“Ya, Dan. What’s up?” Macdonald asked. He had a new found degree of confidence only made possible after he and Dan had spent hours together going over and over what personal information Dan could recollect about him.
“I feel as useless as tits on a bull here, Al! We need to help somehow.”
“Look at us. What can we do?” Alan asked. Dan looked around the ward. There was a closet full of uniforms and hats belonging to wounded officers that had been brought in at one end of the room. They had been cleaned and were awaiting the day that they would be reunited with their owners.
“Wheel me down to that closet,” Dan commanded. Alan did as he was told. “Grab the biggest and most high ranking tunic and hat you can find for me, will you Al, old buddy.”
Alan rifled through the tunics and hats and came up with a very ample jacket and lid.
Four chevrons on the sleeves indicated the rank of Major and the hat had plenty of gold rope and leaves. Dan threw the tunic over his shoulders like a shawl and plopped the cap on his head then looked up at Alan.
“How do I look?” he asked Alan, who only shrugged his shoulders in confusion.
“What this place needs is someone in charge!” Dan said. “It needs someone to direct the flow and bark out orders.”
There was an ornate walking cane in the closet that Dan decided would top off his transformation, people respond better to a man waving a stick.
“Okay James, drive me into the courtyard and I shall create order from chaos. He pointed the stick toward the door and Alan pushed him out.
The noise and confusion were so great that it was no wonder things were getting bogged down. “You there!” Dan pointed his stick at an ambulance driver. “Move that vehicle over! We will be unloading three lorries across now! So form three lanes.”
The driver jumped in his truck and moved it over enough to allow two others to come up alongside. McKee had an analytical mind and enjoyed this type of challenge. “Unload the ambulances three across,” he boldly ordered three Red caps that had been idly standing nearby. “The groups will be staggered five paces apart so as to allow access to all three without interfering with each other!”
The man was fearless in his impersonation and so convincing that these fellows snapped to attention and did as they were told. The orderly that had informed Dan that his bed was taken pushed a wounded man past the new officer on deck and his eyes popped out in astonishment. Major McKee smiled and winked, then continued to orchestrate an efficient offloading of the wounded.
“All those who can walk will walk toward the front of the ambulances parked behind you and then form an orderly line into the ward!” He yelled at the back of the ambulances. These men were used to taking orders and responded to the Major’s orders.
Things were beginning to flow nicely when the orderly who knew Dan returned with Sheila in tow.
“What on earth are you doing? You can be court marshaled for impersonating an officer!” she whispered to him.
“I was cold and couldn’t find a blanket, so I put this on,” he said. “Besides, this place needed someone in charge and there was no one taking up the reins.”
She stood back, looked at him with exasperation and went off to help more wounded.
The orderly looking down said “Sorry, Dan I thought ...”
“Listen young man, I’ll demote you if you try a stunt like that again!”
“But you’re not a real major,” the orderly whined.
“I’ve been a major for years, young man – a major pain in the ass!” As always Dan laughed at his own joke. “Now off with you.”
There was still work to be done. “The five pace areas will be divided into three lanes, the inside closest to the ambulance door will be for stretcher bearers and gurneys,” Dan ordered. “The next lane is for wheelchairs and those needing assistance to walk, and the outside for those who can walk unassisted.”
A small crowd of hospital personnel were taking in all the orders and setting up the new system that this commander was promoting.
Doctor Bradley, Sheila’s friend, was attending to a patient. He had seen Sheila talking to this new take-charge fellow and stopped her.
“Y’all know who that officer is? We’ve needed that kind of discipline and orderly thinking around here for a long time and he looks kinda familiar.”
“Oh, well, I just met him today, doctor,” she replied nervously. “I think he’s from the Canadian forces and is… uh… moving out tomorrow. I don’t think you know him.”
“Well, he’s a welcome addition, even if it’s just for a day! A welcome addition, indeed. We can all learn a lot from that type of leadership,” the doctor said admiringly.
Sheila nodded, her eyebrows raised high in disbelief and relief that Bradley had not recognizing her friend.
Meanwhile, back in the fray, Dan was barking out orders and being pushed by his associate from hot spot to hot spot. The volume had increased, but so had the efficiency, so things were moving far better than they would have had Dan not interfered.
Alan leaned over and spoke into Dan’s ear “I can’t believe the amount of wounded!”
“Yes,” Dan replied. “It’s not a good sign. We tried to warn them but, it appears they didn’t listen. Terry and George got through to command as far as I know.”
A flood of fear pumped through McKee at the thought that they may not have made it. He never even made an effort to find out. A soldier shuffled past them. He had a bewildered look on his face, his arms hung slightly in front of him and his hands were shaking uncontrollably.
“I’ve seen that before – it’s shell shock.” Alan made the statement without thinking. Dan looked up at him, wondering if Alan realized what had just happened.
“Really? Where? Where did you see that?” he pressed. Alan’s expression became strained as he searched for more of his suppressed memory. He didn’t know where.
One of the sunbeam ambulances let out with a backfire as it pulled away from the offloading area. Everyone jumped at the noise except the shell shocked man, who began to walk in a jerky disjointed fashion. His eyes became huge dark holes that displayed total unbridled fear. He began to howl like a cornered dog looking around at everyone but seeing nothing. The entire area stopped, all activity came to a halt.
Doctor Bradley, who was some fifty feet away, looked up from his patient and assessed the scene. “Attend to this fellow, will you?” he asked the nurse next to him. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked toward the howling man standing just six feet away from the wheelchair-bound mock Major. Bradley wound his large right arm back and came across the shell shocked man’s face with a stunning slap that staggered the man. He immediately stopped his howling and coherently looked at Bradley, rubbing his reddened face.
“What was that for?” the now awakened man said.
“I’ll need y’all to go over and join those men in line and quietly wait your turn. Can you do that?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, sir,” the man said sheepishly.
Bradley turned toward the take-charge Major. He wanted to introduce himself. As he and Dan made eye contact, the doctor withdrew his outstretched hand and pondered the imposter for a moment. “I shoulda known you weren’t the real McCoy,” he said in his strong southern accent. “Most officers aren’t so damn organized.” Then he became serious. “You better wrap this thing up, son, before y’all get your backside in a sling.” Bradley walked back to his waiting patient shaking his head.
VIMY RIDGE
The next several months were relatively quiet in our sector. To the south, the Somme raged on until November and then fizzled out leaving the western front line essentially unchanged except for the addition of the seventy thousand men unaccounted for who were probably now part of the landscape. In all the activity between Somme and Verdun it seemed that both sides had forgotten about Arras and Vimy Ridge, and that was just fine with us.
We were assigned to the Third Canadian Division, Argyle
and Sutherland battalion and were settling in very well. We were regularly giving concerts in the courtyard of the Cathedral Arras and, other than the trench raiding parties, the hostilities were light. This was all about to change.
It started with the arrival of the royal engineer corps. They went right to work cutting into the chalk sub strata carving out tunnels that would lead to multiple mines under enemy territory. Then all four Canadian divisions slowly began to arrive.
The Royal Air Corps began numerous flights over Vimy Ridge for reconnaissance. Twenty five squadrons with a total of three hundred sixty-five aeroplanes were employed to survey the enemy. To counter the build-up of British aircraft, the Germans called on the well-equipped and highly experienced Jasta 11, the Royal Prussian Fighter Squadron, led by none other than “The Red Baron,” Manfred von Richthofen himself. He and his squadron promptly downed over a hundred British aircraft in a little over one week.
It was starting to look like we were about to undertake another major assault, only this one seemed to be primarily Canadian and far better planned.
In January 1917 Lieutenant-General Sir Julian Byng took command of the Canadian forces and began formulating a strategy for the assault on Vimy Ridge. The plan was to involve the four Canadian Divisions and the British 5th Infantry division for a total of one hundred seventy thousand men, of which ninety-seven thousand were Canadian. There had been some costly but, very valuable lessons learned from the battles Somme and Verdun and this command was not about to make the same mistakes.
The plan was simply. First, place and detonate mines in such a way as to create a huge trench across No Man’s Land providing shelter and cover for the advancing troops.
Next, four hundred British eighteen-pound field cannons would lay down a creeping barrage to clear the path for the infantry. The troops would advance in a leap frog manner every hundred yards the first wave would dig in and the second wave would pass them advancing another hundred yards. The heavy and medium howitzers were to pound the known points of German defense.
And finally the “Stokes Sticks” would clear out any strong holds with their deadly effectiveness. At just eleven pounds, the Stoke Mortar was a lightweight, portable weapon that could easily move along with the advancing troops and lay down cover or take out machine gun nests. One could fire twenty-five rounds per minute and achieve a range of over twelve hundred yards.
Probably the most important consideration of Lieutenant-General Byng’s plan was the extraordinary amount of communication cable laid out for field phone and telegraph. He was determined that the total breakdown of communications experienced during the first days of the Somme would not be repeated here on Vimy. Reliable communications are an integral and essential part of effective command.
The troops were being trained over and over again to insure their readiness for the offensive and to secure their success. We, on the other hand, were left mostly to our own recognizance. We all realized that this was indeed going to be a well-orchestrated event.
The date chosen for the assault was 9 April – Easter Sunday – but the French requested that we postpone the operation by one day to 10 April in respect for the holy day. Our command agreed and the new date was set.
Excitement was in the air and we were caught up in it. It had been almost nine months since the Somme and, although we still missed Sean – and all those we lost in that battle – the anticipation of the upcoming campaign was almost intoxicating.
There is an inexplicable feeling about being a part of something that is so much larger than you are. We had no illusions about war now, and we had seen its outcome. Given the choice to stay and fight or leave, most of us would have chosen to stay. I believe we felt obligated to our dead comrades to carry through to the end.
Two weeks prior to the date of the assault the artillery began to shell the enemy strongholds. We had seen this same artillery attack at the Somme, but in this case the strategy would be to increase and then decrease the intensity of the barrages in an attempt to confuse the enemy. It would be two weeks of hell for the Germans because they’d expect an attack every time the artillery slacked off, only to be pounded again in earnest shortly thereafter.
Because of the intensity of the artillery attack the German command kept their reserve troops well away from the front by some twenty miles. Consequently, they ran short of supplies and fresh troops and by 9 April those on the front were hungry, demoralized and mentally broken.
In the early morning hours of the tenth, the first waves took up position in the advanced trenches. At 05:30 all hell broke loose. The land mines blew up in unison and the artillery began to lay down a walking barrage a hundred yards ahead of us.
The whistles blew. We played the pipes and our troops charged forward. The forward movement of the men had to be halted periodically so as not to run into the creeping barrage.
Compared with the Somme, Vimy Ridge had a remarkable first day, with minimal losses and all objectives met. The whole battle lasted only three days with fewer than four thousand Canadians lost and many more German prisoners taken.
PART NINE
GOING HOME
Guelph Veterans Home. Present Day
Mr. Macdonald abruptly stopped his story and reflected on where he was in his recollection. Mike and I sat leaning forward and impatiently waited for him to give us more of his remarkable tale, but he seemed to have somehow lost his train of thought.
Perhaps this was the time for some insightful interviewer-type questions, I thought.
“So, Mr. Macdonald, where did you and your fellow pipers go from there?” Not the most prying question, but it seemed like a natural one.
“From where?” he asked, somewhat confused. I looked at Mike then back at the old man.
“Well, from Vimy Ridge, sir,” I gently reminded him. After all at 109 years old, you’re entitled to lose your train of thought every once in a while.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Forgive me, sometimes I am forgetful. We went back to Arras after five days and remained there for two more months.”
He stopped. The reliving of these terrible events was taking its toll, he was emotionally exhausted. “Boys,” he said, “I think I need to rest, may we resume this tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I said. “We’ve taken up a great deal of your time and we appreciate your valuable insights.” Under other circumstances that might have sounded patronizing, but I really meant it.
I needed to get home anyway. It was already two in the afternoon and the family Thanksgiving dinner began around four. I asked Mr. Macdonald if he would join the gathering, and after a little coaxing, he agreed. He then retired to his room for a little rest.
A little bit before four o’clock, I returned to the Veterans home to pick him up. He was standing at the front desk dressed in his best suit and leaning on a walking cane. I helped him into my parent’s minivan, a far better choice of vehicles than my Datsun for such an occasion and we headed to my parents’ house.
He was obviously looking forward to escaping his depressing surroundings. I thought about the man’s age again, he must have outlived all his friends and most, if not all, of his family – a curse of longevity.
He was very talkative, obviously the nap had revived him and the invitation had invigorated him. My folks were great–they realized that having this gentleman join us was quite an honor and they welcomed him warmly.
Before dinner we sat around the living room talking, and our guest was nursing his glass of wine. You could tell that he was savoring every sip. I don’t believe the veteran’s home serves any alcohol.
His face became mildly flushed as he began to speak of his experiences again. He spoke in broad generalities this time, not as graphic or detailed as before. I assumed this was because of our mixed company – very old school. Mr. Macdonald did speak of his reunion with his brother Alan.
“We were on a several day leave when we ran into George Cohen. He had been permanently assigned to the Medical Corp. It seem
ed a sensible move – very uncustomary of the B.E.F.
George said he had gone to the 5th Canadian Stationary Hospital and had run into Dan McKee and a nice nurse we might know named Sheila Lougheed. We were overjoyed at the news. He slyly kept the real news until last.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “There’s one more bit of news you might find interesting, they have a patient that has been recovering for quite a while from head injuries. His name is Alan Macdonald – any relation?”
We looked at each other open-mouthed and unbelieving.
George just stood there with a big toothy grin waiting for his statement to sink in. I grabbed him by his shoulders and stared hard into his eyes. “George, what are you saying?”
“Alan is alive and well, except for some memory loss,” George said, smiling. I almost fainted. I had given up and resigned myself to the idea of his death. I thought I was going to vomit, but took several deep breaths and suppressed the urge. It was decided that we would all hook a ride on an ambulance that day to go and visit the 5th Canadian and surprise Alan.
The ride was quite nice, except for the condition of the road. The weather that day was warm and spring like. As we passed a small village, we noted a gathering of some fifty French military personnel. I didn’t realize at first, but it soon became apparent that it was a French firing squad.
They had ten or twelve men in chains and were allowing them a final smoke. The men looked like someone had let the air out of them, all stooped over, deflated. They lined half the men up against a building leaving the other half to watch the cold fate that was about to befall them. It was one of the most horrific and haunting scenes I’d ever seen.
I have witnessed the look on scared men’s faces before battle, but none as desperate as those of the condemned men there. What an awful state, to know that you are to be killed by your fellow soldiers and almost as bad, would be getting the order to execute them. I noted no officers were pulling the triggers. The driver of the lorry explained that morale was so low in the French army that they were experiencing mass desertions and this was their way of deterring it. For the rest of the two hour trip, I couldn’t stop thinking about that awful scene.
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