This poem entitled Christmas: 1915 by Percy McKaye captures the gloomy feeling that started to prevail. Gone was the optimism and hope of 1914 in its place was now a fear for what the future held.
Now is the midnight of the nations: dark
Even as death, beside her blood-dark seas,
Earth, like a mother in birth agonies,
Screams in her travail, and the planets hark
Her million-throated terror. Naked, stark,
Her torso writhes enormous, and her knees
Shudder against the shadowed Pleiades,
Wrenching the night's imponderable arc.
Christ! What shall be delivered to the morn
Out of these pangs, if ever indeed another
Morn shall succeed this night, or this vast mother
Survive to know the blood-spent offspring, torn
From her racked flesh? --What spendour from the
smother?
What new-wing'd world, or mangled god still-born?
(Percy MacKaye (1875–1956) was an American dramatist and poet. He wrote the plays The Canterbury Pilgrims in 1903, Sappho and Phaon in 1907, Jeanne D'Arc in 1907, The Scarecrow in 1908, Anti-Matrimony in 1910, and the poetry collection The Far Familiar in 1937. In 1950, MacKaye published The Mystery of Hamlet King of Denmark, or What We Will, a series of four plays written as prequels to William Shakespeare's Hamlet.)
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Christmas 1915 - Christmas in the Trenches.
This is a quite amazing article from The Great War in Different Light.
Originally it was published in ‘The War Illustrated’, on 25th December, 1915.
'Christmas in the Trenches' by our War Correspondent F. A. McKenzie offered the public at home a view of what it was like far way in France.
The fighting of 1915 had left a bitter taste for the English and it is with this in mind that when he writes about the Germans trying to recreate the fraternization of Christmas 1914 he observes: “Our armies have too many bitter recollections from the twelve months that have passed, recollections that cannot be effaced. They have read of the treatment of our own soldiers in German prison camps. They have experienced the German poison gas. Every soldier knows many cases of the shocking treatment of our wounded. There will be no friendly stretching out of hands this year. “
“CHRISTMAS in the trenches ! It strikes one as incongruous, doesn't it ? The celebration of the birth of the Prince of Peace amid all the surroundings of war ! Yet there it is, and nowhere will the great day be more observed than in the front lines of our armies.
One's mind inevitably goes back at a time like this to the two previous occasions in modern days when Northern France was the area of war at Christmas-time — December, 1870, and the Christmas of 1914.
Looking over the records and the pictures of 1870, when war was fought in the open, enables one to realise the vast gulf between then and now. But in 1870, as in 1915, the note of war was tragedy. There had been a long spell of bitterly cold weather. The Germans, then as to-day, had been counting on finishing the war before Christmas arrived, and were bitterly disappointed at their failure. France saw grim ruin daily approaching nearer. The French prisoners of war in German camps, revolting at their treatment, had conspired to rise up on the night of Christmas Day, to disarm their guards, and to fight their way back to France. Their plot was discovered.
Yuletide and Wars of Yester-Year
The French Army had few festivities. Food was scarce, money scarcer, and there was neither the time nor the spirit for even an hour of rejoicing. The Germans, however, had a merry day. Loads of gifts arrived by wagon from every part of their Fatherland. Deputations came to see that the gifts were properly distributed. There were Christmas- trees. In some of the places they started their festivities at 6.30 on Christmas Eve, with dances to the music of the regimental bands. They had feasts. The rooms were decorated with green branches, miniature candles, and toy confectionery. For a moment war paused. A few hours later deadly sorties and fierce advances set the ball rolling again.
The most remarkable feature in the trenches last year was the rapprochement that took place between the British and the German troops on parts of our lines, particularly on the Messines front. Who started it is by no means clear ; but for some days before Christmas arrived there was a decided slackening of hostilities. Then a voice from one trench spoke to the enemy in the opposite trenches, suggesting that there should be no more serious firing until New Year's Day. The soldiers started to come out from cover ; the British to the German trenches, the Germans to the British trenches. They exchanged drinks and smokes ; they had mutual sing-songs.
The Quaint Fraternity of Enmity
The thing was, of course, from a military point of view, a great scandal. If soldiers on opposite sides made friends with one another in this way, war would soon be impossible. Talking with the men who took part in these meetings weeks afterwards, it was easy to see how deeply they had been touched. They had. discovered that their enemies, who for weeks had been trying to kill them, and whom they had been trying to kill, were much like .themselves. The Saxon soldiers, who faced our troops at this point, were the best of the German Army, men who throughout had been most noted for their humanity, and who most nearly resemble our own lads. Surely these gatherings in the " No Man's Land " between the trenches were the very culmination of the irony of war !
There will be nothing of that this year. The Germans at many points are anxious to have an informal truce. They have already been calling out across their lines, "Christmas coming. No more shoot." But they are not meeting with any response. Our armies have too many bitter recollections from the twelve months that have passed, recollections that cannot be effaced. They have read of the treatment of our own soldiers in German prison camps. They have experienced the German poison gas. Every soldier knows many cases of the shocking treatment of our wounded. There will be no friendly stretching out of hands this year.
But Christmas will be observed in very marked fashion, and, unless some stern commander orders an advance on this day, things will be reported as "Quiet along the front." The parcels begin to arrive at least a fortnight before Christmas, and they arrive in such, overwhelming numbers that it is hardly possible to deal with them. Few soldiers but have at least some friend to send them something, and there arc organisations galore — Christmas pudding funds, cigarette funds, county leagues and societies, and regimental bodies — all pouring in seasonable fare. It would be a very good thing if all the luxuries that arrive around Christmas Day could be spread over the weeks before and after.
Signs and Symbols of Festivity
There will be decorations, if it is only of Christmas cards from home, even in the dug- outs. There will be feasts in the front lines. But the full celebration will be in the rest camps behind. There Christmas will be observed almost as elaborately as in barracks in England. The non-commissioned officers in many a regiment have already sent to England for their packages of vari-coloured tissue paper. From this the handy men of the company make all kinds of decorations — chains across the ceilings of the huts, roses around the walls, and Christmas mottoes pasted on white sheets, and stuck up on the walls. Even the mud of the rest camps — the thick, cloying, penetrating, indescribable mud, which must be felt to be realised — will not be allowed to spoil the good temper on this day.
Christmas will start early, and there will be music everywhere, for the loneliest and smallest outpost at least have their Jew's harp. The Highland regiments will forget for the time that the real Scotch celebration comes on New Year's Day, and not on Christmas Day, and the skirl of the pipers will liven the air of many and many a camp. The regimental officers will, as they always do at such a time, come into real hearty personal contact with their men.
I would like to be at one of the of the dinners in the rest camps. I can sec them as on the show occasions I- have known. There will be a shell-case, or a couple of shell-cases, carefully polished, in the middle of the table, to hold some flowers that have come from home. There will be candles around, stuck in ginger-beer bottles. The glasses or mugs will '6c of infinite variety. Dinner will probably be eaten in comparative peace, for the German soldier is eminently a sentimentalist.
Christmas is his great festival, and he will probably have no desire on his own side to force the fighting on that day.
Two Great Toasts of the Dying Year
There will be two toasts this year in many a hut and many an officers' mess that they did not have at home. One, drunk in silence, will be "To those who have gone' ; and the other, drunk sometimes with a lump in the throat, will be "To the dear ones at home." They will tell' tales of " Blighty," and think of us as we, seated around our own firesides, kept safe by their work, will be thinking of them.
That is how Christmas will probably be spent on the western front. I cannot think that there will be similar conditions in the Balkans. There our lads are likely to have nothing but strenuous, furious endeavour against desperate odds. Their parcels may or may not have come. Unless the situation has markedly changed between the moment of writing and Christmas Day, every man in the lines there will be on the qui vive all day, ready for anything.”
Originally it was published in ‘The War Illustrated’, on 25th December, 1915.
'Christmas in the Trenches' by our War Correspondent F. A. McKenzie offered the public at home a view of what it was like far way in France.
The fighting of 1915 had left a bitter taste for the English and it is with this in mind that when he writes about the Germans trying to recreate the fraternization of Christmas 1914 he observes: “Our armies have too many bitter recollections from the twelve months that have passed, recollections that cannot be effaced. They have read of the treatment of our own soldiers in German prison camps. They have experienced the German poison gas. Every soldier knows many cases of the shocking treatment of our wounded. There will be no friendly stretching out of hands this year. “
“CHRISTMAS in the trenches ! It strikes one as incongruous, doesn't it ? The celebration of the birth of the Prince of Peace amid all the surroundings of war ! Yet there it is, and nowhere will the great day be more observed than in the front lines of our armies.
One's mind inevitably goes back at a time like this to the two previous occasions in modern days when Northern France was the area of war at Christmas-time — December, 1870, and the Christmas of 1914.
Looking over the records and the pictures of 1870, when war was fought in the open, enables one to realise the vast gulf between then and now. But in 1870, as in 1915, the note of war was tragedy. There had been a long spell of bitterly cold weather. The Germans, then as to-day, had been counting on finishing the war before Christmas arrived, and were bitterly disappointed at their failure. France saw grim ruin daily approaching nearer. The French prisoners of war in German camps, revolting at their treatment, had conspired to rise up on the night of Christmas Day, to disarm their guards, and to fight their way back to France. Their plot was discovered.
Yuletide and Wars of Yester-Year
The French Army had few festivities. Food was scarce, money scarcer, and there was neither the time nor the spirit for even an hour of rejoicing. The Germans, however, had a merry day. Loads of gifts arrived by wagon from every part of their Fatherland. Deputations came to see that the gifts were properly distributed. There were Christmas- trees. In some of the places they started their festivities at 6.30 on Christmas Eve, with dances to the music of the regimental bands. They had feasts. The rooms were decorated with green branches, miniature candles, and toy confectionery. For a moment war paused. A few hours later deadly sorties and fierce advances set the ball rolling again.
The most remarkable feature in the trenches last year was the rapprochement that took place between the British and the German troops on parts of our lines, particularly on the Messines front. Who started it is by no means clear ; but for some days before Christmas arrived there was a decided slackening of hostilities. Then a voice from one trench spoke to the enemy in the opposite trenches, suggesting that there should be no more serious firing until New Year's Day. The soldiers started to come out from cover ; the British to the German trenches, the Germans to the British trenches. They exchanged drinks and smokes ; they had mutual sing-songs.
The Quaint Fraternity of Enmity
The thing was, of course, from a military point of view, a great scandal. If soldiers on opposite sides made friends with one another in this way, war would soon be impossible. Talking with the men who took part in these meetings weeks afterwards, it was easy to see how deeply they had been touched. They had. discovered that their enemies, who for weeks had been trying to kill them, and whom they had been trying to kill, were much like .themselves. The Saxon soldiers, who faced our troops at this point, were the best of the German Army, men who throughout had been most noted for their humanity, and who most nearly resemble our own lads. Surely these gatherings in the " No Man's Land " between the trenches were the very culmination of the irony of war !
There will be nothing of that this year. The Germans at many points are anxious to have an informal truce. They have already been calling out across their lines, "Christmas coming. No more shoot." But they are not meeting with any response. Our armies have too many bitter recollections from the twelve months that have passed, recollections that cannot be effaced. They have read of the treatment of our own soldiers in German prison camps. They have experienced the German poison gas. Every soldier knows many cases of the shocking treatment of our wounded. There will be no friendly stretching out of hands this year.
But Christmas will be observed in very marked fashion, and, unless some stern commander orders an advance on this day, things will be reported as "Quiet along the front." The parcels begin to arrive at least a fortnight before Christmas, and they arrive in such, overwhelming numbers that it is hardly possible to deal with them. Few soldiers but have at least some friend to send them something, and there arc organisations galore — Christmas pudding funds, cigarette funds, county leagues and societies, and regimental bodies — all pouring in seasonable fare. It would be a very good thing if all the luxuries that arrive around Christmas Day could be spread over the weeks before and after.
Signs and Symbols of Festivity
There will be decorations, if it is only of Christmas cards from home, even in the dug- outs. There will be feasts in the front lines. But the full celebration will be in the rest camps behind. There Christmas will be observed almost as elaborately as in barracks in England. The non-commissioned officers in many a regiment have already sent to England for their packages of vari-coloured tissue paper. From this the handy men of the company make all kinds of decorations — chains across the ceilings of the huts, roses around the walls, and Christmas mottoes pasted on white sheets, and stuck up on the walls. Even the mud of the rest camps — the thick, cloying, penetrating, indescribable mud, which must be felt to be realised — will not be allowed to spoil the good temper on this day.
Christmas will start early, and there will be music everywhere, for the loneliest and smallest outpost at least have their Jew's harp. The Highland regiments will forget for the time that the real Scotch celebration comes on New Year's Day, and not on Christmas Day, and the skirl of the pipers will liven the air of many and many a camp. The regimental officers will, as they always do at such a time, come into real hearty personal contact with their men.
I would like to be at one of the of the dinners in the rest camps. I can sec them as on the show occasions I- have known. There will be a shell-case, or a couple of shell-cases, carefully polished, in the middle of the table, to hold some flowers that have come from home. There will be candles around, stuck in ginger-beer bottles. The glasses or mugs will '6c of infinite variety. Dinner will probably be eaten in comparative peace, for the German soldier is eminently a sentimentalist.
Christmas is his great festival, and he will probably have no desire on his own side to force the fighting on that day.
Two Great Toasts of the Dying Year
There will be two toasts this year in many a hut and many an officers' mess that they did not have at home. One, drunk in silence, will be "To those who have gone' ; and the other, drunk sometimes with a lump in the throat, will be "To the dear ones at home." They will tell' tales of " Blighty," and think of us as we, seated around our own firesides, kept safe by their work, will be thinking of them.
That is how Christmas will probably be spent on the western front. I cannot think that there will be similar conditions in the Balkans. There our lads are likely to have nothing but strenuous, furious endeavour against desperate odds. Their parcels may or may not have come. Unless the situation has markedly changed between the moment of writing and Christmas Day, every man in the lines there will be on the qui vive all day, ready for anything.”
Monday, December 22, 2008
Christmas 1915 - A Story at the ANZAC Dinner.
This article appeared in The Times on 27th December 1915.
Sir George Houstoun Reid, GCB, GCMG, KC (25 February 1845 – 12 September 1918) was an Australian politician, Premier of New South Wales and fourth Prime Minister of Australia. He was also a very large man both in statue and personality and it was said he was well liked by the men.
A Story at the ANZAC Dinner
Six hundred wounded Australian soldiers were entertained at dinner at the Hotel Cecil on Christmas Day by the Australian War Contingent Association. Sir George Reid occupied the chair and others present were Lady Reid and Lady Birdwood, the Hon. F.W. Young (Agent-General for South Australia) and Colonel Buckley (Military Advisor to the Commonwealth Government in London).
Sir George Reid in proposing “Success to our Empire and Allies” said, “I met Sir Ian Hamilton in one of the clubs and told him I wanted to go to the front. I told him I wasn’t much of a walker, that when I went shooting I nearly shot myself and that when I got on a horse I didn’t know whether I should get off when I wanted to or not. But I said, Why can’t you let me go to the front as an armoured fort?” (Laughter).
Sir Ian looked at me up and down and said, “Well, Sir George, I don’t think we could send you to the front as an armoured fort, but I think we might make a base of you.” (Laughter)."
For more information on Sir George Reid - http://www.adb.online.anu.edu.au/biogs/A110362b.htm
Friday, December 19, 2008
Christmas 1915 - Alleged Impersonation in Widnes.
This story appeared in The Times on 28th December 1915. It was just too good to pass by.
I will let the reader make up their own mind to the real events. My money is that Mrs. O’Connor was ‘entertaining’ Mr Goulding and her brother found out about it and she made up this amazing story.
Enjoy.
Alleged Impersonation
Story of Wounded Soldiers Wife
"At Widnes yesterday, John Goulding, South Lancashire Regiment, was charged with an offence against Elizabeth Ann O’Connor.
A police-superintendent said the woman was standing at her door on Christmas Day looking out for her husband, who had been wounded at the front and was expected home.
Suddenly the prisoner pushed past her into the house saying, “I am your husband Matt. I have been travelling all day.” When she said he was not like her husband, about the face, he said,” I have been wounded here,” indicating the forehead. Two children of O’Connor’s were called “Queenie” and “Sonny” and the prisoner addressed them by those names. During tea he talked about family matters.
After the accused had retired to bed O’Connor’s brother came in and insisted on seeing him, but Goulding refused to get out of bed and covered himself with clothes. A struggle followed, other relatives arrived on the scene and in the confusion the accused escaped.
When charged the accused said, “I don’t remember anything. It is surprising how a woman can mistake her husband.”
Goulding was remanded."
I will let the reader make up their own mind to the real events. My money is that Mrs. O’Connor was ‘entertaining’ Mr Goulding and her brother found out about it and she made up this amazing story.
Enjoy.
Alleged Impersonation
Story of Wounded Soldiers Wife
"At Widnes yesterday, John Goulding, South Lancashire Regiment, was charged with an offence against Elizabeth Ann O’Connor.
A police-superintendent said the woman was standing at her door on Christmas Day looking out for her husband, who had been wounded at the front and was expected home.
Suddenly the prisoner pushed past her into the house saying, “I am your husband Matt. I have been travelling all day.” When she said he was not like her husband, about the face, he said,” I have been wounded here,” indicating the forehead. Two children of O’Connor’s were called “Queenie” and “Sonny” and the prisoner addressed them by those names. During tea he talked about family matters.
After the accused had retired to bed O’Connor’s brother came in and insisted on seeing him, but Goulding refused to get out of bed and covered himself with clothes. A struggle followed, other relatives arrived on the scene and in the confusion the accused escaped.
When charged the accused said, “I don’t remember anything. It is surprising how a woman can mistake her husband.”
Goulding was remanded."
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Christmas 1915 - The message of King George V.
This is the message given to all from King George V published in The Times on 27th December 1915, followed by the response of Major-General Maxwell. I wonder how it would have been received by the “Tommy” stuck in a cold, freezing trench somewhere unpronounceable in Belgium.
“The following message from the King to his navy and Army was published on Christmas morning in the Naval and Military Orders throughout the Empire:-
Christmas Day 1915
Another Christmas finds all the resources of the Empire still engaged in war, and I desire to convey on my own behalf and on behalf of the Queen, a heartfelt Christmas greeting and our good wishes for the New Year to all who on sea and land are upholding the honour of the British name.
In the officers and men of my Navy on whom the security of the Empire depends I response, in common with all my subjects, a trust that is absolute.
On the officers and men of my Armies, whether now in France, in the East, or in other fields, I rely with an equal faith, confident that their devotion, their valour and their self-sacrifice will, under God’s guidance, lead to victory and honourable peace.
There are many comrades now, alas, in hospital and to these brave men also I desire with the Queen to express our deep gratitude and our earnest prayers for their recovery.
Officers and men of the Navy and of the Army, another year is drawing to a close as it begun, in toil, bloodshed and suffering, and I rejoice to know that the goal to which you are striving draws nearer into sight.
May God bless you and your undertakings.”
“Cario Dec 26.
Major-General Sir John Maxwell, commanding the Bristish forces in Egypt, has sent the following reply to the King: -
The officers and men of your Armies in Egypt both in the ranks and in the hospitals drawn from the United Kingdom, the Dominions, and India, unite in humble thanks for your Majesty’s gracious and inspiring greetings. We are proud of the confidence placed in us and in this share we are taking in the fight for victory. We offer your Majesty and the Royal Family our humble and heartfelt greetings.”
“The following message from the King to his navy and Army was published on Christmas morning in the Naval and Military Orders throughout the Empire:-
Christmas Day 1915
Another Christmas finds all the resources of the Empire still engaged in war, and I desire to convey on my own behalf and on behalf of the Queen, a heartfelt Christmas greeting and our good wishes for the New Year to all who on sea and land are upholding the honour of the British name.
In the officers and men of my Navy on whom the security of the Empire depends I response, in common with all my subjects, a trust that is absolute.
On the officers and men of my Armies, whether now in France, in the East, or in other fields, I rely with an equal faith, confident that their devotion, their valour and their self-sacrifice will, under God’s guidance, lead to victory and honourable peace.
There are many comrades now, alas, in hospital and to these brave men also I desire with the Queen to express our deep gratitude and our earnest prayers for their recovery.
Officers and men of the Navy and of the Army, another year is drawing to a close as it begun, in toil, bloodshed and suffering, and I rejoice to know that the goal to which you are striving draws nearer into sight.
May God bless you and your undertakings.”
“Cario Dec 26.
Major-General Sir John Maxwell, commanding the Bristish forces in Egypt, has sent the following reply to the King: -
The officers and men of your Armies in Egypt both in the ranks and in the hospitals drawn from the United Kingdom, the Dominions, and India, unite in humble thanks for your Majesty’s gracious and inspiring greetings. We are proud of the confidence placed in us and in this share we are taking in the fight for victory. We offer your Majesty and the Royal Family our humble and heartfelt greetings.”
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Christmas 1915 - Miss Sarah Macnaughtan.
This account of Christmas 1915 comes from the remarkable Sarah Macnaughtan. Miss Macnaughtan is a heroine of mine. A quiet story writer who distributed comforts in the South African War but it was during the First World War where she was transformed as an “Angel of Mercy”.
At the outbreak of war she volunteered with the Red Cross and joined a band of nurses led by Mrs. Stobart. She endured shelling just before the fall of Antwerp and when her fellow nurses returned to England, she stayed on in Belgium at the newly made ‘capital’ Furnes. Subsequently, in the later part of 1914 she started a Soup Kitchen for the Belgian troops.
In 1915 she embarked on a boat to Russia to help aid the war effort on the Eastern Front. This amazing account from MY WAR EXPERIENCES INTWO CONTINENTS’ , describes Christmas 1915 in Russia and her reflections on England and the war.
"Christmas Eve at Tiflis, and here we are with cars still stuck in the ice thirty miles from Archangel, and ourselves just holding on and trying not to worry. But what a waste of time! Also, fighting is going on now in Persia, and we might be a lot of use. We came back from Batoum in the hottest and slowest train I have ever been in. Still, Georgia delighted me, and I am glad to have seen it. They have a curious custom there (the result of generations of fighting). Instead of saying "Good-morning," they say "Victory"; and the answer is, "May the victory be yours." The language is Georgian, of course; and then there is Tartar, and Polish, and Russian, and I can't help thinking that the Tower of Babel was the poorest joke that was ever played on mankind. Nothing stops work so completely.
What will Christmas Day be like at home? I think of all the village churches, with the holly and evergreens, and in almost every one the little new brass plates to the memory of beautiful youth, dead and mangled, and left in the mud to await another trumpet than that which called it from the trenches. There is nothing like a boy, and all the life of England and the prayers of mothers have centred round them. One's older friends died first, and now the boys are falling, and from every little vicarage, from school-houses and colleges, the endless stream goes, all with their heads up, fussing over their little bits of packing, and then away to stand exploding shells and gas and bombs. No one except those who have seen knows the ghastly tale of human suffering that this war involves every day. Down here 550,000 Armenians have been butchered in cold blood. The women are either massacred or driven into Turkish harems.
Yesterday we heard some news at last in this most benighted corner of the world! England has raised four million volunteers. Hurrah! Over one million men volunteered in one week. French takes command at home and Haig at the front."
To Mrs. Charles Young.
Hotel Orient, Tiflis,
26 December.
Darling J.,
It seems almost useless to write letters, or even to wire! Letters sometimes take forty-nine days to get to England, and telegrams are always kept a fortnight before being sent. We have had great difficulty about the ambulance cars, as they all got frozen into the river at Archangel; however, as you will see from the newspapers, there isn't a great deal going on yet.
I do hope you and all the family are safe and sound. I wired to —— for her birthday to ask news of you all, and I prepaid the reply, but, of course, none came, so I am sure she never got the wire. I have wired twice to ——, but no reply. At last one gives up expecting any. I got some newspapers nearly a month old to-day, and I have been devouring them.
This is rather a curious place, and the climate is quite good; no snow, and a good deal of pleasant sun, but the hills all round are very bare and rugged.
I have had a cough, which I think equals your best efforts in that line. How it does shake one up! I had some queer travelling when it was at its worst: for the first night we were given a shakedown in a little mountain hospital, which was fearfully cold; and the next night I was put into a newly-built little place, made of planks roughly nailed together, and with just a bed and a basin in it.
The cold was wonderful, and since then—as you may imagine—the Macnaughtan cough has been heard in the land!
Yesterday (Christmas Day) we were invited to breakfast with the Grand Duke Nicholas. A Court function in Russia is the most royal that you can imagine—no half measures about it! The Grand Duke is an adorably handsome man, quite extraordinarily and obviously a Grand Duke. He measures 6 feet 5 inches, and is worshipped by every soldier in the Army.
We went first into a huge anteroom, where a lady-in-waiting received us, and presented us to "Son Altesse Impériale," and then to the Grand Duke and to his brother, the Grand Duke Peter. Some scenes seem to move as in a play. I had a vision of a great polished floor, and many tall men in Cossack dress, with daggers and swords, most of them different grades of Princes and Imperial Highnesses.
A great party of Generals, and ladies, and members of the Household, then went into a big dining-room, where every imaginable hors d'œuvre was laid out on dishes—dozens of different kinds—and we each ate caviare or something. Afterwards, with a great tramp and clank of spurs and swords, everyone moved on to a larger dining-room, where there were a lot of servants, who waited excellently.
In the middle of the déjeuner the Grand Duke Nicholas got up, and everyone else did the same, and they toasted us! The Grand Duke made a speech about our "gallantry," etc., etc., and everyone raised glasses and bowed to one. Nothing in a play could have been more of a real fine sort of scene. And certainly S. Macnaughtan in her wildest dreams hadn't thought of anything so wonderful as being toasted in Russia by the Imperial Staff.
It's quite a thing to be tiresome about when one grows old!
In the evening we tried to be merry, and failed. The Grand Duchess sent us mistletoe and plum-pudding by the hand of M. Boulderoff. He took us shopping, but the bazaars are not interesting.
Good-bye, and bless you, my dear,
Yours as ever,
S. Macnaughtan.
At the outbreak of war she volunteered with the Red Cross and joined a band of nurses led by Mrs. Stobart. She endured shelling just before the fall of Antwerp and when her fellow nurses returned to England, she stayed on in Belgium at the newly made ‘capital’ Furnes. Subsequently, in the later part of 1914 she started a Soup Kitchen for the Belgian troops.
In 1915 she embarked on a boat to Russia to help aid the war effort on the Eastern Front. This amazing account from MY WAR EXPERIENCES INTWO CONTINENTS’ , describes Christmas 1915 in Russia and her reflections on England and the war.
"Christmas Eve at Tiflis, and here we are with cars still stuck in the ice thirty miles from Archangel, and ourselves just holding on and trying not to worry. But what a waste of time! Also, fighting is going on now in Persia, and we might be a lot of use. We came back from Batoum in the hottest and slowest train I have ever been in. Still, Georgia delighted me, and I am glad to have seen it. They have a curious custom there (the result of generations of fighting). Instead of saying "Good-morning," they say "Victory"; and the answer is, "May the victory be yours." The language is Georgian, of course; and then there is Tartar, and Polish, and Russian, and I can't help thinking that the Tower of Babel was the poorest joke that was ever played on mankind. Nothing stops work so completely.
What will Christmas Day be like at home? I think of all the village churches, with the holly and evergreens, and in almost every one the little new brass plates to the memory of beautiful youth, dead and mangled, and left in the mud to await another trumpet than that which called it from the trenches. There is nothing like a boy, and all the life of England and the prayers of mothers have centred round them. One's older friends died first, and now the boys are falling, and from every little vicarage, from school-houses and colleges, the endless stream goes, all with their heads up, fussing over their little bits of packing, and then away to stand exploding shells and gas and bombs. No one except those who have seen knows the ghastly tale of human suffering that this war involves every day. Down here 550,000 Armenians have been butchered in cold blood. The women are either massacred or driven into Turkish harems.
Yesterday we heard some news at last in this most benighted corner of the world! England has raised four million volunteers. Hurrah! Over one million men volunteered in one week. French takes command at home and Haig at the front."
To Mrs. Charles Young.
Hotel Orient, Tiflis,
26 December.
Darling J.,
It seems almost useless to write letters, or even to wire! Letters sometimes take forty-nine days to get to England, and telegrams are always kept a fortnight before being sent. We have had great difficulty about the ambulance cars, as they all got frozen into the river at Archangel; however, as you will see from the newspapers, there isn't a great deal going on yet.
I do hope you and all the family are safe and sound. I wired to —— for her birthday to ask news of you all, and I prepaid the reply, but, of course, none came, so I am sure she never got the wire. I have wired twice to ——, but no reply. At last one gives up expecting any. I got some newspapers nearly a month old to-day, and I have been devouring them.
This is rather a curious place, and the climate is quite good; no snow, and a good deal of pleasant sun, but the hills all round are very bare and rugged.
I have had a cough, which I think equals your best efforts in that line. How it does shake one up! I had some queer travelling when it was at its worst: for the first night we were given a shakedown in a little mountain hospital, which was fearfully cold; and the next night I was put into a newly-built little place, made of planks roughly nailed together, and with just a bed and a basin in it.
The cold was wonderful, and since then—as you may imagine—the Macnaughtan cough has been heard in the land!
Yesterday (Christmas Day) we were invited to breakfast with the Grand Duke Nicholas. A Court function in Russia is the most royal that you can imagine—no half measures about it! The Grand Duke is an adorably handsome man, quite extraordinarily and obviously a Grand Duke. He measures 6 feet 5 inches, and is worshipped by every soldier in the Army.
We went first into a huge anteroom, where a lady-in-waiting received us, and presented us to "Son Altesse Impériale," and then to the Grand Duke and to his brother, the Grand Duke Peter. Some scenes seem to move as in a play. I had a vision of a great polished floor, and many tall men in Cossack dress, with daggers and swords, most of them different grades of Princes and Imperial Highnesses.
A great party of Generals, and ladies, and members of the Household, then went into a big dining-room, where every imaginable hors d'œuvre was laid out on dishes—dozens of different kinds—and we each ate caviare or something. Afterwards, with a great tramp and clank of spurs and swords, everyone moved on to a larger dining-room, where there were a lot of servants, who waited excellently.
In the middle of the déjeuner the Grand Duke Nicholas got up, and everyone else did the same, and they toasted us! The Grand Duke made a speech about our "gallantry," etc., etc., and everyone raised glasses and bowed to one. Nothing in a play could have been more of a real fine sort of scene. And certainly S. Macnaughtan in her wildest dreams hadn't thought of anything so wonderful as being toasted in Russia by the Imperial Staff.
It's quite a thing to be tiresome about when one grows old!
In the evening we tried to be merry, and failed. The Grand Duchess sent us mistletoe and plum-pudding by the hand of M. Boulderoff. He took us shopping, but the bazaars are not interesting.
Good-bye, and bless you, my dear,
Yours as ever,
S. Macnaughtan.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Christmas 1915 - The First Canadian Division in France
This piece of First World War history comes from the book, “The Great War as I Saw It” by Canon Frederick George Scott, C.M.G., D.S.O. who was the Senior Chaplain to the First Canadian Division.
Christmas 1914 found the First Canadian Division camped on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, England. The Canon organized a midnight Christmas Eve Eucharist for the soldiers, seven thousand miles away from their home in Canada.
The second Christmas 1915 found them in France, their first Christmas "in the front" was looked on with foundness. “We had two more war Christmases in France, but I always look back upon that first one as something unique in its beauty and simplicity. “
Our First Christmas in France.
The 25th of December 1915, was to be our first Christmas in France, and as the day approached there was much speculation among our men as to which Battalions would be in the line. At last orders came out that the 13th and 16th Battalions would relieve the 14th and 15th on Christmas Eve. I determined, therefore, to spend my Christmas with the former two. Our trenches at that time were in front of Ploegsteert. The 16th was on the right and the 13th on the left. Taking my bag with communion vessels and as many hymn books as I could carry, and with a haversack over my shoulder containing requisites for the night, I was motored over on Christmas Eve to the 3rd Brigade Headquarters at Petit Moncque Farm. The day was rainy and so was not calculated to improve the spirits and temper of the men who were going to spend their first Christmas in the line. At dusk I walked up the road to Hill 63, and then down on the other side to Le Plus Douve Farm. It was not a cheerful Christmas Eve. The roads were flooded with water, and the transports that were waiting for the relief were continually getting tangled up with one another in the darkness. To make matters worse, I was met by a Sergeant who told me he had some men to be buried, and a burial party was waiting on the side of the road. We went into the field which was used as a cemetery and there we laid the bodies to rest.
The Germans had dammed the river Douve, and it had flooded some of the fields and old Battalion Headquarters. It was hard to find one's way in the dark, and I should never have done so without assistance. The men had acquired the power of seeing in the dark, like cats.
A Battalion was coming out and the men were wet and muddy. I stood by the bridge watching them pass and, thinking it was the right and conventional thing to do, wished them all a Merry Christmas. My intentions were of the best, but I was afterwards told that it sounded to the men like the voice of one mocking them in their misery. However, as it turned out, the wish was fulfilled on the next day.
As soon as I could cross the bridge, I made my way to the trenches which the 16th Battalion were taking over. They were at a higher level and were not in a bad condition. Further up the line there was a barn known as St. Quentin's Farm, which for some reason or other, although it was in sight of the enemy, had not been demolished and was used as a billet. I determined therefore to have a service of Holy Communion at midnight, when the men would all have come into the line and settled down. About eleven o'clock I got things ready. The officers and men had been notified of the service and began to assemble. The barn was a fair size and had dark red brick walls. The roof was low and supported by big rafters. The floor was covered with yellow straw about two feet in depth. The men proceeded to search for a box which I could use as an altar. All they could get were three large empty biscuit tins. These we covered with my Union Jack and white linen cloth. A row of candles was stuck against the wall, which I was careful to see were prevented from setting fire to the straw. The dull red tint of the brick walls, the clean yellow straw, and the bright radiance of our glorious Union Jack made a splendid combination of colour. It would have been a fitting setting for a tableau of the Nativity.
The Highlanders assembled in two rows and I handed out hymn books. There were many candles in the building so the men were able to read. It was wonderful to hear in such a place and on such an occasion, the beautiful old hymns, "While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night," "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," and "O Come All Ye Faithful." The men sang them lustily and many and varied were the memories of past Christmases that welled up in their thoughts at that time.
I had a comfortable bunk in one of the dugouts that night, and was up next morning early to spend the day among the men in the line. I was delighted to find that the weather had changed and a most glorious day was lighting up the face of nature. The sky overhead was blue and only a few drifting clouds told of the rain that had gone. The sun was beating down warm and strong, as if anxious to make up for his past neglect. The men, of course, were in high spirits, and the glad handshake and the words "A Merry Christmas" had got back their old-time meaning.
The Colonel had given orders to the men not to fire on the enemy that day unless they fired on us. The Germans had evidently come to the same resolution. Early in the morning some of them had come over to our wire and left two bottles of beer behind as a peace offering. The men were allowed to go back to their trenches unmolested, but the two bottles of beer quite naturally and without any difficulty continued their journey to our lines. When I got up to the front trench, I found our boys standing on the parapet and looking over at the enemy. I climbed up, and there, to my astonishment, I saw the Germans moving about in their trenches apparently quite indifferent to the fact that we were gazing at them. One man was sawing wood. Between us and them lay that mass of wire and iron posts which is known as the mysterious "No Man's Land." Further down the hill we saw the trenches of the 13th Battalion, where apparently intermittent "Straffing" was still going on. Where we were, however, there was nothing to disturb our Christmas peace and joy. I actually got out into "No Mans Land" and wandered down it. Many Christmas parcels had arrived and the men were making merry with their friends, and enjoying the soft spring-like air, and the warm sunshine. When I got down to the 13th Battalion however, I found that I had to take cover, as the German snipers and guns were active. I did not have any service for that Battalion then, as I was going to them on the following Sunday, but at evening I held another midnight service for those of the 16th who were on duty the night before.
The only place available was the billet of the Machine Gun Officer in the second trench. It was the cellar of a ruined building and the entrance was down some broken steps. One of the sergeants had cleaned up the place and a shelf on the wall illuminated by candles was converted into an altar, and the dear old flag, the symbol of liberty, equality and fraternity, was once again my altar cloth. The Machine Gun Officer, owing to our close proximity to the enemy, was a little doubtful as to the wisdom of our singing hymns, but finally allowed us to do so. The tiny room and the passage outside were crowded with stalwart young soldiers, whose voices sang out the old hymns as though the Germans were miles away. Our quarters were so cramped that the men had difficulty in squeezing into the room for communion and could not kneel down. The service was rich and beautiful in the heartfelt devotion of men to whom, in their great need, religion was a real and vital thing. Not long after midnight, once again the pounding of the old war was resumed, and as I went to bed in the dugout that night, I felt from what a sublime height the world had dropped. We had two more war Christmases in France, but I always look back upon that first one as something unique in its beauty and simplicity.
When I stood on the parapet that day looking over at the Germans in their trenches, and thought how two great nations were held back for a time in their fierce struggle for supremacy, by their devotion to a little Child born in a stable in Bethlehem two thousand years before, I felt that there was still promise of a regenerated world. The Angels had not sung in vain their wonderful hymn "Glory to God in the Highest and on Earth Peace, Good Will towards men."
Christmas 1914 found the First Canadian Division camped on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, England. The Canon organized a midnight Christmas Eve Eucharist for the soldiers, seven thousand miles away from their home in Canada.
The second Christmas 1915 found them in France, their first Christmas "in the front" was looked on with foundness. “We had two more war Christmases in France, but I always look back upon that first one as something unique in its beauty and simplicity. “
Our First Christmas in France.
The 25th of December 1915, was to be our first Christmas in France, and as the day approached there was much speculation among our men as to which Battalions would be in the line. At last orders came out that the 13th and 16th Battalions would relieve the 14th and 15th on Christmas Eve. I determined, therefore, to spend my Christmas with the former two. Our trenches at that time were in front of Ploegsteert. The 16th was on the right and the 13th on the left. Taking my bag with communion vessels and as many hymn books as I could carry, and with a haversack over my shoulder containing requisites for the night, I was motored over on Christmas Eve to the 3rd Brigade Headquarters at Petit Moncque Farm. The day was rainy and so was not calculated to improve the spirits and temper of the men who were going to spend their first Christmas in the line. At dusk I walked up the road to Hill 63, and then down on the other side to Le Plus Douve Farm. It was not a cheerful Christmas Eve. The roads were flooded with water, and the transports that were waiting for the relief were continually getting tangled up with one another in the darkness. To make matters worse, I was met by a Sergeant who told me he had some men to be buried, and a burial party was waiting on the side of the road. We went into the field which was used as a cemetery and there we laid the bodies to rest.
The Germans had dammed the river Douve, and it had flooded some of the fields and old Battalion Headquarters. It was hard to find one's way in the dark, and I should never have done so without assistance. The men had acquired the power of seeing in the dark, like cats.
A Battalion was coming out and the men were wet and muddy. I stood by the bridge watching them pass and, thinking it was the right and conventional thing to do, wished them all a Merry Christmas. My intentions were of the best, but I was afterwards told that it sounded to the men like the voice of one mocking them in their misery. However, as it turned out, the wish was fulfilled on the next day.
As soon as I could cross the bridge, I made my way to the trenches which the 16th Battalion were taking over. They were at a higher level and were not in a bad condition. Further up the line there was a barn known as St. Quentin's Farm, which for some reason or other, although it was in sight of the enemy, had not been demolished and was used as a billet. I determined therefore to have a service of Holy Communion at midnight, when the men would all have come into the line and settled down. About eleven o'clock I got things ready. The officers and men had been notified of the service and began to assemble. The barn was a fair size and had dark red brick walls. The roof was low and supported by big rafters. The floor was covered with yellow straw about two feet in depth. The men proceeded to search for a box which I could use as an altar. All they could get were three large empty biscuit tins. These we covered with my Union Jack and white linen cloth. A row of candles was stuck against the wall, which I was careful to see were prevented from setting fire to the straw. The dull red tint of the brick walls, the clean yellow straw, and the bright radiance of our glorious Union Jack made a splendid combination of colour. It would have been a fitting setting for a tableau of the Nativity.
The Highlanders assembled in two rows and I handed out hymn books. There were many candles in the building so the men were able to read. It was wonderful to hear in such a place and on such an occasion, the beautiful old hymns, "While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night," "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," and "O Come All Ye Faithful." The men sang them lustily and many and varied were the memories of past Christmases that welled up in their thoughts at that time.
I had a comfortable bunk in one of the dugouts that night, and was up next morning early to spend the day among the men in the line. I was delighted to find that the weather had changed and a most glorious day was lighting up the face of nature. The sky overhead was blue and only a few drifting clouds told of the rain that had gone. The sun was beating down warm and strong, as if anxious to make up for his past neglect. The men, of course, were in high spirits, and the glad handshake and the words "A Merry Christmas" had got back their old-time meaning.
The Colonel had given orders to the men not to fire on the enemy that day unless they fired on us. The Germans had evidently come to the same resolution. Early in the morning some of them had come over to our wire and left two bottles of beer behind as a peace offering. The men were allowed to go back to their trenches unmolested, but the two bottles of beer quite naturally and without any difficulty continued their journey to our lines. When I got up to the front trench, I found our boys standing on the parapet and looking over at the enemy. I climbed up, and there, to my astonishment, I saw the Germans moving about in their trenches apparently quite indifferent to the fact that we were gazing at them. One man was sawing wood. Between us and them lay that mass of wire and iron posts which is known as the mysterious "No Man's Land." Further down the hill we saw the trenches of the 13th Battalion, where apparently intermittent "Straffing" was still going on. Where we were, however, there was nothing to disturb our Christmas peace and joy. I actually got out into "No Mans Land" and wandered down it. Many Christmas parcels had arrived and the men were making merry with their friends, and enjoying the soft spring-like air, and the warm sunshine. When I got down to the 13th Battalion however, I found that I had to take cover, as the German snipers and guns were active. I did not have any service for that Battalion then, as I was going to them on the following Sunday, but at evening I held another midnight service for those of the 16th who were on duty the night before.
The only place available was the billet of the Machine Gun Officer in the second trench. It was the cellar of a ruined building and the entrance was down some broken steps. One of the sergeants had cleaned up the place and a shelf on the wall illuminated by candles was converted into an altar, and the dear old flag, the symbol of liberty, equality and fraternity, was once again my altar cloth. The Machine Gun Officer, owing to our close proximity to the enemy, was a little doubtful as to the wisdom of our singing hymns, but finally allowed us to do so. The tiny room and the passage outside were crowded with stalwart young soldiers, whose voices sang out the old hymns as though the Germans were miles away. Our quarters were so cramped that the men had difficulty in squeezing into the room for communion and could not kneel down. The service was rich and beautiful in the heartfelt devotion of men to whom, in their great need, religion was a real and vital thing. Not long after midnight, once again the pounding of the old war was resumed, and as I went to bed in the dugout that night, I felt from what a sublime height the world had dropped. We had two more war Christmases in France, but I always look back upon that first one as something unique in its beauty and simplicity.
When I stood on the parapet that day looking over at the Germans in their trenches, and thought how two great nations were held back for a time in their fierce struggle for supremacy, by their devotion to a little Child born in a stable in Bethlehem two thousand years before, I felt that there was still promise of a regenerated world. The Angels had not sung in vain their wonderful hymn "Glory to God in the Highest and on Earth Peace, Good Will towards men."
Friday, December 12, 2008
Christmas 1915 - with Danish Hospitality.
This article entitled “My Three War Christmases In Flanders, Denmark, and Old England by Basil Clarke” comes from the excellent site “The Great War in A Different Light.”
Christmas 1915 by War Correspondent Basil Clarke was spent in the North Sea nearing the port of Copenhagen, with Danish hospitality.
1915
Her name was Flora or Dora or Stella or Bella, and she was the horriblest, nastiest, beastliest little boat I ever sailed in. First we were kept in dock for thirty-six hours after "sailing day," and not allowed to leave the ship. Then, after hauling out of the dock, she lay tumbling off the coast for twenty-four hours waiting for her sailing signal before she turned her bosom to the sea and shaped "a course round the North Sea mine-fielda” and hit the port of Copenhagen.
What a voyage ! They say we were only seven days on board. We rolled, then we pitched, then we pitched and rolled, then we rolled and pitched. The wind blew, and the rain fell. Once we passed within twenty feet of a great red mine rolling sleepily in the angry seas. Our Dutch skipper nearly "threw a fit" on the bridge — as a Tyneside steward expressed it — in dodging his craft to the starboard of it. He cursed the sea and the wind and the war and his luck in life. The gale had caused that mine to drift from its charted ground, and he had all but run into it.
Danish Hospitality
Bad as the sea was, bad as the boat was, bad as the world seemed, Christmas was in the air. Passengers began to emerge from their cabins. The saloon piano began to tinkle. The weather picked up one night and the moon shone. A party of us younger folk dragged out the saloon piano to the deck. First they sang Danish songs. Then I played while they danced on the tarpaulin covers of the after hatch ; then I danced while someone else played. We danced and sang till 3 a.m., when the moon sank into the sea.
Among themselves that night those delightful Danes hatched a little conspiracy. It reached me in my hotel in Copenhagen next day in the form of an invitation from some half-dozen of them to spend the following day in their company. They had arranged a little Christmas-party together, men and girls, and made me their guest. The day after Christmas, 1915, I began my round of investigations in Scandinavia as to how Germany was getting food and supplies through neutral countries. But that is another story.
My Christmas Day was the one bright spot in that journey.
Christmas 1915 by War Correspondent Basil Clarke was spent in the North Sea nearing the port of Copenhagen, with Danish hospitality.
1915
Her name was Flora or Dora or Stella or Bella, and she was the horriblest, nastiest, beastliest little boat I ever sailed in. First we were kept in dock for thirty-six hours after "sailing day," and not allowed to leave the ship. Then, after hauling out of the dock, she lay tumbling off the coast for twenty-four hours waiting for her sailing signal before she turned her bosom to the sea and shaped "a course round the North Sea mine-fielda” and hit the port of Copenhagen.
What a voyage ! They say we were only seven days on board. We rolled, then we pitched, then we pitched and rolled, then we rolled and pitched. The wind blew, and the rain fell. Once we passed within twenty feet of a great red mine rolling sleepily in the angry seas. Our Dutch skipper nearly "threw a fit" on the bridge — as a Tyneside steward expressed it — in dodging his craft to the starboard of it. He cursed the sea and the wind and the war and his luck in life. The gale had caused that mine to drift from its charted ground, and he had all but run into it.
Danish Hospitality
Bad as the sea was, bad as the boat was, bad as the world seemed, Christmas was in the air. Passengers began to emerge from their cabins. The saloon piano began to tinkle. The weather picked up one night and the moon shone. A party of us younger folk dragged out the saloon piano to the deck. First they sang Danish songs. Then I played while they danced on the tarpaulin covers of the after hatch ; then I danced while someone else played. We danced and sang till 3 a.m., when the moon sank into the sea.
Among themselves that night those delightful Danes hatched a little conspiracy. It reached me in my hotel in Copenhagen next day in the form of an invitation from some half-dozen of them to spend the following day in their company. They had arranged a little Christmas-party together, men and girls, and made me their guest. The day after Christmas, 1915, I began my round of investigations in Scandinavia as to how Germany was getting food and supplies through neutral countries. But that is another story.
My Christmas Day was the one bright spot in that journey.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Christmas 1915 - 5th Leicestershire's.
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.”
Christmas 1915 was the 5th Leicestershire’s first in France, away in Foreign Fields.
“On the 19th we moved to the little hamlet of Tannay, still on the edge of the woods, between Haverskerque and Thiennes. As we paraded in the morning there were many who said they could smell gas, but as the wind was N.E. and the line very far away, we thought they must be mistaken. However, the next day the official communiqué told us of a big gas attack at Ypres on the 9th and 49th Divisions, and though Ypres was 18 miles away, it must have been this that could be smelt. In these new billets we spent Christmas—the first Christmas in France for us, and managed with the aid of plum puddings and other luxuries sent out to us by the good people at home, to enjoy ourselves immensely. Not only were many good things to eat sent us, but we also received some very welcome gifts of tobacco, cigarettes, books and stationery from the "Leicester Daily Post and Mercury" funds. Both these papers have been most faithful throughout the war, never failing to send us "themselves," and often adding boxes of comforts for all. Our celebrations included a Brigade Football Cup competition, for which we entered a hot side, including many of our old players—"Banger" Neal, "Mush" Taylor, Toon, Archer, Skelly, Fish, Serjt. Allan, Kirchin and others. We met the 5th Lincolnshires in the semi-finals and beat them 2—1, and then turned our attention to their 4th Battalion, who after beating our 4th Battalion, our old rivals, met us in the[Pg 103] final and went down 1—0. The final was a keen, hard game, played well to the finish, and we deserved our win. The trophy—a clock, mounted into a French "75" shell—was taken back to Leicestershire by Capt. Farmer when he next went on leave.
On the 27th we again moved, this time to some farms round Widdebroucq, just west of Aire, to be nearer our entraining station Berguette, which with Lillers had already been reconnoitred. As Captains Hills and Ward Jackson had already gone forward with an advance party to Marseilles, it began to look as though we really should go East before the end of the war—a fact which some of us were beginning to doubt. Training still continued each day, special attention being paid to open warfare tactics, which fortunately included more musketry and less bombing, and we also carried out a number of route marches and field days. Scouts, having become obsolete, were resurrected, and Field Service Regulations rescued from the dim recesses of valises. It was a pleasant change after the previous nine months' trench work.”
Christmas 1915 was the 5th Leicestershire’s first in France, away in Foreign Fields.
“On the 19th we moved to the little hamlet of Tannay, still on the edge of the woods, between Haverskerque and Thiennes. As we paraded in the morning there were many who said they could smell gas, but as the wind was N.E. and the line very far away, we thought they must be mistaken. However, the next day the official communiqué told us of a big gas attack at Ypres on the 9th and 49th Divisions, and though Ypres was 18 miles away, it must have been this that could be smelt. In these new billets we spent Christmas—the first Christmas in France for us, and managed with the aid of plum puddings and other luxuries sent out to us by the good people at home, to enjoy ourselves immensely. Not only were many good things to eat sent us, but we also received some very welcome gifts of tobacco, cigarettes, books and stationery from the "Leicester Daily Post and Mercury" funds. Both these papers have been most faithful throughout the war, never failing to send us "themselves," and often adding boxes of comforts for all. Our celebrations included a Brigade Football Cup competition, for which we entered a hot side, including many of our old players—"Banger" Neal, "Mush" Taylor, Toon, Archer, Skelly, Fish, Serjt. Allan, Kirchin and others. We met the 5th Lincolnshires in the semi-finals and beat them 2—1, and then turned our attention to their 4th Battalion, who after beating our 4th Battalion, our old rivals, met us in the[Pg 103] final and went down 1—0. The final was a keen, hard game, played well to the finish, and we deserved our win. The trophy—a clock, mounted into a French "75" shell—was taken back to Leicestershire by Capt. Farmer when he next went on leave.
On the 27th we again moved, this time to some farms round Widdebroucq, just west of Aire, to be nearer our entraining station Berguette, which with Lillers had already been reconnoitred. As Captains Hills and Ward Jackson had already gone forward with an advance party to Marseilles, it began to look as though we really should go East before the end of the war—a fact which some of us were beginning to doubt. Training still continued each day, special attention being paid to open warfare tactics, which fortunately included more musketry and less bombing, and we also carried out a number of route marches and field days. Scouts, having become obsolete, were resurrected, and Field Service Regulations rescued from the dim recesses of valises. It was a pleasant change after the previous nine months' trench work.”
Monday, December 08, 2008
Christmas 1915 - 28th Battalion, A.I.F.
Last year I posted many articles on the First Christmas of the First World War 25th December 1914.
This year (a year on) I am going to take a look at Christmas 1915. A lot had happened during 1915, the first Gas Attack by the Germans in April 1915 certainly changed many opinions about the way the war should be fought. The major actions of Gallipoli and Loos also confirmed the fear that the war was going to be long one.
To open up this account comes from the book “The 28th: A Record of War Service in the Australian Imperial Force, 1915-19, Vol. I, by Herbert Brayley Collett.” The 28th Battalion in December 1915 was stationed on the island of Lemos after having evacuated from Gallipoli.
“Christmas Day was now approaching, and preparations for making the season as enjoyable as possible were taken in hand. Tents were decorated and the ground around laid out in designs formed with the aid of the stones from the sea beach. A competition had been arranged and prizes were given for the parties securing the best results. One man constructed from the soil some models of kangaroos and swans. A supply of beer was ordered from the Canteen, and a consignment of Swallow & Ariell's tinned plum puddings having been received were issued in the proportion of one tin to every two men.
On the afternoon of the 24th December arrived the "Christmas Billies." These were two-quart cans which had been filled with comforts by the people of Australia and despatched for the use of the troops. Each can contained a card whereon the sender had written a seasonable greeting. By a touch of irony, painted on the outside of the receptacle was a representation of an Australian kicking a Turk off the Peninsula. Beneath was inscribed a line from "Dryblower's" well known song, "This bit of the world belongs to us." The contents of the "billies" covered a fairly wide range of articles, and an inventory made of one gave the following result:--
1 tin shortbread.
1 tin cheese.
1 tin tobacco.
1 pack playing cards.
1 corkscrew.
1 mouth organ.
Safety pins.
1 piece soap.
1 tube toothpaste.
1 toothbrush.
1 packet prunes.
1 packet boracic acid.
1 writing pad with envelopes.
1 pipe.
6 cigars.
Although each State of the Commonwealth sent its proportion of gifts, the whole lot were pooled and distributed pro rata. The 28th thus received mostly Victorian gifts, but they were none the less welcome, and many men answered by letter the greetings of the senders.
The receipt of these gifts excited considerable interest and gave infinite pleasure. The scene when the cans were being opened was absorbing. Men were behaving like children, exhibiting the articles to one another, exchanging when not quite to taste, rendering impromptus on the mouth organs, and laughing over their own interpretations of the messages. In these last, as might be expected, little incongruities were discovered, and the commanding officer of a neighbouring battalion, who admitted an age of 40 and a weight of some 200 lbs., felt flattered when he read the enclosed inscription, "To my dear little soldier boy."
That night went pleasantly enough--the men singing and talking until a late hour. Next morning, in beautiful weather, the Battalion paraded for divine service, which was conducted by the Rev. S. McBain, a chaplain of the 6th Brigade, in a manner that interested and pleased all. The dinner was a feast as compared with the meals of the previous months, and afterwards the Western Australians played their first, and a victorious, game of football in the A.I.F.--on this occasion against the 24th Battalion. A visit was also received from Colonel Burston, who was now located on the island in command of a large reinforcement camp. That evening in his own Mess he very pleasantly entertained some of the officers. Boxing Day was also observed as a holiday and passed without incident except for a visit from a hostile aeroplane which passed over the camp travelling eastwards at a considerable height.
Probably owing to the dislocation of the services brought about by thevacuation, the Battalion received no Australian mails for some time, and its latest news from home was quite two months old. About the 20th December, however, information was received that several thousand bags were in the vicinity. Later, curious members located these on the east side of the Bay. Representations made to higher authority failed to secure delivery, the statement being made that no transport was available but that battalions would receive their portions on reaching the next theatre of operations. This answer not proving satisfactory, a mild conspiracy was indulged in which covered the chartering of a local fishing boat and a trip across the Bay. Lieut. Nicholls was master, the owner pilot, and 28th men formed the crew. This and other measures were successful, and the Battalion got its letters just before the end of the month.
As time went on the Battalion so far improved in health and training that unit and Brigade route marches were undertaken. Here the Western Australians came under the eye of the Divisional Commander (Brig.-General W. Holmes, D.S.O.), he complimented them on their march discipline. On the 31st December he inspected them in close order drill and the practice of formations when under artillery fire. So pleased was he with their performance that he characterised the unit as "a damned fine battalion. I have never before seen such good work done in the Division."
On the 27th December was received, and read on parade, a message from the King congratulating the troops on the successful evacuation of the Peninsula. About this time arrived news of the deaths at Alexandria of Captain H. B. Menz and Lieut. H. E. C. Ruddock, both of whom had succumbed to disease.
A series of evening open-air concerts, arranged in the Brigade, concluded on New Year's Eve with that given by the 28th. Visitors from other units attended in considerable numbers and all enjoyed the following programme:--
28TH BATTALION.
_Camp Concert--Programme._
Song - "The Deathless Army" - Private Allanson.
Song - Private "Sport" Edwards.
Song - Private Bolt.
Recitation - "Voice of Gallipoli" - Private Carr.
Song - "Queen of Angels" - Private Rolfe.
Song - Private Allanson.
Song - Private Piggott.
Sketch - "Chrysanthemums" - Corpl. Haydock.
Song - Private Carr.
Recitation - Lieut. Field.
Song - Private Vicaridge.
Song - Private "Sport" Edwards.
Song - Private Thomas
Chorus - "28th Anthem"
Chorus - "Auld Lang Syne"
Lemnos Island, 31st December, 1915.
Many sat awake in their tents that night awaiting the arrival of the New Year and wondering what their future lot would be. At midnight whistle and siren sounds, so familiar, came from the vessels in the Bay.
About the 28th December instructions were received that the troops would re-embark within a few days and that a small party would precede each battalion in order to make the preliminary arrangements at the next assembly point. Captain E. A. Coleman was placed in command of the 28th details, and marched out on the 31st of the month.
January 1st was observed as a holiday, but training was continued on the following days, when the weather, which was now becoming broken with rains and cold winds, permitted. Definite instructions were issued to embark on the 5th, but these were cancelled later on account of heavy seas. However, at 7.30 a.m. on the 6th the camp ground was vacated, and two hours later 24 officers and 667 other ranks of the 28th began to file along North Pier and embark on the "Ansonia" (7,900 tons)—another Cunard boat.
The transport also took on board 3 officers and 53 others of the 2nd Divisional Train, under Captain S. Walker, and 6 officers and 717 other ranks, details of various units, under Lieut.-Colonel R. A. Crouch.
No difficulty was encountered in regard to quarters, and when the transport left the harbour next morning at 7.30 everybody had settled down.
The danger from submarines had become more acute recently, consequently special precautions were taken. No lights were exposed, and all life belts were kept handy. However, the voyage was without incident and, travelling rather slowly down through the Grecian Archipelago, Alexandria harbour was entered during the afternoon of the 9th January.”
This year (a year on) I am going to take a look at Christmas 1915. A lot had happened during 1915, the first Gas Attack by the Germans in April 1915 certainly changed many opinions about the way the war should be fought. The major actions of Gallipoli and Loos also confirmed the fear that the war was going to be long one.
To open up this account comes from the book “The 28th: A Record of War Service in the Australian Imperial Force, 1915-19, Vol. I, by Herbert Brayley Collett.” The 28th Battalion in December 1915 was stationed on the island of Lemos after having evacuated from Gallipoli.
“Christmas Day was now approaching, and preparations for making the season as enjoyable as possible were taken in hand. Tents were decorated and the ground around laid out in designs formed with the aid of the stones from the sea beach. A competition had been arranged and prizes were given for the parties securing the best results. One man constructed from the soil some models of kangaroos and swans. A supply of beer was ordered from the Canteen, and a consignment of Swallow & Ariell's tinned plum puddings having been received were issued in the proportion of one tin to every two men.
On the afternoon of the 24th December arrived the "Christmas Billies." These were two-quart cans which had been filled with comforts by the people of Australia and despatched for the use of the troops. Each can contained a card whereon the sender had written a seasonable greeting. By a touch of irony, painted on the outside of the receptacle was a representation of an Australian kicking a Turk off the Peninsula. Beneath was inscribed a line from "Dryblower's" well known song, "This bit of the world belongs to us." The contents of the "billies" covered a fairly wide range of articles, and an inventory made of one gave the following result:--
1 tin shortbread.
1 tin cheese.
1 tin tobacco.
1 pack playing cards.
1 corkscrew.
1 mouth organ.
Safety pins.
1 piece soap.
1 tube toothpaste.
1 toothbrush.
1 packet prunes.
1 packet boracic acid.
1 writing pad with envelopes.
1 pipe.
6 cigars.
Although each State of the Commonwealth sent its proportion of gifts, the whole lot were pooled and distributed pro rata. The 28th thus received mostly Victorian gifts, but they were none the less welcome, and many men answered by letter the greetings of the senders.
The receipt of these gifts excited considerable interest and gave infinite pleasure. The scene when the cans were being opened was absorbing. Men were behaving like children, exhibiting the articles to one another, exchanging when not quite to taste, rendering impromptus on the mouth organs, and laughing over their own interpretations of the messages. In these last, as might be expected, little incongruities were discovered, and the commanding officer of a neighbouring battalion, who admitted an age of 40 and a weight of some 200 lbs., felt flattered when he read the enclosed inscription, "To my dear little soldier boy."
That night went pleasantly enough--the men singing and talking until a late hour. Next morning, in beautiful weather, the Battalion paraded for divine service, which was conducted by the Rev. S. McBain, a chaplain of the 6th Brigade, in a manner that interested and pleased all. The dinner was a feast as compared with the meals of the previous months, and afterwards the Western Australians played their first, and a victorious, game of football in the A.I.F.--on this occasion against the 24th Battalion. A visit was also received from Colonel Burston, who was now located on the island in command of a large reinforcement camp. That evening in his own Mess he very pleasantly entertained some of the officers. Boxing Day was also observed as a holiday and passed without incident except for a visit from a hostile aeroplane which passed over the camp travelling eastwards at a considerable height.
Probably owing to the dislocation of the services brought about by thevacuation, the Battalion received no Australian mails for some time, and its latest news from home was quite two months old. About the 20th December, however, information was received that several thousand bags were in the vicinity. Later, curious members located these on the east side of the Bay. Representations made to higher authority failed to secure delivery, the statement being made that no transport was available but that battalions would receive their portions on reaching the next theatre of operations. This answer not proving satisfactory, a mild conspiracy was indulged in which covered the chartering of a local fishing boat and a trip across the Bay. Lieut. Nicholls was master, the owner pilot, and 28th men formed the crew. This and other measures were successful, and the Battalion got its letters just before the end of the month.
As time went on the Battalion so far improved in health and training that unit and Brigade route marches were undertaken. Here the Western Australians came under the eye of the Divisional Commander (Brig.-General W. Holmes, D.S.O.), he complimented them on their march discipline. On the 31st December he inspected them in close order drill and the practice of formations when under artillery fire. So pleased was he with their performance that he characterised the unit as "a damned fine battalion. I have never before seen such good work done in the Division."
On the 27th December was received, and read on parade, a message from the King congratulating the troops on the successful evacuation of the Peninsula. About this time arrived news of the deaths at Alexandria of Captain H. B. Menz and Lieut. H. E. C. Ruddock, both of whom had succumbed to disease.
A series of evening open-air concerts, arranged in the Brigade, concluded on New Year's Eve with that given by the 28th. Visitors from other units attended in considerable numbers and all enjoyed the following programme:--
28TH BATTALION.
_Camp Concert--Programme._
Song - "The Deathless Army" - Private Allanson.
Song - Private "Sport" Edwards.
Song - Private Bolt.
Recitation - "Voice of Gallipoli" - Private Carr.
Song - "Queen of Angels" - Private Rolfe.
Song - Private Allanson.
Song - Private Piggott.
Sketch - "Chrysanthemums" - Corpl. Haydock.
Song - Private Carr.
Recitation - Lieut. Field.
Song - Private Vicaridge.
Song - Private "Sport" Edwards.
Song - Private Thomas
Chorus - "28th Anthem"
Chorus - "Auld Lang Syne"
Lemnos Island, 31st December, 1915.
Many sat awake in their tents that night awaiting the arrival of the New Year and wondering what their future lot would be. At midnight whistle and siren sounds, so familiar, came from the vessels in the Bay.
About the 28th December instructions were received that the troops would re-embark within a few days and that a small party would precede each battalion in order to make the preliminary arrangements at the next assembly point. Captain E. A. Coleman was placed in command of the 28th details, and marched out on the 31st of the month.
January 1st was observed as a holiday, but training was continued on the following days, when the weather, which was now becoming broken with rains and cold winds, permitted. Definite instructions were issued to embark on the 5th, but these were cancelled later on account of heavy seas. However, at 7.30 a.m. on the 6th the camp ground was vacated, and two hours later 24 officers and 667 other ranks of the 28th began to file along North Pier and embark on the "Ansonia" (7,900 tons)—another Cunard boat.
The transport also took on board 3 officers and 53 others of the 2nd Divisional Train, under Captain S. Walker, and 6 officers and 717 other ranks, details of various units, under Lieut.-Colonel R. A. Crouch.
No difficulty was encountered in regard to quarters, and when the transport left the harbour next morning at 7.30 everybody had settled down.
The danger from submarines had become more acute recently, consequently special precautions were taken. No lights were exposed, and all life belts were kept handy. However, the voyage was without incident and, travelling rather slowly down through the Grecian Archipelago, Alexandria harbour was entered during the afternoon of the 9th January.”
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Australia to England by Archibald T. Strong.
This stirring poem was published in August 1914 by Archibald T. Strong.
It certainly captures the spirit of the moment, the last line ‘Thy sons may stand beside Thee strong and free.’ Echoing the bond felt my many in the Empire.
AUSTRALIA TO ENGLAND
By all the deeds to Thy dear glory done,
By all the life blood, spilt to serve Thy need,
By all the fettered lives Thy touch hath freed,
By all Thy dream in us anew begun;
By all the guerdon English sire to son
Hath given of highest vision, kingliest deed,
By all Thine agony, of God decreed
For trial and strength, our fate with Thine is one.
Still dwells Thy spirit in our hearts and lips,
Honour and life we hold from none but Thee,
And if we live Thy pensioners no more
But seek a nation's might of men and ships,
'T is but that when the world is black with war
Thy sons may stand beside Thee strong and free.
Archibald T. Strong
(Sir Archibald Strong was the son of Professor H.A. Strong (Professor of Latin 1884-1909), and studied Classics at University College, Liverpool, 1893-96.
Archibald T. Strong was a scholar, a writer whose most successful essay in verse is a translation of the ballades of de Banville.
Strong, who had the reputation as Australia’s most widely read and cultured person, had produced an acclaimed translation of Beowulf in 1925 and had published his own poetry on Australian themes. ..)
It certainly captures the spirit of the moment, the last line ‘Thy sons may stand beside Thee strong and free.’ Echoing the bond felt my many in the Empire.
AUSTRALIA TO ENGLAND
By all the deeds to Thy dear glory done,
By all the life blood, spilt to serve Thy need,
By all the fettered lives Thy touch hath freed,
By all Thy dream in us anew begun;
By all the guerdon English sire to son
Hath given of highest vision, kingliest deed,
By all Thine agony, of God decreed
For trial and strength, our fate with Thine is one.
Still dwells Thy spirit in our hearts and lips,
Honour and life we hold from none but Thee,
And if we live Thy pensioners no more
But seek a nation's might of men and ships,
'T is but that when the world is black with war
Thy sons may stand beside Thee strong and free.
Archibald T. Strong
(Sir Archibald Strong was the son of Professor H.A. Strong (Professor of Latin 1884-1909), and studied Classics at University College, Liverpool, 1893-96.
Archibald T. Strong was a scholar, a writer whose most successful essay in verse is a translation of the ballades of de Banville.
Strong, who had the reputation as Australia’s most widely read and cultured person, had produced an acclaimed translation of Beowulf in 1925 and had published his own poetry on Australian themes. ..)
Monday, December 01, 2008
Armistice Day 1918 - Dan Walker
To finish off my little look at the different ways the Armistice in 1918 was greeted I have chosen this excerpt from the book “A Stillness Heard round the world by Stanley Weintraub.”
I think that this little anecdote somehow captures an under lying feeling amongst soldiers.
Whilst there was relief and joy that peace had come and that the war was over. There was also a sense of loss, in that the private world all soldiers shared was now gone forever and only ‘wreckage left behind.’
For all of us that never experienced the horror of the First World War there is no way we could ever imagine what it meant to those who went through it.
"Dan Walker was in a military hospital in the country, a collection of huts on the edge of the wood, when the matron, trailed by a doctor, entered to make an announcement to the ward. “The War is over,” she said. “This is not a rumour. This is official. An Armistice has been signed. The War is over!” Almost any announcement in the past had been greeted with practical joking and handicaps ignored – “Tippling each other out of bed, bashing at each other with pillows, pushing ourselves along the floor on our bottom, stumps waving….” But what Walker remembered most sixty-one years later was the “uncanny silence,” akin to the eerie quiet on the line when the shooting stopped.
“Our world, a bloody world, a world of suffering….at time’s close to the ultimate, also a world of laughter, excitement and comradeship beyond description. Our world, and now it was gone – ended – Napoo fini….Now we were just some of the wreckage left behind.”"
I think that this little anecdote somehow captures an under lying feeling amongst soldiers.
Whilst there was relief and joy that peace had come and that the war was over. There was also a sense of loss, in that the private world all soldiers shared was now gone forever and only ‘wreckage left behind.’
For all of us that never experienced the horror of the First World War there is no way we could ever imagine what it meant to those who went through it.
"Dan Walker was in a military hospital in the country, a collection of huts on the edge of the wood, when the matron, trailed by a doctor, entered to make an announcement to the ward. “The War is over,” she said. “This is not a rumour. This is official. An Armistice has been signed. The War is over!” Almost any announcement in the past had been greeted with practical joking and handicaps ignored – “Tippling each other out of bed, bashing at each other with pillows, pushing ourselves along the floor on our bottom, stumps waving….” But what Walker remembered most sixty-one years later was the “uncanny silence,” akin to the eerie quiet on the line when the shooting stopped.
“Our world, a bloody world, a world of suffering….at time’s close to the ultimate, also a world of laughter, excitement and comradeship beyond description. Our world, and now it was gone – ended – Napoo fini….Now we were just some of the wreckage left behind.”"
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