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.
Showing posts with label Christmas Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas Stories. Show all posts
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Christmas 1917 - A Seige Battery in Italy.
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.”
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.”
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Christmas 1917 - Royal Berkshire's in Italy.
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 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.”
Friday, December 17, 2010
Christmas 1917 - 8th Manchester's.
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.
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.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Christmas 1917 - In Rumania.
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. "
"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. "
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Christmas 1917 - With a Field Battery.
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. "
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. "
Monday, December 13, 2010
Christmas 1917 - In Amiens, France.
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. "
"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. "
Friday, December 10, 2010
Christmas 1917 - 2nd Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry.
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Christmas 1917 - with the 4th Field Ambulance, A.I.F.
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Christmas 1917 - 6th Battalion, The Durham Light Infantry.
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.
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.
Monday, December 06, 2010
Christmas 1917 - The Sherwood Foresters.
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. "
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. "
Friday, December 03, 2010
Christmas 1917 - 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.”
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.
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.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Christmas 1917 - 8th Battalion.
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 153rd IR, reached an outlying post where it met an 8th 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 8th Battalion was relieved by the 2nd 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 8th 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."
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Christmas 1917 - Christmas At The Front
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.
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.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
The National Christmas Card.
The Eastbourne Gazette published the following article in November 1914 encouraging it’s readers to purchase the new “National Christmas Card" with proceeds going to the Prince of Wales fund.
The National Christmas Card.
WE have just received a copy of the National Christmas Card, to be sold for the benefit of the Prince of Wales fund.
The first page, entitled “Defenders of the Empire” shows a picturesque representative group of our defenders with a background of battleships and aeroplanes.
On the inside leaf is a super-dreadnought passing and saluting Nelson’s “Victory” and with the Kings message, “Once again the sure shield of Britain and her Empire,” and a text from Shakespeare – “What’s brave, what’s noble, let’s do it.”
The cover is Khaki coloured and each card is stamped with the Prince of Wales feathers.
The National Christmas Card.
WE have just received a copy of the National Christmas Card, to be sold for the benefit of the Prince of Wales fund.
The first page, entitled “Defenders of the Empire” shows a picturesque representative group of our defenders with a background of battleships and aeroplanes.
On the inside leaf is a super-dreadnought passing and saluting Nelson’s “Victory” and with the Kings message, “Once again the sure shield of Britain and her Empire,” and a text from Shakespeare – “What’s brave, what’s noble, let’s do it.”
The cover is Khaki coloured and each card is stamped with the Prince of Wales feathers.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Christmas 1916 - Sir Harry Lauder.
Over the last few days we have visited many places and people in search of Christmas 1916.
Some accounts were in the sands of Egypt with a concert party. Some were in cold, wet trenches in France. One lady of the F.A.N.Y. was with the sick in hospital and the 8th Battalion officers enjoyed the delights of Paris
Both the King and the Kaiser have given respected Christmas messages and the early risers in London woke to a white Christmas, with Westminster Abbey filled with fog on Boxing Day.
To round it all off here is a rather long account of Christmas 1916 by the star of the music hall stage Harry Lauder from his book “A Minstrel in France.”
I have left this until last as I think it is one of the most moving stories of that Christmas 1916. Harry’s son Captain John Lauder of the First 8th, Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders was killed in France on 28th December 1916.
Here he recounts with heartbreak the Christmas he had and devastating news that followed.
That winter I was in the big revue at the Shaftesbury Theatre, in London, that was called "Three Cheers." It was one of the gay shows that London liked because it gave some relief from the war and made the Zeppelin raids that the Huns were beginning to make so often now a little easier to bear. And it was a great place for the men who were back from France. It was partly because of them that I could go on as I did. We owed them all we could give them. And when they came back from the mud and the grime and the dreariness of the trenches, they needed something to cheer them up--needed the sort of production we gave them. A man who has two days' leave in London does not want to see a serious play or a problem drama, as a rule. He wants something light, with lots of pretty girls and jolly tunes and people to make him laugh. And we gave him that. The house was full of officers and men, night after night.
Soon word came from John that he was to have leave, just after Christmas that would bring him home for the New Year's holidays. His mother went home to make things ready, for John was to be married when he got his leave. I had my plans all made. I meant to build a wee hoose for the two of them, near our own hoose at Dunoon, so that we might be all together, even though my laddie was in a home of his own. And I counted the hours and the days against the time when John would be home again.
While we were playing at the Shaftesbury I lived at an hotel in Southampton Row called the Bonnington. But it was lonely for me there. On New Yea r's Eve--it fell on a Sunday--Tom Vallance, my brother-in-law, asked me to tea with him and his family in Clapham,
where he lived. That is a pleasant place, a suburb of London on the southwest, and I was glad to go. And so I drove out with a friend of mine, in a taxicab, and was glad to get out of the crowded part of the city for a time.
I did not feel right that day. Holiday times were bad, hard times for me then. We had always made so much of Christmas, and here was the third Christmas that our boy had been away. And so I was depressed. And then, there had been no word for me from John for a day or two. I was not worried, for I thought it likely that his mother or his sweetheart had heard, and had not time yet to let me know. But, whatever the reason, I was depressed and blue, and I could not enter into the festive spirit that folk were trying to keep alive despite the war.
I must have been poor company during that ride to Clapham in the taxicab. We scarcely exchanged a word, my friend and I. I did not feel like talking, and he respected my mood, and kept quiet him self. I felt, at last, that I ought to apologize to him.
"I don't know what's the matter with me," I told him. "I simply don't want to talk. I feel sad and lonely. I wonder if my boy is all right?"
"Of course he is!" my friend told me. "Cheer up, Harry. This is a time when no news is good news. If anything were wrong with him they'd let you know."
Well, I knew that, too. And I tried to cheer up, and feel better, so that I would not spoil the pleasure of the others at Tom Vallance's house. I tried to picture John as I thought he must be--well, and happy, and smiling the old, familiar boyish smile I knew so well. I had sent him a box of cigars only a few days before, and he would be handing it around among his fellow officers. I knew that! But it was no use. I could think of John, but it was only with sorrow and longing. And I wondered if this same time in a year would see him still out there, in the trenches. Would this war ever end? And so the shadows still hung about me when we reached Tom's house.
They made me very welcome, did Tom and all his family. They tried to cheer me, and Tom did all he could to make me feel better, and to reassure me. But I was still depressed when we left the house and began the drive back to London.
"It's the holiday--I'm out of gear with that, I'm thinking," I told my friend.
He was going to join two other friends, and, with them, to see the New Year in in an old fashioned way, and he wanted me to join them. But I did not feel up to it; I was not in the mood for anything of the sort.
"No, no, I'll go home and turn in," I told him. "I'm too dull tonight to be good company."
He hoped, as we all did, that this New Year that was coming would bring victory and peace. Peace could not come without victory; we were all agreed on that. But we all hoped that the New Year would bring both--the new year of 1917. And so I left him at the corner of Southhampton Row, and went back to my hotel alone. It was about midnight, a little before, I think, when I got in, and one of the porters had a message for me.
"Sir Thomas Lipton rang you up," he said, "and wants you to speak with him when you come in."
I rang him up at home directly.
"Happy New Year, when it comes, Harry!" he said. He spoke in the same bluff, hearty way he always did. He fairly shouted in my ear. "When did you hear from the boy? Are you and Mrs. Lauder well?"
"Aye, fine," I told him. And I told him my last news of John.
"Splendid!" he said. "Well, it was just to talk to you a minute that I rang you up, Harry. Good-night--Happy New Year again."
I went to bed then. But I did not go to sleep for a long time. It was New Year's, and I lay thinking of my boy, and wondering what this year would bring him. It was early in the morning before I slept. And it seemed to me that I had scarce been asleep at all when there came a pounding at the door, loud enough to rouse the heaviest sleeper there ever was.
My heart almost stopped. There must be something serious indeed for them to be rousing me so early. I rushed to the door, and there was a porter, holding out a telegram. I took it and tore it open. And I knew why I had felt as I had the day before. I shall never forget what I read:
"Captain John Lauder killed in action, December 28. Official. War Office."
It had gone to Mrs. Lauder at Dunoon first, and she had sent it on to me. That was all it said. I knew nothing of how my boy had died, or where--save that it was for his country.
But later I learned that when Sir Thomas Lipton had rung me up he had intended to condole with me. He had heard on Saturday of my boy's death. But when he spoke to me, and understood at once, from the tone of my voice, that I did not know, he had not been able to go on. His heart was too tender to make it possible for him to be the one to give me that blow--the heaviest that ever befell me.
It was on Monday morning, January the first, 1917, that I learned of my boy's death. And he had been killed the Thursday before! He had been dead four days before I knew it! And yet--I had known. Let no one ever tell me again that there is nothing in presentiment. Why else had I been so sad and uneasy in my mind? Why else, all through that Sunday, had it been so impossible for me to take comfort in what was said to cheer me? Some warning had come to me, some sense that all was not well.
Realization came to me slowly. I sat and stared at that slip of paper, that had come to me like the breath of doom. Dead! Dead these four days! I was never to see the light of his eyes again. I was never to hear that laugh of his. I had looked on my boy for the last time. Could it be true? Ah, I knew it was! And it was for this moment that I had been waiting, that we had all been waiting, ever since we had sent John away to fight for his country and do his part. I think we had all felt that it must come. We had all known that it was too much to hope that he should be one of those to be spared.
The black despair that had been hovering over me for hours closed down now and enveloped all my senses. Everything was unreal. For a time I was quite numb. But then, as I began to realize and to visualize what it was to mean in my life that my boy was dead there came a great pain. The iron of realization slowly seared every word of that curt telegram upon my heart. I said it to myself, over and over again. And I whispered to myself, as my thoughts took form, over and over, the one terrible word: "Dead!"
I felt that for me everything had come to an end with the reading of that dire message. It seemed to me that for me the board of life was black and blank. For me there was no past and there could be no future. Everything had been swept away, erased, by one sweep of the hand of a cruel fate. Oh, there was a past, though! And it was in that past that I began to delve. It was made up of every memory I had of my boy. I fell at once to remembering him. I clutched at every memory, as if I must grasp them and make sure of them, lest they be taken from me as well as the hope of seeing him again that the telegram had forever snatched away.
I would have been destitute indeed then. It was as if I must fix in my mind the way he had been wont to look, and recall to my ears every tone of his voice, every trick of his speech. There was something left of him that I must keep, I knew, even then, at all costs, if I was to be able to bear his loss at all.
There was a vision of him before my eyes. My bonnie Highland laddie, brave and strong in his kilt and the uniform of his country, going out to his death with a smile on his face. And there was another vision that came up now, unbidden. It was a vision of him lying stark and cold upon the battlefield, the mud on his uniform. And when I saw that vision I was like a man gone mad and possessed of devils who had stolen away his faculties. I cursed war as I saw that vision, and the men who caused war. And when I thought of the Germans who had killed my boy a terrible and savage hatred swept me, and I longed to go out there and kill with my bare hands until I had avenged him or they had killed me too.
But then I was a little softened. I thought of his mother back in our wee hoose at Dunoon. And the thought of her, bereft even as I was, sorrowing, even as I was, and lost in her frightful loneliness, was pitiful, so that I had but the one desire and wish--to go to her, and join my tears with hers, that we who were left alone to bear our grief might bear it together and give one to the other such comfort as there might be in life for us. And so I fell upon my knees and prayed, there in my lonely room in the hotel. I prayed to God that he might give us both, John's mother and myself, strength to bear the blow that had been dealt us and to endure the sacrifice that He and our country had demanded of us.
My friends came to me. They came rushing to me. Never did man have better friends, and kindlier friends than mine proved themselves to me on that day of sorrow. They did all that good men and women could do. But there was no help for me in the ministration of friends. I was beyond the power of human words to comfort or solace. I was glad
of their kindness, and the memory of it now is a precious one, and one I would not be without. But at such a time I could not gain from them what they were eager to give me. I could only bow my head and pray for strength.
That night, that New Year's night that I shall never forget, no matter how long God may let me live, I went north. I took train from London to Glasgow, and the next day I came to our wee hoose--a sad, lonely wee hoose it had become now!--on the Clyde at Dunoon, and was with John's mother. It was the place for me. It was there that I wanted to be, and it was with her, who must hereafter be all the world to me. And I was eager to be with her, too, who had given John to me. Sore as my grief was, stricken as I was, I could comfort her as no one else could hope to do, and she could do as much for me. We belonged together.
I can scarce remember, even for myself, what happened there at Dunoon. I cannot tell you what I said or what I did, or what words and what thoughts passed between John's mother and myself. But there are some things that I do know and that I will tell you.
Almighty God, to whom we prayed, was kind, and He was pitiful and merciful. For presently He brought us both a sort of sad composure. Presently He assuaged our grief a little, and gave us the strength that we must have to meet the needs of life and the thought of going on in a world that was darkened by the loss of the boy in whom all our thoughts and all our hopes had been centred. I thanked God then, and I thank God now, that I have never denied Him nor taken His name in vain.
For God gave me great thoughts about my boy and about his death. Slowly, gradually, He made me to see things in their true light, and He took away the sharp agony of my first grief and sorrow, and gave me a sort of peace.
Sir Henry Lauder (4 August 1870 - 26 February 1950), known professionally as Harry Lauder, was a notable Scottish entertainer, described by Sir Winston Churchill as "Scotland's greatest ever ambassador!”
For more information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Lauder
Some accounts were in the sands of Egypt with a concert party. Some were in cold, wet trenches in France. One lady of the F.A.N.Y. was with the sick in hospital and the 8th Battalion officers enjoyed the delights of Paris
Both the King and the Kaiser have given respected Christmas messages and the early risers in London woke to a white Christmas, with Westminster Abbey filled with fog on Boxing Day.
To round it all off here is a rather long account of Christmas 1916 by the star of the music hall stage Harry Lauder from his book “A Minstrel in France.”
I have left this until last as I think it is one of the most moving stories of that Christmas 1916. Harry’s son Captain John Lauder of the First 8th, Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders was killed in France on 28th December 1916.
Here he recounts with heartbreak the Christmas he had and devastating news that followed.
That winter I was in the big revue at the Shaftesbury Theatre, in London, that was called "Three Cheers." It was one of the gay shows that London liked because it gave some relief from the war and made the Zeppelin raids that the Huns were beginning to make so often now a little easier to bear. And it was a great place for the men who were back from France. It was partly because of them that I could go on as I did. We owed them all we could give them. And when they came back from the mud and the grime and the dreariness of the trenches, they needed something to cheer them up--needed the sort of production we gave them. A man who has two days' leave in London does not want to see a serious play or a problem drama, as a rule. He wants something light, with lots of pretty girls and jolly tunes and people to make him laugh. And we gave him that. The house was full of officers and men, night after night.
Soon word came from John that he was to have leave, just after Christmas that would bring him home for the New Year's holidays. His mother went home to make things ready, for John was to be married when he got his leave. I had my plans all made. I meant to build a wee hoose for the two of them, near our own hoose at Dunoon, so that we might be all together, even though my laddie was in a home of his own. And I counted the hours and the days against the time when John would be home again.
While we were playing at the Shaftesbury I lived at an hotel in Southampton Row called the Bonnington. But it was lonely for me there. On New Yea r's Eve--it fell on a Sunday--Tom Vallance, my brother-in-law, asked me to tea with him and his family in Clapham,
where he lived. That is a pleasant place, a suburb of London on the southwest, and I was glad to go. And so I drove out with a friend of mine, in a taxicab, and was glad to get out of the crowded part of the city for a time.
I did not feel right that day. Holiday times were bad, hard times for me then. We had always made so much of Christmas, and here was the third Christmas that our boy had been away. And so I was depressed. And then, there had been no word for me from John for a day or two. I was not worried, for I thought it likely that his mother or his sweetheart had heard, and had not time yet to let me know. But, whatever the reason, I was depressed and blue, and I could not enter into the festive spirit that folk were trying to keep alive despite the war.
I must have been poor company during that ride to Clapham in the taxicab. We scarcely exchanged a word, my friend and I. I did not feel like talking, and he respected my mood, and kept quiet him self. I felt, at last, that I ought to apologize to him.
"I don't know what's the matter with me," I told him. "I simply don't want to talk. I feel sad and lonely. I wonder if my boy is all right?"
"Of course he is!" my friend told me. "Cheer up, Harry. This is a time when no news is good news. If anything were wrong with him they'd let you know."
Well, I knew that, too. And I tried to cheer up, and feel better, so that I would not spoil the pleasure of the others at Tom Vallance's house. I tried to picture John as I thought he must be--well, and happy, and smiling the old, familiar boyish smile I knew so well. I had sent him a box of cigars only a few days before, and he would be handing it around among his fellow officers. I knew that! But it was no use. I could think of John, but it was only with sorrow and longing. And I wondered if this same time in a year would see him still out there, in the trenches. Would this war ever end? And so the shadows still hung about me when we reached Tom's house.
They made me very welcome, did Tom and all his family. They tried to cheer me, and Tom did all he could to make me feel better, and to reassure me. But I was still depressed when we left the house and began the drive back to London.
"It's the holiday--I'm out of gear with that, I'm thinking," I told my friend.
He was going to join two other friends, and, with them, to see the New Year in in an old fashioned way, and he wanted me to join them. But I did not feel up to it; I was not in the mood for anything of the sort.
"No, no, I'll go home and turn in," I told him. "I'm too dull tonight to be good company."
He hoped, as we all did, that this New Year that was coming would bring victory and peace. Peace could not come without victory; we were all agreed on that. But we all hoped that the New Year would bring both--the new year of 1917. And so I left him at the corner of Southhampton Row, and went back to my hotel alone. It was about midnight, a little before, I think, when I got in, and one of the porters had a message for me.
"Sir Thomas Lipton rang you up," he said, "and wants you to speak with him when you come in."
I rang him up at home directly.
"Happy New Year, when it comes, Harry!" he said. He spoke in the same bluff, hearty way he always did. He fairly shouted in my ear. "When did you hear from the boy? Are you and Mrs. Lauder well?"
"Aye, fine," I told him. And I told him my last news of John.
"Splendid!" he said. "Well, it was just to talk to you a minute that I rang you up, Harry. Good-night--Happy New Year again."
I went to bed then. But I did not go to sleep for a long time. It was New Year's, and I lay thinking of my boy, and wondering what this year would bring him. It was early in the morning before I slept. And it seemed to me that I had scarce been asleep at all when there came a pounding at the door, loud enough to rouse the heaviest sleeper there ever was.
My heart almost stopped. There must be something serious indeed for them to be rousing me so early. I rushed to the door, and there was a porter, holding out a telegram. I took it and tore it open. And I knew why I had felt as I had the day before. I shall never forget what I read:
"Captain John Lauder killed in action, December 28. Official. War Office."
It had gone to Mrs. Lauder at Dunoon first, and she had sent it on to me. That was all it said. I knew nothing of how my boy had died, or where--save that it was for his country.
But later I learned that when Sir Thomas Lipton had rung me up he had intended to condole with me. He had heard on Saturday of my boy's death. But when he spoke to me, and understood at once, from the tone of my voice, that I did not know, he had not been able to go on. His heart was too tender to make it possible for him to be the one to give me that blow--the heaviest that ever befell me.
It was on Monday morning, January the first, 1917, that I learned of my boy's death. And he had been killed the Thursday before! He had been dead four days before I knew it! And yet--I had known. Let no one ever tell me again that there is nothing in presentiment. Why else had I been so sad and uneasy in my mind? Why else, all through that Sunday, had it been so impossible for me to take comfort in what was said to cheer me? Some warning had come to me, some sense that all was not well.
Realization came to me slowly. I sat and stared at that slip of paper, that had come to me like the breath of doom. Dead! Dead these four days! I was never to see the light of his eyes again. I was never to hear that laugh of his. I had looked on my boy for the last time. Could it be true? Ah, I knew it was! And it was for this moment that I had been waiting, that we had all been waiting, ever since we had sent John away to fight for his country and do his part. I think we had all felt that it must come. We had all known that it was too much to hope that he should be one of those to be spared.
The black despair that had been hovering over me for hours closed down now and enveloped all my senses. Everything was unreal. For a time I was quite numb. But then, as I began to realize and to visualize what it was to mean in my life that my boy was dead there came a great pain. The iron of realization slowly seared every word of that curt telegram upon my heart. I said it to myself, over and over again. And I whispered to myself, as my thoughts took form, over and over, the one terrible word: "Dead!"
I felt that for me everything had come to an end with the reading of that dire message. It seemed to me that for me the board of life was black and blank. For me there was no past and there could be no future. Everything had been swept away, erased, by one sweep of the hand of a cruel fate. Oh, there was a past, though! And it was in that past that I began to delve. It was made up of every memory I had of my boy. I fell at once to remembering him. I clutched at every memory, as if I must grasp them and make sure of them, lest they be taken from me as well as the hope of seeing him again that the telegram had forever snatched away.
I would have been destitute indeed then. It was as if I must fix in my mind the way he had been wont to look, and recall to my ears every tone of his voice, every trick of his speech. There was something left of him that I must keep, I knew, even then, at all costs, if I was to be able to bear his loss at all.
There was a vision of him before my eyes. My bonnie Highland laddie, brave and strong in his kilt and the uniform of his country, going out to his death with a smile on his face. And there was another vision that came up now, unbidden. It was a vision of him lying stark and cold upon the battlefield, the mud on his uniform. And when I saw that vision I was like a man gone mad and possessed of devils who had stolen away his faculties. I cursed war as I saw that vision, and the men who caused war. And when I thought of the Germans who had killed my boy a terrible and savage hatred swept me, and I longed to go out there and kill with my bare hands until I had avenged him or they had killed me too.
But then I was a little softened. I thought of his mother back in our wee hoose at Dunoon. And the thought of her, bereft even as I was, sorrowing, even as I was, and lost in her frightful loneliness, was pitiful, so that I had but the one desire and wish--to go to her, and join my tears with hers, that we who were left alone to bear our grief might bear it together and give one to the other such comfort as there might be in life for us. And so I fell upon my knees and prayed, there in my lonely room in the hotel. I prayed to God that he might give us both, John's mother and myself, strength to bear the blow that had been dealt us and to endure the sacrifice that He and our country had demanded of us.
My friends came to me. They came rushing to me. Never did man have better friends, and kindlier friends than mine proved themselves to me on that day of sorrow. They did all that good men and women could do. But there was no help for me in the ministration of friends. I was beyond the power of human words to comfort or solace. I was glad
of their kindness, and the memory of it now is a precious one, and one I would not be without. But at such a time I could not gain from them what they were eager to give me. I could only bow my head and pray for strength.
That night, that New Year's night that I shall never forget, no matter how long God may let me live, I went north. I took train from London to Glasgow, and the next day I came to our wee hoose--a sad, lonely wee hoose it had become now!--on the Clyde at Dunoon, and was with John's mother. It was the place for me. It was there that I wanted to be, and it was with her, who must hereafter be all the world to me. And I was eager to be with her, too, who had given John to me. Sore as my grief was, stricken as I was, I could comfort her as no one else could hope to do, and she could do as much for me. We belonged together.
I can scarce remember, even for myself, what happened there at Dunoon. I cannot tell you what I said or what I did, or what words and what thoughts passed between John's mother and myself. But there are some things that I do know and that I will tell you.
Almighty God, to whom we prayed, was kind, and He was pitiful and merciful. For presently He brought us both a sort of sad composure. Presently He assuaged our grief a little, and gave us the strength that we must have to meet the needs of life and the thought of going on in a world that was darkened by the loss of the boy in whom all our thoughts and all our hopes had been centred. I thanked God then, and I thank God now, that I have never denied Him nor taken His name in vain.
For God gave me great thoughts about my boy and about his death. Slowly, gradually, He made me to see things in their true light, and He took away the sharp agony of my first grief and sorrow, and gave me a sort of peace.
Sir Henry Lauder (4 August 1870 - 26 February 1950), known professionally as Harry Lauder, was a notable Scottish entertainer, described by Sir Winston Churchill as "Scotland's greatest ever ambassador!”
For more information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Lauder
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Christmas 1916 – 17th Highland Light Infantry.
This account comes from the official history of “The Seventeenth Highland Light Infantry (Glasgow Chamber of Commerce Battalion).”
With games of rugby and football on the menu for the day and Christmas lunch reserved until 30th December.
"On the 19th the Battalion was relieved and returned to Mailly-Maillet where billets were taken over, and when the 17th rested and licked its wounds—well over 300 of "Glasgow's Own" had either been killed or wounded in that day's fighting. On the 21st of November General Gough, G.O.C. Fifth Army, inspected and congratulated the Battalion, and spoke to many of the N.C.O.s and men individually. During December the unit carried on training at Franqueville and Rubempré, and that the spirit of the men was not broken by the severity of their recent experiences is shown by the number of football matches played during the period.
On Christmas Day, 1916, the officers beat the sergeants at Rugby by 11 points to 0; in the afternoon "B" Company beat Headquarters at Association by 4 goals to 0; and in the evening the Battalion held a cheery concert. The Christmas Dinners were reserved for the 30th, and on Hogmanay the New Year was welcomed with a concert. General Gough attended Battalion Church Parade on the first Sunday of the New Year.
The opening months of the New Year were months of battling not only against a human enemy, but against the elements and the bad conditions which they created. The winter of 1916 had been a severe one, and in passing into 1917 it continued its course with unabated severity. The Battalion left Rubempré on January 6th and partly by motor lorry and partly in column of route proceeded to Courcelles where, on the following day, they relieved the troops of the 3rd Division in the trenches opposite Serre. The weather was bad, the enemy kept up brisk attentions and the trenches were the worst which the Battalion had ever been in. Most of them were absolutely impassable, being full of water to a height of five feet, with the result that reliefs had for the most part to be made outside the trenches. Owing to this condition of matters, strict orders were issued for the prevention of "trench feet," but notwithstanding every precaution, several cases occurred.
Heavy and continuous work was put in mending and bettering the trenches, training the drafts which were arriving, performing tactical exercises and battalion routine affairs. By this time several ceremonies had taken place at which decorations were bestowed upon N.C.O.s and men for bravery in the Field and gallantry in action. Esprit de corps was stronger than ever, and the tediousness of trench labours was relieved by the establishment of special strong posts, by minor raids on the Bosche, and when out of the line by football and such recreations as the circumstances permitted. This type of campaigning was experienced during January and February at Courcelles, Beaumont Hamel, Lyntham Camp, Mailly-Maillet, Bolton Camp, Molliens-au-Bois (where on February 19th, 1917, Major F.R.F. Sworder, Gordon Highlanders, assumed temporary command—Colonel Paul, after being in hospital in France, having been sent to England where he was appointed to a home unit), Camon, Wiencourt, Le Quesnel. And in March, the approach of spring seemed to bring with it nothing but additional storms of rain and snow, and the names of such points in the line as Key Post and Kuropatkin will bring back memories of buttressing up collapsed trenches and mending wire entanglements. "
With games of rugby and football on the menu for the day and Christmas lunch reserved until 30th December.
"On the 19th the Battalion was relieved and returned to Mailly-Maillet where billets were taken over, and when the 17th rested and licked its wounds—well over 300 of "Glasgow's Own" had either been killed or wounded in that day's fighting. On the 21st of November General Gough, G.O.C. Fifth Army, inspected and congratulated the Battalion, and spoke to many of the N.C.O.s and men individually. During December the unit carried on training at Franqueville and Rubempré, and that the spirit of the men was not broken by the severity of their recent experiences is shown by the number of football matches played during the period.
On Christmas Day, 1916, the officers beat the sergeants at Rugby by 11 points to 0; in the afternoon "B" Company beat Headquarters at Association by 4 goals to 0; and in the evening the Battalion held a cheery concert. The Christmas Dinners were reserved for the 30th, and on Hogmanay the New Year was welcomed with a concert. General Gough attended Battalion Church Parade on the first Sunday of the New Year.
The opening months of the New Year were months of battling not only against a human enemy, but against the elements and the bad conditions which they created. The winter of 1916 had been a severe one, and in passing into 1917 it continued its course with unabated severity. The Battalion left Rubempré on January 6th and partly by motor lorry and partly in column of route proceeded to Courcelles where, on the following day, they relieved the troops of the 3rd Division in the trenches opposite Serre. The weather was bad, the enemy kept up brisk attentions and the trenches were the worst which the Battalion had ever been in. Most of them were absolutely impassable, being full of water to a height of five feet, with the result that reliefs had for the most part to be made outside the trenches. Owing to this condition of matters, strict orders were issued for the prevention of "trench feet," but notwithstanding every precaution, several cases occurred.
Heavy and continuous work was put in mending and bettering the trenches, training the drafts which were arriving, performing tactical exercises and battalion routine affairs. By this time several ceremonies had taken place at which decorations were bestowed upon N.C.O.s and men for bravery in the Field and gallantry in action. Esprit de corps was stronger than ever, and the tediousness of trench labours was relieved by the establishment of special strong posts, by minor raids on the Bosche, and when out of the line by football and such recreations as the circumstances permitted. This type of campaigning was experienced during January and February at Courcelles, Beaumont Hamel, Lyntham Camp, Mailly-Maillet, Bolton Camp, Molliens-au-Bois (where on February 19th, 1917, Major F.R.F. Sworder, Gordon Highlanders, assumed temporary command—Colonel Paul, after being in hospital in France, having been sent to England where he was appointed to a home unit), Camon, Wiencourt, Le Quesnel. And in March, the approach of spring seemed to bring with it nothing but additional storms of rain and snow, and the names of such points in the line as Key Post and Kuropatkin will bring back memories of buttressing up collapsed trenches and mending wire entanglements. "
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Christmas 1916 – King George V.
King George V messages to the Empire was published in the Times on 26th December 1916.
THE KING’S MESSAGES
Good Wishes for The Fighting Men
The king has sent the following messages to his soldiers and sailors and to the sick and wounded: -
I send you, my Sailors and Soldiers, hearty good wishes for Christmas and the New Year.
My grateful thoughts are ever with you for victories gained, for hardship endured, and your unfailing cheeriness.
Another Christmas has come round and we are still at war. But the Empire, confident in you, remains determined to win.
May God bless and protect you.
George R.I.
At this Christmastide the Queen and I are thinking more than ever of the sick and wounded among my Sailors and Soldiers.
From our hearts we wish them strength to beat their sufferings, speedy restoration to health, a peaceful Christmas and many happier years to come.
George R.I.
THE KING’S MESSAGES
Good Wishes for The Fighting Men
The king has sent the following messages to his soldiers and sailors and to the sick and wounded: -
I send you, my Sailors and Soldiers, hearty good wishes for Christmas and the New Year.
My grateful thoughts are ever with you for victories gained, for hardship endured, and your unfailing cheeriness.
Another Christmas has come round and we are still at war. But the Empire, confident in you, remains determined to win.
May God bless and protect you.
George R.I.
At this Christmastide the Queen and I are thinking more than ever of the sick and wounded among my Sailors and Soldiers.
From our hearts we wish them strength to beat their sufferings, speedy restoration to health, a peaceful Christmas and many happier years to come.
George R.I.
Friday, December 25, 2009
The Christmas Box by Edgar Guest.
The Christmas Box by Edgar Guest.
This poem for Christmas entitled “The Christmas Box,” was published in the book ‘Over Here’ by Edgar A. Guest.
The Christmas Box
Oh, we have shipped his Christmas box with ribbons red 'tis tied,
And he shall find the things he likes from them he loves inside,
But he must miss the kisses true and all the laughter gay
And he must miss the smiles of home upon his Christmas Day.
He'll spend his Christmas 'neath the Flag; he'll miss each merry face,
Old Glory smiling down on him must take his mother's place,
Yet in the Christmas box we've sent, in fancy he will find
The laughter and the tears of joy that he has left behind.
His mother's tenderness is there, his father's kindly way,
And all that went last year to make his merry Christmas Day;
He'll see once more his sister's smile, he'll hear the baby shout,
And as he opens every gift we'll gather round about.
He cannot come to share with us the joys of Christmas Day;
The Flag has called to him, and he is serving far away.
Undaunted, unafraid and fine he stands to duty grim,
And so this Christmas we have tried to ship ourselves to him.
Edgar Albert Guest - (August 20, 1881, Birmingham, England – August 5, 1959, Detroit, Michigan) (aka Eddie Guest) was a prolific American poet who was popular in the first half of the 20th Century and became known as the People’s Poet.
For more information on Edgar Guest go to: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Guest
This poem for Christmas entitled “The Christmas Box,” was published in the book ‘Over Here’ by Edgar A. Guest.
The Christmas Box
Oh, we have shipped his Christmas box with ribbons red 'tis tied,
And he shall find the things he likes from them he loves inside,
But he must miss the kisses true and all the laughter gay
And he must miss the smiles of home upon his Christmas Day.
He'll spend his Christmas 'neath the Flag; he'll miss each merry face,
Old Glory smiling down on him must take his mother's place,
Yet in the Christmas box we've sent, in fancy he will find
The laughter and the tears of joy that he has left behind.
His mother's tenderness is there, his father's kindly way,
And all that went last year to make his merry Christmas Day;
He'll see once more his sister's smile, he'll hear the baby shout,
And as he opens every gift we'll gather round about.
He cannot come to share with us the joys of Christmas Day;
The Flag has called to him, and he is serving far away.
Undaunted, unafraid and fine he stands to duty grim,
And so this Christmas we have tried to ship ourselves to him.
Edgar Albert Guest - (August 20, 1881, Birmingham, England – August 5, 1959, Detroit, Michigan) (aka Eddie Guest) was a prolific American poet who was popular in the first half of the 20th Century and became known as the People’s Poet.
For more information on Edgar Guest go to: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Guest
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Christmas 1916 - 5th Highland Light Infantry.
Christmas 1916 found the 5th Battalion Highland Light Infantry in Egypt with limited supplies. With most of the goodies were acquisitioned from the ANZAC’s.
On December 20th we moved to Kilo 129 and took over a bit of the outpost line from the 6th Manchesters and that evening we occupied the trenches in orderly silence as usual. Sentry groups were put out, rifles loaded and all hope of a smoke put away till the dawn. As darkness fell, however, there appeared from the westward a great cloud of dust and columns of mounted men, and Horse Artillery, their gun-wheels broadened with pedrails, moved through our line and proceeded to camp immediately in front of our silent and alert sentries. They off-saddled and huge fires sprang up like magic, great columns of tired horses moved backwards and forwards to water, and the air was filled with the cheerful din of Australian talk and song. Rumours had been floating about all day that the Turks were evacuating and the sudden arrival of the cavalry left little doubt as to their truth. The pressing problem for the officer was how to explain to his scandalised men that the Anzacs were not violating all the rules of properly conducted warfare. This was done by postulating far flung cavalry outposts in the dim distance. One has often wondered whether they existed except in our imaginations; but the Anzac likes to conduct war in his own way, and if somewhat casual about details, many a Turk will witness that he has a firm grasp on the essentials. We felt justified in relaxing somewhat our usual vigilance and spent a peaceful night. Long before dawn, however, the cavalry had moved off with uncanny speed and quietness, and surrounded el Arish before daylight, after a brilliant ride over unknown, unmapped, and very difficult country in the dark. Within the next few days they attacked the Turks at Maghdaba and Rafa—each thirty miles from el Arish—inflicting heavy defeats and capturing many prisoners in each case. The story of all this has been well told by Mr. Massy in The Desert Campaigns. But the unhappy infantry had of necessity to be left out.
One great service the cavalry invasion did render us. The Australian light horseman has the bump of acquisitiveness even better developed than the Lowland infantryman, and having a horse on which he can hang his trophies he can give this penchant greater scope. But when he is going into action—or believes himself to be—he unhesitatingly sacrifices all that will incommode him in the serious business of war. In consequence the ground recently vacated appeared at dawn to our astonished eyes covered with a litter of discarded possessions. When we moved camp it was our honourable custom to pick up and burn or bury every tin, every fragment of paper and every match and cigarette end and to leave the desert swept and garnished as we found it—or better. So our first thought was one of scandalised amazement at the extreme untidiness of the business. Our next was less disinterested. We were on mobile rations, bully, biscuit, milk and jam. Vegetables and the "wee piece ham" had disappeared. Surely Australians did not live like that. Nor were we disappointed. Foraging parties returned laden with sides of bacon, cheese, bread, Maconochies, sacks of onions and dessicated vegetables, enough to make us quite certain of a full meal on Christmas Day, so long as we did not move in the interval. Nor was this all. Folding benches and tables, matting and bivouac poles, frying pans and canvas buckets, books and tobacco, a watch and even a real live horse were discovered—all the things which stand for wealth among such a primitive tribe as we then were. It is rumoured that hot and blasphemous Australian Quartermaster-Sergeants rode back that evening to retrieve some of their property. Well, they did not find it all. People who like bacon shouldn't leave it lying in deserts in front of hungry Scotchmen.
Our own orders to advance were cancelled, and we stopped on at Maadan. The evacuation of el Arish was rather an anti-climax. No one wants another war, and it would not be honest to pretend that we were all fire-eaters living for nothing but the joy of a scrap. At the same time a life of dreary monotony on a dead land becomes more endurable when there is the hope of coming excitement and the spur to effort of a definite place to be won. And when a man is keyed up to the idea of a fight, life seems dull and flat if he is suddenly told that it will not come off.
The weather, however, did its best to give us something to think about. It rained most nights, with thunder and lightning accompaniments, and the damp and dismal hours of darkness seemed endless in the exposed picquets. Save for the Australian loot it looked like a fasting Christmas. Parcel mails could not be sent up, for every camel was required to convey food and fodder on to the cavalry. The cigarette ration was behindhand and most of the men were without a smoke. The officers could torture themselves with the thought of five turkeys ordered in Port Said and unlimited mess stores lying sixty miles away at Romani. But at the last moment all was changed. A parcel mail came in—and the spectre of bully unrelieved vanished—the five turkeys, personally conducted by a versatile officer's servant, made their appearance—together with sufficient Daily Telegraph plum puddings for every one to get a piece, and last but not least, a determined Brigadier held up a ration convoy, and refused to let it through until he obtained enough cigarettes for a small issue to the Brigade. This action increased the sympathy which all felt for a tragedy which afflicted Brigade Headquarters at this time. Their live turkey shepherded up the line with extreme difficulty, suddenly, though perhaps not unjustifiably, died before any one had time to kill it. Captain Kennedy was immediately summoned to conduct a post mortem and had regretfully to decide that it was not fit for human consumption, adding however that if it were sent up to our headquarters they would make quite sure.
So there was some attempt at Christmas cheer in the holes in the sand into which the weather had driven us, for we who had once set our bivouacs to catch every breath of wind, now dug ourselves down three or four feet to avoid the sand-laden and icy blast. (We were thus also admirably protected against the bombing raids of the Turk's aeroplanes.) The three outpost companies had their vigil cheered by the distant drums and fifes of an English battalion playing "While shepherds watched their flocks by night—all seated on the ground," and felt a new and poignant sympathy with those whose watch must have been so like our own.
The great spell of Christmas seemed even to have touched the hearts of G.H.Q. for on Christmas Eve the C.O. received a wire through Brigade to ask "How many of your officers have wives in Egypt?" He was compelled to reply that no officer had managed the feat suggested. But it is nice to speculate on how the staff in Cairo, who doubtless had, felt their hearts go out to their less fortunate brethren of the fighting forces and how they hatched a plan for special private wires from wife to husband at this season of goodwill. Let no cynic obtrude other motives for that famous telegram.
On December 29th we moved forward again to Kilo 139, near Abu Feleifil. We left behind us Captain Wightman as Post Commandant at Kilo 128, a position which he held with true Scottish tenacity long after the whole post had melted away, and he had no one to command except his batman, another of the same bull-dog breed. He only admitted defeat when the last of the water in the canvas tanks was consumed, and the passing ration train had given up leaving anything for him to eat, and steamed past the forgotten post with a derisive whistle. At 139 we enjoyed heavy rain storms, bleak cold days, and a tearing wind; which raised a sand-storm as soon as the rain had sunk in. We were, however, free of outpost duty on the 31st and able to take off our boots at night for the first time for a fortnight, and a surprising number of us were able to celebrate the new year with a nip of something better than chlorinated water. On the 5th we took the outpost line again, but in the interval we did several route marches and saw the excellent Turkish trenches at Masaid among palm trees, growing scattered over a wide area, quite unlike the little concentrated hods with which we were familiar. We were now only a mile or two from the sea, and the roar of the surf reached us day and night, but bathing had lost much of its attraction with the change of weather and was even rather dangerous. On one day the sand-storm was so bad that it was impossible to leave camp. Anything left in the open was rapidly buried, and our food and drink, our ears and eyes and mouths were kept full of grit for twenty-four hours.
On January 8th we were off again and moving down to the coast, marched on to el Arish. The going was naturally very heavy, but we thus avoided the almost impassable jumble of high sand-dunes inland. On that day the Anzac cavalry passed us on their way to fight at Rafa, riding down the beach in long lines, and making a very impressive sight. The effect was rather spoilt by the inconsiderate attentions of some Turkish planes but no harm was done. We reached our bivouac area south of el Arish about two. It is a curious commentary on the complaints of the cold that we have just voiced, that the men of a new draft reached el Arish, running with sweat and vowing they had never been so hot in their lives, in spite of being in shirt sleeves, while the rest of us wore our tunics, and were hardly even thirsty.
On December 20th we moved to Kilo 129 and took over a bit of the outpost line from the 6th Manchesters and that evening we occupied the trenches in orderly silence as usual. Sentry groups were put out, rifles loaded and all hope of a smoke put away till the dawn. As darkness fell, however, there appeared from the westward a great cloud of dust and columns of mounted men, and Horse Artillery, their gun-wheels broadened with pedrails, moved through our line and proceeded to camp immediately in front of our silent and alert sentries. They off-saddled and huge fires sprang up like magic, great columns of tired horses moved backwards and forwards to water, and the air was filled with the cheerful din of Australian talk and song. Rumours had been floating about all day that the Turks were evacuating and the sudden arrival of the cavalry left little doubt as to their truth. The pressing problem for the officer was how to explain to his scandalised men that the Anzacs were not violating all the rules of properly conducted warfare. This was done by postulating far flung cavalry outposts in the dim distance. One has often wondered whether they existed except in our imaginations; but the Anzac likes to conduct war in his own way, and if somewhat casual about details, many a Turk will witness that he has a firm grasp on the essentials. We felt justified in relaxing somewhat our usual vigilance and spent a peaceful night. Long before dawn, however, the cavalry had moved off with uncanny speed and quietness, and surrounded el Arish before daylight, after a brilliant ride over unknown, unmapped, and very difficult country in the dark. Within the next few days they attacked the Turks at Maghdaba and Rafa—each thirty miles from el Arish—inflicting heavy defeats and capturing many prisoners in each case. The story of all this has been well told by Mr. Massy in The Desert Campaigns. But the unhappy infantry had of necessity to be left out.
One great service the cavalry invasion did render us. The Australian light horseman has the bump of acquisitiveness even better developed than the Lowland infantryman, and having a horse on which he can hang his trophies he can give this penchant greater scope. But when he is going into action—or believes himself to be—he unhesitatingly sacrifices all that will incommode him in the serious business of war. In consequence the ground recently vacated appeared at dawn to our astonished eyes covered with a litter of discarded possessions. When we moved camp it was our honourable custom to pick up and burn or bury every tin, every fragment of paper and every match and cigarette end and to leave the desert swept and garnished as we found it—or better. So our first thought was one of scandalised amazement at the extreme untidiness of the business. Our next was less disinterested. We were on mobile rations, bully, biscuit, milk and jam. Vegetables and the "wee piece ham" had disappeared. Surely Australians did not live like that. Nor were we disappointed. Foraging parties returned laden with sides of bacon, cheese, bread, Maconochies, sacks of onions and dessicated vegetables, enough to make us quite certain of a full meal on Christmas Day, so long as we did not move in the interval. Nor was this all. Folding benches and tables, matting and bivouac poles, frying pans and canvas buckets, books and tobacco, a watch and even a real live horse were discovered—all the things which stand for wealth among such a primitive tribe as we then were. It is rumoured that hot and blasphemous Australian Quartermaster-Sergeants rode back that evening to retrieve some of their property. Well, they did not find it all. People who like bacon shouldn't leave it lying in deserts in front of hungry Scotchmen.
Our own orders to advance were cancelled, and we stopped on at Maadan. The evacuation of el Arish was rather an anti-climax. No one wants another war, and it would not be honest to pretend that we were all fire-eaters living for nothing but the joy of a scrap. At the same time a life of dreary monotony on a dead land becomes more endurable when there is the hope of coming excitement and the spur to effort of a definite place to be won. And when a man is keyed up to the idea of a fight, life seems dull and flat if he is suddenly told that it will not come off.
The weather, however, did its best to give us something to think about. It rained most nights, with thunder and lightning accompaniments, and the damp and dismal hours of darkness seemed endless in the exposed picquets. Save for the Australian loot it looked like a fasting Christmas. Parcel mails could not be sent up, for every camel was required to convey food and fodder on to the cavalry. The cigarette ration was behindhand and most of the men were without a smoke. The officers could torture themselves with the thought of five turkeys ordered in Port Said and unlimited mess stores lying sixty miles away at Romani. But at the last moment all was changed. A parcel mail came in—and the spectre of bully unrelieved vanished—the five turkeys, personally conducted by a versatile officer's servant, made their appearance—together with sufficient Daily Telegraph plum puddings for every one to get a piece, and last but not least, a determined Brigadier held up a ration convoy, and refused to let it through until he obtained enough cigarettes for a small issue to the Brigade. This action increased the sympathy which all felt for a tragedy which afflicted Brigade Headquarters at this time. Their live turkey shepherded up the line with extreme difficulty, suddenly, though perhaps not unjustifiably, died before any one had time to kill it. Captain Kennedy was immediately summoned to conduct a post mortem and had regretfully to decide that it was not fit for human consumption, adding however that if it were sent up to our headquarters they would make quite sure.
So there was some attempt at Christmas cheer in the holes in the sand into which the weather had driven us, for we who had once set our bivouacs to catch every breath of wind, now dug ourselves down three or four feet to avoid the sand-laden and icy blast. (We were thus also admirably protected against the bombing raids of the Turk's aeroplanes.) The three outpost companies had their vigil cheered by the distant drums and fifes of an English battalion playing "While shepherds watched their flocks by night—all seated on the ground," and felt a new and poignant sympathy with those whose watch must have been so like our own.
The great spell of Christmas seemed even to have touched the hearts of G.H.Q. for on Christmas Eve the C.O. received a wire through Brigade to ask "How many of your officers have wives in Egypt?" He was compelled to reply that no officer had managed the feat suggested. But it is nice to speculate on how the staff in Cairo, who doubtless had, felt their hearts go out to their less fortunate brethren of the fighting forces and how they hatched a plan for special private wires from wife to husband at this season of goodwill. Let no cynic obtrude other motives for that famous telegram.
On December 29th we moved forward again to Kilo 139, near Abu Feleifil. We left behind us Captain Wightman as Post Commandant at Kilo 128, a position which he held with true Scottish tenacity long after the whole post had melted away, and he had no one to command except his batman, another of the same bull-dog breed. He only admitted defeat when the last of the water in the canvas tanks was consumed, and the passing ration train had given up leaving anything for him to eat, and steamed past the forgotten post with a derisive whistle. At 139 we enjoyed heavy rain storms, bleak cold days, and a tearing wind; which raised a sand-storm as soon as the rain had sunk in. We were, however, free of outpost duty on the 31st and able to take off our boots at night for the first time for a fortnight, and a surprising number of us were able to celebrate the new year with a nip of something better than chlorinated water. On the 5th we took the outpost line again, but in the interval we did several route marches and saw the excellent Turkish trenches at Masaid among palm trees, growing scattered over a wide area, quite unlike the little concentrated hods with which we were familiar. We were now only a mile or two from the sea, and the roar of the surf reached us day and night, but bathing had lost much of its attraction with the change of weather and was even rather dangerous. On one day the sand-storm was so bad that it was impossible to leave camp. Anything left in the open was rapidly buried, and our food and drink, our ears and eyes and mouths were kept full of grit for twenty-four hours.
On January 8th we were off again and moving down to the coast, marched on to el Arish. The going was naturally very heavy, but we thus avoided the almost impassable jumble of high sand-dunes inland. On that day the Anzac cavalry passed us on their way to fight at Rafa, riding down the beach in long lines, and making a very impressive sight. The effect was rather spoilt by the inconsiderate attentions of some Turkish planes but no harm was done. We reached our bivouac area south of el Arish about two. It is a curious commentary on the complaints of the cold that we have just voiced, that the men of a new draft reached el Arish, running with sweat and vowing they had never been so hot in their lives, in spite of being in shirt sleeves, while the rest of us wore our tunics, and were hardly even thirsty.
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