the character of the ground, although not so advantageous at first, afforded much more protection once the men were ashore. Sir Ian Hamilton, in his graphic account of the operations, subsequently said:

"Owing to the tows having failed to maintain their exact direction, the actual point of disembarkation was rather more than a mile north of that which I had selected, and was more closely overhung by steeper cliffs. Although this accident increased the initial difficulty of driving the enemy off the heights inland, it has since proved itself to have been a blessing in disguise, inasmuch as the actual base of the force of occupation had been much better defiladed from shell fire.

"The beach on which the landing was actually effected is a very narrow strip of sand about 1,000 yards in length, bounded on the north and the south by two small promontories. At its (p. 442) southern extremity, a deep ravine with exceedingly deep, scrub-clad sides, runs inland in a northeasterly direction. Near the northern end of the beach a small but steep gully runs up into the hills at right angles to the shore. Between the ravine and the gully the whole of the beach is baked by the seaward face of the spur which forms the northwestern side of the ravine. From the top of the spur the ground falls almost sheer, except near the southern limit of the beach where gentler slopes give access to the mouth of the ravine behind. Farther inland lie in a tangled knot the under-features of Sari Bair separated by deep ravines which take a most confusing diversity of direction. Sharp spurs, covered with dense scrub and falling away in many places in precipitous sandy cliffs, radiate from the principal mass of the mountain, from which they run northwest, west, southwest and south to the coast."

As fresh British troops came ashore they cast aside their heavy packs and followed their comrades across the forty feet of open beach and into the scrub that covered the side of the cliffs. Halfway up the Turks had prepared a second position. Attacking it in open formation the Third Brigade succeeded in clearing it within fifteen minutes of the time they came ashore, despite the desperate and brave defense of the Turks.

Meanwhile some of the landing boats, subjected to the terrible fire of the Turkish guns, were having a bad time. The towing ropes of three of them were cut by the fire and the boats drifted helplessly about under the withering rain of bullets that rapidly wiped out their cargoes of men. But despite these mishaps the First and Second Brigades were hurried ashore to support the Third. Soon, in the face of terrible difficulties including the narrowness of the beach, there were between 3,000 and 4,000 allied troops ashore.

By this time the Turks, by means of the mobile carriages prepared for them by the Germans, had maneuvered some heavy artillery into position on the heights inland. Also some of their warships, moored in the Narrows, began throwing heavy shells across the peninsula into the allied fleet standing close inshore. So dangerous and accurate became this fire that the transports (had to be ordered out to sea and this delayed the operations seriously.

At Gaba Tepe and on the heights to the north of the beach the Turks posted guns and enfiladed the Narrows beach. Thus the troops, as they landed, had to make their way through a rain of shrapnel, machine gun and rifle fire that wiped out hundreds. Despite the success of the Australian Brigades in clearing the beach and the face of the cliff, the Turkish fire never seemed to slacken.

Because of the nature of the country there could be no central control over the advance fighting and no continued communications between the several forces making their way to the top of the cliffs. The battle resolved itself into a series of fights between small parties, or even individual soldiers, whose one object was to kill as many of the enemy as possible and make their way as far inland as possible in the first rush.

By two o'clock about twelve British regiments had been landed and the ground gained consolidated and prepared against counterattack. Thousands of Turkish troops were by this time pouring along the road from Maidos and by the middle of the afternoon it was calculated that there were fully 20,000 of them before the Australian and New Zealand troops. The latter, in the meantime, had been further reenforced by two batteries of Indian Mountain Artillery. The pressure of the constantly increasing Turkish force compelled General Birdwood, who came ashore about this time, to contract his lines and to reach a decision that, at that time at least and until the arrival of more troops, no further advance could be made. The Gaba Tepe landing had not been the surprise that was expected and the Turks had proved to be in unexpected strength.
About three o'clock the Turkish counterattacks began. Absolutely regardless of human life, they threw themselves in dense masses against the Second and Third Brigades. The British battleships, the Queen, the London, the Prince of Wales, the Triumph and the Majestic, posted close inshore, poured a devastating fire on the advancing Turkish troops as they came into the open.

About five o'clock the Turks, after repeated assaults upon the British lines, massed for a final attempt to drive the invaders into the sea. On and on they came, concentrating on the hard-pressed Third Brigade as the weak spot in the British defense. Fighting gamely against heavy odds, this Australian Brigade which had borne the brunt of the landing attack and which had been almost continually counterattacked all afternoon, gave way slowly, selling every inch of ground dearly. Hundreds of the brave Turkish troops were mown down by the machine guns which the Australians had by this time brought ashore. At nightfall, however, General Birdwood, as a consequence of the persistence of the enemy, had to contract his lines further.
As night settled on the battle field on the ridge above Gaba Tepe and Sari Bair, and the two forces rested from sheer exhaustion, the British troops, who once were well inland toward Maidos, their objective, were barely hanging onto the ridge overlooking the shore of the Gulf of Saros. All their water and food and munitions and reenforcements had to be brought ashore across the exposed beach, while the landing of the necessary artillery in the face of the Turkish fire was a feat to appal the bravest. But though their hold on their position was precarious it was tenacious and, in the end, effective. If they had not won all they expected to win they had at least won a foothold in the face of terrific difficulties.

While the Australians and New Zealanders were fighting desperately beyond Gaba Tepe, the other forces of the allied army were accomplishing similar deeds of heroism at the tip of the peninsula.

Coming down the coast of the peninsula from Gaba Tepe, about three miles from the extreme southwestern tip, was what was known as Beach Y. It was almost due west of the important town of Krithia, and the landing was intended primarily to protect the left flank of the British landing forces from attack by the considerable forces believed to be concentrated there.
The actual landing seems to have been somewhat of a surprise to the Turks. Indeed, subsequent events showed that they were correct in their estimate that a landing at the so-called Beach Y would be a mistake. A narrow strip of sandy beach led to the cliffs, two hundred feet high, that were believed to be almost unscalable. It is easy to be wise after the event, but military writers subsequently declared that if the Turks had been prepared to defend the position, the force that landed at Beach Y would have been wiped out in the preliminary attempt to establish a footing.

The force assigned to this point of attack consisted of the First King's Own Scottish Borderers, and the Plymouth Battalion of the Royal Naval Division, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Koe. The latter was under orders, if the landing proved successful, to work his way south to effect a junction with the force landing at Beach X, some two miles away.

About five o'clock, Koe's force appeared off Beach Y, on the transports Braemar Castle and Southland, and escorted by the battleship Goliath, and the cruisers Amethyst and Sapphire. The Turks had posted a large force at Beach Y 2, between Beach Y and Beach X, but half of the Scottish Borderers were ashore before the Turkish command had realized what was happening. As a result Colonel Koe's force was partly established on the cliffs before the Turks had begun to arrive.

But if the initial stages were unexpectedly easy for this force, difficulties soon developed. Once on the heights, Colonel Koe ordered an advance to link up with the force at Beach X. The British troops had not gone far when they ran into the Turkish troops from Beach Y. So large was this force and so determined an opposition did it offer to the British troops that Colonel Koe soon decided it would be impossible, with the two battalions at his disposal, to accomplish the task assigned him.

Early in the afternoon the little British force was dismayed by the approach on its left flank of a large force of Turks from Krithia, which threatened to cut it off from the landing beach. Reluctantly Colonel Koe, just before he received a fatal wound, gave the order to intrench

Gallipoli Landing - THE LANDING THAT COULD NOT SUCCEED—BUT DID

2011-04-26T02:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday 25th April 2011 was the 96th anniversary of the Gallipoli landings.

In the excellent book “Over There" with the Australians by R. Hugh Knyvett, there is a fantastic description of that day and the achievement of the ANZAC’s.

THE LANDING THAT COULD NOT SUCCEED—BUT DID

Picture yourself on a ship that was more crowded with men than ever ship had been before, in a harbor more crowded with ships than ever harbor had been crowded before, with more fears in your mind than had ever crowded into it before, knowing that in a few hours you would see battle for the first time. Having comrades crowding round, bidding you good-bye and informing you that as your regimental number added up to thirteen, you would be the first to die, remembering that you hadn't said your prayers for years, and then comforting yourself with the realization that what is going to happen will happen, and that an appeal to the general will not stop the battle, anyway, and you may as well die like a man, and you will feel as did many of those young lads, on the eve of the 25th of April, 1915. There was some premonition of death in those congregations of khaki-clad men who gathered round the padres on each ship and sang "God be with you till we meet again." You could see in men's faces that they knew they were "going west" on the morrow—but it was a swan-song that could not paralyze the arm or daunt the heart of these young Greathearts, who intended that on this morrow they would do deeds that would make their mothers proud of them.

"For if you 'as to die,
As it sometimes 'appens, why,
Far better die a 'ero than a skunk;
A' doin' of yer bit."

As soon as church-parade was dismissed, another song was on the boards, no hymn, maybe not fine poetry, but the song that will be always associated with the story of Australia's doings in the great war, Australia's battle-song—"Australia Will Be There"—immortalized on the Southland and Ballarat, as it was sung by the soldiers thereon, when they stood in the sea-water that was covering the decks of those torpedoed troop-ships. It was now sung by every Australian voice, and as those crowded troop-ships moved out from Lemnos they truly carried "Australia," eager, untried Australia—where?

The next day showed to the world that "Australia would always be there!" where the fight raged thickest. Her sons might sometimes penetrate the enemy's territory too far, but hereafter, and till the war's end, they would always be in the front line, storming with the foremost for freedom and democracy.

The landing could not possibly be a surprise to the Turks; the British and French warships had advertised our coming by a preliminary bombardment weeks previously—the Greeks knew all about our concentration in their waters—and wasn't the Queen of Greece sister to the Kaiser?

There were only about two places where we could possibly land, and the Turks were not merely warned of our intentions, but they were warned in plenty of time for them to prepare for us a warm reception. The schooling and method of the Germans had united with the ingenuity of the Turks to make those beaches the unhealthiest spots on the globe. The Germans plainly believed that a landing was impossible.

Think of those beaches, with land and sea mines, densely strewn with barbed wire (even into deep water), with machine-guns arranged so that every yard of sand and water would be swept, by direct, indirect, and cross fire, with a hose-like stream of bullets; think of thousands of field-pieces and howitzers ready, ranged, and set, so that they would spray the sand and whip the sea, merely by the pulling of triggers. Think of a force larger than the intended landing-party entrenched, with their rifles loaded and their range known, behind all manner of overhead cover and wire entanglements, and then remember that you are one of a party that has to step ashore there from an open boat, and kill, or drive far enough inland, these enemy soldiers to enable your stores to be landed so that when you have defeated him, you may not perish of starvation. Far more than at Balaclava did these young men from "down under" walk "right into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell!" And the Turks waited till they were well within the jaws before they opened fire. No one in the landing force knew where the Turks were, and the Turks did not fire on us until we got to the zone which they had so prepared that all might perish that entered there. They could see us clearly, the crowded open boats were targets of naked flesh that could not be missed. Was there ever a more favorable setting for a massacre? The Turks in burning Armenian villages with their women and children had not easier tasks than that entrenched army. Our men in the boats were too crowded to use their rifles, and the boats were too close in for the supporting war-ships to keep down the fire from those trenches. How was any one left alive? By calculation of the odds not one man should have set foot on that shore. Make a successful landing, enabling us to occupy a portion of that soil! What an impossible task!

To the men in those boats and the men watching from the ships, it appeared as if not merely the expedition had failed, but that not a man of the landing force would survive. Boats were riddled with bullets and sunk—other boats drifted helplessly as there were not enough alive to row them—men jumped into the bullet-formed spray to swim ashore but were caught in the barbed wire and drowned. Who could expect success, but it nevertheless happened! The Turks were sure that we could not land, yet we did. Not only did those boys set foot on those beaches, but the remnant of that landing-party drove the Turks out of their entrenchments up cliffs five hundred feet high, and entrenched themselves on the summit. How did they do it? No one knows; the men who were there don't know themselves. Did heaven intervene? Perhaps spiritual forces may sometimes paralyze material. It must be that right has physical might, else why didn't the Kaiser get to Paris? Mathematics and preparedness were on his side; by all reasoning Germany ought to have overwhelmed the world in a few months, with the superiority of her armament, but she didn't. The Turks ought to have kept us off the Peninsula, by all laws of logic and arithmetic, and they didn't. I really think the landing succeeded because those boys thought they had failed.

They must have believed themselves doomed—they could see that there were too few to accomplish what was even doubtful when the force was intact. When they were on the shore they must have felt that it was impossible that they could be taken off again. All the time more were falling, and soon it seemed that every last man must be massacred. They made up their minds that, at any rate, they would get a few of the swine before they went.

Every man believed that in the end he must be killed, but determined to sell his life as dearly as possible, and that made them the supermen that could not be "held back." A whole platoon would be cut down, but somehow one or two would manage to get into the trench, where, of necessity, it was hand-to-hand work, and with laughing disregard of the odds would lay out a score of the enemy and send the others fleeing before them, who would yell out that they were fighting demons from hell. After the confusion in the boats, and from the fact that in most cases companies were entirely without officers, there was no forming up for charges—indeed, there were no orders at all, but every man knew that he could not but be doing the right thing every time he killed a Turk, so they just took their rifle and bayonet in their naked hands and went to it. There was no line of battle, it was just here, there, and everywhere, khaki-clad, laughing demons, seeking Turks to kill.

Never was there fighting like this. All that day it went on. On the beach, up the cliff, in the gullies, miles inland were men fighting. It was not a battle; it would have made a master of tactics weep and tear his hair, but these man-to-man fights kept on. Many were shot from behind, many were wounded and fell in places where no one would find them—some, fighting on, went in a circle and found themselves back on the beach again. However, at nightfall some had begun to dig a shallow line of trenches, well inland across the cliff. Single men and small groups of them, not finding any more Turks where they were, fell back into this ditch and helped deepen it.

Fresh Turks were massing for counter-attack, and soon came on with fury, but we were something like an army now, and although the line had to be shortened it never broke. The landing had been made good, the impossible had been achieved. But there were many who died strange deaths, many left way in, helpless, who could not be succored—many whom the fighting lust led so far that when they thought of seeking their comrades they found the barrier of a Turkish army now intervening. Strange, unknown duels and combats were fought that day. Unknown are the "Bill-Jims" who killed scores with naked hand—there were many such. Though we beat the Turk with the odds in his favor, yet this day and afterward he earned our respect as a fighting man.

"East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat.
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the Earth."

The Australian had proved himself the fiercest fighter of the world… As one naval officer remarked, they fought not as men but devils. Many have said that much of the loss of life was needless, that had the Australians kept together and waited for orders not so many would have been cut off in the bush. It was true that the impetuosity of many took them too far to return, but it was that very quality that won the day. They did not return, but they drove the Turk before them and enabled others to dig in before he could re-form. You would have to go back to mediaeval times to parallel this fighting. There were impetuosity, dash, initiative, berserker rage, fierce hand-to-hand fighting, every man his own general.

These were not the only qualities of the Australian fighting men, but these alone could have succeeded on that day. When the time came for evacuation of those hardly won and held trenches, these same troops gave evidence of the possession of the opposite attributes of coolness, silence, patience, co-ordination; every man acting as part of a single unit, under control of a single will—which is discipline!

Cake Shower a Success

2011-04-22T23:51:00.000-07:00

This update on the original interesting article from the British Nursing Journal on March 4th, 1916 giving the reade an update on the ‘Cake Shower’.

The “Cake Shower” was quite a success.

Eight competitors sent beautiful cakes, and the prize of 5s. was divided between Miss Boge, Superintendent Q.V. J. District Nurses’ Home, Shoreditch, who brought a beautifully iced cake made by herself, decorated with a bunch of pink and white carnations, with angelica stalks, and tied with green ribbons. On a miniature French flag was inscribed ‘From the Shoreditch Queen’s
Nurses.’

The second prize cake was given by Miss M. Harvey, R.N.S.; it was iced, and in national colours the British and French flags were realistically presented. This cake was dedicated “Pour nos saeurs de F.F.N.C.” A beautiful ‘Bristol Cake’ was sent anonymously, and others were received from Miss Hessee, Miss Breay, Miss Metherell, R.N.S., and Misses Thompson and Scudamore, and Mrs. Scroggie, Birkenhead, also sent 2s. 6d. to buy a cake. Miss Hawkins kindly packed the consignment addressed to Miss Ellison, and Miss Brockie took charge of the box, so we may hope it arrived safely at headquarters in Paris. By and by, when we are less busy over the Registration question, we hope to have some other interesting “ Showers ” for the F.F.N.C.

Kangeroo Feathers

2011-04-12T01:58:00.000-07:00

This cartoon appeared in "The Punch" during the war. FIRST LADY: "That's one of them Australian soldiers." SECOND LADY: "How do you know?" FIRST LADY: "Why, can't you see the Kangaroo feathers in his hat?"

With the Tanks

2011-04-08T07:28:00.000-07:00

This article from ‘The Great War in a Different Light’ entitled 'With the Tanks,” by Harold Littledale

Steel Monsters on the Western Front

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, December 1918

We were not always with the Tanks. We came from the infantry, from the cavalry, from the artillery, from the Machine-Gun Corps, the Motor Machine guns, the Flying Corps, the Army Service Corps, and even from the navy. We came at first in the varied uniforms of our various regiments, and a motley crowd we were - the British infantry man in his turned-over trousers, the Scotsman in his kilt, the artillery boys in riding breeches and jaunty bandoliers, and he of the senior service in regulation navy blue. Some of us came with the mud of the trenches on our boots and the stains of war on our clothing; others, who had not been overseas, were more presentable in clean khaki.

We were not always known as the Tanks. At first, a great deal of secrecy was thrown about us, and we were called the Heavy Branch, Machine Gun Corps, wearing the crossed-machine-gun insignia of that service. Later, in the summer of 1917, after we had cut our teeth and done a little biting on our own account, we became the Tank Corps, and the insignia was changed to a tank surrounded by laurel leaves, surmounted by a crown, By that time we had grown, and four original companies had become many battalions, the first handful of tanks had been multiplied and were legion, and we had established a depot in France in addition to depots in England, schools for gunnery and for driving, great workshops and stores behind the line, and advanced workshops and stores near the line. Also, we had taken part in many battles, and done a little toward winning some of them, perhaps, learning how most effectively to use our new engine of war, and improving upon it so much that, when the enemy used tanks against us, we were able to outdistance and outmanoeuvre his machines to his very great astonishment and dismay.

The spirit of adventure called most of us to the Tanks. This was not because we were any braver than our comrades-in-arms, but because our natures demanded a change. And so the call for volunteers found us ready, and when the word of acceptance came, our hearts beat quickly and our hopes rose high; for we were tired of the monotony of the trenches and the monotony of the guns. And yet, when we came together, we wondered why many of us were there; for while some of us were selected because we were machine-gunners, and others because we were motor-drivers, there were many of us to whom the machine-gun and the motor were incomprehensible things. But in the end we did not find this lack of knowledge any handicap; for the army authorities, who were wiser than we, knew that to men of average intelligence and education these things were easy to learn; and to our very great amazement, we found that a week was all that was necessary thoroughly to master any machine-gun and to qualify with it at the range, and that was necessary to grasp the principle of the internal-combustion engine and the mechanism of the tank.

All that, however, was only the preliminary training and there followed weeks and often months of instruction and of drill until we became letterperfect. In those later weeks, of course, some of us fell by the wayside and were returned to the infantry or the cavalry or the guns.

There were times when the spirit of adventure within us received a severe jolt. That was when we had to haul about cases of petrol, drums of oil, and tins of grease; for with every move-and we were constantly moving-it was necessary to form a 'dump' of such things as were necessary for the beast to move and have its being; and our minds will always turn back to nights of rain, and to roads of mud along which we struggled bitterly, bearing upon our shoulders or our backs great loads, the petrol leaking from its tins against our heads and so into our eyes, the thick oil escaping from its drums and trickling down our backs. All this was sheer navying and not at all what we expected, but it was most necessary.

Later, when we converted obsolete tanks into supply-tanks, much of this work was done by them and it became so organized that supply-tanks brought petrol, oil and grease up to us in action, or established dumps at certain designated points to which we turned back during the course of the battle, so that we could refill, return, and carry on. Thus the beast of prey did not altogether lose its usefulness with old age, but became a beast of burden and, as such, took no small part in making the fighting tank an efficient and formidable weapon.

Not all tanks were to survive for this service, however, for many went into action never to return; others sank from view in the Flanders mud, and our men dug down to them and converted them into bomb-proofs; and six of the first ever to be used lie along the Arras-Albert highroad, some on their sides, some on their backs, others still head-on toward the enemy's line, all of them broken and black with rust; for time and battle have shown them little mercy and left them merely unattractive hulks on the high tide of the German trenches.

Our first impression of the tank was one of disappointment. So much had been printed, after their first appearance in battle, of their freakish appearance and their great size, that we expected something far more strange in design, more monstrous, more dragon-like, and twice as big. However, when we came to go into action with them and to see some of them lurch clumsily when they were struck by armor-piercing shells, we inclined to the belief that they were quite large enough, and we even came to cherish a secret feeling that it would be much nicer and more comfortable and safer and healthier all round, if the tank could be made smaller and less conspicuous. Later it was made smaller; but the small tank was for special work and the large tank remained as large as ever, although certain internal improvements made it easier to handle and thereby increasingly difficult to hit. How increasingly difficult to hit they became may be appreciated when it is known that the first time the improved tanks were used in battle, not one of them was lost. That action took place during the merciful shelter of the darkness of a morning in the early summer of 1918; and while sixty tanks were used, the German official statement gave the number as eight hundred!

We were disappointed, too, to find that the tank could not do all that we had heard it could do. We had quite expected to climb to the housetops, or, failing that, to go right through houses, to uproot great trees, and to waddle through wide rivers. The newspapers had depicted the tanks doing all those things; but we were to learn that roofs have a habit of giving way under the weight Of 35 tons, which is the weight of a large tank, and that it was easier to go round houses than to go straight through them; and we were to learn that large trees, deeply rooted, successfully resist great force, and that the rivers of France are so muddy in the bed, that to cross them, as indeed once we had to in action, it was necessary to lay down a causeway of barrels filled with cement.

But, in spite of these early disappointments, there was much about the tank that satisfied the spirit of adventure, and there is not one of us who will ever forget his first ride-the crawling in at the sides, the discovery that the height did not permit a man of medium stature to stand erect, the sudden starting of the engine, the roar of it all when the throttle opened, the jolt forward, and the sliding through the mud that followed, until at last we came to the 'jump' which had been prepared. Then came the downward motion, which suddenly threw us off our feet and caused us to stretch trusting hands toward the nearest object-usually, at first, a hot pipe through which the water from the cylinder jackets flowed to the condenser. So, down and down and down, the throttle almost closed, the engine just 'ticking over,' until at last the bottom was reached, and as the power was turned full on, the tank raised herself to the incline, like a ship rising on a wave, and we were all jolted the other way, only to clutch again frantically for things which were hot and burned, until at last, with a swing over the top, we regained level ground. And in that moment we discovered that the trenches and the mud and the rain and the shells and the daily curse of bully beef had not killed everything within, for there came to us a thrill of happiness in that we were to sail over stranger seas than man had ever crossed, and set out on a great adventure. And some of us were to do great deeds, and others were to do simple things; some of us were to win great glory, and others of us were to crumple up against the engine or the guns, never again to stir; but all of us were to learn that it is not life that matters, but the courage which one brings to life.

Each one of us who transferred in France came to the reinforcement and training depot with a secret hope that he might he sent to Blighty for instruction. (Blighty is the soldiers' name for England. It is a corruption of the Indian word for home.) But in the first five minutes at the depot, that hope disappeared, and we knew that we should not see Blighty except in the ordinary routine of leave and wounds. As leave is granted only about every fifteen months, and even wounds are frequently difficult to get, the prospect of going home was soon dispelled.

In those days the depot was only in its infancy. It consisted of a score of tents for the men, and half a dozen small Armstrong huts for the officers.

But each week it grew, and after we left and went to various battalions, it was moved elsewhere, and huts such as are used in the British camps were erected.

On our arrival at the depot we were classified in two lots-drivers and gunners-the sheep and the goats, as it turned out to be later, for the better pay fell to the drivers and the dirtier work to the gunners. We were all given the rank of gunner, however. This was a relief. In the infantry we had been privates, but the term private soldier had ever been a source of mystery to us, for we had never discovered anything private in our lives to warrant the title. Even our private letters were not sealed, and had to be censored before they could be dispatched. Also, we were not permitted to have any private property; for a soldier belongs, body, soul, and belongings, to the army, at least theoretically, for of course we did have private property. This consisted mostly of the photographs of our wives, our children, and our sweethearts. The rest was what we bought in the way of soap and polish; for the one piece of soap and the single tin of blacking which the army issues to each recruit upon joining can scarcely be expected to last through a campaign, be the soldier ever so economical in washing his body or in cleaning his boots!

Just what was the mode of procedure in selecting some men to be drivers and other men to be gunners, we never knew. Perhaps it was gauged by the size of one's boots or the color of one's eyes. At any rate, quite frequently a skilled motor-mechanic would be sent to the gunners' company, while an expert machine-gunner, who knew nothing about internal combustion engines, would find himself among the drivers. In the long run, however, it did not matter much, for each driver had to qualify as a gunner, and each gunner was given an elementary tank course and taught how to drive.
The reasons for so complete a training were obvious. In case a tank was knocked out or developed serious engine-trouble, the entire crew could carry on in the trenches or the field with the guns; whereas, if all the drivers were killed, any gunner could bring the tank back. But to the average Tommy this dual instruction boded ill, for the soldier believes that the less you know, the better off you are. For instance, if you are a machine-gunner, a bomber, and a signaller, you will probably come in for more shows' than if you are simply a rifleman; wherefore a little knowledge is considered a dangerous thing. But later each one of us thanked his lucky stars that he was gunner and driver too; for there came a time when we did have to carry on in the trenches or the field with the guns, and there came a time, too, when the drivers all 'went West,' and the gunners had to bring back the tanks.

With the rank of gunner we drew slightly higher pay. In the infantry our rate of pay had been one shilling a day, half of which we turned over toward the support of our dependents, the government supplementing the allowance. As the Tanks were classified as artillery, and the daily rate of pay in the artillery was one shilling and twopence halfpenny, we drew this additional twopence halfpenny. Later, when the Tank Corps was established and pay in the army generally increased, we drew as much as two shillings and eightpence a day as first drivers, plus war-pay of a penny a day extra for each year we had been in the army; and the government relieved us of compulsorily contributing to the support of our dependents and itself undertook their entire support, which however, we were permitted to increase by voluntary contributions from our pay.

The depot was in a back area.

The site was ideal, a valley with woods on either side, making it difficult to observe from the air. Not infrequently hostile aircraft sailed overhead as if in search of us; but they failed to find us, for we were never subjected to aerial attack.

The camp was in a large field. The field itself was used as a parade and sports ground. Along either side were two rows of tents in which the men were housed. At one end was the mess-hall and at the other end the officers' quarters. The entire camp was surrounded by a hedge and poplar trees so that little could be seen from the road which bordered the eastern side. Along the western side ran a double-track, wide-gauge railway, and a spur of this led into Central Workshops, less than a quarter of a mile away. In a sense, Central Workshops was a tank hospital, for it was there that tanks which had been damaged in action went for overhauling and repair, and there at any time one could see tanks with great wounds in their sides, and, searching among the heap of cartridges on the floor, find some button or shred of clothing which told only too clearly what had happened. Later we were to see much of Central Works, for it was here, too, that all new tanks arriving from England were first tested before being turned over to the men who were to take them into battle; and it was upon flat cars moved into this siding that we were to drive our tanks, and so move to within striking distance of the fighting line.

It was to a tent on the side-lines that the new arrival was sent. If he was lucky, he found himself in one occupied mostly by cooks. The luck manifested itself after 'Lights Out,' when tins of sardines and jam, pieces of bread and cheese would mysteriously appear and be passed around; for while the army ration is sufficient, manna from the soldiers' heaven, which is the cookhouse, is always welcome. And almost nightly this manna rained upon this tent, and from the beginning the new arrival got a portion, for soldiers always share.

For the most part the men at the depot were recruits from England sent out to reinforce battalions which had suffered losses in action. A few battalion men were there, though, and these could be distinguished by the colors on their shoulder-straps. In those days the battalions were designated by the letters of the alphabet: A Battalion, B Battalion, C Battalion, and so on, and the colors of A Battalion were red, of B Battalion yellow, of C Battalion green, of D Battalion blue. Later, the lettering system was discontinued-why, we never knew-and A Battalion became the First Battalion, B the Second, C the Third, and so on.

At that time those of us who had only had instruction on tanks in England, and those of us who had never seen a tank, looked with awe upon these battalion men; for most of them had seen action in the tanks, and many of them had been wounded, gone to hospital, and subsequently been dispatched to the depot for return to their respective units. And because so much mystery was attached to the tanks, we came to think that their risks had been greater than any we ourselves had run, and we often tried to get them to talk of it all; but found them strangely silent. Later, we were to learn how ridiculous this sense of awe had been, for we in turn were to suffer from much the same sort of thing and were to hear people murmur hoarsely to each other, 'He's with the Tanks,' as if we were the pick of the army, undergoing greater hardships than anyone else.

The officers at the depot were there under circumstances similar to our own. Some of them were battalion officers who had been wounded; others were reinforcements sent from England, and others were officers who had transferred in France from as many different units as ourselves.

Usually the routine of the day included physical training, squad-drill. gas-drill machine-gun instruction, preliminary tank instruction, and fatigues. Fatigues were doing any odd job around the camp, from peeling potatoes for the cooks to unloading quartermasters' stores. And, the day finally ended, there were still pickets and guards to be done in turn. The fire picket was a more or less informed affair which we did not mind; but guard had to be mounted in full marching order, and so searching was the inspection that a spot of grease on your pack might cause you to lose three days' pay and be confined to camp as well. Guard-mounting in steel hats some thirty miles behind the line seemed to us only a ceremonial instituted purposely to aggravate the soldier, and we groused a great deal about it until we heard the reason, which may or may not be the true one. It was said that, in the first few weeks after the depot was started, and when there was one tank there, guard was mounted in the usual manner, the men wearing the soft field-service cap. A sentry was posted at the tank, and that night, when the corporal of the guard marched the relief to that point, he fell over the prostate body of the sentry. He picked him up and carried him to the guard-house and later had him removed to a hospital, for he had been struck over the head with some blunt weapon. Why or how he had been struck, he never knew, nor how long he had been unconscious; but the affair was put down to espionage and resulted in an order to wear our shrapnel helmets when on guard. Color was lent to the theory of espionage by a later incident; for through papers found on a man arrested in England the intelligence officers traced a German spy, and caught him on that spur of the railway track leading to Central Workshops.
It was while marching to the baths that many of us saw our first tank. For two days rain had been falling and the parade-ground was camouflaged by two inches of water and four inches of mud. Of the two the water was probably thicker than the mud; so, because we could not do squad-drill, we were warned for the baths. These were shower-baths, two kilometres distant, but they were more like an anaemic fire-sprinkler system than anything else. They were housed in a dilapidated old barn, the roof of which leaked more water than came through the sprinklers.

With towels over our left shoulders we were lined up and marched off, grousing a good deal, for it was still raining and the road was in a wretched condition. We had just passed Central Workshops when the tank appeared, moving along the road slowly, making less noise than we expected, for we were to learn that most of the noise is internal and little except the exhaust can be heard from without.

We marched to the side of the road to let Behemoth pass, and in that moment forgot the mud and the rain, and laughed as it slid past, much as the infantry are said to have laughed on that summer morning which marked the beginning of the Battle of the Somme. But our merriment lasted only a moment, for a sharp order brought us to a realization that we were marching to attention; so we set our faces and trudged on.
It has been printed that the tanks were called 'Willies.' We ourselves never used the name. At first they were known as landships, and H. M. S. Campania comes to mind. In those days all the tanks were named. There were Explorer and Explosive, for instance; and when the Germans came to use tanks we found that they had named theirs, too; for one of the first German tank-commanders called the tank Elfreda, probably after his sweetheart. But Elfreda turned out to be fickle and quickly deserted to our side, and we made much of her, for she was the first of her type to be captured. With us, however, names quickly fell into disfavor, and in the end were discontinued, and tanks fell to the military routine of carrying regimental numbers.
In those early days a tank always to be relied upon to create more than usual interest was one presented to the British army by a councilor of the Malay States.

In front of the tank, on either side, was painted a large staring eye, such as may be seen on the bows of Chinese junks; and the idea probably was the same, for the Chinese say, if a ship has not got eyes, how in the world can it possibly see to go?
To-day tanks are largely of four types: the male tank, the female tank, the gun-carrier (or supply) tank, and the 'whippet.' The male and female tanks are of the heavy type, and are identical in size. They differ only in armament, for the male tank carries two large cannons and five machine guns, whereas the female variety is armed with seven machine-guns, reversing the poet's assertion that the female of the species is deadlier than the male.

While male and female work together and probably would have entered the Ark side by side had they existed in those days, they are used for entirely different work. Generally speaking, the male tank is used first to pass over barbed wire and flatten it. so that infantry may walk through, and then goes on to the more important work of destroying 'pill-boxes', machine-gun emplacements-so called because of their appearance. It is for this work that the cannons are used and armor-piercing shells are fired, and not infrequently what remains of the emplacement is sat upon by the tank itself. That, however, is a dangerous undertaking, for the tank might be hoist with its own petard and ditched in its own destruction.

The female tank, moving in the wake of the male, passes over the wire in the same spot, effectively flattening it, and acts as 'mopper-up' of the infantry, with the exception of those who come into direct observation of the male; for while the male is pounding the 'pill-boxes' with her guns, the female is going across the enemy's trenches and moving along the tops of them, firing her machine-guns at the infantry there.

In shape male and female, as they are to-day, are identical with that first tank used at the Battle of the Somme. One attachment that was immediately discarded, however, was the trailer of wheels. These great wheels were used to assist in steering the tank, and were so devised that, when it went into a shell-hole or a trench, they could be lifted clear by internal mechanism. They were found to be of little value. however, and were discarded without delay. That was the first improvement, and later, when certain other internal changes were made, the tank manoeuvred so much better and went so much faster that, when those which had been captured from us were patched up and used against us, we found that we were able to run circles around them and defeat them at each encounter.

Of all our tanks the least successful was the gun-carrier. This was of greater length than the fighting tank; and was designed to carry a piece of ordinance of large calibre into advanced positions, newly captured; and the arrangement was such that the gun could either be fired from the tank or be dismounted and put on wheels. For some reason, however, this plan did not work out as well as was expected, and many of the gun-carrier tanks were used to bring up supplies, and as such did highly efficient work, more than making up for their early failure,

Of all our tanks the 'whippet' was the big surprise. This was a small tank, built for the purpose of pursuit on ground which could not be traversed by an armored car. The surprise came when the whippet, built much along the lines of the gun-carrier, succeeded in traversing ground which invariably ditched the bigger supply-tank.
With the failure of the gun-carrier, we of the heavy fighting tanks came to the belief that to have the tracks-or caterpillar tread-pass completely round the bull was an essential to success,; for in the gun-carriers this was not done and they found difficulty in getting out of holes. But when the whippet, whose tracks, like those of the gun-carrier, did not pass completely round the hull, proved a success, we came to change our views and to lay the blame to incorrect balance.

While whippets were first used in the early part of igi8, it was not until the second defeat of the German army on the Marne and the Somme that this type came to be generally known. The enemy's forced retreat to the old Hindenburg line was an ideal condition for the whippet, and these little tanks, which have a greater speed than their bigger brothers and sisters, were able to harass the foe and to break up the rear-guard machine-gun fighting which he attempted to put up. This they did so effectively that, in the late summer of that year, civilians seemed to talk in terms of whippets, not realizing that the preliminary work of the male and female tanks in flattening down wire, breaking 'pill-boxes,' and causing the enemy to give up his lines of defense, was needed before the whippet's effectiveness could he complete.

These, then, were the tanks which our men took into action. In the beginning none of us knew anything about tanks. We had learned the engine and the mechanism, and had driven them over holes and trenches; but battle conditions are found to be entirely different. And because this engine of war was new, our high command had to learn tank tactics; and not before all of us had made many mistakes, did we learn how tanks should be handled and where they should be used. Those mistakes cost us dear, both in men and in tanks, and there was a time when, although we ourselves knew the tank to be a valuable instrument, we quite understood that the confidence of the public had been shaken by our failures.

How near the Tank Corps came to being abandoned, few persons know. Its fate was decided by one single engagement, and only a minor operation at that.

At one point on our line there was a German position of seven machine-gun emplacements or 'pill-boxes,' which was forever causing trouble. It was planned to take that position, and the commander there was ordered to draw up a plan of attack and an estimate of casualties; for in the British army no attack is made without an estimate of casualties, and if they are out of proportion to the zenith of success, the attack is never made. In this instance the number was placed between 400 and 500. This figure the high command thought too high, and the Tanks were asked if they could capture the position. Officers of our corps looked over the ground and examined aeroplane maps. Then they announced that they could take the position, and that, as the infantry would be used only to consolidate the ground won, the casualties would not be nearly so high as the first estimate. And so the attack was made, and the position was taken. The casualties were only seventeen and the Tank Corps was saved.

We called them 'busses,' and the name stuck. 'Landship' was too long and too clumsy to last. Even 'tank' did not stand the test of time, except officially in the army forms and the army correspondence. Always it was busses.

To each bus a crew was assigned. The duties of the crew were to keep the mechanism and the guns in working order, and to take the tank into battle. With the large busses the crew consisted of one commissioned officer, one non-commissioned officer, and six men. In the case of the guncarrier, when those busses were relegated to supply-work, only drivers were carried, as there were no guns. With the whippets the crew was not so numerous as with the male and female tanks, because the whippet was smaller, and there were fewer guns to be operated.

The general shape of the heavy British fighting tank is well known. The elevation is roughly that of a rhombus, with the two acute angles rounded off. The plan resembles somewhat the letter H, with a heavy cross-bar for the body, the sides of the letter representing the tracks.

For the most part the tanks are made of armor-plating. In some places the armor is thicker than in others, but at the thickest it is not more than three eighths of an inch. This may seem ridiculously inadequate, but the armor is hardened by a process used for ships of the British navy. It is bullet-proof and bomb-proof, and shrapnel more often than not does no harm. Armor-piercing shells, however, are effective when direct hits are made. The Germans even use an armor-piercing shell weighing only one pound, and seem to think it quite satisfactory. These shells are fired from specially designed anti-tank guns, which are kept in the front lines or in concealed places just behind the line.

Even the tracks are made of armor-plate. These tracks in the heavy fighting-tanks run completely round the body, and are made of individual plates, so that they can be 'broken,' opened up, anywhere, to permit the mechanism underneath them to be examined. This mechanism, in a general way, consists of rollers, chains, and sprocket-wheels and differs little from that of the average American tractor, but is greatly improved. The rollers need constant lubrication, and after every trip men are assigned to greasing up. This is a job which all of us hate cordially, because it consists of forcing grease into these rollers from outside, with a grease-gun, and one not only gets very dirty but, as there are fifty-four rollers to each tank and most of these are within two inches of the ground, the job is back-breaking and often necessitates sitting down in the mud. Usually greasing up outside falls to the gunners, for the drivers have other work inside, not always so arduous but equally important, and needing their greater knowledge of the engine and controls.

Projecting from either side of the male tank are two large sponsons. These are not quite one-third the entire length of the bus and are placed amidships. They are emplacements for the guns, and give the heavy cannon a wide traverse. The sponsons are removable and can be pushed in flush with the side. Were this not so, tanks could not be taken on trains because of their great width with the sponsons in position, and every move by train involves the arduous job of pushing in sponsons when entraining and pushing them out after detraining.

In the female tank the sponsons are comparatively small. The large one is not needed in this case, as the female has only machine-guns; but even the small sponson of the female is made to shut in. The supply-tanks and the whippets do not have sponsons.

Entrance, in the case of the male tank, is effected by means of doors at the back of each of the sponsons. In the case of the female these doors are underneath the sponson and open into the side. There is also a door at the rear of the heavy fighting tank, and a fourth place of entrance or exit elsewhere. All these doors are provided with locks, which are proof even against the Hun; there have been times when he has come around and tried to open them, to be greeted with revolver-fire; for each member of the tank crew carries a revolver for personal protection and closequarters work.

The engine is installed along the centre-line of the tank and slightly forward of the middle. At first, a powerful engine designed for heavy tractor-work was used; but this was found to be scarcely strong enough, and another engine was specially designed and contributed no small part of the success of the improved tank.

It is in the front of the tank that the driver sits; for there are the throttle and the controls and the brakes and the gauges which register the oil- and petrol-pressure. Beside him usually is the non-commissioned officer, who operates the forward machine-gun; and by no means the least among the driver's annoyances are the empty cartridge-cases which are ejected from this gun and which usually find the driver's left ear or eye as a target.

The tank officer usually sits in the conning tower amidships. Observation from the driver's seat is restricted on either side because of the tracks, but from the conning tower the lookout has an unrestricted view in all directions. Thus he can watch for 'targets,' and, being in the middle of the tank, is well situated to command it. He is so close to most of the gunners that he can communicate with them either by shouting or by making signs, but so terrific is the noise of the engine that it would be utterly impossible for the non-commissioned officer and the driver to hear him, so speaking-tubes run from the conning tower to the driver's cab.
In action in a tank, heat is one of the great hardships, for it is so exhausting that the men frequently have to buck themselves up with restoratives, carried in the tank's medicine bag.

Usually, in the ordinary course of travel, or going up, men walk outside the tank, or ride on the top, the driver alone being inside; but in action all have to be inside, and the tank is shut up so that in broad daylight it is quite dark within. Observation for the driver and gunners is made possible by lookout ports, in which eight tiny holes are drilled. Strangely enough, observation is not so difficult as might be imagined. It is above these holes that the only padding in the tank is placed; for, contrary to the general impression, tanks are not padded inside, nor are men strapped into seats. The gunners for the most part stand; the two men forward are seated, and when the driver is about to take a severe drop or incline, he shouts back through the speaking-tube and the men hang on, bracing themselves against the engine or the guns. The padding over the lookout holes consists of a head-rest against which one presses the forehead in order to bring the eyes as close to the holes as possible. These lookout holes superseded periscopic prisms, which proved unsatisfactory. The prisms were made of glass about two inches thick; but bullets striking the glass, while not breaking it, starred it so that observation became difficult if not quite impossible. To meet this, a steel reflector was tried out, but did not answer the purpose; and so the holes were resorted to, and while observation involves an unnatural straining of the neck, it is effective.

While bullets do not penetrate the armor, but only ruffle it up a bit at the point where they are deflected, a great deal of bullet 'splash' does come in. This is more annoying than serious, and after an action one could pick out any number of these tiny splinters from one's face. So, as a means of protection against 'splash,' face-armor was invented. This looks much like a bandit's mask, with a steel-mesh chain hanging from it. The mask itself is of thin steel, with slits for the eyes, the whole padded for the face and adjustable to it.

The greatest danger, however, whether in or out of action, is that of fire. Smoking inside a tank is forbidden. Usually smoking is not permitted within twenty yards of one. This is because of the great amount of petrol, or gasoline, carried, and because of the fumes. Thus an armor-piercing shell entering the tank not only explodes in a confined area, but usually sets the machine on fire. When that happens, men have to escape as best they can, tumbling out of the doors, usually to be greeted by the enemy's machine-gun fire. Often, however, so much damage was done by the shell itself, that only those nearest the doors ever escaped. The rest perished in the flames, and those who have ever had to go back to a tank and see their comrades burned almost beyond recognition will bear testimony that death by fire was feared more than anything else.

Such, then, is the tank. It came at a time when intense artillery barrages made the ground in front and behind the lines almost impossible to traverse. Thus the infantry was hampered in movement, and often reached the enemy's barbed wire only to find that, while its form had been destroyed, it lay there as tangled and as dangerous as ever. Furthermore these barrages were enormously expensive, and one British barrage lasting three days cost more than $63,000,000.

Perhaps the most serious fault of the barrage, however, was the notice of attack which it gave the enemy. While an attack might be on a limited front and the barrage on an extended front, it was like sending a visiting card. So the Germans watched and prayed. Often they prayed for the attack to begin; for after two or three days and nights of intense artillery and trench-mortar fire one longs to have it over and done with.

The tank virtually abolished this method of attack. Artillery barrages were kept up even after the tanks were perfected, but frequently the element of surprise was attained by the use of tanks without a preliminary fire. And so, in the dark of the early morning, the tanks go over, male and female, ahead of all others, and they cross the enemy's wire and flatten that, and then press on against his 'pill-boxes,' leaving the infantry with their bombs to settle affairs in the dugouts. Often the artillery assists the tanks, once the battle has begun, and particularly when dawn breaks and visibility exists. Then they put up a smoke-barrage, and the tanks carry on with the assistance of these screens, smashing down defenses, mopping up personnel, and creating terror in the hearts of the enemy.

'A Tank and Two Crosses'

2011-04-04T04:41:00.000-07:00

This tale from ‘The War Illustrated’, is entitled 'A Tank and Two Crosses'
and is dated 11th May, 1918

Little Journeys to the Great War

Who does not recall the thrill that went through the world when the first stories ot the great British Battles of the Somme came out early in July, 1916 ? We read of the weird fighting-machines that led our brave soldiers across the ghastly wastes of No Man's Land, riddling the astonished Huns with streams of bullets and behaving in such antic ways that the light-hearted khakied men who followed up with gleaming bayonet and ready bomb could but laugh — laugh and forward to kill or be killed.
Coming of the Monster

"Monsters of the primeval ooze and slime," "Antediluvian creatures that grunt and slither through the mud, that lean against trees and crush them ; that put their snouts to the wall of a house and it falls, while they crawl imperturbably over the ruin they have made," "Behemoths" — a rich variety of phrases such as these flowed from the pens of the war correspondents, then long starving for an opportunity to be "picturesque."'

It was the joy-day of the Tank. No British paper was allowed to describe the new creation of English mechanical genius ; to have shown a photograph of one would have been something like treason. Not until the counterfeit presentment of H.M. Landship Creme de Menthe and various others of the first quaint fleet had been published widely in the American Press, and the Huns had secured some of the material monsters, were we in England allowed to see what they were like ; and with admirable wisdom the official photos first issued all depicted Tanks that had come to grief.
Many stranger things than Tanks have occupied our minds since then, and Tanks themselves have waddled along the streets of many a town in these islands on stranger missions than their first job at zero hour on the Somme. They have even been transported across the Atlantic to stimulate American interest in .the war, and one at least has figured in the streets of Berlin to grace a Hunnish holiday. "Hush, hush !" no longer applies to them, and the Hun has made his own, like the sedulous ape he is.

Weird Pioneers

To me, however, my first sight of the Tanks in the autumn of 1917 was a sensation never to be forgotten. At the "Tankodrome" where I first saw them parked, distantly suggestive of what Hamilcar's elephants under the walls of ancient Carthage may have looked like before being caparisoned for battle, no close inspection was allowed ; but, later, on one of the bloodiest battlefields of the Somme, where several had ended their all-too-brief careers, I was able to explore their mysteries.

One of these weird pioneers in that opening Battle of the Somme — when another of them captured a village of machine-gun emplacements and still others achieved feats of valour which the fabled doings of the gods of old could not have rivalled — one had just crawled across a highway and was dragging its slow length along the sodden field of battle when a random shot put it out of action for ever.

There it lay by the roadside, no longer an object of terror, but of curiosity, of pity.

There was rust upon it, and one felt for the great inert mass of reddening metal a curious sympathy, as though it had been a thing from which life had gone out while it had been clumsily "doing its bit." The Byronic lines :

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail, did not seem absurdly inapposite to the stranded Tank-, save that it was naught but "mail" and rust. What, after all, are Tanks but mammoth coats of mail to encase as brave men as ever went into battle ?

A dead soldier by the roadside could not have stirred more sorrow in me than this poor Tank, struck down on its maiden journey and probably before it had achieved anything of the purpose for which it had been laboriously created.

Thing of Wonder

One thought of the immense human labour that wrought those mighty plates of steel and drove home those thousands of rivets, of the months of loving craftsmanship that went to the fashioning of its intricacies of motive machinery, the elaborate testings of the individual parts, before the leviathan crawled away from its base and gruntingly reached the scene of action. .Above all, of the wonderful, godlike brains that conceived, designed, and made such living things out of base metal.
And all for this ! To be knocked out by a lucky shot from a barbarian's cannon.
Within, one could reconstitute in some degree the fate that had overtaken the thing. Nothing seemed destroyed in all its maze of complicated levers and tie-rods ; the steering-gear, though rusted, still showed a willingness to respond to the touch of the handle; the revolving gun-turrets on the port and starboard sides still swung round to a moderate pressure; the powerful Daimler engine astern looked as though it might "start up " after a little oiling ; but all the racks where the plentiful machine-gun ammunition had been stored were empty, and burnt bullets lay about in hundreds. Only the petrol reservoirs were wreckage ? — it was as though the heart of the uncouth thing had burst. Its eyes, too, were blinded, for the prisms in the periscopes were shattered into fragments.

The sense of pity for the hapless thing grew on me. Such a marvel of mechanism destroyed at one blow — one random shot! It seemed horribly unfair. Yet there was the evidence of it — a jagged hole, a little forward of the port gun-turret, into which- you could no more than put your fist, told the tale. Here the shell had penetrated, bursting in the forward part of the interior, wrecking the petrol containers, and in an instant the doomed Tank was a blazing inferno, the ammunition discharging as the flames licked around the magazines.

Scant imagination is needed to picture the terror of that scene. Yet not till now does the fate of the gallant fellows — bravest of pioneers, who were to the mechanical leviathan as the soul and spirit to the body of man — engage us. Seven of them went forth that fateful day in this strange coat of mail that is, when you think of it, and especially when you see it laid upon its side, horribly suggestive of the coffin of some fabulous giant.

A Tragic Close

Seven of them, young, full of enthusiasm, devotion, cooped up here so that they could not stand erect, wearing padded steel headgear to prevent their skulls from cracking on the riveted metal roof as the .strange craft lurched and swayed down shell-holes and over heaps of ruins, each at his particular post, to move the inert thing forward into the furnace of death and to die, or to slay and to live.

And one lucky shell out of the thousands the Huns sent over decides that they are to die, and this pioneer of land-ships is to end in a ditch by a highway of the Somme.
Nothing was known of the fate of the crew to the officer who brought me to the scene ; but when we emerged from the Tank's interior we noted, close by, two small mounds, well kept, with two neat crosses and the names thereon of two of the crew who had perished in the Tank.

We had not remarked the little grave before, so familiar are these tiny crosses throughout that vast graveyard of the Somme, where for generations crosses will far outnumber trees. There, side by side, lie two of the thousands of brave souls who gave their lives for England that day ; and somehow their graves are to me more memorable than any of the multitude I saw, by reason of the dead Tank at their side.

On Sacred Ground

Often had I thought of this little scene as the panorama of my Somme journey-ings came back to my mind's eye, and it was strange enough that at a later day, in the radiant spring weather of 1918 when larks were singing joyously above these fields of death, and all the mighty armies of the Allies were "standing-to" for the opening of the mighty German Battles for Amiens, I came again, with other friends, to this same spot; stood by these little graves and explored once more the interior of the Tank that told, as in a written book, their sad, brave story.

Not many days afterwards the new hordes from Hunland Game back once more, and doubtless their foul feet would defile that little bit of ground which seemed to me as sacred as any in Westminster Abbey.

What of the other five brave men who companioned the two who rest beneath the little crosses ? Who knows ? Five men, even of the bravest, are as nothing in an army of, five million. The finest stories of the Great War are those that will never be told.

Wildlife in the Trenches

2011-03-29T05:23:00.001-07:00

Carrying on from yesterday this article is also from ‘The Great War in a Differnet Light’ and was originally published in the 'From All the Fronts' by Donald Mackenzie (1917).

Wildlife in the Trenches

Life in the trenches has brought many men into close touch with Nature, and made them take a great interest in birds and other wild animals whose haunts had been rudely disturbed by the clamour and ravages of war. Flocks of migrating swallows have been seen, at times, in France and Italy, scattering in confusion through the drifting smoke of the big guns, but still they have continued to migrate southward and northward in season as of old without changing their routes in flight. Airmen tell that they sometimes meet in France with swarms of birds soaring high above the clouds. In February, 1917, one flying man saw great flocks of migrating plovers at a height of about 6ooo feet.

Among the lovely Vosges mountains herds of wild pigs have been driven from their lairs by bursting shells. Some have scampered into camps, where they were promptly hunted down to provide a change of diet for the fighting men. One day a wild boar charged down a trench, and wounded two French soldiers before it was laid low by a well-directed bullet.

Sometimes swarms of hares and rabbits have scrambled amidst the network of trenches, seeking refuge from shrapnel and bullets, only to be seized by ready hands and sent to the cook house.

Rats showed no signs of alarm. They clung to the new haunts of men, made themselves at home, and increased in numbers. In trenches and dug-outs they found numerous scraps of food and fared well. But they proved a great nuisance to the soldiers, especially at night, by running over their bodies as they lay asleep in their dug-outs, and nibbling and scraping in every corner in the darkness.

In France singing birds became accustomed to gun-fire, and after a bombardment lasting several hours, could be heard chirping among the branches of trees which concealed the guns. They even made friends with the British gunners, who threw crumbs to them.

One early spring morning, while a little company of blackbirds, thrushes, robins, and sparrows were feeding on scraps that were laid for them on the frosty ground, a big scared -looking cat came creeping stealthily from the ruins of a village near by. The birds rose fluttering and chirping excitedly, but pussy scarcely glanced at them. It had caught a glimpse of an artillery officer peering out of his dug-out, and ran towards him. "Pussy, pussy!" he called softly. The ruffled animal rubbed itself against his leg, and, when it had been stroked gently, began to purr with delight.

It had been somebody's pet, and seemed glad to be among human friends again. Some condensed milk was poured into a pannikin, and the hungry cat licked it up greedily, pausing now and again to look with solemn tender eyes at its new friend, who kept repeating: "Poor old pussy; poor old girl; get on with your breakfast."

The cat finished the milk, licking the pannikin quite dry. Then it lay down to smooth out its coat, evidently feeling quite at home.

On a branch of an apple tree which hung over the entrance to the dug-out a little red-breasted robin watched the cat intently. It seemed to be greatly annoyed at pussy's presence, and kept hopping to right and to left, bunching out its feathers and chirping excitedly, as if telling the other birds what was happening. The officer watched all that was going on as he ate his breakfast at the door of the dug-out. The cat, having finished its toilet, crept between the officer's legs, and began to take a keen interest in the robin, who chirped louder and faster, as if calling out, "Here he comes! he's actually staring at me. 'Mr. Impudence' - that's what I call him." He was joined by two other robins and a sparrow, while a couple of wrens began to scamper up and down the trunk of the tree. All the birds chirped together as if trying to scare the intruder. Pussy bent his legs, fluffed his tail, and showed his teeth as it crept forward, ready to pounce on a bird bold enough to come within reach.

A gun team close at hand was preparing for the morning bombardment, while an officer shouted commands through a megaphone. Then suddenly a gun bellowed with a deafening crash. Pussy sprang into the air with alarm, and bounding back into the dug-out, crept under some clothing and lay still. But the birds never moved. They were accustomed to gun-fire, and knew it didn't hurt. What seemed of more interest to them was the fact that the cat had disappeared. Then the robin who had given the alarm began to think about its rights, and drove the other robins off its branch.
When fighting on the Gallipoli Peninsula our soldiers could not help becoming amateur naturalists. The district was teeming with wild life, and seemed just like a natural zoo. Hyenas prowled through the scrub, and growled and showed their sharp white teeth when soldiers suddenly roused them from their hiding - places. Being cowardly animals, they usually took flight at once. One day a big Highlander was crawling through a clump of bushes to spy on the Turkish lines, when he roused a hyena. It sprang up, with its back against a ridge of rock which jutted out of the soil, and snarled at him like an angry dog. He did not wish to fire, because he knew there were Turkish snipers not far distant, and it seemed to him as if the hyena knew this too. So he could do nothing else but stare at the fierce brute, which looked as if it were about to spring at him.

By and by it quailed before his steady gaze, and began to edge round the rock. Remembering he had read somewhere that wild animals can-not resist the power of the human eye, he followed its movements, staring as fiercely as he could, and not moving a muscle of his face or making any sound. The hyena grew more and more uncomfortable, and began to blink like one who comes out of the darkness into a brightly-lit room. Then it suddenly turned tail and fled. The Turkish snipers caught sight of it a few minutes later, and a shower of bullets spattered all round the soldier; who crept forward to take shelter behind the rock. He lay very still. Some time afterwards, when he moved forward again, he caught a glimpse of the hyena's body lying in the long grass. The snipers had caught it in their fire, thinking, no doubt, they had disposed of a British soldier.

During lulls in the fighting the British and Turkish fighting men held what might be called sporting competitions. In the month of September large numbers of pelican migrated from the shores of the Aegean Sea towards Egypt. They flew over the peninsula in V-shaped flocks, and as soon as a flock appeared in the sky, fire was opened on them with rifles and machine-guns.

One afternoon a flock, which seemed to have come a long distance, began to wheel round in the air as if preparing to settle down on the Salt Lake marsh in Suvla Bay. Suddenly a British machine-gun sent a rippling stream of bullets towards the birds. Not a single pelican was struck, but the whole flock at once became greatly agitated. Then the onlookers noticed that they were under the command of a leader, who made them behave like well-trained soldiers under fire. Shrill screams, like words of command, came through the air, and the birds rose up in extended formation until they were far beyond range and quite safe from attack. Then they continued their flight towards Egypt. As they passed over the Turkish lines, several v9lleys from machine-guns were fired at them; but the clamour only made them fly faster, and ere long they vanished from sight.

After this the British "Tommies" and "Jocks", and the "Johnny Turks", as our soldiers called their enemies, crouched low in their trenches again, waiting for the next flock of pelican. Sometimes, as the birds flew overhead, one was brought down, but it was hardly worth the ammunition wasted upon it. The men on both sides, however, seemed to find the sport exciting, and cheers broke from the trenches when a shot "got home", and a long-necked pelican came tumbling down through the air from what our soldiers called "the flying regiments".

Lots of tortoises crawled about the Gallipoli trenches, and some of our men tried to make pets of those they laid hands on. But a tortoise is never in a hurry to make friends. It is never in a hurry to do anything. A corporal, who kept one tied to a post for a week, coaxed it at length to feed out of his hand, and when he thought it had grown quite tame allowed it to go free. As soon as evening came on it vanished and was never seen again. "You should try and tame a scorpion next," a friend advised the "tortoise tamer", as he called the corporal. " No, thanks!" was the prompt reply. All the soldiers hated the scorpions with their bright-red armour plates, crab-like toes, and uncanny sting-tipped tails, and killed them at sight. Snakes were also dreaded. They came creeping into the dug-outs, and caused many a soldier to jump up with a shout of alarm. One morning, soon after dawn, a big Yorkshire-man woke up to find a snake coiled up on his blanket. He flung the blanket and snake right out of the dug-out, and then, seizing a trench spade, struck at the squirming reptile with such force that he not only cut it in two, but made great rents in the blanket also. It was the first live snake he had ever seen, and he thought the sergeant who told him that it was a non-poisonous one was only making fun of him. "Snakes are snakes all the same," he declared. "Do you expect a man to wait and see if he's going to be stung before he strikes at one?" There are, of course, poisonous as well as non-poisonous snakes on the peninsula.

Then there were the flies, which were even more troublesome than the scorpions or the snakes!

It seemed as if Gallipoli was always suffering from a plague of flies, and our men remembered the Bible story of fly plague in ancient Egypt,. in which Moses repeats to Pharaoh the Divine message: "I will send swarms of flies upon thee, and upon thy servants and upon thy people, and into thy houses: and the houses of the Egyptians shall be full of swarms of flies, and also the ground whereon they are. . . . And the Lord did so.

The land was corrupted by reason of the swarm of flies."

Black clouds of flies came through the air as soon as our men had settled down in their Gallipoli trenches; the insects crawled over the ground, they blackened the dug-outs, they covered men's bodies; they attacked the mules and made them kick and snort and lash themselves with their tufted tails; they crawled over food, and crept into pots and kettles, and were drowned in hundreds when these were filled with water. The flies were a constant nuisance. Men were always brushing them from their faces, out of the corners of their eyes, out of their ears, off their bare arms. And how they buzzed when they were disturbed! Sometimes when the cooks were busy at their work the buzzing of the flies about them was so loud that they had to shout to one another when only a few yards apart. "One morning," a cook has declared, "the humming of myriads of flies reminded me of the noise of a cotton mill in a Manchester street."

When a soldier lay down to sleep during the daytime the flies settled on him in hundreds. Each time he moved and disturbed his tormentors a loud buzzing broke out. If he covered his face with a handkerchief they went crawling over it in such great numbers that it became as heavy as a bit of blanket, and he had to throw it off When, at length, he fell asleep the flies began to take liberties. They ran over his hair, into his ears, and across his face. If his jaw dropped they crept into his mouth. "It was a common thing," a soldier tells, "to see a sleeper who had been on duty during the night sitting bolt upright, half awakened, and beginning to cough and splutter while flies darted out of his mouth. Occasionally a few were swallowed, much to the poor chap's disgust."

At meal-times hundreds of flies "mobbed" every soldier. If one should spread jam on a slice of bread the flies dropped on it at once, and, as a victim once wrote home, "made it look like a slice of currant cake". Another has described how the men took jam with their bread. "First of all," he wrote, "you make a little hole in your jam tin, and keep a thumb on it. You eat the bread dry, and when you want jam you suck it out of the tin, and then press your thumb on the hole again. The flies swarm round your thumb and over your hand, as if trying to make you let go so that they may get a chance of creeping into the tin. You ask me if I have been in a battle yet. I am always in the battle of flies. The flies are harder fighters than Johnny Turk."

Besides the flies there were other insects "too numerous to mention", wrote a Welsh soldier. "There are hundreds of different kinds of grotesque insects, big and small, that crawl about or fly through the air. New arrivals get many shocks. I have seen men who were more afraid of a swarm of insects than a battalion of Turks." He then went on to relate an amusing experience he and others had. "A fresh regiment was having its troubles with the insects one evening when a gale began to blow. It sprang up as suddenly as a bird from the scrub, and came in fierce and rapid gusts that took one's breath away. A great long belt of sun-dried thistles stretched across No-Man's-Land, and the wind cut through the prickly mass like a scythe, shearing off the tops and brittle leaves and severing the stalks, which came whirling in clouds towards our trenches in the evening dusk. A private, who was greatly worried about the strange insects and reptiles he saw prowling about, was cleaning his rifle when a bit of prickly thistle darted past his cheek like a living creature. He sprung back, gasping, 'What is that?' Then another bit scratched his hand as it skimmed down the trench.

A yell broke from his lips. 'I've been stung!' he declared. Hundreds of prickly stalks and leaves then came whirling and darting about the men's ears. Those who thought they were being attacked by swarms of horrible insects of a~ sizes and shapes began to dart into dug-outs; but soon the cries of alarm were changed to shouts of laughter, for word was passed along that the supposed winged furies were simply bits of Gallipoli thistles. As the wind increased in fury the thistle plague grew gradually worse. Heaps of dry prickly stalks and leaves collected in the trenches, and the men were kept busy shovelling them out. Some parts of the trenches were filled to the top. The wind fell before dawn, and when the sun rose you could see piles of thistles all along the line of trenches. It looked as if these prickly heaps would prove troublesome again later on, but in the forenoon another gale sprang up and scattered them across the Salt Lake marsh. As the men watched them they were not surprised that the 'green hands' had been alarmed on the previous evening. The broken thistles skimmed through the air like locusts, and bumped and darted on the ground like giant grasshoppers."

The Gallipoli ants were a source of great interest to the fighting men. They continued diligently working in and about the trenches as if nothing unusual was taking place. "I have watched them for hours on end," a Londoner wrote to his friends, "and wondered at their intelligence. As I write a little fellow is trying to carry a crumb of bread to the nest. He has stuck. The load is too heavy. What will he do now? He is signalling for help, I declare. Here comes a friend to give him a hand! The new arrival has got behind the crumb and is pushing it, while the other hauls again. Now they are making progress. . . . They have halted suddenly. It looks as if they are out of breath. Here comes another helper, I declare! He gets behind the crumb also and they haul and push all together. Up they climb to the door of the ant house. They are going to get the crumb for themselves, sure enough. Well done! They have hauled it inside, and are now, I suppose, packing it into the larder. What wonderful little fellows they are!

Dogs in the Trenches

2011-03-28T04:31:00.000-07:00

This article is from ‘The Great War in a Differnet Light’ and was originally published in the 'From All the Fronts' by Donald Mackenzie (1917).

'Dogs in the Trenches'

The dog has long been called "the friend of man", and in this great war it has proved itself to be a friend indeed. Many stories are told of dogs leaving home and tracking their masters to the trenches, and of their wonderful courage under fire. But it is not as a pet alone that the dog has proved itself a "friend", but also as a worker, whether doing red-cross work, sentinel duty, or hauling sledges with supplies over snow - clad hills.

One of the famous French army dogs is "Marquis", which did splendid service carrying dispatches. This faithful animal showed great intelligence, and ran and crept through bullet-swept zones carrying important messages when no human being could venture to do so. More than once Marquis helped whole companies to get out of tight spots by bringing them warnings in time, and it also kept officers in touch with their superiors, when heavy bombardments cut telephone wires, by scampering from point to point with messages.

One morning Marquis was sent out on his last journey with a dispatch in his mouth. The Prussians were attacking heavily at the time. Shell-fire burst above and behind the French trenches, and it was impossible for a soldier to attempt to leave cover. Marquis ran off - going briskly so long as it was under cover. Then he had to cross an open track of country where the bullets pattered down like hailstones. He crept low, and made short rushes from bush to bush, while anxious eyes followed its movements. For a time all went well. Then, when it seemed as if the dog would succeed, it was struck by a bullet and fell on the ground. An officer, who had been watching through his field-glasses, uttered a cry of regret, and began to sorrow for poor Marquis. For a time the dog lay very still. Then he began to come back. Slowly he crept on, suffering pain and very weak from loss of blood. At length, after a great effort, Marquis returned to his master, and, dropping the blood-stained dispatch at his feet, fell over and died. That evening the French soldiers, with bared heads and heavy hearts, buried the faithful dispatch dog, and set up a little monument to mark his grave.

Another famous dog was named Lutz. It won its reputation near Verdun. One dark night a force of Germans were stealing towards a French position all unknown to the sentinels. Lutz, however, scented them and began to growl. "Hush! lie down!" a sentinel said in a low voice, but Lutz only grew more restless and excited. The attention of an officer was drawn to the dog's behaviour, and a warning was issued. The French soldiers were roused from sleep and stood ready to deal with any unexpected danger. Ere long they became aware of the near presence of Germans, and a withering fire broke out from the French trenches. The German surprise attack failed completely because of the warning given by Lutz. A large number of this raiding force were killed at point-blank range, and most of the survivors were taken prisoners.

Dogs like Lutz are trained to act as helpers of sentries. They do not all growl and bark when danger is near, however. Some simply "point" like "pointer dogs" used by sportsmen on the moors. When these wise animals scent the enemy, they thrust their noses forward, stiffen out their backs, and signal with their tails, keeping perfectly silent. One dark night a pointer, named Paul, stood beside a sentry. Suddenly the dog began to sniff and grow restless. Then he pointed stiffly towards a point where he had scented the enemy. An officer was informed that the dog was "pointing". He shrugged his shoulders and said, "The dog can't be trusted." Paul was taken down a trench and led to another sentry post. There he sniffed again and "pointed" in the same direction as formerly. "Now, Paul," the officer said, "we shall put you to the test." He ordered rockets to be sent up. Flares of vivid light cut through the darkness, and three Germans on "listening post" duty were seen crouching on the ground less than twenty yards distant.

Their duty was to spy on the French position and find out whether any preparations were being made for a night attack. This they could do by listening to hear words of command and the movements of soldiers getting ready to creep out in the darkness. If such preparations were being made, it was their duty to creep back and give the alarm. Having been pointed at by Paul, this particular "listening post" party was rounded up by the French, the three men being brought in as prisoners. The officer patted Paul, and calling him "a treasure", said: "I shall see, good dog, that you are mentioned in dispatches."

The dogs that do ambulance work have saved many lives by going out in the darkness over "No-Man's- Land", after an attack had taken place, finding wounded soldiers, and carrying food and stimulants to them. The intelligent way in which these animals behave is very wonderful. When a red-cross dog finds a stricken soldier, it runs back and leads a party towards him. On the outbreak of war the French had only a few dogs trained for ambulance work, but these proved to be so useful that their numbers were speedily added to. In less than two years' time there were nearly 3000 dogs at work, and it is estimated that owing to their help about 10,000 lives have been saved.

Among the Vosges mountains large numbers of dogs from Labrador and Alaska have been used to pull sleighs loaded with food or ammunition over trackless wastes, and also to drag small trucks on narrow lines of railway. When snow lies heavily on the ground, and a crust is formed on it by the hard frosts, the dogs can scamper up and down the mountain slopes at great speed. Long teams are yoked to the sledges, and the drivers have exciting enough spins. Sometimes it takes them all their time to keep the animals under control. Running in packs, they often become greatly excited, and scamper at such a rate that there is always the danger of an accident taking place. More than one sledge has been overturned during a wild rush down a steep snowy slope. The dogs follow a leader, who picks out a track by instinct, and occasionally swerves this way and that to avoid a danger spot, such. as a piece of jutting rock, or a deep hollow over which the snow lies thinly. But the bounding animals never swerve if there should happen to be men or mules in front of them. One day a company of French soldiers were crossing a little valley, when a team of carrier dogs swept down the long sloping hill-side and ran pell-mell towards them.

In another minute three or four soldiers found themselves struggling in the snow with foaming and excited dogs tumbling over them. The sledge was overturned, and the driver thrown a dozen yards into a heavy snow-wreath, from which he came out shouting protests, and shaking himself like his dogs to get rid of the sheets of snow that clung about his shoulders and neck. Fortunately no one was seriously hurt. When the sleigh was righted again, and the dogs were got in hand, the driver set his team scampering merrily down the valley. Much more trouble is caused if the dogs should happen to run into a group of pack mules. The mule is never, as a rule, too good-tempered, and if he is tripped up, he bites and kicks so much that it is dangerous to go near him. One evening, just as the sun was setting in a blaze of red over the snow-clad hills, a mule, which was thrown over by a scampering dog team, kicked out so fiercely as it sprawled in the snow that it killed three dogs and injured another half-dozen. The sleigh was loaded with ammunition, but by good luck ran down a sloping bank clear of the animal's hoofs. The dogs' traces had to be cut, and three of them escaped, and scampered away out of sight in a few minutes, but they were found next day to have returned to the camp from which they had set out.

As a rule, these sleigh dogs are somewhat wild. They are greatly given to fighting among them-selves, and if one of them should happen to escape from a kennel, they bark and howl at a great rate, and cannot be silenced until the comrade who has won freedom is caught and taken back again. It takes a skilled driver to deal with them when they grow fierce and excited.

They are, however, very obedient to, and even quite gentle with, those who feed them readily, and, being most intelligent, answer readily to their names. But for these dogs, the problem of sending supplies of food and ammunition through the passes of the Vosges during winter would have been a very difficult one. Often when the light railways were buried in snow and rendered quite useless, and teams of pack mules were hardly able to make their way through the wreaths, the northern dogs scampered along, hauling the sleighs and keeping the soldiers well supplied with all they required.

The Germans and Machine Guns

2011-03-21T07:36:00.000-07:00

This article comes from the excellent “Letters from France” by C. E. W. Bean.

This book details the Australian action on the Somme in 1916, especially the action at Pozieres. As Bean puts it in his preface - “The record of the A.I.F., and its now historical units in their full action, will be painted upon that background some day. If these letters convey some reflection of the spirit which fought at Pozières, their object is well fulfilled.”

Here he describes the German defenses and the use of machine-guns.

Twenty miles behind the lines, or more, you can see every night along the horizon in front of you a constant low flicker of light—the flares thrown up by both sides over the long ribbon of No Man's Land—the ribbon which straggles without a break from one end of France to the other.

We were getting very close to that barrier now—within a couple of miles of it; and the pure white stars of these glorified Roman candles were describing graceful curves behind a fretwork of trees an inch or two above the horizon. Every five or six seconds a rifle cracked somewhere along the line—very different from the ceaseless pecking of Gallipoli.

Then a distant German machine-gun started its sprint, stumbled, went on again, tripped again. A second machine-gun farther down the line caught it up, and the two ran along in perfect step for a while. Then a third joined in, like some distant canary answering its mates. The first two stopped and left it trilling along by itself, catching occasionally like a motor-car engine that misfires, until it, too, stuttered into silence. "Some poor devils being killed, I suppose," you think to yourself, "suppose they've seen a patrol out in front of the lines, or a party digging in the open somewhere behind the trenches." You can't help crediting the Germans—at first, when you come to this place as a stranger—with being much more deadly than the Turks both with their machine-guns and their artillery.

But you soon learn that it is by no means necessary that anyone is dying when you hear their machine-guns sing a chorus. They may chatter away for a whole night and nobody be in the least the worse for it.

Their artillery can throw two or three hundred shells, or even more, into one of its various targets, not once but many times, and only a man or two be wounded; sometimes no one at all.

War is alike in that respect all the world over, apparently; which is comforting.

Bombing School on a French Farm

2011-03-18T04:15:00.000-07:00

This article comes from “My Year of the War”, by Frederick Palmer.

Here he describes a ‘Bombing School’ on a French farm, and the making of a ‘Jam Tin’ bomb.

A School In Bombing

It was at a bombing school on a French farm, where chosen soldiers brought back from the trenches were being trained in the use of the anarchists' weapon, which has now become as respectable as the rifle. The war has steadily developed specialism. M.B. degrees for Master Bombers are not beyond the range of possibilities.

Present was the chief instructor, a Scottish subaltern with blue eyes, a pleasant smile, and a Cock-o'-the-North spirit. He might have been twenty years old, though he did not look it. On his breast was the purple and white ribbon of the new order of the Military Cross, which you get for doing something in this war which would have won you a Victoria Cross in one of the other wars.
Also present was the assistant instructor, a sergeant of regulars—and very much of a regular—who had three ribbons which he had won in previous campaigns. He, too, had blue eyes, bland blue eyes. These two understood each other.

"If you don't drop it, why, it's all right!" said the sergeant. "Of course, if you do———"

I did not drop it.

"And when you throw it, sir, you must look out and not hit the man behind you and knock the bomb out of your hand. That has happened before to an absent-minded fellow who was about to toss one at the Boches, and it doesn't do to be absent-minded when you throw bombs."

"They say that you sometimes pick up the German bombs and chuck them back before they explode," I suggested.

"Yes, sir, I've read things like that in some of the accounts of the reporters who write from Somewhere in France. You don't happen to know where that is, sir? All I can say is that if you are going to do it you must be quick about it. I shouldn't advise delaying decision, sir, or perhaps when you reached down to pick it up, neither your hand nor the bomb would be there. They'd have gone off together, sir."

"Have you ever been hurt in your handling of bombs?" I asked.

Surprise in the bland blue eyes. "Oh, no, sir! Bombs are well behaved if you treat them right. It's all in being thoughtful and considerate of them!" Meanwhile, he was jerking at some kind of a patent fuse set in a shell of high explosive. "This is a poor kind, sir. It's been discarded, but I thought that you might like to see it. Never did like it. Always making trouble!"

More distance between the audience and the performer. "Now I've got it, sir—get down, sir!" The audience carried out instructions to the letter, as army regulations require. It got behind the protection of one of the practice-trench traverses. He threw the discard behind another wall of earth. There was a sharp report, a burst of smoke, and some fragments of earth were tossed into the air.

In a small affair of two hundred yards of trench a week before, it was estimated that the British and the Germans together threw about five thousand bombs in this fashion. It was enough to sadden any Minister of Munitions. However, the British kept the trench.

"Do the men like to become bombers?" I asked the subaltern.

"I should say so! It puts them up in front. It gives them a chance to throw something, and they don't get much cricket in France, you see. We had a pupil here last week who broke the throwing record for distance. He was as pleased as Punch with himself. A first-class bombing detachment has a lot of pride of corps."

To bomb soon became as common a verb with the army as to bayonet. "We bombed them out" meant a section of trench taken by throwing bombs. As you know, a trench is dug and built with sandbags in zigzag traverses. In following the course of a trench it is as if you followed the sides of the squares of a checker board up and down and across on the same tier of squares. The square itself is a bank of earth, with the cut on either side and in front of it. When a bombing-party bombs its way into possession of a section of German trench, there are Germans under cover of the traverses on either side. They are waiting around the corner to shoot the first British head that shows itself.

"It is important that you and not the Boches chuck the bombs over first," explained the subaltern. "Also, that you get them into the right traverse, or they may be as troublesome to you as to the enemy."

With bombs bursting in their faces, the Germans who are not put out of action are blinded and stunned. In that moment when they are off guard, the aggressors leap around the corner.

"And then?"

"Stick 'em, sir!" said the matter-of-fact sergeant. "Yes, the cold steel is best. And do it first! As Mr. MacPherson said, it's very important to do it first."

It has been found that something short is handy for this kind of work. In such cramped quarters—a ditch six feet deep and from two to three feet broad—the rifle is an awkward length to permit of prompt and skilful use of the bayonet.

"Yes, sir, you can mix it up better with something handy—to think that British soldiers would come to fighting like assassins!" said the sergeant. "You must be spry on such occasions. It's no time for wool- gathering."

Not a smile from him or the subaltern all the time. They were the kind you would like to have along in a tight corner, whether you had to fight with knives, fists, or seventeen-inch howitzers.
The sergeant took us into the storehouse where he kept his supply of bombs.

"What if a German shell should strike your storehouse?" I asked.

"Then, sir, I expect that most of the bombs would be exploded.Bombs are very peculiar in their habits. What do you think, sir?"

It was no trouble to show stock, as clerks at the stores say. He brought forth all the different kinds of bombs that British ingenuity had invented—but no, not all invented. These would mount into the thousands. Every British inventor who knows anything about explosives has tried his hand at a new kind of bomb. One means all the kinds which the British War Office has considered worth a practice test. The spectator was allowed to handle each one as much as he pleased.

There had been occasions, that boyish Scottish subaltern told me, when the men who were examining the products of British ingenuity—well, the subaltern had sandy hair, too, which heightened the effect of his blue eyes.

There were yellow and green and blue and black and striped bombs; egg-shaped, barrel-shaped, conical, and concave bombs; bombs that were exploded by pulling a string and by pressing a button—all these to be thrown by hand, without mentioning grenades and other larger varieties to be thrown by mechanical means, which would have made a Chinese warrior of Confucius' time or a Roman legionary feel at home.

"This was the first-born," the subaltern explained, "the first thing we could lay our hands on when the close quarters' trench warfare began."

It was as out of date as grandfather's smooth-bore, the tin-pot bomb that both sides used early in the winter. A wick was attached to the high explosive, wrapped in cloth and stuck in an ordinary army jam tin.

"Quite home-made, as you see, sir," remarked the sergeant. "Used to fix them up ourselves in the trenches in odd hours—saved burying the refuse jam tins according to medical corps directions—and you threw them at the Boches. Had to use a match to light it. Very old- fashioned, sir. I wonder if that old fuse has got damp. No, it's going all right"—and he threw the jam pot, which made a good explosion. Later, when he began hammering the end of another he looked up in mild surprise at the dignified back-stepping of the spectators.

"Is that fuse out?" someone asked.

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," he replied. "It's safer. But here is the best; we're discarding the others,"
he went on, as he picked up a bomb.

It was a pleasure to throw this crowning achievement of experiments. It fitted your hand nicely; it threw easily; it did the business; it was fool-proof against a man in love or a war-poet.

"We saw as soon as this style came out," said the sergeant, "that it was bound to be popular.

Everybody asks for it—except the Boches, sir."

Machine Guns

2011-03-15T02:25:00.000-07:00

This article comes from the Military Instructors Manual by James P. Cole and Oliver Schoonmaker.

Published in America for the American Forces it is an informative article in the correct use of a Machine gun and its properties.

Machine Guns.

1. Properties of the machine guns are divided into three general classes: Mode of action, fire, and inconspicuousness.

a. THE MODE OF ACTION.—The machine gun acting only by its fire can prepare an attack or repulse an offensive movement, but it does not conquer ground. The latter role is almost exclusively that of infantry which is fitted for crossing all obstacles. When it will suffice to act by fire, employ the machine gun in preference to infantry, preserving the latter for the combined action of movement and fire. By the employment of the machine gun economize infantry, reserving a more considerable portion of it for manoeuvre purposes.

b. FIRE.—Machine gun fire produces a sheath, dense, deep but narrow. The increase of the width of the sweeping fire gives to the sheath a greater breadth, but when the density becomes insufficient, the effect produced is very weak. Machine gun fire will have its maximum power upon an objective of narrow front and great depth. With the infantry fighting normally in thin lines the preceding conditions will generally only be realized when these lines are taken in the flank. "The fire of the machine gun parallel to the probable front of the enemy—a flanking fire—must therefore be the rule." The fire perpendicular to the front will be employed generally on certain necessary points of passage as, bridges, roads, defiles, cuts, roadways, communicating trenches, etc., where the enemy is generally forced to take a deep formation with a narrow front, or where he is in massed formation.

c. INCONSPICUOUSNESS.—By reason of its small strength the machine gun section can utilize the smallest cover, and can consequently hide from the enemy; the machine gun therefore, more than the infantry, has the chance to act by surprise. The opening of the fire by surprise will be the rule; the machine gun will avoid revealing itself upon objectives not worth the trouble. Flank action and surprise are the two conditions to try for under all circumstances.

2. OFFENSIVE REINFORCEMENT OF A FRONT MOMENTARILY STATIONARY.—The machine guns assisted by small elements of infantry cover thoroughly the getting in hand of the main body, the machine guns presenting to the enemy a line of little vulnerability. The machine guns assist in securing the possession of the ground previously taken, and will permit time to prepare for the resumption of the forward movement. Preparation of the attack—machine gun fire completes the preparation done by the artillery, either by acting on the personnel or by opening breaches in the accessary defenses. At times the machine guns alone may be charged with the preparation of the attack where it is necessary to act very quickly as in pursuit, exploitation of a success. Whatever the situation, concentrate the machine gun fire on one or several points. Machine guns cover the flanks of attacking troops. They follow the advance of these troops remaining on the flanks, so as to be able to fire instantly on all points from which an attack might come. Machine guns will likewise be employed in intervals created intentionally or accidentally between units. It is here a powerful weapon which can rapidly be put into action by the Commander. The personnel and material must be protected as far as possible from the effects of fire.

3. DEFENSIVE.—It is here that the flanking fire is especially necessary. In the defensive preparation of a position the machine guns must be so placed that they will provide along the front several successive fire barriers. The machine guns must be ready at all times to stop by instantaneous fire all hostile attack. In order to have machine gun protection at all, it is absolutely necessary that they be protected from bombardment. This is best done by the following: Place the machine guns under solid cover; make their emplacement invisible; echelon the machine guns in depth. The cover must be placed where it can be hidden from the sight of the enemy, such as a counter slope, a position where it is impossible to blend it, relief with an accentuated slope of the ground, woods, brush, etc. It is essential that the principal parts of the machine gun casemate be prepared in the rear. Only in this manner will the work be done solidly and rapidly. While the machine gunners and helpers do the excavating, specialists in rear prepare the parts for assembling. The latter are then transported to the position and, the casemate is established, hiding the work with the greatest care from enemy observation.

Remember that it is of the utmost importance that the machine gun be invisible, so the firing emplacements must be made outside of the shelter, but near enough for the gun to be brought out instantly and put into action. All communicating trenches leading to the firing emplacement must be concealed. Enough emplacements should be built to avoid firing daily from the emplacements especially reserved for cases of attack. Do not place too many machine guns in the first line; in case of a violent bombardment they are sure to be destroyed. The object to be attained is to install the machine guns in conditions such that if the enemy penetrates our first line, by aid of his bombardment or asphyxiating gas, his infantry, as it advances, comes under the fire of machine guns echeloned previously in depth, under whose fire it must stop. It is not a matter of sweeping a wide sector, but of giving over certain strips of ground flanking fire which will cut down surely the enemy's waves when they push forward. The commander should, therefore, divide between the first line and the terrain in rear, the machine guns which he controls, organizing for each particular case a firing emplacement in accord with the surrounding ground and the purpose in view.

GENERAL RULES FOR INSTALLATION.

Machine gunners must under no circumstances abandon their positions. They must, when necessary, allow themselves to be surrounded and defend themselves in their place to the end. In many cases the heroism and tenacity of a few machine gunners have permitted the rapid retaking of a lost position. To provide for this resistance to a finish, the machine gun emplacements must fulfil the following conditions:

1. Be surrounded by a wire entanglement of irregular trace and as invisible as possible.
2. In the enclosure thus created having several firing emplacements, in case one or more becomes useless.
3. The personnel must have all the means for protection against gas and have in addition rations, water and abundant ammunition.

EMPLOYMENT OF FIRE AND INSTRUCTION.

The more grazing the fire of a machine gun the more effective it is. This causes the principal employment of the machine gun to be at distances where the trajectory is flattest, that is under 800 or 1,000 yards. However, the effort to obtain a grazing fire must not exclude long distance fire. This latter will always be justified when directed upon important objectives, or necessary points of passage. For this fire to have some efficacy, it is necessary to calculate the range with the greatest precision. On the defensive indirect fire will be employed sometimes to annoy the supply, reliefs, etc. To give results, great quantities of ammunition will have to be expended. All of the officers and non-commissioned officers and as many men as possible must be capable of firing the machine gun, so that at the time of an attack no gun will remain idle for want of personnel. It is, moreover, essential to keep up the training of the personnel by having them fire at least twice a month, and, if possible, once a week.

RESUME.

Machine guns must be utilized in the greatest measure in order to economize the infantry.
Seek to employ them always in a flank fire.
Conceal them so as to get surprise fire.
Echelon them and shelter them so as to avoid their premature destruction.

POINTS BEFORE FIRING.

1. Thoroughly overhaul the gun to see that no part is deficient, and that the mechanism works freely.
2. See that the barrel is clean and dry.
3. See that the barrel mouthpiece is tight.
4. See that small hole in gas regulator is to the rear.
5. Thoroughly oil all working parts, especially the cam slot and exterior of the bolt, and the striker post and piston.
6. Weigh and adjust the mainspring.
7. See that the mounting is firm.
8. Examine the magazines and ammunition.
9. See that the spare parts and oil reserve are handy.

POINTS DURING FIRING

1. During a temporary cessation of fire, re-oil all working parts.
2. Replace a partly emptied magazine with a full one.
3. Examine the mounting to see that it is firm.
4. See that empty magazines are refilled without delay.

POINTS AFTER FIRING.

1. Unload.
2. Oil the bore and chamber, piston rod and gas cylinder.
3. Sort out live rounds from empty cases.
4. See that mainspring is eased.
5. Thoroughly clean and oil the gun on returning to quarters. Clean the bore daily for several days.

It is of the greatest importance that the points before, during, and after firing, should be carefully attended to as otherwise the number of stoppages will be unnecessarily increased.

Nine out of ten stoppages are due to want of care.

Immediate action must become instinctive and automatic.

The Battalion Moves Out

2011-03-10T22:51:00.000-08:00

This excellent chapter comes from the book "The Amateur Army" by Patrick MacGill.

After many weeks of waiting his Battalion was finally given orders to go to France, here he vividly describes the process and the excitement of the moment.

READY TO GO--THE BATTALION MOVES

Rumour had been busy for days; the whole division was about to move, so every one stated, except our officers, and official information was not forthcoming.

"You are going between midnight and five o'clock to-morrow morning," announced my landlord positively. He is a coal-merchant by trade.

"How do you know?" I inquired.

"Because I can't get any coal to-morrow--line's bunged up for the troops."

"No, he'll be going on Tuesday," said his wife, whose kindliness and splendid cooking I should miss greatly.

"Is that so?" I asked, feigning an interest which I did not feel. A sore toe eclipsed all other matters for the time being.

"The ration men have served out enough for two days, and it doesn't stand to reason that they're going to waste anything," the little lady continued with sarcastic emphasis on the last two words.

Parades went on as usual; the usual rations were doled out to billets and the usual grumbling went on in the ranks. We were weary of false alarms, waiting orders, and eternal parades. Some of us had been training for fully six months, others had joined the Army when war broke out, and we were still secure in England. "Why have we joined?" the men asked. "Is it to line the streets when the troops come home? We are a balmy regiment."

One evening, Thursday to be exact, the battalion orders were interesting. One item ran as follows: "All fees due to billets will be paid up to Friday night. If any other billet expenses are incurred by battalion the same will be paid on application to the War Office."

Friday evening found more explicit expression of our future movements in orders. The following items appeared: "Mess tin covers will be issued to-morrow. No white handkerchiefs are to be taken by the battalion overseas. All deficiencies in kit must be reported to-morrow morning. Bayonets will be sharpened. Any soldiers who have not yet received a copy of the New Testament can have same on application at the Town Hall 6 p.m. on Saturday.

"Where are we going?" we asked one another. Some answered saying that we were to help in the sack of Constantinople, others suggested Egypt, but all felt that we were going off to France at no very distant date. Was not this feeling plausible when we took into account a boot parade of the day before and how we were ordered to wear two pairs of socks when trying on the boots? Two pairs of socks suggested the trenches and cold, certainly not the sun-dried gutters of Constantinople, or the burning sands of Egypt.

Saturday saw an excited battalion mustered in front of the quartermaster's stores drawing out boots, mess-tin covers, blankets, ground-sheets, entrenching tools, identity discs, new belts,
water-bottles, pack-straps, trousers, tunics and the hundred and one other things required by the soldier on active service. In addition to the usual requisites, every unit received a cholera belt (they are more particular over this article of attire than over any other), two pairs of pants, a singlet and a cake of soap. The latter looked tallowy and nobody took it further than the billet; the pants were woollen, very warm and made in Canada. This reminds me of an amusing episode which took place last general inspection. While standing easy, before the brigadier-general made his appearance, the men compared razors and found that eighty per cent. of them had been made in Germany. But these were bought by the soldiers before war started. At least all affirmed that this was so.

Saturday was a long parade; some soldiers were drawing necessaries at midnight, and no ten-o'-clock-to-billets order was enforced that night. I drew my boots at eleven o'clock, and then the streets were crowded with our men, and merry and sad with sightseers and friends. Wives and sweethearts had come to take a last farewell of husbands and lovers, and were making the most of the last lingering moments in good wishes and tears.

Sunday.--No church parade; and all men stood under arms in the streets. The officers had taken off all the trumpery of war, the swords which they never learned to use, the sparkling hat-badges and the dainty wrist-watches. They now appeared in web equipment, similar to that worn by the men, and carried rifles. Dressed thus an officer will not make a special target for the sniper and is not conspicuous by his uniform.

Our captain made the announcement in a quiet voice, the announcement which had been waited for so long. "To-morrow we proceed overseas," he said. "On behalf of the colonel I've to thank you all for the way in which you have done your work up to the present, and I am certain
that when we get out yonder," he raised his arm and his gesture might indicate any point of the compass, "you'll all do your work with the spirit and determination which you have shown up till now."

This was the announcement. The men received it gleefully and a hubbub of conversation broke out in the ranks. "We're going at last"; "I thought when I joined that I'd be off next morning"; "What price a free journey to Berlin!"; "It'll be some great sport!" Such were the remarks that were bandied to and fro. But some were silent, feeling, no doubt, that the serious work ahead was not the subject for idle chatter.

A little leaflet entitled "Rules for the Preservation of Health on Field Service," was given to each man, and I am at liberty to give a few quotations.

"Remember that disease attacks you from outside; it is your duty to keep it outside."

"Don't drink unboiled water if you can get boiled water."

"Never start on a march with an empty stomach."

"Remember that a dirty foot is an unsound foot. See that feet are washed if no other part of the body is. Socks should be taken off at the end of the march, be flattened out and well shaken. Put on a clean pair if possible, if not, put the left sock on the right foot, and vice versa."

"Remember, on arrival in camp, _food before fatigues_."

"Always rig up some kind of shelter at night for the head, if for no other part of the body."

At twelve noon on Monday the whistles blew at the bottom of the street and we all turned out in full marching order with packs, haversacks, rifles and swords. I heard the transport wagons clattering on the pavement, the merry laughter of the drivers, the noise of men falling into place and above all the voice of the sergeant-major issuing orders.

Yet this, like other days, was a "wash-out." All day we waited for orders to move, twice we paraded in full marching kit, eager for the command to entrain; but it was not forthcoming. Another day had to be spent in billets under strict instructions not to move from our quarters. The orders were posted up as usual at all street corners, a plan which is adopted for the convenience of units billeted a great distance from headquarters, and the typewritten orders had an air of momentous finality:

The battalion moves to-morrow.

Parade will be at 4.30 a.m.

Entraining and detraining and embarking must be done in absolute silence.

I rose from bed at three and set about to prepare breakfast, while my cot-mate busied himself with our equipment, putting everything into shape, buckling belts and flaps, burnishing bayonets and oiling the bolts of the rifles. Twenty-four hours' rations were stored away in our haversacks all ready, the good landlady had been at work stewing and frying meat and cooking dainty scones up to twelve o'clock the night before.

When breakfast, a good hearty meal of tea, buttered toast, fried bacon and tomatoes, was over, we went out to our places. The morning was chilly, a cold wind splashed with hail swept along the streets and whirled round the corners, causing the tails of our great coats to beat sharply against our legs. It was still very dark, only a few street-lamps were lighted and these glimmered doubtfully as if ashamed of being noticed. Men in full marching order stamped out from every billet, took their way to the main street, where the transport wagons, wheels against kerbstones, horses in shafts, and drivers at reins, stood in mathematical order, and from there on to the parade ground where sergeants, with book in one hand and electric torch in the other, were preparing to call the roll.

Ammunition was served out, one hundred and twenty rounds to each man, and this was placed in the cartridge pouches, rifles were inspected and identity discs examined by torch-light. This finished, we were allowed to stand easy and use ground-sheets for a shelter from the biting hail. Our blankets were already gone. The transport wagons had disappeared and with them our field-bags. I suppose they will await us in ---- but I anticipate, and at present all we know is that our regiment is bound for some destination unknown where, when we arrive, we shall have to wear two pairs of socks at our work.

We stood by till eight o'clock. The day had cleared and the sun was shining brightly when we marched off to the station, through streets lined with people, thoughtful men who seemed to be very sad, women who wept and children who chattered and sang "Tipperary."

Three trains stood in the sidings by the station. Places were allotted to the men, eight occupied each compartment, non-commissioned officers occupied a special carriage, the officers travelled first-class.

Soon we were hurrying through England to a place unknown. Most of my comrades were merry and a little sentimental; they sang music-hall songs that told of home. There were seven with me in my compartment, the Jersey youth, whom I saw kissing a weeping sweetheart in the cold
hours of the early day; Mervin, my cot-mate, who always cleaned the rifles while I cooked breakfast in the morning; Bill, the Cockney youth who never is so happy as when getting the best of an argument in the coffee-shop of which I have already spoken, and the Oxford man. The other three were almost complete strangers to me, they have just been drafted into our regiment; one was very fat and reminded me of a Dickens character in _Pickwick Papers_; another who soon fell asleep, his head warm in a Balaclava helmet, was a tall, strapping youth with large muscular hands, which betoken manual labour, and the last was a slightly-built boy with a budding moustache which seemed to have been waxed at one end. We noticed this, and the fat soldier said that the wax had melted from the few lonely hairs on the other side of the lip.

Stations whirled by, Mervin leant out of the window to read their names, but was never successful. Cigarettes were smoked, the carriage was full of tobacco fumes and the floor littered with "fag-ends." Rifles were lying on the racks, four in each side, and caps, papers and equipment piled on top of them. The Jersey youth made a remark:

"Where are we going to?" he asked. "France I suppose, isn't it?"

"Maybe Egypt," someone answered.

"With two pairs of socks to one boot!" Mervin muttered in sarcastic tones; and almost immediately fell asleep. He had been a great traveller and knows many countries. His age is about forty, but he owns to twenty-seven, and in his youth he was educated for the church.
"But the job was not one for me," he says, "and I threw it up." He looks forward to the life of a soldier in the field.

Our train journey neared the end. Bill was at the window and said that we were in sight of our destination. All were up and fumbling with their equipment; and one, the University man, hoped that the night would be a good one for sailing to France.

If we are bound for France we shall be there to-morrow.

The Defence of Amiens - April & May 1918

2011-03-07T06:29:00.000-08:00

This article comes from the book “The Story of the Great War, Volume VII (of VIII)”.

Although it was written for an American market it gives a good oversight to the Australian defence of Amiens during April and May 1918.

It also mentions the defence of Ypres in the Battle of Lys where the 1st Australian Division played a very significant role.

THE GERMAN OFFENSIVE RENEWED—YPRES THREATENED—THE ALLIES' HEAVY LOSSES
The comparative quiet which had reigned for some days in the battle area was broken on April 23, 1918, when the Germans, using two divisions, attacked the whole British front south of the Somme, as well as the French forces on the British right. Villers-Bretonneux, the Germans' objective, stands on a ridge southeast of Amiens, an important position in reference to that place.

A preliminary bombardment started at 3 o'clock in the morning and continued for nearly four hours, when their infantry advanced upon Villers-Bretonneux and the village of Cahy, from Hangard Wood, Marcelcave, and from below Warfusee. Among the German troops engaged were the Fortieth Guards Division, which had been fighting recently on this front, and the Seventy-seventh Division, fresh from Russia and in action here for the first time. At the hour the attack was launched a third German division, the Thirteenth, of Westphalian troops, fell upon the French near Castel to the south of the British forces. The Germans, after a fierce struggle, succeeded in gaining a little ground, when the French troops pivoted from the right and threw them back.

On the British front the Germans used tanks for the first time in an offensive, three of them advancing with the German infantry down the road to Cahy and Domart.

German attacks on the northern and southern sectors of this front were repulsed by the Allied troops, but the enemy made progress at Villers-Bretonneux. The fighting here continued throughout the day with unabated intensity and did not cease when the Germans captured the village in the early evening.

Their attacks broke down on the northern bank of the Somme and north of Albert. The British carried out a successful local operation northwest of Festubert, where they recaptured a post which the Germans had won on April 22.

British positions east of Robecq now came under strong enemy fire and were subjected to several strong attacks. The British line remained unbroken after every assault and the Germans were forced back, losing eighty-four men as prisoners and a number of machine guns.

In the night British and Australian troops launched several counterattacks against the positions the Germans had newly won in and around Villers-Bretonneux.

The Germans had been long enough in possession of the town and the neighborhood to set up strong defenses, and countless machine guns had been placed wherever they could do the most harm. When the British were driven out of the village after a hard fight it was late in the day and the Germans evidently thought that they would not attempt a counterattack until the following morning. But the British did not purpose to give the enemy any time to bring up fresh troops, and prepared for a night attack. They recognized the importance of Villers-Bretonneux, as it gave the enemy full observation of the British positions on both sides of the Somme Valley beyond Amiens.

The job of recapturing the village was given to the Australians who had made a brilliant record in carrying out night attacks and rarely failed of success. About midnight they set out, unpreceded by any artillery preparation, feeling their way along in the dark and relying solely on the weapons they carried with them.

The Australians broke into the village before the enemy woke up, and supported by several British battalions spent the night in clearing the Germans out of the place. The Germans were not disposed to surrender such an important observation point and put up a stiff fight, and the struggle raged for hours in the streets. Finally the British and Australians gained the upper hand and the village proper was freed of the enemy, who fell back on positions in the neighborhood. Fighting in the outskirts of the village continued in the morning. There was no gunfire even then, for the British, Germans, and Australians were so closely engaged in the struggle and so mixed up that the gunners on both sides were afraid of killing their own men.

On the western side of the village German machine gunners, cut off from their lines by the sudden counterattack, were stoutly defending themselves here and there among the remains of ruined buildings and dealt the British some shrewd blows before they could be driven out, or made prisoner. The British had escaped without severe casualties, while the German toll of dead was costly, especially in officers. In this operation the British captured between 700 and 800 prisoners.

In the Lys salient the Germans, employing large forces and aiming at Mont Kemmel, launched a succession of violent attacks from Wytschaete to Bailleul. The Allies made a brave resistance, but were compelled to fall back on prepared positions toward the Locre River.
Mont Kemmel is a hill of great tactical importance. It is almost covered with woods and stands out somewhat in front of the range of heights extending westward to the Mont des Cats, and to some extent dominating its western neighbors.

In the course of the fighting in this region (April 25-26, 1918) nine German divisions (about 120,000 men) were engaged, and the Allies, borne down by overwhelming numbers, were forced to give up the village of Kemmel, the near-by summit of Kemmel, and the village of Dranoutre to the south.

In the Somme-Avre battle area the French had been pitilessly hammered by overpowering numbers of German troops. The fighting in and around Hangard Wood was especially intense.
On April 25, 1918, the French repulsed seven assaults made on their lines north of the wood and in Hangard, which changed hands several times during the day. South of the Luce River the Germans were driven out of important positions which the French occupied and held firmly against repeated attempts made by the enemy to drive them out.

The Germans had by this time advanced to within three miles of Ypres, which was now threatened. The struggle for Voormezeele, the point at which the Germans had pushed closest to Ypres from the south, was prolonged and intense. They made a costly and futile effort to capture the wood southwest of the town on the 26th. The attack was desperately pushed, but met with disaster. Not only were their losses heavy in dead, but several hundred prisoners were taken by the Allied troops. Meanwhile the French were successful on their front from La Clytte to Locre (two miles west of Kemmel). Strong bodies of German troops under General von Arnim after four violent assaults captured Locre, but the French organized a strong counterattack and regained the village. They also won Hospice and Locrehof Farm, both strong points lying southeast of the place.

Ypres now came under heavy fire of the German guns; high explosives and gas shells rained down upon the ruins of the city for the first time in some months. Fields and villages around hitherto untouched by fire were showered with shells. The purpose was to catch the traffic on the roads and destroy soldiers' camps, but the only result was a few women and children killed.
Throughout the night of April 28, 1918, German batteries were active from the Belgian front down through Flanders to the districts about Béthune. About 6 o'clock in the morning, on the 29th, an attack was made according to the plan of General von Arnim after gaining Kemmel Hill; this was the capture of the chain of hills running westward below Ypres to Poperinghe, among them such familiar landmarks as Mont Rouge and Mont Noir. These hills, held at the time by the French, were of great tactical importance, forming the central keep, as it were, in the Allies' defense lines south of Ypres.

It was the purpose of the Germans, in case their frontal attacks against the French failed, to break the British lines on the French left between Locre and Voormezeele and on the French right near Merris and Meteren, but all their efforts failed.

On April 28, 1918, British flyers discovered the Germans massing troops on the road between Zillebeke and Ypres. A dense fog prevailed at the time, and a surprise attack was evidently planned. This never developed, for the assembly was promptly shelled by the British gunners and dispersed. After a tremendous bombardment that shook the whole countryside the German troops again assembled in the misty dawn and were again dispersed by British guns. The fighting in this area was almost continuous throughout the following day.

Around the Scherpenberg and Mont Rouge the Germans fiercely assailed the French lines and succeeding in making a wedge for a time, captured the crossroads, but were counterattacked by General Pétain's men, who drove them out of most of the ground they had gained there.
A tremendous barrage was flung down by the German gunners from Ypres to Bailleul, and somewhat later they began the battle by launching an attack between Zillebeke Lake and Meteren. South of Ypres they crossed the Yser Canal near Voormezeele with the purpose of striking the British, while they tried to push past Locre against the French holding the three hills. As a result of the day's fighting the British lines remained intact, while General von Arnim's hosts were shattered and decimated. On the French front the Germans won a little ground, but it was unimportant in relation to the situation.

On April 29, 1918, French troops carried out a brilliant counterattack in the night, recovering ground on the slope of the Scherpenberg and advanced their line 1,500 yards astride the Dranoutre road. They alone drove the Germans out of positions around Locre and entered into full possession of the village itself.

The Germans still occupied Mont Kemmel, but their hold on the height was of little value, as the Allied artillery kept the summit smothered with shell fire, making it impossible for the enemy to maintain any considerable body of troops there.

The French and British were elated over the outcome, for the greatest effort made by the Germans in the Flanders offensive had failed. In addition to a large number of divisions in position (p. 303) at the beginning of the battle the Germans had employed about thirty fresh battalions of reserves. Von Armin's great thrust had been carefully planned and his troops fought with reckless bravery if not with distinction. The French and British had defeated him with relatively smaller forces and had shown that their men were more than equal to the best German soldiers. Owing to the close fighting and frequent hand-to-hand encounters, the Franco-British capture of prisoners (over 5,000) was less than might have been expected in a struggle of such magnitude.

While the Germans up to the first of May had failed to make any farther advance on the scale of the first days of the big offensive, they were still a menace to be reckoned with. It was estimated that they had already thrown 2,000,000 men into the line, but many fresh divisions were available for further efforts. They had enough men in their depots in the interior to fill all their gaps for some time; but reconstituted divisions, as is well known, never equal in fighting quality the original formation, as a large number of slightly wounded men after recuperation is included.
As the Germans did not publish their losses, no correct estimate could be formed. Conservative opinion placed the number as over 350,000 men. The Germans had 186 divisions on the western front when the offensive began, and reenforcements brought from Russia and other fronts raised the number to 210 divisions; a German division consisting of about 12,000 men.
For some time it was a mystery to the Allies as to how the Germans succeeded in bringing forward new divisions into the battle area and so often escaping the notice of the vigilant French and British observers. This the Germans accomplished by exercising the greatest precaution and cunning.

In the first place the territory occupied by each German army corps was divided into two zones, the first of which might be under observation of the Allies' lookouts, and the other only from captive balloons which had a wide radius of view. According to German army orders, infantry occupying the first zone were forbidden on clear days to move in any greater number (p. than four men together, mounted men not more than two together, and vehicles not more than two at a time, with a minimum of 300 yards between groups. In heavy, misty weather, these restrictions were relaxed and the movement of groups of forty foot soldiers, twenty cavalrymen, and ten vehicles was permitted.

In the second zone it was permissible to form groups of the size allowed in the first zone, on days of poor visibility, but there must be intervals of 500 yards. It was in this manner that the Germans' military movements were often hidden from the Allies' observers. German divisions making forced marches in the night slept in the villages during the day, and were heavily punished if they showed themselves in the streets.

No infantry operations were attempted by the Germans on May 1-2, 1918, but German gunners continued at regular intervals to bombard the Franco-British lines. General Pétain took advantage of the lull in the fighting to advance his lines between Hailles and Castel (south of the Avre), meeting with little opposition, capturing Hill 82 and the wood near by bordering on the river.

The Germans became active again on May 3, 1918, when, after a heavy artillery barrage, they attacked British positions south of Locon (on the southern flank of the Lys salient). They were easily repulsed and made no further attempt that day to renew the attack. On May 4th, 1918, British and French troops carried out a successful operation between Locre and Dranoutre, gaining ground on a half-mile front to an average depth of 500 yards and capturing a number of prisoners. The Germans were driven from three ruined farms that were perfect strongholds, and high ground was won by the Allies near Koutkot (west of Dranoutre). All these local successes were of real value, for they strengthened the Allied defenses of the approach to Scherpenberg and Mont Rouge.

May 5, 1918, was a great day for those irrepressible fighters, the Australians, who gave the Germans a bad thrashing west and southwest of Morlancourt between the Ancre and the Somme Rivers.

The Australians' attack was made on a front of 2,500 yards unheralded by any preliminary bombardment, but the British guns became active after they were on their way, keeping roads and tracks under fire to prevent the enemy from bringing up supports.

The German garrison on this front did not occupy any definite trench system, but occupied scattered rifle pits and rifle trenches just large enough to afford shelter for small groups and machine-gun crews. These hornets' nests were dangerous things to tackle, but the Australians had dealt with such conditions before and went about their work in a cool and businesslike manner. With bombs and bayonets the Germans were killed or driven out of their holes, and as they were all picked men selected for their courage and long experience in warfare they made a gallant resistance. The Australian generally fights better when he has a desperate opponent, and the struggle became intense and at close quarters. In the end the men from overseas crushed all opposition, killing over 150 Germans and taking about 200 prisoners. The success of this minor operation was of some importance, as it enabled the Allies to advance their line 500 yards.

At this time, in the course of the offensive, the Germans introduced, as a new form of "frightfulness," a sneezing powder, that was fired by high explosive shells. The sneezing powder sifts down through the gas masks and causes sneezing when the wearer is forced to take off his mask and receives the full effect of the lethal gases which the Germans had spread abroad.
Preparations were now under way for a new offensive. It was known to the Allies that Ludendorff had already massed 70 divisions and that reenforcements of men and guns were daily brought into the fighting area. The Germans now sought for a basis for a new drive, feeling their way by making thrusts here and there on the Allies' front. On May 8, 1918, they made a drive at the British lines in the battle area north of Kemmel in the Lys salient, penetrating trenches between La Clytie and Voormezeele. About 25,000 German troops took part in this attack. In the night General Haig's men came back in force and drove them out, but the Germans contested the field again and (p. 306) again during the following day. They won a little ground here and there, but were eventually thrown back and the British remained in sole possession of the terrain.

North of Albert the Germans captured a small but important strip of trenches on high ground. Their temporary success was dearly won, for they suffered terrible slaughter from the rifle and machine-gun fire which poured into their ranks as they advanced up the slopes. By a brilliant counterassault the Germans were driven out of the position won before they could organize the defenses. East of Bouzincourt, where the British occupied positions on high ground, the enemy followed much the same tactics, but they were unable to gain even temporary foothold in the British defenses. The graycoats advanced, shouting in English "retire," in the hopes of confusing the British. The response of the defenders was such a fierce fire that the Germans acted on their cry and fell back in disorganized masses, leaving hosts of dead on the field.

Along the greater part of the front military operations were now confined to small enterprises. The Allies assumed a waiting attitude expecting that the enemy would show his hand. The Germans had brought a large number of divisions into the line facing Amiens, indicating an offensive in that direction. The attempts to "feel out" the Allies' strength had received so many setbacks that they hesitated to begin any new operation on a large scale.

Days passed and still the Germans failed to start a great offensive. It was a period officially called "quiet," though on many parts of the front the guns were active, and raids and minor operations were carried out every day and night. There was continued fighting between French and Germans for the possession of Mont Kemmel, which changed hands again and again. Its value lay in the fact that the hill dominates considerable territory, and for that reason was long a thorn in the flesh of the ambitious Germans.

The anticipated German offensive so long delayed was begun on May 27, 1918. At 1 a. m. a terrific bombardment in which gas shells predominated was opened along a forty-mile front (p. 307) between Noyon and Rheims. The hurricane of fire continued undiminished for three hours when the Germans launched an assault with about 325,000 men against the Franco-British lines.

The German objective was the famous plateau, the Chemin-des-Dames, a long, bare ridge whose widest part is on the west and narrowest above Craonne. It was against this narrowest point on the ridge that was held by a British division that the main blow was aimed. The German forces, which far exceeded in numbers the defenders of the ridge, included some of the specially trained units that had fought in Von Hutier's army in March, two divisions of the Prussian Guards, and other crack formations. Having gained the ridge at a heavy cost, the Germans pressed on westward. The Allies retreated toward the Aisne, inflicting, as they fell back, heavy losses on the Germans, who drove forward great masses of troops over their dead comrades' bodies. The Germans pushed on over an eighteen-mile front in pursuit of the Allies and crossed the river.
North of the Aisne the Germans carried by storm a number of towns and drove a wedge southward from the Aisne to Fismes on the River Vesle, which the Germans crossed at several points. In the sector northwest of Rheims the British troops were forced back toward Berry-au-Bac and across the Aisne-Marne Canal. As a result of the first day's fighting the Germans advanced 10 miles and claimed the capture of 15,000 prisoners.

On the second day of the offensive the Germans continued their attacks on the French troops on the right wing of the Aisne offensive, and forced them to evacuate Soissons except for the western outskirts. German forces of the center were now in possession of the territory between the Aisne and Vesle Rivers, and a considerable area to the south of the last-named stream, having extended their advance in this region four miles.

The fighting continued unabated all day on May 30, 1918, in the Aisne-Vesle area between Soissons and Rheims. The German flanks near these two cities being firmly held by the French, the Germans were throwing their entire strength southward evidently with the intention of establishing themselves on the Marne. This would enable them to direct their main efforts westward, counting on the river to protect their flank. On the whole southern front the fighting was of the most violent character, and it was here that the Allies had to give most ground. Fère-en-Tardenois, four or five miles south of the farthest point of the German advance on the 29th, was occupied by the Germans. They also captured Vezilly to the eastward. In the Rheims sector the crown prince's forces occupied the northern parts of La Neuvillette and Betheny, a mile nearer to Rheims on the northwest and northeast.

The most serious blow to the Allies in the German advance was not the loss of 35,000 men which the Germans claimed as prisoners, for that was a comparatively small number in an offensive of such magnitude, but the loss of artillery and stores which was enormous. The depth of the German advance had carried their lines beyond the positions of even the heaviest guns of the Allies. It is a slow process to move great cannon, as tractors are required, and so in the swift onrush, many were captured with ammunition dumps containing great stores of shells.

On May 31, 1918, the Germans extended their effort on the right as far as the Oise by heavy attacks in the region of the Ailette. The French were driven back, fighting, on positions to the north of the line of Blerancourt-Epagny. In the region of Soissons, and farther south, the German assault was shattered by the brilliant fighting of the French, who maintained their position on the western outskirts of the town, and along the road to Château-Thierry. In the center the Germans were advancing north of the Marne and gained positions south of Fère-en-Tardenois. This forward movement of about eight miles, which the Germans had carried out in the space of twenty-four hours against strong opposition, was indeed a notable military achievement. They also forced the withdrawal of French lines northwest of Soissons toward Noyon, thus linking up the Aisne operations with those on the Picardy front.

The Australians at Villers-Bretonneaux

2011-03-04T01:49:00.000-08:00

This article from ‘The Great War in a Different light’ was originally published in 'the War Illustrated' on 21th July, 1918 by the famous war correspondent Hamilton Fyfe .

Entitled - My Impressions of the Great Offensive. It recounts how the Australian Divisions held the line on front a Amiens during the German Offensive in April 1918.

“A good show " — that is the usual term applied by the Army to any successful fighting. The phrase illustrates our persistent refusal to admit that we take anything very seriously. The Germans speak of their successes as "unforgettable triumphs." The French speak, of "glorious victories." We say "a good show."

The Australians have had several good shows during the past three months. The first effect of their being put into the line during the critical times at the beginning of the offensive was seen in the relieving of the German pressure towards Amiens. Enemy battalions were pushing in on Villers-Bretonneaux. Carey's force was doing its best to hold them, but needed help. That help was given by the Australians and by one of our finest cavalry divisions. The Germans were thrown back. A month later there was another attack on Villers-Bretonneaux. This time the Germans in large force got into the little town and drove us out. The attacking troops included the Prussian Guard Division, composed of assault troops, and a division fresh from the Russian front. It was evident the enemy meant business. At first it looked as if he had done a good stroke.

Beneath Moving Tanks

It was in this battle that he first used Tanks ; they helped him a good deal. They were bigger Tanks than ours, but not so fast or so handily turned. They looked like huge turtles, and their six machine-guns — two in front, two at the back, one on each side — spat out bullets with vicious energy. They carried a small field-gun as well, chiefly for use in case of an encounter with other Tanks, such as occurred before the Villers-Bretonneaux episode was over.

Our men stayed in their trenches in spite of the threatening aspect of these monster travelling forts. Some of them let the Tanks actually pass over them. An officer of the Middlesex Regiment related next day how he had this alarming experience : When he saw the Tank approaching, he calculated that if he took his men out of their shelter they would certainly be shot down. So he decided to stay where he was. As the Tank came up they fired volleys at it, the officer joining in with his revolver; but it took no notice. On it rolled, with its ungainly motion, and lumbered right across the trench. Yet no one was any the worse.

Next day, when our Tanks had been in motion, we captured a German, who said he had gone through the same experience in a shell-hole. He was so unnerved that he fainted, and when he came round to consciousness he found that another Tank was passing over him. But he did not faint again. "One can get use to anything," he said, with a wan smile.

The position, when dark closed in on April 24th, was that the enemy held Villers-Bretonneaux and some ground westward of it. This was dangerous, for it gave them high ground and a good starting-place for a further advance towards Amiens. One of the Australian generals proposed an immediate counterattack. His plan was to form an arrow-head by sending two columns—one from the north, moving south-eastwards ; the other from the south, to work northeastwards.

These would join hands in front of the town, and cut off all the Germans who were in it.

An immediate effort was found to be out of the question, but orders were given for the counter- attack in the form suggested to be made that night. .The chief part in this was allotted to Australian troops. It was the third anniversary of their landing on Anzac Beach, a date which will for ever be known in Australia as Anzac Day. No better occasion for a "good show" could be desired. No better show than the Australians gave has been seen during the offensive. It was a clever tactical operation, boldly and steadily carried out.

An Anzac Day Event

The attacking force started at 10 p.m. The night was overcast and rainy. There was no preliminary bombardment. The idea was to take the Germans by surprise. and it came off. They did not expect a counter-attack. They were not in good shape to receive one. Counter-attacks succeed best, so recent experience has proved, when they are made at once before the enemy has had time to pull himself together after his hard work.

There was some stiff fighting, though. At the start the Australians went at it with the bayonet, but as soon as the Germans got their machine-guns going they had to advance more cautiously. They kept on pushing ahead, however, and by daylight had got within five hundred yards or so of the point where they were to meet the other attacking force.

This had not encountered such serious opposition, but it had suffered more heavily. It reached the rendezvous long before the northern column had fought its way through, and its aim was fully realised. The town was retaken, and not far from a thousand prisoners with it. They came up out of cellars, where they had taken refuge, and surrendered readily, asking for something to eat. They said our gunners had interfered with their food supply. They certainly were very hungry.

Some German Prisoners

While the two Australian columns were encircling the town, English troops attacked it directly from the west. The Berkshires and the Northamptons were prominent in this, fighting. Both had a fair proportion of new and young soldiers in their ranks. Though fresh to warfare, they stood their ground well. All their officers spoke highly of them. But, as I said before, it was the Australians who' had the principal role in the operation. They took most of the prisoners. I saw several hundreds at one of their divisional headquarters next morning.

Lying on the grass before the French chateau, they were smoking cigarettes which their captors had given them, after they had had a square meal. They were enjoying the sunshine and the - freedom from their usual duties and discipline, when, all of a sudden, I saw them jump and stand to«attention with the rigidity of statues. A sergeant, who had been made prisoner, had been told to assemble them and march them off under escort with fixed bayonets. He barked out words of command, and the German soldiers felt that discipline had pursued them; they looked fifty per cent, less cheerful than before.

Going away, I met more on the road. They were white-faced and looked shaken. I asked what accounted for the difference between their appearance and the carefree aspect of the others. " We had an accident on the way," an Australian officer told me. " Two of the Boche shells burst among us, and knocked out thirty of the prisoners. It was a nasty-thing to happen. Poor devils, I felt sorry for them — killed most of them, the rest badly wounded. You'll meet them on stretchers farther back."

Not quite a month afterwards, on May 10th, the Australians did an equally effective piece of work, though on a smaller scale. They closed in upon the hamlet of Ville, on the Ancre, killed a great many Germans, and took four hundred prisoners. The operation was skilfully planned and executed with that tough vigour for which the Australians are famous.

Surrender — to a Piano

The scheme was similar to that which succeeded so well at Villers-Bretonneaux. Two bodies attacked—one from the north, across the river, which they had to wade with the water up to their waists ; the other from the south, along a spur of high ground, from which they rushed the village in the hollow. The action moved according to time-table. The two bodies joined half an hour after it had begun. Hundreds of the enemy were hemmed in. Some fought, some surrendered — none got away. One of the surrenders was amusing. Some Australians, hunting for hidden Germans, found a piano in a cottage. One of them sat down and began to play. He had not played long before a cellar-flap was pushed up, and a sergeant, with several men, came up. They could not endure the torture of hearing the piano so maltreated, so the other Australians said.

Along with these well-directed blows I must mention the one the New Zealanders delivered at the beginning of April near Hebuterne. There was a ridge which we wanted. The enemy were known to be in large force on the ridge and below it, but it was suspected that after their rapid advance they were rather mixed up. A plan was made for a sudden spring. At two o'clock in the afternoon the New Zealanders attacked, and in seven minutes they had done the trick — the ridge Was ours, and not the ridge only, but nearly three hundred prisoners and a hundred machine-guns. The Germans were in a confused state. They were trying to sort out the units which had got muddled up together. Catching them thus disorganised, our troops rounded up prisoners without much difficulty, after they had made their unexpected and irresistible rush. It was that which carried the operation to success.

It is because their commanders have initiative, and are encouraged to be enterprising, and because the men respond so gladly when they are called upon for an effort, that the Australians put up so many "good shows."

New Allotments Offered

2011-03-03T08:33:00.000-08:00

On the topic of allotments, this additional notice was published in the Eastbourne Gazette on 19th August 1914, announcing a meeting for anyone interested in obtaining an allotment with a view to growing food.

Allotments – Notice to Working Men

Those who are desirous of obtaining allotments with a view to producing food during the war are requested to attend a meeting at Southbourne Road, Eastbourne on Saturday, next the 22nd August at 4 p.m. when a representative of the Duke of Devonshire’s estate will be present.

His Grace proposes to set aside a certain area of undeveloped land rent free for the purpose.

In the meantime, Councillor Prior of 44 Whitley Road, will be pleased to answer any preliminary questions.

Roland Burk (Agent)
Compton Estate Office
Eastbourne
18th August 1914.

Allotment Crops

2011-03-01T00:06:00.000-08:00

Early in there was an effort to become as self reliant as possible. This notice published in the Eastbourne Gazette on 19th August 1914 shows how the Duke of Devonshire was doing his part by foregoing the next years allotment rents.

The Duke’s Allotment – Additional Crops

In a notice issued on Saturday from the Compton Estate Office, Eastbourne, Mr. Roland Burke says –

“With a view to enabling the allotment tenants of the Duke of Devonshire to take the fullest advantage of their ground by getting additional crops so as to make provision for possible necessities of the coming winter and spring consequent of the war, His Grace will be pleased to forego one year’s allotment rent in the confident hope that every tenant on his estate, will do his best to produce as much as possible from his garden.

“The coming year’s allotment rents will, therefore, not be collected.”

Final Days of Passchendaele

2011-02-26T03:11:00.000-08:00

In light of the previous picture taken of the men of the 6th & 8th Battalions in October, here is an account of the final days of the Battle of Passchendaele from the book “The Seventeenth Highland Light Infantry (Glasgow Chamber of Commerce Battalion) Edited by John W. Arthur and Ion S. Munro

Whilst not perfect it gives a good feel to the conditions of the terrible battle that men were thrown into:-

The Battalion left the camp on November 22nd for Poperinghe where they entrained to continue the journey up the line, and arriving at St. Jean Station, detrained and marched to "Irish Camp."
On the afternoon of the 23rd a start was made for the Passchendaele front line system, the route taken by the Battalion being for the greater part over the duck board walks "Mouse Trap Track," which covered ground won in the recent big push at Passchendaele. The take-over was not completed without casualties, but these were comparatively few considering the dangerous nature of the going, which was in the open over shell-pitted ground. The Battalion relieved by the 17th was the 1st Northamptonshire Battalion. During the night the 17th captured its first prisoner in this area—a corporal of the 315th Regiment. According to his statement he had been out on patrol when he lost one of his boots in the mud and in trying to find it he had strayed into our lines and been taken. During their initial tour of the Passchendaele system much heavy work was done in converting the shell-hole defence line into trenches, and patrolling. Several casualties were reported each day and the mud was thick and sticky. On the 26th the Battalion was relieved and proceeded to Dambre Camp in the Vlamertinghe area where everybody rested and completed the preparations for the forthcoming offensive at Passchendaele.

It may be said at the outset that the element of surprise intended in the Passchendaele attack failed entirely, as the enemy were aware of the British intentions and fully prepared. In addition, the fact that the artillery barrage proper did not open until zero plus eight minutes, allowed the enemy entire freedom of action in his front posts with rifles and machine guns.

The Battalion moved into the line on the evening of December 1st in conjunction with the other Battalions of the Brigade—2nd K.O.Y.L.I.; 16th H.L.I.; 11th Border Regiment; and the 15th Lancashire Fusiliers (attached). The 16th Northumberland Fusiliers of the 96th Infantry Brigade were attached to the 97th Infantry Brigade as counter-attacking troops to be used in the event of a strong hostile counter-attack on the Brigade front. The frontage taken over by the Brigade was one of 1,850 yards approximately along ]the Passchendaele Ridge. There were two objectives to be taken, of which sections were detailed as the job of the 17th—a slice which included two formidable "pill-boxes" known as the "Vat and Veal Cottages."

The Battalion assembled on a frontage of 400 yards and at Zero Hour (1.55 a.m.) moved forward to the attack. Companies deployed from a two platoon frontage in snake formation—this method having been adopted owing to the shell torn nature of the ground—and advanced in four waves. "A" and "B" Companies were to capture the first objective, mopping up all occupied points in the way, including the two pill boxes, while "C" and "D" were to "leap-frog" through them, carry the next objective and consolidate.

The initial stages of the attack were successfully carried through, but the enemy—as was afterwards learned—knowing of what was on foot, waited in readiness. Suddenly he opened heavy machine gun fire upon the advancing Companies, inflicting heavy casualties which, in the dark and over the difficult ground, had the effect of splitting up the sections and creating some confusion. The officers and men of the Battalion gallantly pressed on against these odds, however, and succeeded in reaching their objective; but the enemy machine gun and rifle fire became so intense that their advanced positions were rendered humanly untenable. Our men, though forced to retire in places, established themselves in shell-hole posts, where an attempt was made to consolidate.

The artillery and machine gun barrage, though intense, had failed, owing to the enemy's fore-knowledge of the attack, to effect its purpose. His strong points were heavily garrisoned and wired and he was also found to be established in strong lines of trenches also effectively wired. The Battalion hung on all through that awful night in its isolated positions, for orders were received that the attack would be renewed in the morning, but these orders were afterwards cancelled.

From dawn onwards artillery fire slackened somewhat, but the enemy machine gunners and snipers kept up harassing fire from their well established posts against the men in their exposed and isolated posts.

It was obvious that a hostile counter-attack might be expected, and this took place about 4 p.m. on the afternoon of the 2nd, preceded by an intense artillery barrage. Owing to the terrible difficulties of their position, and the sweeping casualties inflicted, the line was forced back, but the actual enemy attack which followed his barrage was met by the rifle fire of the shattered 17th, and after the Bosches had approached within a certain distance of the posts, they broke and turned back in retreat.

Though the withdrawal of the Divisional line had been almost general, some of the Battalion posts were still hanging on to the advanced positions on the 3rd. Many wounded were lying out, suffering the most appalling rigours of war and the Battalion stretcher-bearers displayed great devotion to duty in ignoring the heavy fire while bringing them in to comparative shelter. The work at first was extremely dangerous, but later on in the day a lull occurred when it was possible to carry on this labour of mercy under less trying conditions. And it must be recorded, as far as this battle is concerned, that from this point onward the German reversed his frequent policy and shewed respect for the Red Cross Flag, only one instance of sniping taking place when one of the Battalion stretcher-bearers was shot dead while bending over a wounded comrade. Enemy stretcher-bearers were also at work and in some instances they reciprocated attentions given to their wounded, by dressing and carrying our casualties. In this way all the wounded were got in before the Brigade was relieved that night. The Battalion frontage was taken over by the 5/6th Royal Scots. The relief was successfully completed and the remnants of the Battalion reached "Hilltop Farm" in the early morning, entraining later for Hospital Camp in the Vlamertinghe area. The casualties were particularly heavy among Officers and N.C.O.s, and gives trenchant evidence of their self-sacrificing gallantry in seeking by utter disregard for danger to turn a forlorn hope into victory, and by personal example and incentive to make still richer the honourable traditions of the 17th in the face of such overwhelming odds, and amidst such overaweing devastation. In this action seven officers were killed and five wounded. Of other ranks 41 were killed, 130 wounded and 13 missing.

The Battalion was organised as far as possible in its depleted condition and work and training carried on until December 10th, when once more the unit moved up the line to Hilltop Farm, N.E. of Ypres. During their stay here, Mr. Fred A. Farrell, the well-known Scottish artist, visited the 17th on a commission from the Corporation of Glasgow to execute drawings of the Glasgow Battalions and the places in which they were operating.

Near Railway Wood, Ypres Sector.

2011-02-24T22:29:00.000-08:00

This picture is taken on 28th October 1917. Near Railway Wood, Ypres Sector in Belgium.

Men of the 6th & 8th Battalions.

To All Brave Men

2011-02-21T23:20:00.000-08:00

This little poem was published in the British Nursing Journal on February 19th 1916

The author is a L. A. J. who had this printed originally in the Glasgow Herald.

TO ALL BRAVE MEN:
They wind along in endless fours,
From every shire from Thames to Dee :
I know that uniformed in brown,
They all go East to fight for me.

More than a year has passed, and still
The air I breathe is fresh and free;
I know above, like tireless hawks,
Soar those who hold that .air far me.

Where far away white horses leap,
Where sky and wave in one agree;
I know that there those fearless ride
Who curb these snowy steeds for me.

A sheeted and a shotted load
Slides swiftly to the heaving sea,
I know the ocean holds in trust
Some sailor-man who watched for me.

Rough crosses rise in Flanders, France,
And climb each hill, and dot each lea;
I know they mark the nameless graves
Of those who countered death for me.

But this I know not, when will fade
From Honour’s Roll, and cease to be,
Those gallant gentlemen’s renown,
Who watch, and fight, and die for me !

L. A. J. in the Glasgow Herald.

The Canadians - German Offensive March 1918

2011-02-18T01:23:00.000-08:00

This article comes from ‘The Great War in a Different Light’ and was originally published in ‘'the War Illustrated' on 29th June, 1918.

'What Canadian M.M. Gunners Did' by Hamilton Fyfe gives a wonderful account of the Great German offensive in March and April 1918.

The Canadians were not in "the big show." I heard many of-them say this regretfully. They wanted to be in it. They chafed against inaction while not far from them the great battle was being fought. They were doing good service, but it was the service of those who "stand and wait," and that is not the kind of service to which the Canadians are accustomed. "If only the Boche would start in on us !" they said. They meant it, too.

But while the Dominion troops were holding a sector in which, during those crowded March and April days, there was "nothing doing," the Canadians were not altogether unrepresented in the successful effort of the British armies to bring up short of its aims the first stage of the German offensive. Indeed, the contribution which some Canadian motor machine-gunners put in was of the greatest value. It saved many British lives. It accounted for many Germans. It tided over a number of difficult moments during the battle.

This unit, consisting of armoured cars with machine-guns, which could either be worked from the cars, or taken out and used independently, was formed in Canada by several rich men at the instigation of a French Canadian of distinguished ability and enterprise. The unit had not yet been in action when it was suddenly called upon to take part in fighting some of the rearguard actions required for the protection of our armies as they fell back. Its machine-guns were actually in the trench system when the call came.

Ready Wherever Wanted

At nine o'clock in the evening on March 21st a telegram was received. "Can you send your machine-gunners?" it asked, and "How soon can they be ready to start ?" The reply was made that two batteries would pull out before midnight, and the remainder by five o'clock in the morning. Orders were sent to the men in the trenches to come with their guns as quickly as possible. By five a.m. all the batteries were on the road.

They had a long way to go before they came to the battlefield, but they drove like men who knew they were wanted, and that same day, March 22nd, they were in action in two places.
Their task was to stiffen resistance to the German advance wherever our line was weak. The officer in command of the cars wrote in one of his reports that his cars were "in constant demand." To every demand for their help the men responded. After five days' fighting, during which they had only about twenty hours' sleep, they were reported to be in the best of trim.

"Every man is cheerful and full of fight." That was their commanding officer's testimony.

They had heavy losses. That was not to be avoided. They were doing dangerous work. One battery was in action with its guns on the ground. They checked the enemy time after time, but he came on after every check, and at last their ammunition began to run out. The battery commander saw that he must think about getting his guns away. He left a few to keep up a brisk fire while the rest were got into the cars. Unluckily, before the packing up was finished, the gunners, who had been left firing, found they had no ammunition left.

They saw that the cars were not ready to start. They knew that unless the Germans were held up somehow the cars would be captured. They had a small supply of bombs, and with these they kept the enemy back for a few minutes. Then they pulled out their revolvers and used up all their cartridges. Still the cars did not start. The Germans were getting nearer every moment. Something must be done to check them just a little longer. The one possibility was to charge.

Charge With Bare Fists

They had no bayonets. They had no rifles even. The only weapons available were spare machine-gun barrels. They picked up these, and with a shout ran into the open. It meant certain death, and they must have known this. But not one of them hesitated. Those who had not been able to get a gun-barrel used their fists. They were all killed, but they saved the cars. Their comrades got away, and told with affectionate gratitude the story of their gallant sacrifice.

At Maricourt, near Peronne, a battery fought till it had only three men left. All the rest were either killed or wounded. Their orders here were to cover the extrication of the heavy guns and of a number of Tanks. These move slowly. The Canadians' job turned out to be a long one. At first they were firing from positions protected by wire. But they found that the wire hindered their view, so they boldly carried their guns out in front of it.

They went on working (hem in the open until the enemy got round one of their flanks. Then they started to get back through the wire again. No more than three — a sergeant and two privates — remained unwounded. One of the privates, a motor-cyclist, with his machine handy, was sent to fetch up the cars, while the other two kept a couple of guns going. The cars came, the wounded were picked up, and the remains of the battery got safely away under its commander, who had had his arm blown off.

Often daring action was needed to get the full value out of these armoured "landships." At one point the Germans were discovered to be massing in large force upon ground which our infantry fire could not reach. It was sheltered from them in such a manner as to be what is called "dead ground." The only way to get at them and break up their concentration, which threatened to be dangerous, was to work round the sheltering slope and pour in a hot fire from the flank.

Two cars were detailed for this enterprise. They drove at full speed and took up their positions.

Their guns, worked from the cars, caught the Germans unexpectedly and mowed them down. "They lay in heaps," one of the Canadians said afterwards. But very quickly the German artillery got on to the cars. One was hit and disabled. The crew of the other tried to tow it away, but this could not be managed with shells bursting all around. It had to be abandoned. But the desperate effort had succeeded. The German concentration was broken up.

Eight Crowded Days

There were several very brave exploits by individual men. One gunner worked a car all alone when all his comrades had been knocked out. Another man found himself the only survivor of a car crew except for the driver. They were in a village which was just being taken by the Boche. He planted his machine-gun at a corner and played a stream of bullets in the direction of the enemy, while the driver turned the car round. Then he picked his gun up, heaved it into the car, jumped after it, and got away unhit.

One very interesting encounter which the cars had was with a body of German cavalry. Many hold it to be more than doubtful whether cavalry can be of any use against machine-guns. The Canadian commander's report upon the encounter supported this view. "Cavalry," he wrote, "against organised machine-guns, with Canadians firing them, is useless."

For eight days these cars were in a number of the hottest forefronts of the battle. They did all that was asked of them, and they did it well. When they got back to Canadian Headquarters they were sadly reduced in personnel, and their cars were a good deal marked. But they knew they had done good service, and they were thanked by the Canadian commander. Canada and the Empire owe them hearty thanks as well.

A Cake Shower

2011-02-14T00:04:00.000-08:00

This interesting article from the British Nursing Journal on February 19th, 1916 advertising the unique idea of having a ‘cake shower’ for the nurses in France.

A CAKE SHOWER.

Cakes are terribly expensive in France just now, so we propose to have a “Cake Shower ” on Wednesday, February 23rd, when we shall be at 431, Oxford Street, to receive the gifts from 2 to 4 p.m., so that they may be sent, to head-quarters in Paris for the ‘ Sisters’ Teas ” now prepared in the office, and to which Sisters passing through Paris and the friends of the Corps are always welcome. Also if we get a good supply they will be sent to Sisters on duty further a field.

A ‘shower ’ is an American custom, and enables anyone generously disposed to ‘shower ” a given article, say, cake, soap, cigarettes, etc., upon the organisation requiring them.

THE BRITISH JOURNAL OF NURSING will give a prize of 5s. for the most delicious looking cake. We shall hope for a goodly supply.

Jam-tins on the wire.

2011-02-11T00:07:00.000-08:00

I’ve never read of this before until I came across in R. Hugh Knyvett excellent book: "Over There with the Australians.”

There must have been plenty of used jam-tins and the noise of the tins on the wire would have been very unusal.

“There was another use made of empty jam-tins: they were tied to our barbed wire so that if any Turk tried to get through he would make a noise like the cowbells at milking-time. Talking about barbed wire, Johnny Turk played a huge joke on us on one occasion. As the staking down of wire was too risky, we prepared some "knife-rests" (hedges of wire shaped like a knife rest) and rolled them over our parapet, but opened our eyes in amazement to find in the morning that they had only stopped a few feet from the Turkish trenches. The Turks had sneaked out and tied ropes to them and hauled them over to protect themselves. Thereafter we took care to let Abdul do his own wiring.”

A Danger to Cyclists

2011-02-09T06:32:00.000-08:00

The age old problem of roads catering for cyclists was evident at the being of the war. This letter published in the Eastbourne Gazette, is from a concerned cyclist highlighting the dangers of the edge of the road.

A DANGER TO CYCLISTS

Sir

May I through you columns direct the attentions of the Highway Committee to a very serious danger to cyclists, which I am sure they will gladly remove. The danger arises from leaving a ridge, sometimes nearly two inches in height, between the gutter and the roadway.

An example, of which there are plenty, may be found in the gutter facing the London City and Midland Bank, in Terminus Road. Owing to the congestion of traffic, especially motor cars, the easy-going cyclist is driven to take the extreme edge of the road and sometimes even the gutter.

The gutter is generally slippery enough in itself, but when there is a ridge, as is too often the case, the cyclist in attempting to regain the road is in serious danger of sideslip and of being thrown under the wheels of the quick moving car.

The edge of the gutter ought to be levelled off so as to allow the cyclist to regain the road without difficulty of danger. I notice that in some places an indifferent attempt at such bevelling has been made, but in many other places no bevelling at all has been done. In case a cyclist were injured though such carelessness who would be responsible?

Pathfinder
Motcombe Lane
Eastbourne

The Cootie

2011-02-04T05:11:00.000-08:00

This article about the perils and torture of the common louse comes from the book ‘A Yankee in the Trenches’ by R. Derby Holmes

The Cootie was the name given to the too common, ‘body louse’. As Holmes put it ‘Everybody has 'em.’

“Back in billets the very first thing that comes off is the big clean-up. Uniforms are brushed up, and equipment put in order. Then comes the bath, the most thorough possible under the conditions. After that comes the "cootie carnival", better known as the "shirt hunt." The cootie is the soldier's worst enemy. He's worse than the Hun. You can't get rid of him wherever you are, in the trenches or in billets, and he sticks closer than a brother. The cootie is a good deal of an acrobat. His policy of attack is to hang on to the shirt and to nibble at the occupant. Pull off the shirt and he comes with it. Hence the shirt hunt. Tommy gets out in the open somewhere so as not to shed his little companions indoors—there's always enough there anyhow—and he peels.

Then he systematically runs down each seam—the cootie's favorite hiding place—catches the game, and ends his career by cracking him between the thumb nails.

For some obscure psychological reason, Tommy seems to like company on one of these hunts. Perhaps it is because misery loves company, or it may be that he likes to compare notes on the catch. Anyhow, it is a common thing to see from a dozen to twenty soldiers with their shirts off, hunting cooties.

"Hi sye, 'Arry," you'll hear some one sing out. "Look 'ere. Strike me bloomin' well pink but this one 'ere's got a black stripe along 'is back."

Or, "If this don't look like the one I showed ye 'fore we went into the blinkin' line. 'Ow'd 'e git loose?"

And then, as likely as not, a little farther away, behind the officers' quarters, you'll hear one say:
"I say, old chap, it's deucedly peculiar I should have so many of the beastly things after putting on the Harrisons mothaw sent in the lawst parcel."

The cootie isn't at all fastidious. He will bite the British aristocrat as soon as anybody else. He finds his way into all branches of the service, and I have even seen a dignified colonel wiggle his shoulders anxiously.

Some of the cootie stories have become classical, like this one which was told from the North Sea to the Swiss border. It might have happened at that.

A soldier was going over the top when one of his cootie friends bit him on the calf. The soldier reached down and captured the biter. Just as he stooped, a shell whizzed over where his head would have been if he had not gone after the cootie. Holding the captive between thumb and finger, he said:

"Old feller, I cawn't give yer the Victoria Cross—but I can put yer back."

And he did.

The worst thing about the cootie is that there is no remedy for him. The shirt hunt is the only effective way for the soldier to get rid of his bosom friends. The various dopes and patent preparations guaranteed as "good for cooties" are just that. They give 'em an appetite. “

To Our Sporting Man by Gladys I Wallis.

2011-02-01T02:18:00.000-08:00

I love this poem, published in the Eastbourne Gazette in September 1914; it really captures the patriotic fervour of those early days.

To Our Sporting Man by Gladys I Wallis

Why are you playing and watching
Cricket and tennis here?
Why are you hesitating
When your country’s need is clear?

Lay down your bat and racket
And if need be lay down your life
Your King and Country are calling
You’re wanted to end this strife.

Then when you’ve beaten the Germans
They’ll be time enough for play.
So hasten to answer the call, boys
If you are sporting at all – JOIN TO-DAY

To The Women of Eastbourne

2011-01-27T01:45:00.000-08:00

This innovative letter was published in the Eastbourne Gazette to help the women of Eastbourne consider the local men involved in the local defence volunteers.

It seems a different world, one where orders were placed with shopkeepers to fulfil as required.

To The Women of Eastbourne

Sisters,

While so many of our men are so bravely fighting for our dear country’s very existence, cannot we do something to help the men who are unable to go to the front, to do at least what they can to drill and to become proficient in rifle shooting?

Cannot we arrange our households that we do no shopping of any sort, so on Wednesday, thus releasing our tradesmen and the whole of their staffs for the whole day?

I have always thought we are often inconsiderate over our shopping. In India ladies have to give their orders overnight or go without their meals.

Could we not give our weekly orders for grocery, etc. and do all our shopping, say, before 4 p.m. carrying home every urgent order ourselves?

I am sure we could do much to give our busy men – men who can’t leave Eastbourne – more time to devout themselves to such training as would fit them to defend Eastbourne, if it were attacked by an enemy, if we would only consult together and act together.

Will someone of greater influence than I ask our kind, Mayoress to convene a women’s meeting to enable us to fulfil our real life’s work – namely, to be men’s strengtheners and helpers – Yours faithfully,

F.S. Fahey
Newstead,
Darley Road,
Meads.

Runaway Balloons

2011-01-21T05:58:00.000-08:00

This interesting but sad article was published in ‘The Times’ on 22nd September 1917.

Runaway anti-aircraft balloons are not usually associated with the Great War, but they were an everyday presence in the London skyline during the later part of the war.

Two Airmen Killed

Four Balloons Break Loose Over London

The breaking away of a balloon from its moorings in the outskirts of London yesterday led to two deaths. The wind was strong and gusty, and the runaway balloon turned over and threw out the occupant of the observation car, a Royal Flying Corps officer. He was killed, the body being picked up shortly afterwards.

The cables of this balloon appear to have become entangled with those of other captive balloons, which were up at the time and tore three of them away. Apparently only one of these balloons carried an observer.

Loosely connected by their entangled cables, the four balloons travelled away in the breeze, and it was noticed that the observer had failed to get clear by using his parachute and was hanging amidst the wires. About 1 o’clock the four balloons passed over South Norwood and the observer fell from a height of 2,000 feet into a field on South Norwood Hill. He was killed instantly. The body was removed to the mortuary at Croydon. The runaway balloons now carried no other human freight and were shot down by anti-aircraft guns.

Kisses for Recruits

2011-01-19T08:44:00.000-08:00

This amusing letter was published in the Eastbourne Gazette in September 1914.

Kisses for Recruits

To the Editor

Sir,

What woman in this hour of her country’s need has not asked herself, “What can I do?”

Why not recruit – get men and lads to go and fight?

Associations for the purpose might be formed. Each member would have a personal interest in her own recruits, and might save some of the Army and Navy charities by making herself responsible for some, at least, of the cost of clothing at the front and later,. Etc.

I do not profess to offer anything but a mere outline to be filled in by the ladies themselves. Emulation between the girls could be based on the number of recruits each obtained.

The organisation need not worry any Government Department, but end with the recruiting sergeant.

How many volunteer soldiers would there be if each unmarried girl enlisted one? I daresay the methods of the famous Duchess of Gordon in raising the present Gordan Highlanders are not out of date even now – a kiss to every man that joined. There are, of course, hundreds of women who are, and will be, usefully employed; but there are thouands who are not; and surely, no more practical method of usefulness could be desired than for some at least to canvass for men to fight for their country.

I am, yours faithfully,

T. Grant Duff Ainslie.

The Old Mill House
Hellingly,
Sussex.

Barbed Wire - Working Party

2011-01-17T05:04:00.000-08:00

This excellent account of the perilous work of a night time barbed wire working party comes from the book 'Between the Lines' by Boyd Cable.

“And after the trench was more or less repaired came the last and the most desperate business of all—the 'wiring' out there in the open under the eye of the soaring lights. In ones and twos during the intervals of darkness the men tumbled over the parapet, dragging stakes and coils of wire behind them. They managed to drive short stakes and run trip-wires between them without the enemy suspecting them. When a light flamed, every man dropped flat in the mud and lay still as the dead beside them till the light died. In the brief intervals of darkness they drove the stakes with muffled hammers, and ran the lengths of barbed wire between them. Heart in mouth they worked, one eye on the dimly seen hammer and stake-head, the other on the German trench, watching for the first upward trailing sparks of the flare. Plenty of men were hit of course, because, light or dark, the bullets were kept flying, but there was no pause in the work, not even to help the wounded in. If they were able to crawl they crawled, dropping flat and still while the lights burned, hitching themselves painfully towards the parapet under cover of the darkness. If they could not crawl they lay still, dragging themselves perhaps behind the cover of a dead body or lying quiet in the open till the time would come when helpers would seek them. Their turn came when the low wires were complete. The wounded were brought in cautiously to the trench then, and hoisted over the parapet; the working party was carefully detailed and each man's duty marked out before they crawled again into the open with long stakes and strands of barbed wire. The party lay there minute after minute, through periods of light and darkness, until the officer in charge thought a favourable chance had come and gave the arranged signal. Every man leaped to his feet, the stakes were planted, and quick blow after blow drove them home. Another light soared up and flared out, and every man dropped and held his breath, waiting for the crash of fire that would tell they were discovered. But the flare died out without a sign, and the working party hurriedly renewed their task. This time the darkness held for an unusual length of time, and the stakes were planted, the wires fastened, and cross-pieces of wood with interlacings of barbed wire all ready were rolled out and pegged down without another light showing. The word passed down and the men scrambled back into safety.”

Queen Mary and German Goods

2011-01-14T00:44:00.000-08:00

This nice little story was inserted into the Eastbourne Gazette on 18th November 1914.

It captures the early mood of the nation just a few months after the war had begun.

THE QUEEN AND GERMAN GOODS

An interesting story of the Queen illustrating once more her common sense and breath of view, is told by the London correspondent of the “Sheffield Telegraph.”

Her Majesty was examining some goods from a West End shop the other day and asked the girl who was showing them whether she had any of a certain kind. The girl replied that she was afraid there was nothing English of the sort to be had as all the goods had been bought from Germany.

“That,” said Queen Mary, “is not the point. The goods are in English shops. They were bought before the war. People ought to support the shopkeepers, and take the stock off their hands. When they have been sold, we shall buy nothing but English goods.”

“The Evening News.”

Barbed Wire - In German Trenches

2011-01-13T05:54:00.000-08:00

In his book The Old Front Line, John Masefield describes the German trench defences in the Somme battlefield and their use of barbed wire.

Dug-outs and barbed wire in La Boisselle. Usna-Tara Hill, with English Support Lines in Background. At Extreme Left is the Albert-Bapaume Road.

"The defences of the enemy front line varied a little in degree, but hardly at all in kind, throughout the battlefield. The enemy wire was always deep, thick, and securely staked with iron supports, which were either crossed like the letter X, or upright, with loops to take the wire and shaped at one end like corkscrews so as to screw into the ground. The wire stood on these supports on a thick web, about four feet high and from thirty to forty feet across. The wire used was generally as thick as sailor's marline stuff, or two twisted rope-yarns. It contained, as a rule, some sixteen barbs to the foot. The wire used in front of our lines was generally galvanized, and 88remained grey after months of exposure. The enemy wire, not being galvanized, rusted to a black colour, and shows up black at a great distance. In places this web or barrier was supplemented with trip-wire, or wire placed just above the ground, so that the artillery observing officers might not see it and so not cause it to be destroyed. This trip-wire was as difficult to cross as the wire of the entanglements. In one place (near the Y Ravine at Beaumont Hamel) this trip-wire was used with thin iron spikes a yard long of the kind known as calthrops. The spikes were so placed in the ground that about one foot of spike projected. The scheme was that our men should catch their feet in the trip-wire, fall on the spikes, and be transfixed.

In places, in front of the front line in the midst of his wire, sometimes even in front of the wire, the enemy had carefully hidden snipers and machine-gun posts. Sometimes these outside posts were connected with his front-line trench by tunnels, sometimes they were simply shell-holes, slightly altered with a spade to take the snipers and the gunners. These outside snipers had some success in the early parts of the battle. They caused losses among our men by firing in the midst of them and by 89shooting them in the backs after they had passed. Usually the posts were small oblong pans in the mud, in which the men lay. Sometimes they were deep narrow graves in which the men stood to fire through a funnel in the earth. Here and there, where the ground was favourable, especially when there was some little knop, hillock, or bulge of ground just outside their line, as near Gommecourt Park and close to the Sunken Road at Beaumont Hamel, he placed several such posts together. Outside Gommecourt, a slight lynchet near the enemy line was prepared for at least a dozen such posts invisible from any part of our line and not easily to be picked out by photograph, and so placed as to sweep at least a mile of No Man's Land.

When these places had been passed, and the enemy wire, more or less cut by our shrapnel, had been crossed, our men had to attack the enemy fire trenches of the first line. These, like the other defences, varied in degree, but not in kind. They were, in the main, deep, solid trenches, dug with short bays or zigzags in the pattern of the Greek Key or badger's earth. They were seldom less than eight feet and sometimes as much as twelve feet deep. Their sides were revetted, or held from collapsing, by strong wickerwork. They had good, 90comfortable standing slabs or banquettes on which the men could stand to fire. As a rule, the parapets were not built up with sandbags as ours were.

In some parts of the line, the front trenches were strengthened at intervals of about fifty yards by tiny forts or fortlets made of concrete and so built into the parapet that they could not be seen from without, even five yards away. These fortlets were pierced with a foot-long slip for the muzzle of a machine gun, and were just big enough to hold the gun and one gunner.

In the forward wall of the trenches were the openings of the shafts which led to the front-line dugouts. The shafts are all of the same pattern. They have open mouths about four feet high, and slant down into the earth for about twenty feet at an angle of forty-five degrees. At the bottom of the stairs which led down are the living rooms and barracks which communicate with each other so that if a shaft collapse the men below may still escape by another. The shafts and living rooms are strongly propped and panelled with wood, and this has led to the destruction of most of the few which survived our bombardment. While they were needed as billets our men lived in them. Then the wood was removed, and the dugout and shaft collapsed. "

Alleged Cruelty to Lobsters

2011-01-12T06:00:00.000-08:00

This interesting article was published in The Times on 1st August 1914, just before the outbreak of war.

Alleged Cruelty to Lobsters

At Marylbone, yesterday, Eugene Baratgin, the proprietor of an Oyster bar at Praed Street, Paddington, was summoned for causing unnecessary suffering to two lobsters.

It was alleged that he had kept two live lobsters in the window with their claws tied together and then bent back towards the tail and secured the tail to the body.

The defence was that the lobsters were not bound as described and that even if they were bound in the way alleged, had they suffered any pain they would at one have shed their claws.

Mr. Biron dismissed the summons on the payment of £1 1s costs.

How the Horse was Cared for at the Front

2011-01-11T04:46:00.000-08:00

This wonderful article from “The Great War in a Different Light’ was originally published in ‘the War Illustrated Deluxe’ volume IV page 1134.

Colonel the Right Hon. Mark Lockwood, C.V.O., M.P. Paints a vivid account of 'How the Horse was Cared for at the Front'

The Magnificent Work Accomplished at the Front for Britain's War-horses

Since the beginning of the age of chivalry, when first knights spurred into battle, the horse has been always associated with the romantic pageantry of warfare. Until the last few months, to think of war was to conjure up stirring visions of reckless cavalry charges, of foam-flecked chargers "clothed with thunder," and to imagine the thudding of hoofs, and the fierce shouts of maddened men on no less maddened steeds. Of late the opinion seems to be held among civilians that horses are no longer a very important factor in the success of a campaign; this is a fallacy.

The Horse's Nameless Terror

Although it has been proved that motor traction can replace the horse in many ways, it must be remembered that good roads and country where the "going" is easy are essential for motor-transport; and these conveniences, of course, are not always accessible at the front. Therefore, in addition to cavalry, which still plays a great part in war, thousands of horses are necessary for drawing guns, ammunition waggons, ambulances, and for transporting food and other essential supplies for the troops over bad roads and broken country.

The foregoing is not written in advocacy of the use of horses at the front, or of the extension of their present spheres, for every animal lover will welcome the day—if that day ever dawns—when it will no longer be imperative to utilise and sacrifice horses on the field of battle. As circumstances are, however, horses are almost as necessary to General Joffre, Sir John French, and other leaders as they have been to every commander since the very earliest campaigns, when horses were used to drag chariots and to carry loads, and the time of Xenophon, whose "Guide for a Cavalry Commander" provides the first detailed evidence that we possess of the existence of squadrons of horse-soldiers.

So, regrettable as it is, the war-horse must still know the nameless terror of the battlefield, and suffer, and be maimed and killed for the benefit of Man. What, one wonders, does the horse think of it all? Imagine the terror of the horse that once calmly delivered a shopman's goods in quiet suburban streets as, standing hitched to a gun-carriage amid the wreck and ruin at the back of the firing-line, he hears above and all around him the crash of bursting shells; he starts, sets his ears back, and trembles; in his wondering eyes is the light of fear. He knows nothing of duty, patriotism, glory, heroism, honour—but he does know that he is in danger. At the crack of the whip he gallops into the open, amid the smoke and fumes, nearer the din of battle. Possibly he neighs wildly; he may even go temporarily mad, for chargers have been known to fight fiercely with their teeth and hoofs. Then, a sudden sharp pain, and he falls wounded; or, a rending pang, and he is dead.

"Horse First; Man Afterwards"

Although, unhappily, the time, has not yet come when horses are recognised as deserving of protection under the Red Cross flag, war-horses are at last coming into their own; for, with the splendid Army Veterinary Corps to look after them, they are within sight of being more generously treated by Authority. In all the many branches of the Army there is no department that deserves more credit, or shows more astonishing foresight in the preparation, alleviation of suffering, and general superintendence of the animal than does the A.V.C. and the Remount Department.

From the beginning of the war until October 16th only, the A.V.C. had, I believe, already treated no less than 27,000 horses, and succeeded in saving the lives of many that would, even in times of peace, have been condemned as incurable. The horses are treated with as much care and skill as are shown to wounded soldiers, and, in addition, are given an anesthetic before being operated upon by the surgeons.

High tribute is also due to that splendid organization, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals-Working under the supervision and at the request of the War Office, the Society renders incalculable relief to suffering animals. The R.S.P.C.A. built many hospital stables for thousands of horses at various points at the front; it supplied motor-lorries and medicaments of all descriptions, and all most satisfactory. In short, one who inspected the horses in France could not observe a single instance of neglect throughout the many thousands being used.

In one of the healthiest parts of France the Convalescent Horse Depot was established, covering an area of no less than twenty miles. Here, under the careful supervision of officers of the A.V.C., they could run to grass in well-sheltered paddocks, and so a large number of horses were saved, and soon were well enough to return to active service.

The Starting of the A.V.C.

Prior to, and during the South African War, there was no satisfactory organisation for the care of horses on active service. The experience of the South African campaign showed clearly the disadvantages of the old system, and in 1903 the Army Veterinary Corps was established. In this new corps a complete personnel was appointed. The veterinary surgeons had the assistance of trained noncommissioned officers and men to carry out, in an efficient manner, the work hitherto attempted by the farriers. The commissioned officers of the corps are qualified veterinary surgeons who have passed four years at a veterinary college or university.

At the numerous places where the A.V.C. horse hospitals are situated help of various kinds is always needed. I can assure all those who subscribed in answer to the Duke of Portland's appeal on behalf of the R.S.P.C.A. Fund that nothing could be of more benefit to horses at the front than this fund. The Society, is the only one recognised and authorised by the Army Council to collect funds for our horses with the armies. Its aim is to augment the supply of horse hospitals, horse shelters, medical stores, hospital and stable requisites—such as rugs, woollen bandages, head collars, halters—and to provide horse-drawn ambulances and motor- ambulances, which are very badly wanted to convey from railway stations horses kicked and lamed en route, and horses not injured severely enough to necessitate their being destroyed, but suffering from wounds that prevent their walking to the station to the convalescent farms. Motor-lorries are needed for the rapid conveyance of fodder from the base hospitals, where the stores are kept, to the convalescent farms and hospitals miles away. With the advent of winter, the horses are unable to graze, and so there is more feeding to be done.

Until the time comes when the Red Cross of Geneva protects human and animal combatants alike, we, who have made laws to protect animals in peace time, must take all care to protect them also in war time. The horses of the British Army are an integral part of the British Army itself, and the care which the soldiers give to their horses shows that they value their co-operation and their friendship. We all want to help the men who are fighting for their country's honour, and, having helped them to the best of our ability, we must continue to see that their horses are not neglected.

A Gift For Nothing

2011-01-10T14:27:00.000-08:00

This inspired idea to get extra readers to the visitor’s paper appeared in The Eastbourne Gazette on 19th September 1916.

A Gift For Nothing

Readers of “The Visitor” who wish to obtain a gift for nothing should carry a copy of that paper in their hand. Every Saturday morning a representative of “The Visitor” is on look-out for readers of that paper; and those who are found with a copy in their hands will be presented with a ticket entitling them to a gift which may be selected at the shop of Mr. Dover Williams, Terminus Road, or Messers. Metcalfe’s, Grove Road.

“The Visitor” is to be obtained at all local newsagents on Saturday’s price one penny.

“The Visitor” was first published in June 1914, a few weeks before the outbreak of war. The Eastbourne Gazette contained the following announcement.

The Visitors’ Special Paper

A special paper for visitors at Eastbourne has been provided in “THE VISITOR” which contains a view of all the weeks entertainments and other events, all excursions by steamer, motor-boat, motor-coach and char-a-bang; a description of country walks, railway time-tables (with fares), motor bus; many pictures, programmes of dances and much more interesting matter.

Evacution of Gallipoli by R. Hugh Knyvett

2011-01-09T08:16:00.000-08:00

This excellent account of the evacuation of Gallipoli comes from R. Hugh Knyvett in his book : "Over There" with the Australians

Without warning, winter came down upon us. No one guessed he was so near. We were still in our summer lack of clothing, and were not prepared for cold weather, when like a wolf on the fold the blizzard came down upon us. This was the worst enemy those battered troops had yet encountered. Hardly any of those boys had ever seen snow and now they were naked in the bitterest cold. There were more cases of frost-bite than there were of wounds in the whole campaign. More had their toes and fingers eaten off by Jack Frost than shells had amputated. In those open, unprotected trenches, in misery such as they had never dreamed could be, the lads from sunny Australia stood to their posts. When the snow melted the trenches fell in and Turk and Anzac stood exposed to each other's fire, but both were fighting a common enemy and so hard went this battle with them as to compel a truce in the fight of man against man.

Soon it was evident that our final objective of capturing the Narrows could not be accomplished with the forces we had. Directly the winter gales would arrive and on those exposed beaches no stores could be landed. We had to leave and leave quickly, or starve to death. So the evacuation was planned.

No achievement in military history was better conceived or more faithfully carried out. Here was scope for inventive genius and many were the devices used to bluff the Turk. We schooled him in getting used to long periods of silence. At first he was pretty jumpy and could not understand the change, when the men who had always given him two for one now received his fire without retaliating. After a while he decided that as we were quite mad there was no accounting for our behavior. Then we scared him some more by appearing to land fresh troops. As a matter of fact, a thousand or so would leave the beach at night and a few hundred return in the daylight under the eyes of the Turkish aeroplanes, causing them to report concentration of more troops. Stores were taken out to the ships by night, and the empty boxes brought back and stacked on the beaches during the day. It must have appeared as if we were laying in for the winter.

There were many inventive brains of high quality working at great pressure during all the days of holding on, but one of the cleverest ideas put into operation was the arrangement devised by an engineer whereby rifles were firing automatically in the front-line trenches after every man had left. There is no doubt the Turks were completely bluffed. When the remaining stores were fired after being well soaked with gasolene, the Turkish artillery evidently thought they had made a lucky hit and they poured shells into the flames and completed for us the work of destruction. I doubt if they even found the name of a Chicago packing-house on a bully-beef case, when next day they wandered curiously through the abandoned settlement that for many months had been peopled by the bronzed giants from farthest south.

The last men to leave the actual trenches were the remnant of the heroic band that were the first to land. They requested the honor of this post of danger and it could not be refused them. They must have expected that their small company would be still further thinned; but this place of miracles still had another in store, as the evacuation was accomplished from Anzac itself without a casualty.

The last party to leave the beach was a hospital unit—chaplain, doctors, and orderlies. It was intended that they should remain to care for the wounded, though they would necessarily fall into the hands of the Turks. It was not feared that they would be ill-treated, for all the reports we had of prisoners in the hands of the Turks went to show that they were well cared for. In this as in other respects the Turk showed himself to be much more civilized than the German. It was a pleasant surprise to be able to greet again these comrades, who but a few minutes before we had commiserated on their hard luck; for they came off in the last boats, there being no wounded to require their services. The padre, who was a Roman Catholic priest, said that he missed the chance of a lifetime and would now probably never know what the inside of a harem was like!
They were sad hearts that looked back to those fading shores. It almost seemed as if we were giving up a bit of Australia to the enemy. Those acres had been taken possession of by Australian courage, baptized with the best of the country's blood, and now held the sacred dust of the greatest of our citizens, whose title to suffrage had been purchased by the last supreme sacrifice.

Never were men asked to do a harder thing than this—to leave the bones of their comrades to fall into alien hands. These were men white of face and with clenched fists that filed past those wooden crosses and few who did not feel shame at the desertion. Some there were who whispered to the spirits hovering near an appeal for understanding and forgiveness. They wondered how the worshippers of the Crescent would treat the dead resting beneath the symbols that to them represented an accursed infidel faith. There are cravens in Australia who suggest that she has done more than her share in this struggle, but while one foot of soil that has been hallowed by Australian blood remains in the hands of the enemy the man who would withhold one man or one shilling is not only no true Australian but no true man—a dastard and a traitor.

When peace shall dawn and the Turk shall heed the voice of United Democracy as it proclaims with force, "Thou shall not oppress, nor shalt thou close the gates of these straits again!" then shall visitors from many lands wander through these trenches and marvel what kind of men were they that held them for so long against such odds, and gaze at the honeycombed cliff where twentieth-century men lived like cave-dwellers, and sang and joked more than the abiders in halls of luxury.

The Evacuation of Helles

2011-01-08T11:23:00.000-08:00

Today, ninety five years ago on 8^th January 1916 the evacuation of Helles was completed.

British and French landings at Helles on 25th April 1915, had failed to secure their objectives, leading to a lengthy stalemate on the southern tip of the Gallipoli Peninsula.

The 8^th Battalion was evacuated from Gallipoli a few weeks earlier on 18^th December 1915. Ron Austin in the Battalion history, “Cobbers in Khaki,” describes the feelings of those soldiers that left, one man remarked:

“A bit hard on us old chaps sneaking away like rats, having to leave so many of our old mates buried there, and then finding our efforts were no good…In fact we were like criminals sneaking away”

Corporal Dave Muir observed as the vessel sailed from Gallipoli, it contained “a grim crowd of old-young men, each with his own thoughts.”

Description of a Tank Battle

2011-01-07T02:20:00.000-08:00

'Description of a Tank Battle' By F. Mitchell

A Battle of Monsters

At the beginning of April, 1918, many of the tank units, which had been in practically continuous action since first March, were withdrawn and sent to the Tank Depot at Erin to refit. Here, after a brief spell of rest, they took over old tanks, overhauled and patched up for the occasion, and returned with them once more to the line, which had formed again as the German advance was checked.

"A" Company of the 1st Tank Battalion was hidden in the Bois l'Abbé, near Villers-Bretonneux. In this sector the Germans had advanced to within seven miles of Amiens, and threatened the capture of that city. If they succeeded, they would cut the Amiens-Paris railway, which was even then being used solely at night, and the solitary railroad left for the British Army would be through Abbéville, only ten miles from the coast.

To prevent this formidable disaster the French had placed their crack Moroccan division, the finest fighters in the French Army, at the danger spot.

In the Bois de Blangy, not far from the Bois l'Abbé, the Algerian and Moroccan troops had dug for themselves very deep and very narrow shelters. These were covered with branches of fir trees placed fiat on the ground, so that it was exceedingly difficult to discover their presence, either from the air or from the ground level.

The first tanks entering the wood in the dark ran straight into the undergrowth, and were considerably alarmed to hear weird yells and shrieks coming from the ground.

Terrified black faces popped up on all sides, and the wood suddenly swarmed with strange figures, wh6 had bolted out of their holes like startled rabbits.

Next day, when the machines had been covered with tarpaulins, camouflage nets, and branches, the Moroccans were still not too trustful, and would creep up and gingerly touch the tanks with their fingers - as if to make sure that they were real - and then slink away again.

In the same wood were also detachments of the renowned Foreign Legion, including a company of Russians; and Australian troops, in their picturesque slouch hats, added to the variety of the scene; whilst away in front, for almost a quarter of a mile, stretched an unbroken line of French 75's (the famous quick-firing field gun) mingled with batteries of British I 8-pounders.

On the 17th April the enemy shelled Bois l'Abbé with mustard gas, causing heavy casualties in the forward sections of tanks, whose crews returned with eyes swollen and weeping, and faces and bare knees heavily blistered.

As the German attack was daily expected, a new section of tanks, consisting of a male and two females, was sent to the Bois d'Aquenne, immediately behind Viller-Bretonneux. The wood was drenched with gas, and had been evacuated by the infantry. Dead horses, swollen to enormous size, and birds with bulging eyes and stiffened claws lay everywhere. In the tree-tops the half-stifled crows were hoarsely croaking. The gas hung about the bushes and undergrowth, and clung to the tarpaulins.

On the night of the 23rd of April, the shelling had made the spot almost unbearable. The crews had worn their masks during the greater part of the day, and their eyes were sore, their throats dry.

Then two enemy planes appeared, flying slowly over the tree tops, and dropped Verey lights that fell right in the glade where the tanks were hidden. As the lights slowly flared up we flattened ourselves rigidly against the tree-trunks, not a man daring to move; but it was in vain, for the bulky outlines of the tanks showed up in vivid relief.

We were discovered!

An hour later, when clouds hid the moon, three huge toad-like forms, grunting and snorting, crept out of the wood, to a spot some hundred yards in the rear.
Just before dawn on 24th April, a tremendous deluge of shells swept down upon the wood, and I was aroused in the dark by some one shaking me violently.

"Gas, sir ! Gas !"

I struggled up, half awake, inhaled a foul odour, and quickly slipped on my mask. My eyes were running, I could not see, my breath came with difficulty. I could hear the trees crashing to the ground near me. For a moment I was stricken with panic, and confused thoughts chased wildly through my mind; but, pulling myself together, I discovered to my great relief that I had omitted to attach my nose-clip!

My section commander and I and the orderly who had aroused us groped our way, hand in hand, to the open. It was pitch dark, save where, away on the edge of the wood, the rising sun showed blood red, and as we stumbled forward tree trunks, unseen in that infernal gloom, separated our joined hands, and bushes and brambles tripped us.

Suddenly a hoarse cry came from the orderly: "My mouthpiece is broken, sir !”

“Run like mad for the open!" shouted the section commander.

There was a gasp, and then we heard the man crashing away through the undergrowth like a hunted beast.

Soon I found my tank, covered with its tarpaulin. The small oblong doors were open, but the interior was empty. In the wrappings of the tarpaulins, however, I felt something warm and fleshy, and found that it was one of the crew lying full length on the ground, wearing his mask but dazed by gas. The rest of my crew I discovered in a reserve line of trenches on the edge of the wood, and the crews of the other two tanks, as we found later on, were sheltering inside their machines, with doors and flaps shut tight.

Behind the trenches a battery of artillery was blazing away, the gunners in their gas masks feverishly loading and unloading like creatures of a nightmare.
The major in charge of the battery informed us that he had had no news from his F.O.O. (Forward Observing Officer) for some time, the telephone wires having been blown us. If the Boche infantry came on, would our tanks immediately attack them, whilst his 18-pounders engaged them over open sights ? Our captain agreed to this desperate measure, and grimly we waited.

Meanwhile, as the shelling grew in intensity, a few wounded men and some stragglers came into sight. Their report was depressing: Villers-Bretonneux had been captured, and with it many of our own men. The Boche had almost broken through.

By this time two of my crew had developed nasty gas symptoms, spitting, coughing, and getting purple in the face. They were led away to the rear, one sprawling limply in a wheel-barrow found in the wood. A little later an infantry brigadier appeared on the scene with two orderlies. He also was unaware of the exact position ahead, and, accompanied by Captain I. C. Brown, M.C., and the runners, he went forward to investigate. In ten minutes one of the runners came back, limping badly, hit in the leg. In another ten minutes the second returned, his left arm torn by shrapnel. Twenty minutes after that, walking unhurt and serene through the barrage, came the brigadier and our captain.

The news was grave. We had suffered heavy losses and lost ground, and if our infantry were driven out of the switch-line between Cachy and Villers-Bretonneux, the Germans would obtain possession of the high ground dominating Amiens. They would then perhaps force us to evacuate that city and drive a wedge between the French and British armies.

A serious consultation was held, and the order came Proceed to the Cachy switch-line and hold it “At all costs."

We put on our masks once more and plunged, like divers, into the gas-laden wood. As we struggled to crank up, one of the three men collapsed. We put him against a tree, gave him some tablets of ammonia to sniff, and then, as he did not seem to be coming round, we left him, for time was pressing. Out of a crew of seven there remained only four men, with red-rimmed, bulging eyes, while my driver, the second reserve driver, had had only a fortnight's driving experience. Fortunately one gearsman was loaned to me from another tank.

The three tanks, one male, armed with two 6-pounder guns and machine guns, and two females, armed with machine guns only, crawled out of the wood and set off over the open ground towards Cachy, Captain Brown. coming in my tank.

Ahead loomed the German barrage, a menacing wall of fire in our path. There was no break in it anywhere. Should I go straight ahead and trust to luck ? It seemed impossible that we could pass through that deadly area unhit. I decided to attempt a zig-zag course, as somehow it seemed safer.

Luck was with us. At top speed we went safely through the danger zone, and soon reached the Cachy lines; but there was no sign of our infantry.

Suddenly, out of the ground ten yards away, an infantryman rose, waving his rifle furiously. We stopped. He ran forward and shouted through the flap: "Look out! Jerry tanks about !" Swiftly he disappeared into the trench again, and Captain Brown immediately got out and ran across the heavily shelled ground to warn the female tanks.

I informed the crew, and a great thrill ran through us all. Opening a loophole, I looked out. There, some three hundred yards away, a round, squat-looking monster was advancing; behind it came waves of infantry, and farther away to the left and right crawled two more of these armed tortoises.

So we had met our rivals at last I For the first time in history tank was encountering tank!

The 6-pounder gunners, crouching on the floor, their backs against the engine cover, loaded their guns expectantly.

We still kept on a zig-zag course, threading the gaps between the lines of hastily dug trenches, and coming near the small protecting belt of wire we turned left, and the right gunner, peering through his narrow slit, made a sighting shot. The shell burst some distance beyond the leading enemy tank. No reply came. A second shot boomed out, landing just to the right, but again there was no reply. More shots followed.

Suddenly a hurricane of hail pattered against our steel wall, filling the interior with myriads of sparks and flying splinters I Something rattled against the steel helmet of the driver sitting next to me, and my face was stung with minute fragments of steel. The crew flung themselves flat on the floor. The driver ducked his head and drove straight on.

Above the roar of our engine sounded the staccato rat-tat-tat-tat of machine guns, and another furious jet of bullets sprayed our steel side, the splinters clanging against the engine cover. The Jerry tank had treated us to a broadside of armour-piercing bullets!

Taking advantage of a dip in the ground, we got beyond range, and then turning we manoeuvred to get the left gunner on to the moving target. Owing to our gas casualties the gunner was working single- handed, and his right eye being swollen with gas, he aimed with the left.

Moreover, as the ground was heavily scarred with shell holes, we kept going up and down like a ship in a heavy sea, which made accurate shooting difficult. His first shot fell some fifteen yards in front, the next went beyond, and then I saw the shells bursting all round the tank. He fired shot after shot in rapid succession every time it came into view.

Nearing the village of Cachy, I noticed to my astonishment that the two females were slowly limping away to the rear. Almost immediately on their arrival they had both been hit by shells which tore great holes in their sides, leaving them defenceless against machine-gun bullets, and as their Lewis concentrated their fire on us at once we would be finished. We fired rapidly at the nearest tank, and to my intense joy and amazement I saw it slowly back away. Its companion also did not appear to relish a fight, for it turned and followed its mate, and in a few minutes they had both disappeared, leaving our tank the sole possessor of the field.

This situation, however gratifying, soon displayed numerous disadvantages. We were now the only thing above ground, and naturally the German artillery made savage efforts to wipe us off the map. Up and down we went, followed by a trail of bursting shells. I was afraid that at any minute a shell would penetrate the roof and set the petrol alight, making the tank a roaring furnace before we could escape.

Then I saw an aeroplane flying overhead not more than a hundred feet up. A great black cross was on each underwing, and as it crossed over us I could see clearly the figures of the pilot and observer. Something round and black dropped from it. For a fraction of a second I watched it, horrified the front of the tank suddenly bounded up -into the air, and the whole machine seemed to stand on end. Everything shook, rattled, jarred with an earthquaking shock. We fell back with a mighty crash, and then continued on our journey unhurt. Our steel walls had held nobly, but how much more would they endure?

A few minutes later, as we were turning, the driver failed to notice that we were on the edge of a steep shell hole, and down we went with a crash, so suddenly that one of the gunners was thrown forward on top of me. In order to right the tank the driver jerked open the throttle to its fullest extent. We snorted up the opposite lip of the crater at full speed, but when just about to clamber over the edge the engine stopped. Our nose was pointing heavenwards, a lovely stationary target for the Boche artillery.

A deadly silence ensued.

After the intolerable racket of the past few hours it seemed to us uncanny. Now we could hear the whining of shells, and the vicious crump as they exploded near at hand. Fear entered our hearts; we were inclined at such a steep angle that we found it impossible to crank up the engine again. Every second we expected to get a shell through the top. Almost lying on their sides, the crew strained and heaved at the starting handle, but to no effect.

Our nerves were on edge; there was but one thing left, to put the tank in reverse gear, release the rear brake, and run backwards down the shell hole under our own weight. Back we slid, and happily the engine began to splutter, then, carefully nursing the throttle, the driver changed gear and we climbed out unhurt.

What sweet music was the roar of the engine in our ears now! But the day was not yet over. As I peeped through my flap.

I noticed that the German infantry were forming up some distance away, preparing for an attack. Then my heart bounded with joy, for away on the right I saw seven small whippets, the newest and fastest type of tank, unleashed at last and racing into action. They came on at six to eight miles an hour, heading straight for the Germans, who scattered in all directions, fleeing terror-stricken from this whirlwind of death. The whippets plunged into the midst of them, ran over them, spitting fire into their retreating ranks.

Their work was soon over. Twenty-one men in seven small tanks overran some twelve hundred of the enemy and killed at least four hundred, nipping an attack in the bud. Three of the seven came back, their tracks dripping with blood; the other four were left burning out there in front, and their crews could not hope to be made prisoners after such slaughter. One broke down not far from Cachy, and I saw a man in overalls get out and, with a machine gun under his arm, run to another whippet, which stopped to pick him up.

We continued to cruise to and fro in front of the Gachy switch-line, and presently a fourth German tank appeared, about eight hundred yards away. The left gunner opened fire immediately, and a few minutes later the reply came swift and sharp, three shells hitting the ground alongside of us. Pursuing the same tactics as before, we increased our speed, and then turned, but the Jerry tank had disappeared; there was to be no second duel.

Later on, when turning again, we heard a tremendous crack, and the tank continued to go round in a circle. "What the blazes are you doing?" I roared at the driver in exasperation. He looked at me in bewilderment and made another effort, but still we turned round and round. Peeping out, I saw one caterpillar track doubled high in the air. We had been hit by the Boche artillery at last, two of the track plates being blown clean away!

I decided to quit. The engine stopped. Defiantly we blazed away our last few rounds at the slopes near Villers-Bretonneux, and then crept gingerly out of the tank, the wounded man riding on the back of a comrade.

We were making for the nearest trench when-rat-tat-tat-tat - the air became alive with bullets. We flopped to the ground, waiting breathlessly whilst the bullets threw up the dirt a few feet away. When the shooting ceased we got up again and ran forward By a miracle nothing touched us, and we reached the parapet of a trench. Our faces were black with grime and smoke, and our eyes bloodshot. The astonished infantrymen gazed at us open -mouthed, as if we were apparitions from a ghostly land. "Get your bayonets out of the way," we yelled, and tumbled down into the trench.

It was now almost one o'clock, and we had been in action since 8.30 a.m., but, so intense had been the fighting, so fierce the unexpected duel, that it scarcely seemed half an hour since we had quitted the gas- laden wood.

We stayed in the narrow trench for a couple of hours, and as the enemy made no further attack, and the officer in charge of the infantry no longer required my services, I decided to return to Company Headquarters.

By this time I had procured a stretcher for the wounded man, and climbing over the parapet we made for home. To our great amazement machine guns immediately opened on us from the wood on our right, practically in the rear of the trench we were leaving. We fell to earth automatically Breathless minutes passed. Then I gave the signal to go forward again, and in some mysterious manner we escaped untouched, even by the heavy shelling.

A hundred yards back we met a team of horses wildly dragging an i8-pounder across the open. The youthful officer on horseback addressed me excitedly.

“I say, old man, I've been sent forward to knock out a German tank. Is that the blighter over there ?" He pointed in the direction of my derelict.

“No," I replied, " you are a bit late ; the German tank is already knocked out.”

“What," he interrupted me, "Already knocked out? Good enough I" and without another word he turned, gave a sharp command, and rode swiftly back, the gun team galloping furiously after him.

I felt immensely relieved to think that he had not been sent up earlier in the day, or my tank might have been heavily shelled from the rear! As it was, we all reached Company Headquarters in safety, and handed over the wounded gunner to a field dressing-station.

For his part in the tank duel, my sergeant, a courageous and cool-headed Scot name McKenzie, was awarded a well-earned Military Medal. The official report contains the following interesting details

"Although his eyes were affected by the enemy gas, and his face badly cut by armour-piercing bullets, in spite of his suffering this non-commissioned officer continued to serve his quick-firing gun for four hours, while his own tank, No.4066 was engaged with large enemy tanks, one of which was eventually put out of action. Throughout, this N.C.O., by his conduct and coolness, set a splendid example to all the men in his crew."

A Military Cross was awarded to me.

Cruising in a Tank

2011-01-06T02:56:00.000-08:00

This article from ‘The Great War in a Different Light’ entitled 'Cruising in a Tank' by Max Pemberton was originally published in 'the War Illustrated', 9th December, 1916.

“It is evident that the "tank" has not come to stay. It is here to go on. When it first burst upon the astonished Germans like a dragon upon children from a wood of fables our critics were a little doubtful about its future. "It is experimental," they said. "Famous things have been done, but we do not know how far it will go." Well, it has gone a long way already, and we may say in all moderation that it has but begun.

There have been new things in this war—as perhaps in all wars—but the "tank" was both a new and à humorous thing. When Hannibal introduced the Roman to the elephant there may have been laughter in Carthage, but no historian has recorded it. Gunpowder about the time of Crécy does not appear to have inspired the Harry Tates of the time. The first man in armour may have amused his relatives at home, .and no doubt the small boy of the period had observations to make upon his appearance. For all that, the man in armour is ever historically a gentle knight sans peur et sans reproche. Even throwing back to the East and the coming of the Juggernaut, it has needed a twentieth- century artist to hitch laughter to that singular coach. Yet I suppose the Juggernaut is the true forbear of the "tank.”

Some people will tell you that it all arose from the employment, both by us and the Germans, of the armoured car at the beginning of the war. We put machine-guns upon fine Rolls-Royce chassis, sent them into France and Flanders, and often left them in a few weeks hut rusted wrecks upon a roadside. They were not new, for, oddly enough, in the very earliest days of the motor movement inventors came forward with contraptions of the kind; and so closely did they resemble the machines which fought in Flanders that one must look twice at the picture to discover their lack of modernity.

Deadly Droller of the Somme

For all that, the very failure of the initial armoured car inspired the inventor of the "tank," and his secret was well kept. How many people knew before that famous day of September 15th that in many great factories the ribs and heart, the lungs and the steel bodies of these pachyderms had been hammered and forged during the summer of 1916? Soldiers sometimes learned of it, but wisely held their tongues. It may be that the higher authorities had little expectation of the monsters, and regarded them drolly as gargantuan puppets to scare the Germans. But, however it may have been, and whoever is entitled to the credit of them, a comfortable fleet of the new landships was parked for the battle of September 15th, and with such success that the whole of the world laughed at the story before twenty-four hours had run.

We have the photographs of these drolleries by this time, and the man in the street knows at last what they look like. Sometimes he will say that they are vast hump-backed turtles; others call them toads. They are driven, as we see, by two caterpillar bands, and they have controlling wheels behind which help them to steer.

New Knight of the Old Time

Functionally we must not discuss them, but we know that their crew of eight climb into their bowels through a panel, arid that once inside nothing but a shell of large calibre can; fetch them out. Eyes the monsters have, though vision thereby is—as Sam Weller's—limited. Their speed, they tell us, is as high as ten miles an hour, though frequently slower for obvious reasons. Nothing, as we know stops them. They squat upon trenches and shell the defenders out. Houses come crashing down upon their approach. They .break great trees like sticks; barbed-wire before them is like string at the touch of a locomotive. The captain of the "tank" is a new knight of the old time. He enters the dragon's wood, and should the beast devour him, there is none to hear his groans. His mission is not so much to slay as to prepare for slaughter. The infantry follow him as the Carthaginians followed the elephants more than two thousand years ago.
Let us take the imagined case of such a captain and of his adventure.

It is a night of early autumn, and a drizzling rain is falling. You cannot see your hand before your face, except in those lurid intervals when the star-shells burst like enduring meteors above. Fitfully the searchlights sweep the sodden ground and their aureole is a mighty arc of silver.

Into the Bowels of the Mystery

The boom of cannon thunders everywhere; the far horizon suggests the forked lightning of a summer storm. The nearer field is ever and anon shaken by the crashing explosion of the larger shells. Men are dying in this darkness, but none see them fall. Night hides a thousand horrors. It hides also the British trenches, where the infantry are awake and waiting.'

Meanwhile, the captain of the "tank" and his merry men are busy in their places apart. The oiling of the brute, the replenishment, the loading of munition, the many details of preparation, were done before dark came down. And now the crew climb into the bowels of the mystery as boys disappear through the manhole into a boiler that must be cleaned. They have their instructions, and yet, how difficult it would seem to carry them out! The luminous compass is in the captain's hand, but the void before him is black as Styx. He has to go over yonder and cut the wire of the German first and second and, perchance, of their third line trenches. Behind him, at a proper interval, will follow the infantry, held ready for the night-attack. Well he knows the perils of the way. It is a horrid land of vast pits and craters and roads hacked to pieces—a land covered by the debris of ruined villages and factories laid low, and cemeteries so broken that the long- hidden dead have corne to light again. But tell him this, and he and his men will laugh at you. It is all nothing to the "tank." The very mystery of it delights the boys who hold the castle. No youngsters upon a sand-heap which defies the tide are more merry. "Let her rip!" is the cry, and with the noise of half a dozen Zeppelins she digs her bars into the soft earth and heaves forward on her way.

Its Forward Plunge

"A black night," says the captain, as he stands trying to pierce through that fish-like eye of bullet-proof glass. He sees, in truth, nothing at all ; has no idea what the ground is like over which he is lurching ; can in no case make himself audible to the others because of the row. For all that he stands there, his men at their posts, the guns ready, the " tank " driven everywhere irresistibly. Sometimes at the very beginning there will be a terrible lurch, which throws the whole crew headlong, but is attended by nothing worse than the English of Stratford-le-Bow. "She is over!" you would say—and yet the words would hardly be out of your lips before she has righted herself again. Now it will be a monstrous plunge like that of a bull-nosed tramp into an Atlantic hollow ; again a rearing-up as though she were a thoroughbred horse confronted suddenly by a peace tract on a high road. But the wildest capers are "hardly incidents to the captain and his trained crew. "Cheer-oh!" they will cry, and "Good old girl!"—and they peer more intently into the blackness, and even their shield of armour cannot hide from them the nearer booming of the shells.

So we come to the first line of the German trenches. There is wire before them—a very forest of wire, crossed and tangled—a death-trap for any infantry that should come upon it unawares. To the "tank" it is a little scratching of the back—a light caress such as a patient dog will suffer at the fireside. Those maidens do not know that they have gone through wire at all. There is a great jolt at the trench's edge—a warning cry; then the flashing of lights ; the discovery in the pit below of the white and ghastly faces of men. Well may the Hun cry out in fear. What is this terror that is upon him? Is it of earth or hell? His flares show him the great round dome and the blinking eyes; never has he seen their like. Feverishly he heaves his bombs. They are but pebbles cast at the ramparts of a castle. He swings his machine-guns round and the bullets rain like hail upon the "tank." It does not answer; its laughter is imagined.

Wilder and Wilder still becomes the Boche. He yells in his fright, turns tail and would run, and then—then the "tank" speaks. Its deadly gun flares the trench in a twinkling. Flame vomits from unseen mouths. There is a sauve qui peut, a mad sortie of men— anywhere for safety. The captain of the "tank" gives an order; she climbs laboriously from the pit leaving, it may be, the crushed and mangled bodies which she has cast from her deadly embrace. Again she is a rover. Direction is only got by the compass, but that is well enough. There comes a fearful crash, and for a moment she staggers—a house, maybe, has stopped her, but soon it will be a house no more. She withdraws and charges it. A hail of bricks rains upon her. She crunches the fallen walls between her relentless teeth, and presses on she knows not whither.

Letting Her "Rip"

The wood that should have been impassable is clearly marked upon the map; but maps mean nothing to captains of "tanks." This particular captain drives on and merely cries, "Hold tight!" when the first of the trees is struck. He knows now that he is in the wood and "lets her rip" because of it. She ploughs onward over the stricken trunks, rolling them almost joyously in her jaws—emerging gorged upon the plain and confronting the second line of trenches. Within you hear the bullets raining upon her ; you are shaken when the bombs burst ; you feel her almost lifted when a great shell bursts near by—but confidence remains. "Nothing is going to hurt Crème de Menthe," you say.

Here is the second line at last; we are going to wipe it out as we wiped out the first. The infantry must soon be upon our heels. Dawn is breaking, and the whole of that drear scene revealed. Aurora has not looked down upon anything of this kind since the beginning. All the great plain is now alive with the activities of ten thousand times ten thousand. Infantry leap into the trenches and the Hun leaps out. The white and red and black loom of battle gives an immense circle of smoke for an horizon. Flashes of fire dart from concealed covers; cries come from the very bowels of the earth—and yet, after all, the number of men actually to be seen is small. Only his fellow "beetles" are of interest to the captain of the "tank." He sees them here and there as fabulous things that have come out of their lairs to greet the dawn. One over yonder has been struck by a shell, and lies upon its side. It is a barrier between bombers, who heave their grenades across it. Another has waddled into a trench and there is struggling to get out, while all the time its guns are rattling. A third has broken down, and is surrounded by a host of excited Huns. Now surely they have got it.

Their cries are fiendish as they run right up to it and smash their bombs at its iron ribs. A colonel, flushed to the point of apoplexy, roars for a jack to lift the thing and heave it upon its side. He has caused machine-guns to be thrust at its very forehead, and there to be discharged triumphantly as though this must be the end. We watch the scene and laugh consumedly. Is it possible that Daphne is lying "doggo" with all the cunning of her sex? We soon learn that this is the truth. She has let the Germans cluster thickly about her before she looses off her guns. Suddenly with a cheering rattle she opens fire. The ground around her is strewn with dead before a man can count ten. The Boche flies terror-stricken—what is left of him. He will tell that tale with awe in any dug-out he can find to-night.

The Hun Watchword: "Surrender"

But, if some of our consorts enjoy bad luck, others enjoy the best. Look at that fellow over there by the wood who has been enfilading the enemy's trenches for a long while and is now wondering why the infantry is not there to support him. Disturbed at being alone, he makes a return journey of more than 1,500 yards to discover that his supports have been held up by a group of machine-guns turned upon them from a trench they thought unoccupied.

"We will soon make an end of this," says the "tank," and calmly thrusting itself astride the trench it knocks out one machine-gun after the other until nothing but the bodies about them speak of its recent position. Farther away still, upon the brink of another wood, a white flag is being waved vigorously and there are fearful howls for mercy. These are faint-hearted fellows whom Colossus has driven almost mad with terror. Surrender at any price is their watchword. They climb from the depths and run toward the unpitying horror with hands uplifted. It drives them headlong back to the cages, and they do not hesitate to tell of their gratitude. So at all points of the field the "tank" is making this a famous day. There will not be a dinner-table in London to-night which will not echo the story with laughter.

Like a Pantomime Animal

As for Tommy himself, we know well what he thought of it. "I heard," says one lad, "a sound out of the fog which was like three or four motor-horns rolled into one. Toot, toot, toot ! and the boys came staggering along—all muddy and bloody ; but some of them laughing fit to kill themselves.
"Look out for the Lord Mayor's Show,” sings out one chap, and then through the mist came No. 1 tank—the most comical sight you ever saw in your life. She looked like a pantomime animal, or a walking ship with iron sides moving along, very slow, apparently all on her own and with none of her crew visible. There she was, and groanin' and gruntin' along, pokin' her nose here and there, stoppin' now and then as if she was not sure of the road. The last I saw of her was when she was nosing down a shell-crater like a great big hippopotamus with a crowd of Tommies cheering behind."

It could not be better. We take up Tommy's cheers for the "tank." May its shadow never grow less!”

Lauder and the ANZAC's.

2011-01-05T07:54:00.000-08:00

During 1917 the star of the music hall stage Harry Lauder was touring France with his own style of show for the troops.

In his book “A Minstrel in France.” He describes his first encounters with Australian soldiers.

“But it was not long before the silence of the town was broken by another sound. It was marching men we heard, but they were scuffling with their feet as they came; they had not the rhythmic tread of most of the British troops we had encountered. Nor were these men, when they swung into sight, coming around a pile of ruins, just like any British troops we had seen. I recognized them as once as Australians— Kangaroos, as their mates in other divisions called them—by the way their campaign hats were looped up at one side. These were the first Australian troops I had seen since I had sailed from Sydney, in the early days of the war, nearly three years before. Three years! To think of it—and of what those years had seen!

"Here's a rare chance to give a concert!" I said, and held up my hand to the officer in command.

"Halt!" he cried, and then: "Stand at ease!" I was about to tell him why I had stopped them, and make myself known to them when I saw a grin rippling its way over all those bronzed faces—a grin of recognition. And I saw that the officer knew me, too, even before a loud voice cried out:

"Good old Harry Lauder!"

That was a good Scots voice—even though its owner wore the Australian uniform.

"Would the boys like to hear a concert?" I asked the officer.

"That they would! By all means!" he said. "Glad of the chance! And so'm I! I've heard you just once before—in Sydney, away back in the summer of 1914."

Then the big fellow who had called my name spoke up again.

"Sing us 'Calligan,'" he begged. "Sing us 'Calligan,' Harry! I heard you sing it twenty-three years agone, in Motherwell Toon Hall!"

"Calligan!" The request for that song took me back indeed, through all the years that I have been before the public. It must have been at least twenty-three years since he had heard me sing that song—all of twenty-three years. "Calligan" had been one of the very earliest of my successes on the stage. I had not thought of the song, much less sung it, for years and years. In fact, though I racked my brains, I could not remember the words. And so, much as I should have liked to do so, I could not sing it for him. But if he was disappointed, he took it in good part, and he seemed to like some of the newer songs I had to sing for them as well as he could ever have liked old "Calligan."

I sang for these Kangaroos a song I had not sung before in France, because it seemed to be an especially auspicious time to try it. I wrote it while I was in Australia, with a view, particularly, to pleasing Australian audiences, and so repaying them, in some measure, for the kindly way in which they treated me while I was there. I call it "Australia Is the Land for Me," and this is the way it goes:

There's a land I'd like to tell you all about
It's a land in the far South Sea.
It's a land where the sun shines nearly every day
It's the land for you and me.
It's the land for the man with the big strong arm
It's the land for big hearts, too.
It's a land we'll fight for, everything that's right for
Australia is the real true blue!

Refrain:

It's the land where the sun shines nearly every day
Where the skies are ever blue.
Where the folks are as happy as the day is long
And there's lots of work to do.
Where the soft winds blow and the gum trees grow
As far as the eye can see,
Where the magpie chaffs and the cuckoo-burra laughs
Australia is the land for me!

Those Kangaroos took to that song as a duck takes to water! They raised the chorus with me in a swelling roar as soon as they had heard it once, to learn it, and their voices roared through the ruins like vocal shrapnel. You could hear them whoop "Australia Is the Land for Me!" a mile away. And if anything could have brought down that tottering statue above us it would have been the way they sang. They put body and soul, as well as voice, into that final patriotic declaration of the song.

We had thought—I speak for Hogge and Adam and myself, and not for Godfrey, who did not have to think and guess, but know—we had thought, when we rolled into Albert, that it was a city of the dead, utterly deserted and forlorn. But now, as I went on singing, we found that that idea had been all wrong. For as the Australians whooped up their choruses other soldiers popped into sight. They came pouring from all directions.

I have seen few sights more amazing. They came from cracks and crevices, as it seemed; from under tumbled heaps of ruins, and dropping down from shells of houses where there were certainly no stairs. As I live, before I had finished my audience had been swollen to a great one of two thousand men! When they were all roaring out in a chorus you could scarce hear Johnson's wee piano at all—it sounded only like a feeble tinkle when there was a part for it alone.

Char-a-Bang Blocks Road

2011-01-04T23:12:00.000-08:00

I love this story from the Eastbourne Gazette 22^nd July 1916. You couldn't get away leaving a vehicle today for three hours, although some van drivers might try!

Char-a-Bang Driver Fined

Richard John Noakes, the driver of a motor char-a-bang was summoned for obstructing the roadway in Burlington Road on the 12^th inst., with a char-a-bang he had driven over from Hastings.

Mr. H. H. Coles appeared for the defendant and admitted the offence.

The police evidence was that the vehicle was standing in one position for three hours. The defendant, who had driven a party from Hastings told the constable that he failed to find a garage and thought there would be no harm leaving the vehicle where he did.

Mr. Coles urged in mitigation that it was to a large extent a by-road, in which there was little traffic.

A fine of 10s. was imposed.

The picture illustrates a Char-a-bang from : http://www.charlestownhistory.org.uk/

New Years Eve 1917 - from Edmund Blunden.

2010-12-31T00:04:00.000-08:00

New Years Eve 1917 is vividly described by Edmund Blunden in his wonderful book, ‘Undertones of War’.

He spent Christmas and New Year in the Ypres Salient.

‘Undertones of War’ is one of the finest books written and his personal vibrant account of the war. It is a must read for anyone interested in the war.

“At the moment of midnight, December 31, 1917, I stood with some acquaintances in a camp finely overlooking the whole Ypres battlefield. It was bitterly cold, and the deep snow all round lay frozen. We drank healths, and stared out across the snowy miles to the casual flares, still rising and floating and dropping. Their writing on the night was as the earliest scribbling of children, meaningless; they answered none of the questions with which a watcher’s eyes were painfully wide. Midnight; succession of coloured lights from one point, of white ones from another, bullying salutes of guns in brief bombardment, crackling of machine-guns small on the tingling air; but the sole answer to unspoken but important questions was the line of lights in the same relation to Flanders as at midnight a year before.

All agreed that 1917 had been a sad offender. All observed that 1918 did not look promising at its birth.”

Christmas 1917 - Wilfred Owen,

2010-12-25T01:28:00.000-08:00

Unknowing to him Christmas 1917 would be the last Christmas that Wilfred Owen would spend on this earth. He celebrated it in Scarborough at the Clarence Gardens Hotel.

On 19th December he went up to Edinburgh for the weekend . Returning to Craiglockhart:

“Then I went off to Tyncastle. They were in the act of writing Christmas Letters to me! My address was on the Blackboard. And ‘original’ Christmas Cards were all over the room! I am going to see the Gays this afternoon & may stay with them tomorrow. Am feeling very fit, in spite of the wretched weather & journey. “

Christmas in the Clarence Gardens Hotel was ‘very mopish’, mainly because the Commanding Officer, ‘a terrible old misanthrope in the morning’, held an orderly room for punishment – forbidden in King’s Regulations on Christmas Day – and shouted at everyone in sight.

Christmas 1917 - A Seige Battery in Italy.

2010-12-23T02:57:00.000-08:00

This account of Christmas 1917 comes from the book “With British Guns in Italy A Tribute to Italian Achievement.” By Hugh Dalton.

Ten British Batteries went to Italy in the spring of 1917 and his book is a diary by a Subaltern officer in a Seige battery

“On the 23rd we made a reconnaissance up the mountains to look for positions. We started through Bassano, which the Austrians had begun to shell the day before with long range guns, starting a trickling, pitiful exodus of terrified civilians. Just before reaching Marostica we struck up a valley running northwards past Vallonara. The road soon began to rise more steeply. It was a war road, broad and of splendid surface, one of those many achievements of the Italian Engineers, which entitles them to rank easily first among the engineers of the great European Armies.

Before the war this road had been in parts a mere mule track, in parts non-existent. We went through a number of little Alpine villages, Crosara, Tortima, Fontanelli, Rubbio. We had soon risen more than three thousand feet above the plain, which lay far beneath, spread out gloriously like a richly coloured carpet, green, white and brown, through which ran two broad, twisting, silver threads, the rivers Brenta and Astico. There had been more than a hundred bends in the road up to this point, but the gradient was never uncomfortably steep. Snow lay thick on the higher levels and the pine and fir trees were all snow-crowned. Sometimes the road ran along the edge of rocky gorges, dropping sheer for hundreds of feet below, with a great mountain wall on the other hand rising sheer above us. The air grew perceptibly colder as we mounted higher.

We turned out of view of the plain over undulating snow fields and down a long valley and came out on a small plateau, screened by a gradual ridge from the eyes of the enemy. Here we provisionally chose a Battery position close to a small solitary house, known as Casa Girardi, on the edge of a pine wood. All round Italian guns were firing in the snow. We went on to Col. d'Astiago, which would be our probable O.P. The summit commanded a wonderful view of the high mountains to the northward, Longara and Fior, Columbara and Meletta di Gallio, and the sheer rock face of the Brenta gorge, and the stream far below, and the great mass of the Grappa rising beyond.

As we came down, lorry loads of Italian troops passed us going up, Alpini, Bersaglieri, Arditi and men of the 152nd Infantry Regiment. They cheered us wildly as they passed, waving their caps and crying, "Avanti! Avanti! Viva l'Inghilterra! Viva gli Alleati!" And as the string of lorries turned round and round the spiral curves of the road, now high above us, they were cheering and waving still, until they disappeared from view.

* * * * *

The Battery ate their Christmas dinner at San Martino, though the air had been thick with talk of an immediate move. On this, as on other, occasions the Major made an excellent speech, in the course of which he said: "You will be going very soon into a place where, before this war, no one would have dreamed that Siege Artillery could go. You were the first British Battery to be in action in Italy, and you will probably be the first British Battery to be in action in the Alps. We shall be very uncomfortable, at any rate for a time, but we shall pull through all right, as we always have before. It will be an honour to be proud of, and an experience to remember for the rest of our lives. And I know that whatever happens to us in this coming year, you will all behave as splendidly in the future as you have always done in the past."

The enemy was doing a good deal of night bombing at this period. Treviso and Padua were attacked with great persistency, so much so that the British G.H.Q. decided to move from the latter city to some smaller and more peaceful place. We used to hear the bombing planes coming over nearly every night and explosions more or less distant. They bombed Bassano, Cittadella and Castelfranco, the latter especially because the French had their Headquarters there. But luckily they left San Martino alone, thinking it too small to worry about. There seemed to be no anti-aircraft defences anywhere. But our Air Force soon mitigated the nuisance by raiding their aerodromes, and brought down a number of hostile planes in air fighting.

Our Staff again brought themselves into notice at Christmas by altering our official address from "B.E.F. Italy" to "Italian Expeditionary Force." I heard that the distinguished General, who introduced this reform, estimated that it would hasten victory by several months. But the stupid soldiers and their stupid relatives at home, having got into the habit of using the abbreviation "B.E.F.," shortened the new address to "I.E.F.," and the stupid postal people began to send the letters to India! And then the distinguished General had to issue another order, pointing out that "this abbreviation is unauthorised" and that "this practice must cease."

In the midst of such excitements the New Year began, and the Major was awarded the D.S.O. for work on the Carso. He was as delighted as a child, and I too was very glad. This decoration, even more than most others, has been much too freely dished out during this war among quite undeserving people, who have simply made an art of playing up to their official superiors. The Major, however, had always been something of a thorn in the side of various Headquarters, and seldom hesitated to speak his mind both to, and of, Colonels and Generals and Staff officers generally. For this reason, and also for others, I consider that he deserved a D.S.O. a great deal more than many who received one.”

Christmas 1917 - Royal Berkshire's in Italy.

2010-12-22T02:42:00.000-08:00

This account comes from the book “The War Service of the 4Th Royal Berkshire Regiment” by Charles Robert Mowbray Fraser Cruttwell.

Christmas 1917 found them in Italy and was spent with mush festivity.

“Happy the Battalion which for a while at least in wartime has no history. We had come to Italy expecting at once to be desperately engaged against the victorious invaders. But the Italians, greatly to their credit, had reorganised their broken forces, and, with their left resting on the mountains, had repelled all attempts of the enemy to cross the Piave, swollen with autumn rains. By the end of December the British and French Armies were fully concentrated, and a period of immobility set in, not to be broken for six months. The 48th Division, which formed part of General Haking's 11th Corps, found itself peacefully installed in Army Reserve. Under the clear Italian skies, in the peaceful Venetian plain, moderately well housed and not overworked, their lot was cast in a fair ground. The two halves of the Battalion reunited on 4th December, and finally settled on the 15th December at S. Croce Bigolina, where they remained six weeks. This village is situated just east of the Brenta, about 20 miles north of Padua, where G.H.Q. were established, and a similar distance south of the foothills of the Trentino Alps, where the line ran through the famous plateau of Asiago. Excursions to these hills in small parties for the purpose of reconnaissance formed from time to time a diversion from the ordinary routine of training.

Christmas was celebrated with great festivity. The officers had supplemented the men's rations by a subscription, stores were purchased in Vicenza and Padua, and a cheque of £50 was received from the County Association for the same purpose. Dinners, concerts and suppers were provided for the Companies; the officers were given free use of the house of the Parish Priest, who was entertained by them as the guest of the evening. It was the happiest Christmas which had been spent overseas.

With the New Year winter set in with a hard, bright frost, so keen that all the running streams were frozen. Visits of inspection were paid by General Plumer, the popular Commander-in-Chief, and by General Haking, whose kindliness and geniality in chatting to the men as individuals was heartily welcomed. At this time also the gratifying news was received that the commanding officer had been awarded the C.M.G.

On the 24th January the Battalion left S. Croce amidst general regret. The excellent priest, who had worked with all his will to promote good relations, in a parting message to Colonel Clarke especially commended the honourable and chivalrous relations which had existed between the troops and the women of the neighbourhood.

At Paviola, which was reached after a weary march in a misty thaw over roads reduced to quagmires, the Battalion split up again: B and D Companies, with Headquarters remained in the same area, while Captain Challenor with the remainder moved to the Convent di Praglia, south of Padua, in order to supply working parties to the central school at G.H.Q. Here they remained till the end of February, doing every kind of job, to the complete satisfaction of those concerned. Some worked at the quarries, some at a bayonet-fighting assault course, some at the musketry school, others at the gas school; finding, however, time between their labours to play a number of football matches with neighbouring units.”

Christmas 1917 - 8th Manchester's.

2010-12-17T02:12:00.000-08:00

The 8th Manchester Battalion from their war Diary were in Oblinghem.

Despite being very cold with two inches of snow and a frost, they managed a concert before going back to training on Boxing Day.

DECEMBER 23 1917 - OBLINGHEM
Battalion spent the day in cleaning up. etc. Church Services in the morning for all denominations. Assistant Chaplain General to 1st Army addressed the men at the C.E. service.Weather very cold and frosty.

DECEMBER 24 1917 - OBLINGHEM
Very cold - two inches of snow. Very keen frost.In the afternoon the Funeral of the men killed by bombs on 22/12/17 took place at the BETHUNE Cemetery. Fifty men and all available officers (two per Coy. stayed behind) attended.

DECEMBER 25 1917 - OBLINGHEM
Christmas Day. Each denomination held services, etc. Each Company had a Christmas Dinner in the evening followed by a concert. The P.R.I. provided pork, beer, apples, nuts, raisins, cigars, and vegetables. There was also Christmas pudding and extra vegetables. All the men's dinners were very successful and the men greatly enjoyed themselves.The Sergeants dined in the Company Sergeants Mess. The Officers also dined by companies.The day was very cold and sharp.

DECEMBER 26 1917 - OBLINGHEM
Training carried out at W26 a. Battalion Parade at 8 am. One Coy. on the range. Remainder Physical Drill & Bayonet Fighting, Musketry, Wiring and drill.Afternoon Kit Inspection. Evening a Battalion Concert in a Barn at Battalion Headquarters. Major MOORE left the Battalion for 6 months duty in U.K. Capt E. HORSFALL M.C. assumed duties of 2nd in Command.

DECEMBER 27 1917 - OBLINGHEM
The Battalion was engaged on working parties for the R.E. Motor Lorries came at 8 am (actually came 8.45 am) for the Bn. Very cold.

DECEMBER 28 1917 - OBLINGHEM
The Battalion again engaged on working parties.

DECEMBER 29 1917 - OBLINGHEM
Battalion Training in the morning. Rehearsed for G.O.C. Inspection on the 30th.

DECEMBER 30 1917 - OBLINGHEM
The Battalion marched to AVELETTE (W17 c central) where 1/5th Bn Manchester Rgt. & 127th M.G. Coy. were paraded for the Divisional Commander (Major General SOLLY-FLOOD) Inspection. The General presented ribbons to the winners of decorations (including three Military Medal winners of this Unit (Sgt WHITE, Pte POKE and Pte McCORMACK)). After the General's inspection, speech, and presentation, the troops marched past him.

DECEMBER 31 1917 - OBLINGHEM
A Coy. on Working Party. The other three Companies marched to LOCON in the morning and bathed. B & C Coys. in the afternoon had their box respirators tested. Weather very cold.At night D Coy. had a concert for New Year's Eve.

Christmas 1917 - In Rumania.

2010-12-16T08:37:00.000-08:00

This report comes from the “War Illustrated” by Lord Northcliffe who was a War Correspondent in Rumania.

"Not a word, of course, could be sent to England or to France about the turn events were taking. Censorship at each end took care that no hint of the true state of Russia should reach the peoples who were her Allies.

This has been the bitter lot of the war correspondent all through, to see dangers ahead and not be allowed to warn his countrymen. Just about that time I made the eight days' journey to England and returned after staying only a week, for the purpose of telling responsible men that it was useless to look to Russia for further sustained effort. I even hinted at this in an article which I called "Our War." If only I could have made people understand.

In Rumania, where I was at Christmas 1917, we were muzzled again. I tried in the early autumn to warn England. that disaster threatened our latest ally. The Censor, who was also Minister of Education, said in a tone of wounded pride, "I cannot allow that to be said of my country." Two months later the larger part of his country was in enemy hands.

By Christmas the Rumanian Army had been reduced from twenty-three divisions to six. I had seen the tragedy begin and develop and culminate. There was nothing left to do. Jassy, the temporary capital after the fall of Bukarest, was a detestable little place, very dirty, grotesquely dear. I suggested that I should leave. On December 23rd I got a cable saying "Yes." On Christmas Eve, therefore, I left, in a Red Cross train, which agreed to take me to the frontier.

Next morning, Christmas Day, I woke up in the buffet of the frontier station, Ungeni, rather stiff from sleeping on my trunk and thirsting for coffee, which had all been drunk by earlier risers than I. The Red Cross train had dumped me on to the platform about midnight. There was no train in until 8 a.m. It did not actually start until about eleven, and then it was only by hard talking that I got a place aboard it. I was acting as King's Messenger, and I combined with a French officer and a Rumanian, who were also carrying diplomatic letter-bags, to force the stationmaster to allot us a compartment. There we ate our Christmas meal, pooling the contents of our haversacks.

Christmas Queues a Year Ago

Just six days we took to reach Petrograd, a journey which in ordinary times was finished in forty- eight hours. But delays are sometimes useful. At Moghileff, the Tsar's Headquarters, I learned that the Army leaders had decided to support the Revolution, and that plans were made for changing the autocracy into a constitutional monarchy. In Petrograd, half an hour after I arrived, I heard of Rasputin's removal.

Last Christmas I spent in London, on short leave between returning from the United States and going to the British front. What sticks in my memory most persistently from that period is queues. I had seen the approach of hunger from the first. In Warsaw it was only the poor who had difficulty in getting food. In Petrograd a year later scarcity had just become noticeable. In Rumania at Christmas, 1916, everyone was going short, not excepting the Queen and her children, who would have been ashamed to store up supplies as the German Imperial Family meanly did, while their "subjects" were in sore straits. Now, at last, in 1917, England was feeling the pinch. But measures were soon adopted which made the queues unnecessary.

As I look back over the past four and a half years I see how little of the hardships of war people in this country have had to endure. I shall never forget a Rumanian Minister saying to me plaintively, "How lucky you English are to live on an island !"

"And to have a Navy to protect our island," I added. Without that we should have a very different tale to tell. "

Christmas 1917 - With a Field Battery.

2010-12-14T05:44:00.000-08:00

This account comes from the book “Three years in France with the Guns:Being Episodes in the life of a Field Battery” by C. A. Rose

His Field Battery were still in France, but 1917 Christmas was far more enjoyable than the previous year.

"The next fortnight was spent under most happy conditions, and all ranks had an enjoyable time. As Christmas approached, active preparations were made to excel anything we had ever had before in the way of festivities, and this was possible now that we were out of action. Quarter-Master-Sergeants, puffed out with importance, were to be seen strutting hither and thither, returning with mysterious sacks and parcels, presumably filled with good cheer.

Plucked geese and turkeys appeared in large numbers, suspended from the ceilings of billets, and several large barrels arrived on the scene, and were duly placed under lock and key in the canteen, awaiting the auspicious day. Much competition took place between batteries for the possession of the only two live pigs in the village, which eventually went to the highest bidders, while the remainder procured their joints in the form of pork from Doullens. One of the batteries meanwhile grew so attached to its prospective Christmas fare that it was almost decided to spare his life and adopt him as a mascot. His fate was sealed, however, when one day it was discovered that he had disposed of several parcels of food which had, inadvertently, been placed within his reach by some of the men.

Concerts were arranged, and the village school-room was kindly lent and artistically decorated for these occasions. The weather was all that could be desired now that we were safely lodged in billets, and it was a typical old-fashioned yule-tide, with a plentiful fall of snow followed by hard frost. The little village was in a sheltered hollow, and a small rivulet passed through it on its way down the valley, while the scenery might have been that surrounding any hamlet in the south of England.

An open air service was conducted by the Padre, for the Brigade, on 'Xmas morning, and the rest of the day was given over to sports and concerts, and the climax of enjoyment was reached at night when the men partook of their dinner. Gramaphones were well to the fore, but all kinds of musical instruments took part in the gaiety which followed.

A certain amount of latitude was given the men for a few days after, in order that they might recover from the orgy, for indeed they had never had such a gorge since their arrival in France. All were in excellent spirits, and these were by no means diminished when it became known that our next area was in front of Arras. It was recognised to be an enviable part of the line to be situated in, especially during the winter months. It was also a locality with which we had not as yet made acquaintance, and it was always interesting to visit a new portion of the front, as we disliked being too long in the same surroundings without a change of scene.

The day following New Year, the Division entered on its period of duty in the sector north of Monchy to the vicinity of Gavrelle, with the heights of Vimy, which had fallen into our hands in the previous spring on its left. "

Christmas 1917 - In Amiens, France.

2010-12-13T02:10:00.000-08:00

This account gives a very different account. From the book “An Onlooker in France 1917-1919” William Orpen gives the Head-quarters view of Christmas 1917 in Amiens, France.

"My brother became very popular with those he met in France. Too popular, indeed, with the girls in the hotel at Amiens to please Maude or myself. Maude and I used to complain about it. Maude would say, "William, here you and I have been slaving for months to make ourselves liked by these girls, and your blinking little brother comes along, and cuts us out in a few days. It's disgusting." It was true: Maude, the A.P.M., and I, "le petit Major," took a back seat. We worked hard to prevent it, my brother did nothing: he kept silent, laughed, and won. It was very sad, and we were much upset

Christmas came with much snow and ice. Maude and I went to dinner at Captain MacColl's mess in the Boulevard Belfort. Maude remarked once, "MacColl is the only intelligent Intelligence Officer I know." We had a great dinner, and at 10 p.m. Maude and I went, in a blinding snowstorm, to the police concert. I'll never forget the fug in that place: it reeked of sweat, drink, goose and fags. They were all very happy, these huge men; all singing the saddest songs they could think of, including, of course, "The Long, Long Trail." American police were there also. They had come to Amiens to learn their job. We left late, but we had promised to return to MacColl's mess, so started for there, but after we had fallen in the snow a few times, we gave the idea up and went to bed.

About this time I went to H.Q. Tanks, and painted the General and Hotblack, and had a most interesting time. General Elles was a great chap, full of "go," and a tremendous worker. Hotblack, mild and gentle, full of charm; one could hardly imagine he had all those D.S.O.'s, and wound stripes—Hotblack, who liked to go for a walk and sit down and read poetry. He said it took his mind off devising plans to kill people better than anything else.

Then there was the "Colonel" of the Tanks—"Napoleon," they called him. A great brain he had. Before the war he knew his Chelsea well, and the Café Royal and all the set who went there. And there was a dear young Highlander also, a most gentle, shy youth. He was very happy one day; he had a "topping" time. He was out with the Tanks, and he killed a German dispatch-rider and rode home on his bicycle. "

Christmas 1917 - 2nd Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry.

2010-12-10T01:25:00.000-08:00

This account comes from the book “The Story of the 2/4th Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry” by G. K. Rose.

They spent Christmas 1917 in Billets at Bray. It was a small rest in old dilapidated huts.

“On December 7 the 183rd Brigade relieved the Battalion, which moved back to tents in Havrincourt Wood. It was bitter! Shells and aeroplane bombs made the wood dangerous as well as cold. On the 10th a further tour in the front line commenced This time trenches north-east of Villers Plouich were held. Wiring was strenuously carried out, but save for activity by trench-mortars the enemy lay quiet. The Battalion returned to Havrincourt Wood on December 15 and remained in its frozen tents until the Division was relieved by the 63rd. After one night at Lechelle the Battalion entrained at Ytres and moved back to Christmas rest-billets at Suzanne, near Bray.

Huts, built by the French but vacated more than a year ago and now very dilapidated, formed the accommodation. In them Christmas dinners, to procure which Bennett had proceeded early from the line, were eaten. And O'Meara conducted the Brigade band.
The Battalion's mid-winter respite was brief. On New Year's Eve, 1917, the 2/4th Oxfords quitted the wretched Suzanne huts and marched through Harbonnières to Caix. No 'march past' was necessary or would have been possible, for so slippery was the road that the men had to trail along its untrodden sides as best they could. Old 61st Divisional sign-boards left standing nearly a year ago greeted the return to an area which was familiar to many. The destination should have been Vauvillers, but the inhabitants of that village were stricken with measles. Better billets and freedom from infection compensated for a longer march. At Caix the Battalion was comfortable for a week.

The Division's move from the Bray-Suzanne area to south of the Somme heralded a new relief of the French, whose line was now to be shortened by the amount on its left flank between St. Quentin and La Fère. About January 11 the Battalion found itself once more in Holnon Wood, where a large number of huts and dug-outs had been made by the French since last spring. The front line, now about to be held between Favet and Gricourt, was almost in its old position. The outpost line of nine months ago had crystallised into the usual trench system. Those courteous preliminaries, so much the feature of a French relief, were, on this re-introduction to scenes soon to become so famous—and so tragic—a little marred by an untimely German shell which wounded Weller, who had accompanied the Colonel to see the new line.

Christmas 1917 - with the 4th Field Ambulance, A.I.F.

2010-12-08T03:22:00.000-08:00

Private William Dalton Lycett, 2063, of the 4th Field Ambulance A.I.F. enlisted on 12th September 1914, he embarked on the 22nd December 1914 at Melbourne on the H.M.A.T. “Berrima”.

This extract is from his diary which can be found online at Anzacs.net: - and describes his 1917 Christmas where unfortunately he was ill and stuck down with the ‘runs’.

Sunday 23rd December, 1917

Up at 7 a.m. and at work 8 a.m., heavy frost and very cold. Took out two lead plugs. Half day off this afternoon, too cold to go out, sat shivering in hut, could not get warm. Fritz plane bombing 6.30 p.m. Into bed 9 p.m.

Monday 24th December, 1917

Up at 7 a.m. and at work 8 a.m. Wet frost this morning and cold. Re-tapped a safety plug hole in Huntslett. Sleet and rain inclined to fall. Refitted lead plug. Number of men pretty drunk this afternoon so not much work doing. Had diarrhoea today pretty bad but little better tonight. Wrote letter home tonight and turned into bed 9 p.m.

Tuesday 25th December, 1917

Up at 7 a.m. and at work 8 a.m. Feel sick today so knocked off at 10 a.m., got diarrhoea bad. Half holiday this afternoon, big no. of men in liquor. Will Hill had tea with us. Spent most of day in my bunk. Feel very rotten tonight, turned in for night at 6.30 p.m. First real fall of snow was on Xmas day.

Wednesday 26th December, 1917

Up at 7 a.m. and went on sick parade at 9 a.m., snowing hard and strong wind. Back at 11 a.m. Had nothing only boiled milk all day. Dad has to go away tomorrow to the C.C.S. on his way to the base and perhaps to Aust. Feel little better tonight. Wrote letter to Dais. and turned into bed 8.30 p.m.

Thursday 27th December, 1917

Up at 7 a.m., snow still on ground and pretty cold. This is third day have had nothing to eat, just little boiled milk from farm. Went on sick parade. Dad left at 11 a.m. for the base, hope he gets back to Aust. Spent day reading, news of first British reprisal raid on Mannheim. Guns up forward bursting out in spasms. Wrote two letters home and in bed 8 p.m.

Friday 28th December, 1917

Up at 7 a.m., feel better this morning. Very keen and cold, ground still covered with snow. Went on sick parade and back at 11 a.m. Fritz planes over about 11.30 a.m., soon driven off. Spent afternoon reading, started to blow very strong this evening, had little bread and margarine for first time in four days. In bed 9 p.m.

Saturday 29th December, 1917

Up at 7 a.m., guns been booming heavily all night, snowed a little. Received word this morning to go on leave at midnight tonight. Went to doctors at 9 a.m. for chat (vermin) and scaby free ticket. Packed up my gear this afternoon and got ready. After tea cleaned myself thoroughly and set out for Popperinghe station at 10.30 p.m.

Sunday 30th December, 1917

Caught train 1.30 a.m. and arrived at Boulogne at 11.30 a.m., went on boat and crossed to Folkestones, then to London by 8.30 p.m., reported at Hdqtrs and caught train 11 p.m. for Middlesboro.

Monday 31st December, 1917

Arrived at Middlesbro' station at 6.30 a.m. and went to Uncle Dan's, had breakfast then went out for hair cut and bath before dinner. Pretty tired so spent a quiet afternoon indoors and after tea Uncle Dan went round with me to Uncle Charlie's and we spent a pleasant and quiet evening, getting home and to bed at 11 p.m.

Christmas 1917 - 6th Battalion, The Durham Light Infantry.

2010-12-07T03:42:00.000-08:00

The next account comes from “The Story of the 6th Battalion, The Durham Light Infantry - France, April 1915-November 1918.”

They moved in December from the front line on Passchendaele Ridge, (a series of shell holes) to Divisional reserve, where they spent Christmas. Christmas Dinner was on Boxing Day with all the traditional trimmings.

During the first week in December the visit of officers to the line disclosed the new sector to be taken over, which included Passchendaele village, recently captured by the Canadians. A few days later the Battalion entrained at Watten for Brandhoek, where it spent a short time in a hut camp in Divisional reserve. From there it marched up through Ypres to a camp just west of Potijze Wood, the scene of its first action in April, 1915. After two days there a further move was made to the forward area, into a number of shelters known as the Seine area. The next step was to the front line, which consisted of a series of shell hole positions on the Passchendaele Ridge. Not only were these uncomfortably wet, but they were very difficult to locate in the dark, and many will remember the trouble experienced in selecting the routes from the heap of debris of what had once been the village church. Battalion Headquarters were in a German pill-box known as Hamburg. Four days were spent in the front line, and the Battalion then went to Divisional reserve again at Brandhoek.

After another tour in the line, it again moved to Brandhoek on Christmas Day, and there completed the 24 days which entitled it to a similar period of rest and training. The whole tour had been without any exciting incidents, and casualties were small, in spite of persistent shelling which made the duck-board tracks (H, K, R.A.M.C., tracks, etc.) very unpleasant.

The Christmas at Brandhoek was thoroughly enjoyed by the men. On Boxing Day a Christmas dinner was provided, consisting of turkeys, puddings, port wine, beer, etc., the orderly work being done by the N.C.O.'s, and the carving by the officers. A visit was paid to the Battalion here by the Corps Commander (Lieut-Gen. Sir Aylmer Hunter-Weston), who congratulated the men on their appearance and bearing immediately after an uncomfortable trench tour.

From Brandhoek the Battalion moved by 'bus to the Steenvoorde area, where it was accommodated in very scattered billets for about ten days, during which it was training and resting. It then entrained at Eecke for Wizernes, near St. Omer, and marched to billets at Acquin. A stay of about a fortnight there was occupied in the use of an exceptionally good training area. A return was then made to the former front line, and detraining again at Brandhoek, the Battalion went this time to another hut camp known as Toronto. A similar system of reliefs as before was carried out and the tour was divided up into short periods at Brandhoek, St. Jean, and the Passchendaele sector. The line was somewhat quieter than on the previous occasion. The route to and from the trenches was now a new track called Judah track, a stretch of about three miles, which reflected great credit on the Pioneer Battalions. From Brandhoek to St. Jean and the return journeys were usually done by 'bus or light railway. The tour ended with a night in the cellars in the town of Ypres, and from there the Battalion marched to Ypres station and entrained to Wizernes again, and so to billets in St. Martin-au-Laert, a suburb of St. Omer. These billets were very good, and the advantage of being near a town was fully appreciated. The story of the Battalion would not be complete without a reference to the band, which, under the direction of Sergt. T.O. Hann, M.M., had reached a very high standard, and was second to none in the Division. With the buglers, whose smart appearance attracted much attention, a selection of music was played in the town daily at "Retreat." At this time, also, the Battalion concert party, the "Red Diamonds," trained by Capt. Cardew and Capt. Lyon, provided several very good entertainments.

Christmas 1917 - The Sherwood Foresters.

2010-12-06T05:40:00.000-08:00

This account of Christmas 1917 comes from the book “The Sherwood Foresters in the Great War 1914 – 1919, History of the 1/8th Battalion.” By W.C.C. Weetman

The Sherwwod Foresters struck it lucky at Christmas and were out of the front line, with plenty of food and drink.

"Our second period in the St. Elie Left sub-sector lasted until the middle of January, 1918. We continued the old system of six days in the line, six days in Brigade support at Philosophe, and after a further six days in the line the same period in Divisional reserve at Verquin. The weather was now getting very bad, and as few troops as possible were kept on duty in the front line, which as usual was held by posts at considerable intervals, the defence of the line being assured by the activity of patrols which were out in No Man's Land much of the night, and did some excellent work, on several occasions getting right inside the enemy lines.

We were lucky in being out of the line for Christmas, which was spent at Verquin with much feasting and merriment. There seemed to be no shortage of good things, and we feel sure that the inhabitants of Verquin will not think that at any rate at Christmas time we take our pleasures seriously. Of course tales of all kinds are told of our doings, and though perhaps some of them may have been exaggerated, there is no doubt we did ourselves proud. It was a memorable sight to see the four Company Commanders slogging back to the trenches on December 28th, to relieve the 7th Battalion in the line. Jack White in temporary command of A, John Turner of B, Geary of C, and "Simmy" of D. Passing Brigade Headquarters at Philosophe they wore a look that seemed to say "another little drink wouldn't do us any harm," and after a refresher there, they went on looking as if they didn't care two straws if the Boche attacked or not. As a matter of fact on January 2nd, 1918, the enemy did actually attempt a raid on our front, but thanks mainly to much careful planning by Simonet, and supervision by Major Hacking, who was in temporary command of the Battalion; the raid was successfully beaten off. The first intimation of anything of the kind being likely to happen, was a message received from Col. Vann of the 6th Battalion, on our right, at 3.30 p.m. on that day stating that an obvious gap had been cut by the enemy in their wire opposite "Breslau Sap," on the 6th Battalion front, and asking for co-operation in the event of a raid at that point. Steps were accordingly taken to cover the front between Breslau and Hairpin Craters with Lewis gun fire, whilst trench mortar co-operation was also arranged, and all Companies warned to be particularly alert. The raid was attempted as anticipated, the intention apparently being to surround Hairpin Crater post. The barrage began at 9.30 p.m. with heavy trench mortars and whizz-bangs, opening South of Breslau and gradually extending North. A barrage was also put down on the front of the Battalion on our left. The heaviest bombardment was on Hairpin Craters. Lewis gun fire was at once opened by us along the whole of the front, from Breslau to Border Redoubt. Various groups of the enemy attempted to push through to our posts when their barrage lifted, but it was evident that they had lost direction, and got very disorganized, and we had no difficulty in driving them off with rifle and Lewis gun fire and bombs, and eventually things quietened down. Our casualties were only one Officer, and seven other ranks wounded, all slight, whilst we captured two unwounded prisoners, and a third was brought in dead. For his excellent preliminary arrangements, and for his wise judgment and control of the situation during the attack, Capt. Simonet was awarded the M.C. Great gallantry was shewn on the same occasion by Sergt. W. H. Martin, L.-Sergt. Turner, and Pvte. Wildsmith, and good work was also done by L.-Corpl. Rowley, and Pvte. Crouch.

During our stay in the St. Elie sector, much more use was made than on any previous occasion of trench light railway and tram systems. At first rations and stores were brought up nightly by our own Transport to the "Mansion House" at Vermelles, and there transferred to small trench trams, which were taken up to forward dumps by pushing parties found by the Battalion. As we were so short of men, however, mules were requisitioned for this purpose. Later on, stores were brought up all the way from Sailly-Labourse on the light railway. The larger trucks on this railway were also available on one or two occasions to take the Battalion on relief to Sailly, a ride which was much appreciated, and saved some part, at any rate, of the weary tramp back to billets.

The chief recreation in these days was as usual football. A "league" was formed, including practically every Unit in the Division. So that the notices of matches might not give direct evidence of our identity, each Unit was allotted a code name. We rejoiced in the name of "County," whilst teams we played included those having such aristocratic names as "Dragons," "Miners," "Tigers," "Wyverns," and "Maconochies." We were not very fortunate and occupied a somewhat humble position in the final league table. "

Christmas 1917 - 5th Leicestershire's

2010-12-03T03:32:00.000-08:00

The next account comes from the excellent book “The Fifth Leicestershire (A Record Of The 1/5th Battalion The Leicestershire Regiment T.F., During The War, 1914-1919)by J.D. Hills.”

Our Christmas "rest" was spent in Beuvry, and here we arrived on the 20th of December at the end of our second tour. Our first duty was to inspect a large draft of 140 N.C.O.'s and men who had come to us while we had been in the line. Most of them came from the 11th (Pioneer) Battalion of the Regiment, and were men of good physique, very well trained, and excellent alike at drill, work, games, and in the line. During the whole time we were in France we never had a better draft than this. Meanwhile, although the enemy were apparently willing to allow us a Christmas rest, and kindly refrained from bombarding our billets, the higher command were not so gracious, and we had much work to do. Ever since the defection of Russia, the Staff had realized the possibility of a German offensive on a large scale, and every effort was being made to organize our defences. With this object, a new "village line" had been built, including Cambrin,Annequin, Vermelles and other villages, and this had now to be wired. Accordingly, on the night of the 22nd/23rd December, the whole Battalion marched up to this line by parties, and worked hard for several hours putting out a "double apron fence." So well had Major Zeller and his Engineers organized the work, and so well did the Battalion work, mainly thanks to the newly arrived Pioneers who were experts, that we did an incredible amount during the night, and received the congratulations of the G.O.C. on our efforts.

The actual Christmas festivities had to be held on Christmas Eve, as we were due to go into trenches on the morning of Boxing Day. Everything combined to make the day a great success. Plum puddings arrived from England, large pigs, which Major Burnett had been leading about on a string for some days, were turned into the most delicious pork, and there was plenty of beer. The Serjeants' Mess also had a very lively dinner in the evening, though one Company Quarter Master Serjeant spent much of his time dragging the Beuvry river for his Company Serjeant Major whom he had lost. This Warrant Officer was eventually discovered asleep in an old sentry box, with his false teeth clenched in his hand. The Germans, in spite of their boast, dropped in a message from an aeroplane, "to eat their Christmas dinners in Béthune," caused no disturbance, and did not show the slightest sign of being offensive. Christmas, 1917, was unique in one respect. We produced a Battalion Christmas Card for the first and last time during the war. It contained a picture, drawn by 2nd Lieut. Shilton, of a big-footed Englishman standing on a slag-heap, from which a Hun was flying as though kicked. It was very popular.

Boxing Day, for us "Relief Day," was bitterly cold, and an occasional blizzard made getting into trenches all the more difficult. The ground was covered with snow, and each night there was a bright moon, so that the snipers of both sides were on the watch day and night for the slightest movement. Our snipers claimed to hit several of the enemy during the tour, but we, too, had our losses. First, F. Eastwood, M.M., of "C" Company, a soldier who had scarcely missed a day since the beginning, was shot through the head and killed outside "C" Company Headquarters in Northampton trench. A few nights later, on the 30th December, Lieut. P. Measures, commanding "B" Company, was sniped while fixing a sniper's post in the front line, and also killed instantly. He had not been with us very long, but both he and Lieut. Watherston had proved themselves very keen subaltern officers, and both had been praised by the General for their work on patrol. Lieut. T.H. Ball temporarily took command of "B" Company.

Whenever work was possible—it was often too light even at night—we worked at two new trenches, "Cardiff" and "Currin," connecting Bart's Alley with Savile tunnel, as an alternative to Savile Row. These had been dug by the Monmouthshires, and now had to be wired, and here, also, we suffered at the hands of a German sniper. Serjeant W.E. Cave, a very fine N.C.O. of "A" Company, was killed with a wiring party, and one or two others had narrow escapes. The New Year, 1918, was ushered in with several bursts of machine gun fire at midnight, but nothing of importance occurred.

Christmas 1917 - 8th Battalion.

2010-12-01T22:17:00.000-08:00

The 8th Battalion A.I.F. spent the festive season in Belgium in the front line trenches.

Ron Austin in 'Cobbers in Khaki' paints the picture:-

"Christmas Day 1917, was spent in the trenches, with the only sign of festivity being the issue of plum puddings. Three nights later a white clad German patrol of the 153^rd IR, reached an outlying post where it met an 8^th Battalion patrol similarly clad in white overalls. The enemy party was scattered by MG fire from another of the battalion posts and suffered some casualties, but managed to capture Lance Corporal Robert Weekes. The bright moonlight seriously inhibited a search for Weekes or any other German casualties. .The 8^th Battalion was relieved by the 2^nd Battalion at the end of December, with B and C companies being billeted at Lindenhoek, A and D Companies at Irish House and BHQ at Kemmel.

1917 had seen the 8^th Battalion engage in a series of major and minor actions culminating in the two major advances at the Ypres salient, and although the men were still in high spirits, the rain, cold and mud had left the men ‘very stale’, particularly after there last sixteen days in the trenches."

Christmas 1917 - Christmas At The Front

2010-12-01T05:35:00.000-08:00

The last few years I posted many articles on the Christmas of the First World War, starting 25th December 1914 and going on to 1916. This year we reach 1917 which would become the war’s final Christmas

A lot had happened during 1917, the American’s were now mobilized and the year ended with the horrendous ‘Third Battle of Ypres – Passchendaele’.

We start with - CHRISTMAS AT THE FRONT

This article that appeared in the Times on Boxing Day 1917.

CHRISTMAS AT THE FRONT

War Correspondents

On Christmas Eve the frost, which had lasted just a week, broke and a rapid thaw set in. The result was that the sun rose this morning on a ‘piebald’ landscape, with the remaining snow patches dully reflecting the rosy brilliance from their slushy face.

It is my impression that there that there is less of the spirit of Christmas tide in the trenches this year than on the three previous Christmas Days our troops have spent in France. I do not suggest that there is any flagging of cheerfulness. But it seems to me that the men have a consciousness that the present is no fitting time for demonstrative festivity. Not that this has blunted their appetites for the very excellent fare provided for them. The Christmas dinner of the troops this year has been supplemented for the first time, by plum pudding as a regular ration. Heretofore private generosity has made ample provision in this direction. But today plum pudding was a regular issue, and I am assured by those who sampled it that it was excellent.

There has been a good deal of artillery activity on both sides during the past 24 hours, which served as a grim reminder that there was to be no attempt at fraternizing. The Germans are manifesting great curiosity about what we may be doing in various parts of the line, and frequently attempt to raid our trenches, but with a very small measure of success. Probably they have not quite recovered from the shock of the great tank surprise of November 19 last.

The Unborn by Edward Dyson

2010-07-01T01:30:00.000-07:00

On the 94th Aniversary of the opening of the battle of the Somme.

Here is a poem by the Australian Edward Dyson.

THE UNBORN

I see grim War, a bestial thing,
with swinish tusks to tear;
Upon his back the vampires cling,
Thin vipers twine among his hair,
The tiger's greed is in his jowl,
His eye is red with bloody tears,
And every obscene beast and fowl
From out his leprous visage leers.
In glowing pride fell fiends arise,
And, trampled, God the Father lies.

Not God alone the Demon slays;
The hills that swell to Heaven drip
With ooze of murdered men; for days
The dead drift with the drifting ship,
And far as eye may see the plain
Is cumbered deep with slaughtered ones,
Contorted to the shape of pain,
Dissolving 'neath the callous suns,
And driven in his foetid breath
Still ply the harvesters of Death.

He sits astride an engine dread,
And at his touch the awful ball
Across the quaking world is sped,
I see a million creatures fall.
Beyond the soldiers on the hill,
The mother by her basinet.
The bolt its mission must fulfil,
And in the years that are not yet
Creation by the blow is shorn
Of dimpled hosts of babes unborn!

Tragedy of the War by G.P. Cuttriss and J.W. Hood.

2010-03-04T02:40:00.000-08:00

This poem was written by G.P. Cuttriss and J.W. Hood and comes from the nook “Over the Top With the Third Australian Division”.

The book contains an illustration which adds to the poem.

TRAGEDY OF THE WAR

From strife they now march back to smiling farms,
Recoiling from the crash and smoke and roar.
Meadows, all verdant, faerie fields, whose charms
Serve for a space to make them as before.
And peaceful pictures of the days of yore,
With thrilling thoughts of those they left behind
Flash thro' the mental vision, and a score
Of letters brightly occupy the mind
Without a care, or woe, or doubt of any kind.

Anon they journey from this place of rest
By night or early dawn back to the brink
Of that volcanic crater where the best
Sit tight, scarce caring if they swim or sink.
Silent they bear it, as they quietly think
The end approaching to their life at last,
And face each other, with a smile or wink
Outwardly stoic, tho' their hearts beat fast
As, thumping down, great shells come racing in and past.

Erase such thoughts from out the o'er-wrought brain,
Think rather of this freshness, and the sight
Of nature in her harvest dress, refrain
From plunging into the eternal night.
Such contrasts seem the only choice by right
Of those who battle for the joy of life.
Out on this troubled spot where Armies fight,
And peasants labour just behind such strife
Shorthandedly, unhelped, save by a child or wife.

So come with me down hedgerows, down the glades,
And thro' the cosy glens, till far away
We come unto a hill-crest--lights and shades,
Bright coloured landscapes far below us lay,
Blue mists and fields of yellow corn and hay,
In rows like soldiers, now the tired eyes see,
And poplars guard the distant dim roadway,
Whilst near the wind sighs thro' the acorn-tree,
Till one feels hushed, serene, contented, almost free.

And here, tucked back behind a leafy lane,
Low in a pocket of some sheltered ground,
An unpretentious farm, so snug and plain,
An invitation in itself; when found,
Only a whining howl like dingoes' sound,
Reminds one that there is a war near by.
The tools of peace see littered here around,
Weapons by which men learn to live, not die:
A plough, a drill, and there a binder standing nigh.

'_Bon jour, m'sieurs_,' a little hunchback cries;
A wizened, twisted human form divine;
She flashed a look of welcome from her eyes,
From which the soul of ages seem to shine.
'_Entrez_,' she welcomed, and her face looked fine,
As proudly bustling o'er her clean stone floor
She bade us linger, eat, and drink her wine.
Refreshed with food and drink, we loiter more
Within such cool retreat, delaying '_Au revoir_.'

And soon the human tragedy in course
Of progress thro' that little home becomes
Clear to the senses, and to us much worse
Compared with our Australia's peaceful homes.
For, oh, the pity, as one's vision roams
From there to here, and back on wings again;
A rush of feeling and emotion comes,
Whilst hearing this contorted piece of pain,
The stirring times of all their troubled lives explain.

For she to whom Fate seemed at first unkind,
Now lives an angel in a higher sphere.
This pained and twisted cripple seemed to find
Pleasure in living for her kinsfolk dear.
Hard work an honour, in her duty clear
To wives of brothers in the fighting line;
Women and children gather round her here;
For round their hearts her nature did entwine,
Her beaming face proclaimed 'See, Anglaise, they are mine.'

And all around these chubby children play,
Dirty, but happy, fed and cared for well,
With ne'er a troubled thought the live-long day,
For they know little of adjacent hell.
The hunchback warns us we are not to tell
About the 'Allemagne' whilst they are nigh,
Since all have known him in the past too well.
'Let them forget it as we often try.
_C'est la guerre_,' she said, and quickly brushed her eye.

And then she whispers, as we loiter near,
The story of their young lives years ago,
When, snatched from cradles, with a frenzied fear,
Their mothers hurried on before the foe;
Their men defend and screen them as they go,
And fight a rearguard action with the brute,
Who cares not for their agony or woe,
But only for the blood-streams and the loot.
And now she sees us watching one poor little mute:
'Ah! this one?' and she pointed to the dot
Who sat alone, and smiled to vacant space,
'Waits for her mother; very hard her lot;
For years now has she waited in her place.
"Where is her mother?" I can never trace
Somewhere beyond across "the no man's way."
Some day, perhaps,' she cried, with yearning face.
The tiny mite, tho' happy, could not play,
Except with little restless hands all day.

'Sometimes the shell come here right by,' she said.
'The other day, when I what you call wash,
A big boom quickly pass above my head,
And fall out in the field with a big crash.
But, oh, those children, they so very rash,
They know so little of the dreadful doom.
I come in time to save a fearful crash,
And catch them with the nose-cap in this room--
The nose-cap, unexhausted, from the boom.'

And then we start, inclined to say farewell.
We try to brighten up the little maid
Who sits alone, perhaps in faerie dell;
For she doth seem not in the least afraid.
She, smiling, takes the pennies which we lay
Within her hands, tho' distant is her smile;
And for a space she seemed with them to play,
But drops them ere we're scarcely gone, awhile
We wander back, half dumb, hard, thinking for a mile.

G.P. CUTTRISS and J.W. HOOD.

She, smiling, takes the pennies which we lay, Within her hands, tho' distant is her smile;

Bread By Ernst Lissauer.

2010-03-02T03:58:00.000-08:00

This interesting poem appeared in New York Times in June, 1915. With this explanation:

Ernst Lissauer, the author of the famous "Song of Hate Against England" has written a second poem entitled "Bread," and directed against the British policy of cutting off Germany's food supply. The poem was published in the Bonner Zeitung and reprinted in the Frankfurter Zeitung of March 26, 1915. Following is a translation:

With arms they cannot overpower us,
With hunger they would fain devour us;
Foe beside foe in an iron ring.
Has want crossed our borders, or hunger, or dearth?
Listen: I chant the tidings of Spring:
Our soil is our ally in this great thing;
Already new bread is growing in the earth.

ADMONITION:

Save the food and guard and hoard!
Bread is a sword.

PRAYER:

The peasants have sown the seed again.
Now gather and pray the prayer of the grain:
Earth of our land,
With arms they cannot overpower us,
With hunger they would fain devour us,
Arise thou in thy harvest wrath!
Thick grow thy grass, rich the reaper's path!
Dearest soil of earth
Our prayer hear:
Show them of little worth,
Shame them with blade and ear.

A Cross in Flanders by G. Rostrevor Hamilton.

2010-03-01T05:42:00.000-08:00

A CROSS IN FLANDERS by G. Rostrevor Hamilton

In the face of death, they say, he joked--he had no fear;
His comrades, when they laid him in a Flanders grave,
Wrote on a rough-hewn cross--a Calvary stood near--
"Without a fear he gave

"His life, cheering his men, with laughter on his lips."
So wrote they, mourning him. Yet was there only one
Who fully understood his laughter, his gay quips,
One only, she alone--

She who, not so long since, when love was new--confest,
Herself toyed with light laughter while her eyes were dim,
And jested, while with reverence despite her jest
She worshipped God and him.

She knew--O Love, O Death!--his soul had been at grips
With the most solemn things. For _she_, was _she_ not dear?
Yes, he was brave, most brave, with laughter on his lips,
The braver for his fear!

(Sir George Rostrevor Hamilton (1888 - 1967) was an English poet and critic. He worked as a civil servant: his experience as an inspector of taxes meaning he could help out his friend Walter de la Mare. He was knighted in 1951.

He had a classical education at the University of Oxford, and later compiled anthologies of Latin and Greek verse for Nonesuch Press. He was a published war poet of World War One, known for the rather conventional and sentimental A Cross in Flanders.

His book The Tell-Tale Article on the Auden Group made an impact by the expedient of counting the proportion of definite articles in Auden's verse, remarking that it was much higher than in older styles. In general he was a steady conservative in matters of literature.

He was a director of the Poetry Book Society, and well connected as a correspondent of many literary figures; including E. R. Eddison and Owen Barfield.).

The Troop Went Through by Edward Dyson

2010-02-26T00:57:00.000-08:00

This is another excellent poem by Edward Dyson from “Hello Soldier”.

THE TROOP WENT THROUGH

I HEARD this day, as I may no more,
The world's heart throb at my workshop door.
The sun was keen, and the day was still;
The township drowsed in, a haze of heat.
A stir far off on the sleepy hill,
The measured beat of their buoyant feet,
And the lilt and thrum
Of a little drum,
The song they sang in a cadence low,
The piping note of a piccolo.

The township woke, and the doors flew wide;
The women trotted their boys beside.
Across the bridge on a single heel
The soldiers came in a golden glow,
With throb of song and the chink of steel,
The gallant crow of the piccolo.
Good and brown they were,
And their arms swung bare.
Their fine young faces revived in me
A boyhood's vision of chivalry.

The lean, hard regiment tramping down,
Bushies, miners and boys from town.
From 'mid the watchers the road along
One fell in line with the khaki men.
He took the stride, and he caught their song,
And Steve went then, and Meneer, and Ben,
Long Dave McCree,
And the Weavers three,
All whisked away by the "Come! Come! Come!"
The lusty surge of the vaunting drum.

I swore a prayer for each soldier lad.
He was the son that might have had;
The tall, bold boy who was never mine,
All brave with dust that the eyes laughed through,
His shoulders square, and his chin in line,
Was marching too with the gallant few.
Passed the muffled beat
Of their swanking feet,
The swell of drum, the exulting crow,
The wild-bird note of the piccolo.

They dipped away in the listless trees;
A mother wept on her beaded knees
For sons gone out to the long war's end;
But more than mother or man wept I
Who had no son in the world to send.
The hour lagged by, and drifting high
Came the fitful hum
Of the little drum,
And faint, but still with an ardent flow,
The pibroch, call of the piccolo.

British Troops at the Suez Canal.

2010-02-09T04:25:00.000-08:00

This article published in the Illustrated War News, Number 21, Dec. 30, shows the reader the British advanced camps on the eastern side of the Suez Canal.

The canal was attacked by Turkish troops at the battle of Ismalia in February 1915.

READY FOR THE TURKISH ARMY SENT "TO DELIVER EGYPT"! A BRITISH ENTRENCHED CAMP ON THE SUEZ CANAL.

It was stated on December 23 that the "Frankfürter Zeitung" had learned from Constantinople that the Turkish Army sent "to deliver Egypt" began its forward march to the Suez Canal on the 21st. The Canal is securely held along its hundred miles of length. Our illustration shows one of the several British advanced-camps on the eastern bank (the Asiatic or Sinaitic Peninsula side), placed there to prevent a surprise attack. In all cases, our positions are well fortified, and, with the desert in front, present a formidable barrier to the enemy. In support of the entrenched camps, movable pontoon-bridges have been constructed at certain points. These, with the permanent railway along the western bank, will enable reinforcements to be thrown across the waterways speedily.

The Ration Fatigue.

2010-02-02T02:24:00.000-08:00

This excellent little article comes from the great book “Bullets & Billets" By Bruce Bairnsfather.

Here he describes the trenches in Belgium and at the undesirable job of being on a ‘Ration Party’.

THAT RATION FATIGUE

They seemed to me long, dark, dismal days, those days spent in the Douve trenches; longer, darker and more dismal than the Plugstreet ones. Night after night I crossed the dreary mud flat, passed the same old wretched farms, and went on with the same old trench routine. We all considered the trenches a pretty rotten outfit; but every one was fully prepared to accept far rottener things than that. There was never the least sign of flagging determination in any man there, and I am sure you could say the same of the whole front.

And, really, some jobs on some nights wanted a lot of beating for undesirability. Take the ration party's job, for instance. Think of the rottenest, wettest, windiest winter's night you can remember, and add to it this bleak, muddy, war-worn plain with its ruined farms and shell-torn lonely road. Then think of men, leaving the trenches at dusk, going back about a mile and a half, and bringing sundry large and heavy boxes up to the trenches, pausing now and again for a rest, and ignoring the intermittent crackling of rifle fire in the darkness, and the sharp "phit" of bullets hitting the mud all around. Think of that as your portion each night and every night. When you have finished this job, the rest you get consists of coiling yourself up in a damp dug-out. Night after night, week after week, month after month, this job is done by thousands.

As one sits in a brilliantly illuminated, comfortable, warm theatre, having just come from a cosy and luxurious restaurant, just think of some poor devil half-way along those corduroy boards struggling with a crate of biscuits; the ration "dump" behind, the trenches on in front. When he has finished he will step down into the muddy slush of a trench, and take his place with the rest, who, if need be, will go on doing that job for another ten years, without thinking of an alternative. The Germans made a vast mistake when they thought they had gauged the English temperament.

Lowthers Own in Camp at Cooden.

2010-02-01T04:32:00.000-08:00

This is one of my favourite articles published in November 1914 in the Eastbourne Gazette.

Under the title “Lowthers Own” in camp at Cooden, it really captures the feeling of the great adventure in 1914. All lads joining up together and no one ‘missing out’.

The chap putting his head out of the tent with the caption “Sorry I joined? Don’t think” is priceless.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Defending the East Coast.

2010-01-26T02:18:00.000-08:00

The Illustrated War News, Number 21, Dec. 30, 1914 carried this photograph and story of the cliff defences that were put in place against a threatened invasion by the Kaiser’s army.

The Home Defence Force was a popular outlet for those men unable to join the regular army.

DEFENDING OUR EAST COAST FROM INVADERS: ENTRENCHMENTS OF THE TYPE USED AT THE FRONT, ON THE CLIFFS.

The entrenchment of the East Coast is not only a wise precaution, but the work of digging and fitting up the trenches is excellent practice for the troops who may later on be called upon to do similar work abroad. It will be seen from our photographs that the trenches on the East Coast are constructed on the latest pattern as developed in the war, with deep passage-ways, roofed sections, traverses, and zigzags to avoid an enfilading fire from the flank. They are, indeed, to judge by the photograph, remarkably similar to those constructed at the front in France and Flanders. Even if occasion should not arise to use them against the enemy, the labour of making them has not by any means been in vain

Civil Life in Berlin.

2010-01-21T07:36:00.000-08:00

This article appeared in the ‘The New York Times Current History: the European War, February, 1915, under the title ‘Civil Life in Berlin’.

It was first published in ‘The London Times’ on October. 17th, 1914.

A gentleman, the subject of a neutral country, who has just returned from a visit to Germany, has furnished The Times with the following statement as to his impressions. He says:

I did not hear any boasting over German successes. When I spoke to Germans of their victories they would reply: "Yes, we have had victories—but what of the dead?" This thought is present even in places where one might think that for the time being every effort would be made to prevent its intrusion. In Berlin, for example, where all the theatres are open and attracting crowded audiences, it is the burden of a song sung during one of the patriotic plays, of which several are now being performed.

I went to a theatre on the night of the fall of Antwerp. A play entitled "1914" was acted, in the course of which many topical allusions were made by the well-known comedian Thielscher. Even in these serious times the Berliner, who is famous for the form of humor known as Berliner Witze, cannot refrain from his jokes. One of these was the question: "Why does Germany understand war so well? Because it has been declared upon her eight times!"—the point of the jest lying in the fact that the German word Erklaren, "to declare," means also "to explain." Another pun of the same kind was made out of the word Niederlage, which means both "defeat" and "dêpot." "Germany," said one of the characters, "is surrounded by enemies on all sides." "Yes," was the reply, "she is the head establishment, while England, France, and Russia only have the Niederlage."

There were some serious scenes in this play, in the middle of one of which some one stepped quickly on to the stage and, interrupting the actors, exclaimed: "One moment, one moment, if you please! Antwerp has fallen!" Of course, there was tremendous enthusiasm at this announcement, but when it had subsided, one of the company came forward and sang:

Nicht zu laut!
Nicht zu laut!
Denkt g'rad' jetzt wo Ihr jubelt und lacht;

Nicht zu laut!
Nicht zu laut!
Fiel ein Krieger vielleicht in der Schlacht
Und er liegt beim zerschossenen Pferde
Und nimmt Abschied von Mutter und Braut—

Nicht zu laut!
Nicht zu laut!

(Not too loud! Not too loud! Think just now while you laugh and cheer; Not too loud! Not too loud! Perchance a warrior fallen in the battle lies beside his shot down steed, and bids farewell to mother and bride; Not too loud! Not too loud!)

I have mentioned this to give an idea of the kind of life which the Berliners are living just now. There are other popular theatres in which similar plays are now running with titles such as "Der Kaiser Rief" ("The Emperor Called") and "Fest d'Rauf" ("Hit Hard!") the latter being borrowed from the words of the famous telegram sent by the Crown Prince at the time of the Zabern incident. These theatres are crowded. At the principal theatres classical plays such as "Hamlet" and Lessing's "Minna von Barnhelm" were being played while I was in Berlin.

Berlin keeps open many places of amusement until the early hours of the morning, and the war has not made any difference in this respect. What is known as the "night life" of Berlin continues. For years past the fast element in Berlin has been one of its most notorious features. This accompaniment of the prosperity of the capital since the war of 1870 has struck with surprise many observers of German life accustomed to the idea of German simplicity and purity of morals, rendered classical by Tacitus and exemplified by many representatives of German national life in the earlier part of the nineteenth century, when Germany was rallying from the blows inflicted by Napoleon. All that need be said upon this head is that, as far as report can be accepted as evidence, vice is the only commodity which has become less expensive since the war began.

The spy fever seems somewhat to have abated. At present, however, the public are not allowed to walk on the footway beside the headquarters of the army or the General Telegraph Office, obviously with a view to protecting these buildings against damage from hostile persons. The Germans still think that many spies exist in their country. The presence of women acting as tramcar conductors struck me as strange. These are the wives of men summoned to the colors. Notices are affixed to the interior of the cars stating the reason for the presence of these women, and requesting the public to be considerate toward them, and to help them over any little difficulties they might encounter in the discharge of their duty. Traffic in Berlin is absolutely regular. There are as many taxicabs as before, but instead of benzine, which is wanted for the army, they now use other spirit. The streets are as brilliantly lighted as ever. Riding exercise is taken by gentlemen in the Thiergarten every morning as usual. Sport is reviving, and there are a good many football matches. Two recently played were those between Berlin and Vienna and Berlin and Leipsic, the latter for the Red Cross. The universities will open on the 25th inst., the regular date.

The population, as a whole, is serious and confident of victory; but the war is by no means the sole topic of conversation. England is the enemy most bitterly hated, the Germans maintaining that her only reason for entering on the war was to destroy German trade. England's desire to preserve the neutrality of Belgium is scouted. The common people in Germany say that having fought the Belgians and defeated them they will retain their country. This, however, is not the attitude of the more educated section of the population, who express the opinion that the difficulty of ruling Belgium would be greater than the advantage to be derived from it.

The fierce hatred of England in Germany is due in large measure to what the Germans call "the shopkeepers' warfare" of the English. They maintain that the English confiscation of German patents is a wholly unfair method of fighting, and it has caused the deepest resentment. When asked as to the future, they reply that they will do all in due time. After Belgium will come France, and then the turn of England will arrive. They are not discouraged by the failure to reach Paris, since the strategy adopted by the French would have rendered the possession of Paris of little value. It will still be taken.

With regard to England not much is said of an army of invasion, but German confidence is evidently reposed in her Zeppelins, of which a large number is being constructed with all possible speed. They are to be employed against England, whose part in the war is the least honorable of all. Belgium's attitude at the outset they can understand, France's desire for la revanche is natural, but England's only motive was jealousy of Germany's industrial development and the desire to cripple her trade and commercial prosperity. Therefore, Woe to England!

The German Trench – Mortar.

2010-01-18T02:29:00.000-08:00

The Illustrated War News, Number 15, Nov. 18, 1914 published this article on the German Trench – Mortar.

THE GERMAN TRENCH-MORTAR JUST INTRODUCED TO THE BRITISH: A WEAPON WHICH THROWS A 187-LB. MINE-SHELL.

"In this quarter," says Eye-Witness of the fighting near Ypres on October 29, "we experienced ... the action of the 'minenwerfer,' or trench-mortar. This piece, though light enough to be wheeled by two men, throws a shell weighing 187 lbs. The spherical shell has a loose stem which is loaded into the bore and drops out in flight. It ranges about 350 yards at 45 deg. elevation. The shell is a thin-walled mine-shell containing a large charge and is intended to act with explosive effect, not splinter-effect." The diagram on the left shows one of the shells and its stem in their most up-to-date form; in the centre is the trench-mortar (its wheels off) with a shell in place; below this are three shells without their stems; on the right is a shell and its stem.

The King and Soldiers Gloves.

2010-01-15T02:09:00.000-08:00

This letter appeared in the Eastbourne Gazette on 23rd December 1914. It is interesting how the expectation of the writer was that every recruit would wear gloves and carry a cane when off duty.

The King and Soldiers Gloves.

Sir,

I notice the King has sent £25 to the fund for supplying gloves and mittens to the troops, which was started by the Grand Duke Michael, Lieutenant-Colonel Sir. F. Ponsonby, Keeper of the Privy Purse, in forwarding a cheque to the Grand Duke, writes; “The King is glad to hear what a success the fund has been and how grateful the troops are for the gloves which have been supplied to them.”

May I express a hope that all recruits will make a point of wearing gloves and carrying canes when they are off duty, it is the custom for the troops in garrison towns to do this and we want the new soldiers of the King (Kitchener’s Army) to cultivate briskness and smartness I every detail.

Yours faithfully

Veteran.
Eastbourne, Monday.

A Zeppelin Brought Down.

2010-01-14T05:37:00.000-08:00

These photographs and text were published in ‘The Illustrated War News, on November 18th 1914.

It was no doubt comforting reading for the ‘Home Front’ to see pictures of the remains of a Zeppelin, destroyed near Belfort.

A ZEPPELIN BROUGHT DOWN: REMAINS OF ONE OF THE MUCH-DISCUSSED GERMAN AIR-SHIPS HIT AND DESTROYED NEAR BELFORT.

Debris of the shattered framework;

Wreckage of the cars.

Considering the amount of discussion—not to say, in some quarters, apprehension—to which the Zeppelins have given rise, singularly little has been heard of them so far during the war, and, apart from the Antwerp exploits, they have done practically no damage. On the other hand, several have been destroyed: the number has been variously estimated from two to six.
One, said to be the "LZ10," was brought down in October at Grandvilliers, ten miles from Belfort. Our photographs show:

(1) debris of the shattered framework;

and (2) wreckage of the cars.

Another Zeppelin was destroyed in October by the fire of Russian batteries near Warsaw, and its broken remains were taken to Petrograd to be examined. The British air-raid on Düsseldorf also accounted for one or possibly two.

Music of War by Rudyard Kipling

2010-01-13T02:13:00.000-08:00

This interesting little article comes from the New York Times Current History: The European War, Vol 2, No. 1, April, 1915.

When you normally think of recruiting, infantry comes to mind. But here, Rudyard Kipling makes an appeal for Bandsmen and musicians. As he so eloquently puts it “The army needs music, its own music, for, more than in any other calling, soldiers do not live by bread alone”.

Music of War by Rudyard Kipling

The following speech was delivered by Mr. Kipling on Jan. 27, 1915, at a meeting in London promoted by the Recruiting Bands Committee, and held with the object of raising bands in the London district as an aid to recruiting.

The most useful thing that a civilian can do in these busy days is to speak as little as possible, and if he feels moved to write, to confine his efforts to his check book. [Laughter.] But this is an exception to that very sound rule. We do not know the present strength of the new armies. Even if we did it would not be necessary to make it public. But we may assume that there are several battalions in Great Britain which were not in existence at the end of last July, and some of them are in London. Nor is it any part of our national policy to explain how far these battalions are prepared for the work which is ahead of them. They were born quite rightly in silence. But that is no reason why they should continue to walk in silence for the rest of their lives. [Cheers.]

Unfortunately up to the present most of them have been obliged to walk in silence or to no better accompaniment than whistles and concertinas and other meritorious but inadequate instruments of music with which they have provided themselves. In the beginning this did not matter so much. More urgent needs had to be met; but now that the new armies are what they are, we who cannot assist them by joining their ranks owe it to them to provide them with more worthy music for their help, their gratification, and their honor. [Cheers.]

I am not a musician, so if I speak as a barbarian I must ask you and several gentlemen on the platform here to forgive me. From the lowest point of view a few drums and fifes in the battalion mean at least five extra miles in a route march, quite apart from the fact that they can swing a battalion back to quarters happy and composed in its mind, no matter how wet or tired its body may be. Even when there is no route marching, the mere come and go, the roll and flourishing of drums and fifes around the barracks is as warming and cheering as the sight of a fire in a room. A band, not necessarily a full band, but a band of a dozen brasses and wood-winds, is immensely valuable in the district where men are billeted. It revives memories, it quickens association, it opens and unites the hearts of men more surely than any other appeal can, and in this respect it aids recruiting perhaps more than any other agency. I wonder whether I should say this—the tune that it employs and the words that go with that tune are sometimes very remote from heroism or devotion, but the magic and the compelling power is in them, and it makes men's souls realize certain truths that their minds might doubt.

Further, no one, not even the Adjutant, can say for certain where the soul of the battalion lives, but the expression of that soul is most often found in the band. [Cheers.] It stands to reason that 1,200 men whose lives are pledged to each other must have some common means of expression, some common means of conveying their moods and their thoughts to themselves and their world. The band feels the moods and interprets the thoughts. A wise and sympathetic bandmaster—and the masters that I have met have been that—can lift a battalion out of depression, cheer it in sickness, and steady and recall it to itself in times of almost unendurable stress. [Cheers.] You may remember a beautiful poem by Sir Henry Newbolt, in which he describes how a squadron of weary big dragoons were led to renewed effort by the strains of a penny whistle and a child's drum taken from a toyshop in a wrecked French town. I remember in India, in a cholera camp, where the men were suffering very badly, the band of the Tenth Lincolns started a regimental sing-song and went on with that queer, defiant tune, "The Lincolnshire Poacher." It was their regimental march that the men had heard a thousand times. There was nothing in it—nothing except all England, all the East Coast, all the fun and daring and horse play of young men bucketing about big pastures in the moonlight. But as it was given, very softly at that bad time in that terrible camp of death, it was the one thing in the world that could have restored, as it did restore, shaken men back to their pride, humor, and self-control. [Cheers.] This may be an extreme instance, but it is not an exceptional one. Any man who has had anything to do with the service will tell you that the battalion is better for music at every turn, happier, more easily handled, with greater zest in its daily routine, if that routine is sweetened with melody and rhythm—melody for the mind and rhythm for the body.
Our new armies have been badly served in this essential. Of all the admirable qualities which they have shown none is more wonderful than the spirit which has carried them through the laborious and distasteful groundwork of their calling without one note of music, except that which the same indomitable spirit provided out of their own heads. We have all seen them marching through the country, through the streets of London, in absolute silence and the crowds through which they passed as silent as themselves for the lack of the one medium that could convey and glorify the thoughts that are in us all today.

We are a tongue-tied brood at the best. The bands can declare on our behalf without shame and without shyness something of what we all feel and help us to reach a hand toward the men who have risen up to save us. In the beginning the more urgent requirements of the new armies overrode all other considerations. Now we can get to work on some other essentials. The War Office has authorized the formation of bands for some of the London battalions, and we may hope presently to see the permission extended throughout Great Britain. We must not, however, cherish unbridled musical ambitions, because a full band means more than forty pieces, and on that establishment we should even now require a rather large number of men; but I think it might be possible to provide drums and fifes for every battalion, full bands at the depots, and a proportion of battalion bands on half, or even one-third, establishments.

But this is not a matter to be settled by laymen; it must be discussed seriously between bandmasters and musicians—present, past, and dug up. [Laughter.] They may be trusted to give their services with enthusiasm. We have had many proofs in the last six months that people only want to know what the new army needs, and it will be gladly and cheerfully given. The army needs music, its own music, for, more than in any other calling, soldiers do not live by bread alone. From time immemorial the man who offers his life for his land has been compassed at every turn of his service with elaborate ceremonial and observance, of which music is no small part, all carefully designed to support and uphold him. It is not seemly and it is not expedient that any portion of that ritual should be slurred or omitted now. [Cheers.]