Blood and Thunder

by Alexandra J Churchill

  The 7th Rifle Brigade had, until this point, been occupying a length of trench near the ruins of Hooge Chateau and the crater which they had taken over from some Highlanders. On the evening of 29 July they prepared to switch places with the 8th Battalion, who set out to relieve them at 9.p.m. Foss Prior and Arthur Sheepshanks had been among the senior officers in the 8th Rifle Brigade who had been scouting the area for some days, acquainting themselves with what they were about to let themselves in for. They were not impressed; lack of wire, overly deep, narrow trenches and the proximity of the German trench mortars were to hamper them. Additionally they would have to contend with bad communication lines and support trenches so mangled that weren’t fit for habitation, not to mention the giant crater dividing their lines.

  As their battalion took up residence, twenty-four officers and a shade under 750 men, the 7th Rifle Brigade marched back down the Menin Road in the opposite direction. Waiting for them at the other end was Ted Kay-Shuttleworth, who had been at a nearby hospital with a minor ailment throughout their last stint in the trenches. He had heard news of severe losses amongst his men, through artillery bombardments and the lines being peppered by trench mortars. They had lost one hundred men in a week, including two officers. Like Dick, he had heard of an impending German attack. He sat up discussing the rumours with some fellow officers before going to bed.

  At about 2 a.m. he almost woke up, half aware that his 7th Rifle Brigade had begun arriving and tramping into billets for a well-earned rest. The weary footsteps continued for an hour, but just as the last of them petered out he became aware of a particularly violent bombardment going on nearby. He pondered whether or not it was at Hooge. Now fully awake, Ted listened as it grew more and more intense. Then a message arrived from Brigade headquarters. The 7th Rifle Brigade were to get back out of bed and be ready to move off immediately.

  The noise had indeed been coming from Hooge. At 3.a.m. the 8th Rifle Brigade were settling in to their new home and going through the pre-dawn ritual of standing to. Suddenly a hail of shells pounded them for a few minutes. But this was nothing against the new force the Germans were about to bring into play. Sheets of fire began erupting from the enemy lines. Foss Prior was in command of C Company and it bore the brunt of the attack near the crater. The Germans were unleashing a torrent of liquid flame ‘like water coming from a large hose’. At the same time a massive bombardment of everything that the enemy could fire, trench mortars, shells and bullets, opened up on the communication trenches, no-man’s-land and the support lines in the woods where Sheep and Billy Grenfell were settling in. The Belgian countryside had been transformed into a vision of hell on earth. Flames blanketed the front lines and they were enveloped in fire and thick, acrid black smoke, rising from which was the smell of flesh, burning.

  Foss and his men were overrun with Germans wielding bombs. They came at the British soldiers from all directions, rushing the crater to break the British front line then fanning out behind the men occupying it. The scene was chaos, with charred bodies littering the scene and men turning and fleeing. The Germans had established machine guns in the ruins of Hooge and as the British turned and made for their support lines and the woods behind they sent a torrent of bullets crashing through the retreating soldiers.

  One of the front companies tried to counter-attack, but they were pinned down by the machine guns and had to fight hand-to-hand to get out of the area. Whole platoons were overwhelmed and almost wiped out. The Germans tried to bomb their way down the communication lines, nicknamed Old Bond Street and The Strand; but the way was blocked and they were held. Back in the wood, Sheep and Billy had avoided the flames but were struggling under the weight of the German bombardment as what was left of the trees came crashing violently down around them.

  Meanwhile, back towards Ypres, as soon as the order to get ready arrived, Ted Kay-Shuttleworth leapt from his bed and got dressed. Ted went outside and listened to the bombardment as the battalion prepared to move. The noise seemed to be gradually subsiding. He began to think it was all over and took off his equipment to lie down again. He had barely reached his bed when he heard the words: ‘Prepare to move at once’.

  The 7th Rifle Brigade got underway at 6.30 a.m., shoving chunks of bread and chocolate into their pockets. As they walked the 3 miles towards Hooge, ammunition wagons galloped past on their way to the battle. They heard false whispers that almost as soon as they had been relieved the Germans had exploded a mine under the chateau stables; that they had taken six lines of trenches.

  Back at Hooge at noon orders were received to mount a counter-attack at 2:45 p.m. after a hastily arranged forty-five-minute bombardment. The 8th Rifle Brigade was to lead the attack, bombing their way past The Strand and parallel to Old Bond Street towards the Menin Road. A Company and C Company had suffered so heavily from the flames that they were in pieces; the latter, Foss’s, had all but ceased to exist. B Company had also been heavily hit when it tried to counter-attack. And so it fell to the last company, D, commanded by Arthur Sheepshanks and containing Billy Grenfell as one of its subalterns, to make the main assault.

  Sheep was summoned and told to send half of his men up the trenches to dispel the assaulting Germans that had been penned up in them since the morning. These front platoons were then to move into position ready to attack. Dick Durnford’s battalion was to attack too; the 9th King’s Royal Rifles had been ordered to charge along the Menin Road towards the Chateau ruins and the stables.

  Sheep was given instructions not to attempt to make contact with the 7th Rifle Brigade as the gap was too great. Ted Kay-Shuttleworth and his men were next to him, but they were having a difficult time getting to their communication trench. They had orders to lie down and play dead in the event that any enemy aircraft passed overhead, thus three or four times they were compelled to stop and throw themselves down on the Menin Road, which held them up. Ted walked up with another OE, ‘Bones’ Drummond2, commanding one of the 7th’s companies and they grew more and more anxious about their timing. Finally, they reached Zouave Wood, to the rear, at 1.55 p.m., just five minutes before the artillery bombardment was about to start.

  At 2.p.m. the British artillery opened up as planned. The Germans retaliated in kind. Zouave Wood was in chaos, and had now become a mass of shell holes, splintered trees, battered foliage and mashed up trench lines. Faced with a walk through it all to be ready to advance at 2.45 p.m., Ted and his men had to begin climbing over the carnage, attempting to stay in some kind of military formation. They staggered over the debris, exhausted men awake for thirty-six hours breaking down and crying with the roar of shells intensifying overhead.

  Organisation was in complete disarray. Ted continued climbing over fallen trees, tangled foliage and splintered branches in the direction of the communication trenches. The atmosphere was so thick with dust and smoke that they could hardly see where they were going. The men became scattered and the earth shook beneath their feet. At 2.10. p.m. a bullet pinged off of Ted’s wristwatch and his ability to time their counter-attack was gone. Together with a fellow officer he crawled to the edge of the wood and they decided on a plan. They would lie there until they saw everyone else move and then take their men and run after them.

  Sheep and Billy were also having trouble co-ordinating their attack. Billy had crawled right to the point from which they were to begin. His company commander was attempting to do the same when a bullet went through his thigh. He attempted to crawl down to tell Billy that he had been put out of action, but was in too much pain. He was vaguely aware that Billy was wearing a watch, but insured himself by sending a rifleman along to find him. He never arrived.

  At exactly 2.45 p.m., despite the fact that the enemy did not appear to have been in the slightest bit silenced by the bombardment, the 8th Rifle Brigade commenced their counter-attack. Billy Grenfell’s platoon was to bomb their way up The Strand, ejecting the German squatters before lining up in front of their own barbed wire to advance towards the crater wher
e the British lines had stood before the flame attack. The bombing went off successfully and Billy charged up the trench, but as soon as they advanced into the open, the ground in front of them was swept by bullets. Billy made it a little over 70 yards up the hill before he was hit and his large frame pitched forward and hit the ground with a thud. Sheep, who ascertained that 25-year-old Billy must have been dead before he hit the ground, was hit twice in the face by flying debris but carried on regardless; an act of valour that was not to be an isolated occurrence in his war.

  Ted Kay-Shuttleworth was lying in wait along the edge of the wood waiting for something to happen. At last he saw another subaltern of the 7th Rifle Brigade making a run for it to his left and so up he got and rushed out from the battered trees towards the Menin Road, followed by his men. It was baffling. Somehow in the confusion they found their own men in front of them, and then they ran right up against their own barbed wire in full view of the German machine guns. A shell knocked them down and wounded Ted’s colleague in the thigh.

  There were so few of them left that Ted decided they ought to wait for reinforcements. He could see nothing happening to either his left or his right so he began scraping at the ground, trying to make some cover. The man next to him had his head split by a bullet; Ted grabbed the dead man’s entrenching tool and continued digging. He and his wounded friend had a discussion. Should they attack? There were ten of them left. It seemed madness and almost all of them were carrying some kind of wound. They were in full view of the enemy and so there was nothing for it. They crawled back and fell into a soaking wet, abandoned trench behind. Ted was one of only three men unhurt and he began attending to the wounded, binding up bleeding arms and legs. More and more broken soldiers were dropping into the trench.

  Ted moved off to explore his surroundings, helping to drag more men in and ordering them to stay put, trying to form a line of defence. A machine gun was playing along the top of the trench incessantly and it had become lined with corpses and moaning, broken men. It transpired that they had taken up residence in an old communication trench, far too narrow to be used effectively under fire. Ted had to get the men he passed to kneel down in 1ft of water so that he could climb over their backs without exposing his head.

  Right at the end of the line, holding on with what was left of his company, Ted found Sheep. Dick Durnford’s contingent had been luckier. At 2.45 p.m. a subaltern had led out a party of bombers and was followed by two companies. Taking heavy losses they managed to take some trenches but could go no further so they began consolidating their position.

  As evening approached, Ted decided to find his colonel. On his way down the trench he found Ronnie MacLachlan, an OE and commanding officer of the 8th Rifle Brigade instead; he was frantic, in a state of total shock. Ted tried to fill him in as to what had happened and by the time he returned to his own men he found that their second-rate trench was overflowing with wounded men being brought in from the darkened battlefield. Stretcher bearers were trying to move them along, but the numbers were overwhelming and they lay unattended everywhere. Survivors struggled across the battlefield dragging their wounded friends whilst others, including Bones Drummond, were never heard from again. The 7th Rifle Brigade had walked something like 20 miles and had one meal in twenty-four hours, notwithstanding the actual fighting, and finally they were relieved. Overcome by sadness and their loss they began the long walk back down the Menin Road.

  If the carnage at Hooge was hard to comprehend for the likes of Ted Kay-Shuttleworth and Ronnie MacLachlan, then it was impossible for those at home. Dick Durnford’s company had been in support as the 9th King’s Royal Rifles retook the trenches to the left of Hooge. They were busy consolidating their position when Dick came up to offer to help. He was greeted by a friend who then turned away to give directions to a bombing party. He was just walking back down the trench when he saw Dick fall, hit by a chance bullet. Dick’s poor mother could neither comprehend the manner of his death nor the subsequent loss of the grave his men had dug for him. In her grief she became fixated on the whereabouts of one item, his revolver, and why it could not be found and returned to her. It fell to one of Dick’s fellow officers to try to convey the horror of Hooge to her without causing her more pain some months later. In the mayhem, John Christie, another Etonian master, had passed Dick’s revolver to another OE in the Rifle Brigade as he didn’t have his own.3 Christie had not seen the grave himself. He had been the last man of the 9th King’s Royal Rifles to leave those trenches. By then anyone who might have known the whereabouts of the grave had fallen too. ‘Conditions were very bad,’ he told her. For example, in his bit of trench he had had to live with the body of a young subaltern for days as it was too dangerous to try to bury him. He could not so much as find a shovel and they had not so much as a field dressing to try and treat the men bleeding next to them.

  Ronnie MacLachlan’s 8th Rifle Brigade was relieved and when he arrived in billets all he wanted to do was sit and sob. He began the agonising task of writing to the families of his officers. Nineteen out of twenty-four of them were dead or unaccounted for and hundreds of men were gone. Billy Grenfell, to his father’s desolation, had to be left where he fell owing to how far forward he had managed to get. The idea of his boy lying abandoned on the battlefield would haunt Lord Desborough.

  A fortnight after the German attack at Hooge the situation had improved somewhat and Ronnie MacLachlan began badgering the authorities about the prospect of recovering Billy’s body. He was told that it was not safe for him to send up a search party but that the troops in the vicinity would do as much as they could. Sheep, however, had absolutely no intention of leaving his young subaltern on the field of battle. Attempts to find him and lay him to rest at Vlamertinghe with his relative, Francis Grenfell, had failed. On 15 August the 3rd Rifle Brigade moved into the area. A sergeant had seen a body in no-man’s-land but snipers meant that he could not approach it to find out who it was. A corporal tried and managed to retrieve the identity disc. It was Billy. After dark they went out, collected him and managed to bury him just to the north of a trench dubbed Fleet Street, 250 yards due south of Hooge4.

  Barely two months after losing their eldest son, Lord and Lady Desborough had lost their second. He had been at the front for a little over two months and his and Julian’s deaths rocked the upper echelons of society. Lord Kitchener had no family of his own; he was uncomfortable socially and he thought of Taplow Court as a home of sorts. When the news of Billy’s death arrived it was the only time that the Secretary of State for War was known to break down. He left his desk, on which sat a photograph of Julian in a silver frame, and went for a walk to pull himself together.

  Foss Prior was lucky to be alive. Shot in the back the bullet had narrowly missed his spine and come out the other side. It was finally deemed safe enough to ship him home in the middle of August aboard the SS St George. Ted Kay-Shuttleworth had found himself the only officer left across two companies. Only seventy men remained in his own and of his officer’s mess, his jolly mess, he was literally the only one left. He sent a list of the fallen home to his wife, including his best man and overflowing with the names of OEs who had been claimed by this one solitary German attack. He had lost as many friends in a day as a man might expect to lose in years.

  Walking towards Ypres, Ted came across a quartermaster that he knew. When the man told him how glad he was to see that he survived, Ted burst into tears. He ate breakfast and tried to get to sleep but it was impossible. He rolled over and over, absorbing the day’s events. Their proud battalion was in tatters, almost half of them dead or missing. Disconsolately, he wrote to his wife: ‘I feel an outcast to be alive.’

  Notes

  1 In a rare occurrence they took his body back to England and buried him at home in Buckinghamshire in Moulsoe churchyard.

  2 Captain Spencer Heneage Drummond.

  3 By the time Christie wrote his letter, this OE too had died. Gerald Boswell KS was severely wounded and di
ed on the Somme in 1916. Aged 24, he was laid to rest at Abbeville Communal Cemetery.

  4 With both of their graves lost in subsequent fighting, Billy Grenfell and Dick Durnford are commemorated on the Menin Gate at Ypres.

  5 Edward Kay-Shuttleworth survived his friends by a little over two years. In the summer of 1917 he was killed in a motorcycle accident in Essex. His brother, the Hon. L.U. Kay-Shuttleworth had been killed on 30 March 1917 with the Canadian infantry and laid to rest at Villers Station Cemeterey.

  9

  ‘Till Berlin’

  The instant that war was declared the world of European finance was plunged into turmoil. Embroiled in the mayhem was J. Henry Schröder & Co. The company had been established in London in 1818 so, despite its German roots, it was no stranger to the City. Baron Bruno von Schröder had lived and worked in London for years at its head. His children had been born in England and his two sons educated at Eton, but his nationality meant that on the outbreak of the Great War the company could be seized by the government.

  His business partner went to work immediately to try to rectify the situation. The fate of von Schröder’s company was of great importance. In August 1914 London’s financial hub was in a state of meltdown; should it be sequestered von Schröder had £11m in outstanding acceptances that it would not be able to honour. As such the governors of the Bank of England were onside and took the matter up with the Home Secretary. It would be, they said, ‘a disaster if the doors of Baron von Schröder did not open on the following morning.’ Separate appeals were made by friends to the Prime Minister and Baron von Schröder was given immediate naturalisation. As early as 7 August 1914 he had received both a certificate confirming his status as a British citizen and a licence to trade and reside in the country from George V himself.