Yeomen of England

by Ken Tout

  The stress of war often engendered an almost hysterical response to anything remotely humorous, as with Bertie and his mates laughing at Jack Lowther’s considered coolness. (Jack, later Colonel J.G. Lowther OBE, DSO, MC.) In moments before the same action, George Dixon had suffered a moment falling somewhere between embarrassment and comedy. Captain Litchfield chose to ride George’s much-envied usual mount and George was left with the captain’s huge horse measuring 17 hands high:

  I would have been better off if I could have carried a ladder to mount. The girths of the saddle were difficult to get tight with frozen fingers. I would get about half way up, then the saddle would slip and so I had to start again. The C.O. Col Seymour called for the captain. The captain jumped off his horse and left me to catch it. I did this smartly, as I thought, but I got my greatcoat caught in my sword hilt and the reins mixed up and began going round and round in front of the C.O, who was standing at the mouth of his dug-out. However, not a word was said. But I felt like a fool. We continued to advance by the Scarpe river. We went so fast and bypassed the Germans. The Adjutant was wounded, Capt J.G. Lowther, and was replaced by Capt Litchfield. We had overrun several pockets of Germans but these soon ferreted out. The weather was still very bad and we stayed out all the night with the horses ready saddled up.

  Another account, relying mainly on Bertie Taylor, said that ‘they galloped through Arras, outstripping the others [cyclists and infantry] to such an extent that the following day they were so far ahead that they could see the Bosch [sic] reserves massing for miles’. They saw Arras in ruins, the ‘great cathedral lying in great heaps of masonry choking the narrow streets up to it. The fine houses round the square looked as though some Titanic gale had torn down the fronts … saw pianos open with music on the rest, dining tables still containing unfinished meals, bed clothing and contents of wardrobes flung pell-mell about the rooms, curtains flapping in the breeze like rags on a corpse.’

  There was a brief delay whilst generals consulted and eventually ordered the massed cavalry to move up ready for a further advance towards Monchy-le-Preux. Unfortunately the delay would give the Germans, always swift to react, just time enough to reorganise and would prove fatal to the cavalry. Brigadier General Bulkeley-Johnson was the commander within sight and hearing of the continuing infantry action and had to take the final decision as to where and when to let loose his 8th Cavalry Brigade. He ordered the Essex Yeomanry and 10th Hussars to circle around Monchy, but if they encountered heavy machine-gun fire they should swing into the relative shelter of the village and support the infantry.

  All the cavalry out in the open with their horses were enduring a night of Arctic weather. Bertie Taylor recorded:

  The snow and the bitterly cold weather were almost as hard to endure as the shells. What a night! No cover save the sky and snowing like the deuce. We kept the saddles on all night and in the morning you could hardly distinguish the saddles from the horses so thick was the snow. At daybreak we dug our equipment out of the snow and prepared to go back, thinking the weather made cavalry work impossible. Not one of us could hold a limb still – we were so cold and famished.

  George Dixon was relieved, after the night static in the open, to be ordered to mount and move forward at the trot to a spot near Monchy, unaware that they were destined to have their heaviest casualties of the war; indeed the highest casualties the regiment would suffer on a single day in two world wars:

  We arrived at the base of a hill. Other cavalry regiments were on our right and left and they were ordered to charge and the Germans gave them all they had. It was soon a massacre – horses and men blown up, some riders trailing dragged by the stirrup. We had a good view from the base of the hill and then it was our turn. We too were ordered to charge. We passed some infantry who cheered us – we were the first cavalry they had ever seen in action. My horse just flew over the shell holes. Shells and bullets were falling all around us.

  Cyril Day, also astride a galloping horse and in imminent danger of death or wounding, could not ignore the incredible panorama around him, so different to anything he had ever seen before:

  We went up at a gallop, the enemy simply pouring shells at us. It was a wonderful sight, the ground was covered with snow, the air keen and frosty and the sun shining, making the frozen breath of hundreds of horses look like white smoke pouring from log fires. ‘A’ Squadron dismounted in the village for action. Field guns and machine-guns were sweeping the country and cutting horses and men down everywhere. It was like being shot in a trap and everyone wanted to go on but finding it absolutely impossible to get through the blocked streets.

  Bertie Taylor had observed that the Essex Yeomanry were charging ahead and then heard the command for his own NY squadron to follow on their flank:

  We got over the top of the rise and there it stood, red bricks showing – Monchy! The snow was laying thick, the wind freezing and at this point some of our horses collapsed, buckling the swords of their riders. We extended into one long line, a bugle sounded and we charged! Over open ground, jumping trenches, men swearing, horses squealing – a proper old commotion. We had come under heavy fire and some of the saddles had been emptied. But the horses knew what to do better than we did and galloping past me came these riderless horses. Mine, poor devil, had been wounded badly in the coronet [ankle area] so I pulled him up and dismounted and had a look at him. Well he looked at me and there really were tears in his eyes. Poor devils, they know, you know. Another one came flying past me with half his guts hanging out. Well, my horse perked up and we rode on after the others. I caught up with Mr Humphries when a shell exploded beneath his horse, and split him like a side of beef hanging up in a butcher’s shop. Both horse and rider were killed instantly.

  Perhaps, by this stage of the war, the ordinary Yeomen in dire danger were quite aware that rank granted no privilege in such a battle, and Brigadier General Bulkeley-Johnson himself had paid the ultimate price. Watching the advance on foot, he had been advised to get down low and crawl from shell hole to shell hole. He felt it was undignified and a bad example, so insisted on walking upright. A sniper’s bullet smashed through his cheek and penetrated the brain. This meant the command devolved on Lieutenant Colonel Whitmore of the Essex Yeomanry, who was in the devastated village and who had to try to co-ordinate the widely spread and rapidly moving cavalry. Another person in the charge, Trooper Jim Ashton, shared Bertie Taylor’s experience:

  We lined across a huge field and charged into a terrific bombardment. As we galloped down the hill men and horses were blown up by explosives and we passed hundreds of dead and dying. The shell holes everywhere made matters worse. When we entered the village what a sight met our eyes! All the way up the main street were dead men and horses, fellows groaning, horses whinnying and kicking; one licking his dead master’s face; and infantry lying on every side. I came a cropper over a shell-hole and, as I was remounting, noticed in the next hole a Lewis gun team of six men and the machine-gun. I shouted ‘Cheerio, boys!’ but no answer came – they were all dead.

  As the village was impassable to mounted men squadron buglers sounded the ‘Retire!’ Bertie Taylor marvelled to see that the riderless horses, which had reached the village first, were also the first to lead the retirement without any human intervention except the bugle notes. As the withdrawal reached the bottom of the hill it became apparent that Lieutenant Colonel Seymour was missing. Volunteers were called for and two selected to go back to the village amid the continuing enemy artillery bombardment. The colonel was found wounded and his rescuers were later decorated for their bravery. Lieutenant Colonel Sir Charles Lowther, huntsman supreme and Master of the Pytchley, then took command of the regiment.

  If the Northamptonshire Yeomen had suffered much, then at least two other horse units suffered even more, to say nothing of the shattered infantry. Trooper Clarence Garnett of the Essex Yeomanry had been among the first to ride into the village of death on his horse, ‘Nimrod’:

  I had not been
there long when a light shell came through a gap in the cottages and cut down our officer and most of the others. Nimrod was terrified and he reared up violently, dragging me along the street for some yards until I was forced to let go. I never saw him again after that. I wandered along the street and into the main square which was simply covered with dead men and horses. To my horror I saw one of our own blokes cut in two at the waist. One half of him was on one side of the street, the other on the other side. Later that morning it started to rain and I swear the streets of Monchy ran red with blood, human and equine mingled together.5

  Garnett was by no means exaggerating. Second Lieutenant Alan Thomas said, ‘the sight that greeted me was so horrible that I almost lost my head … as far as one could see, lay the mutilated bodies of our men and their horses … bodies stiffened into fantastic attitudes. All the hollows of the road were filled with blood. This was the cavalry.’ Two bleak statistics underline the horrors: All the horses of C Squadron, 10th Hussars were killed, and in 1NY more horses were killed than the total of humans killed and wounded.

  In a moment of black comedy amid the spreading tragedy, Trooper Doug Simmonds of the NY was for a while in danger of being charged with desertion in the face of the enemy, court-martialled and shot at dawn. He had been sent to spot for the artillery but as the chaos worsened in the village he began to help the wounded. Back at the regimental rendezvous the routine roll call failed to elicit a response from Trooper Simmonds, D.H., and nobody could account for him, dead or alive. On his return his story was not believed at first and he was made to detail all the wounded whom he had helped in the village, including those who had died. He remained under suspicion. However, once checks had established that Doug had indeed performed heroically he was awarded the Military Medal (MM).6 Five other Military Medals and two Military Crosses (MC) were earned by the regiment. Doug was also Mentioned in Despatches on another occasion. What cheered Cyril Day was not the hope of an award but the sight of ‘the transport wagons as we had had nothing to eat for three days except what we carried in our haversacks’.

  Immediately after the battle the then Major Sir Charles Lowther, Bt, wrote home to his wife from Habarcq on 14 April 1917. He remembered at the peak of the battle meeting his colonel ‘Archie’ (Lieutenant Colonel A.G. Seymour) ‘wandering around, not remembering anything owing to getting a brickbat on the head’. The writer thought it was a poor way to lose so many officer friends, about fifty men and eighty horses, although all the men were splendid in their steadiness. He continued:

  All the hunt servants came out all right. Only [Lance Corporal] Agutter got 2 in the back but did not report sick until the following day when the Doctor pulled the bits of shrapnel out of his back, rather a good affair on A’s part considering his horse was shot from under him, too. I wish [brother] Jack had not been hit as I need him badly. There is no one who knows anything about the future due to the high casualties of experienced officers including the corps commander. I have got to write the report on the whole proceedings. We had a most touching farewell to Archie who, although wounded, spoke awfully well to the assembled regiment before they took him back. The acting Corps Commander has recommended me for command of the Regiment!

  It is doubtful which, for the average soldier, is the worst experience: killing and being killed or later burying the dead. As indicated throughout the Arras narratives, the mind oscillates between moments of great human, almost animal exhilaration and the extremes of terror which can paralyse the mind. There is neither excitement nor mental refuge from the sadness and obscenity of clearing a battlefield. Again it was George Dixon who was able to put such thoughts down on paper:

  A few nights after this I went on a burying expedition. This was a night I shall never forget. There were hundreds of bodies lying about and on our way up we found a trench full of dead bodies. They had either just received their mail or were taking it up to the front line. I picked up a letter addressed to P.A. Neale of the 4th Worcesters. We were ordered to fill in the trench, which became their grave. We collected several bodies and placed them in a circle sloping down into a large shell hole, after taking their identity discs. In the distance, in the darkness, frogs were croaking in a pond, making this a really ghostly, uncanny scene, to give it a biblical term ‘An Abomination of Desolation’.

  Major battle actions, such as 1NY’s at Arras, were only a few days’ suspension of what might be termed normal war service: continuing monotonous routine, always in some kind of danger, frequently dirty, hungry and lousy, the routine broken from time to time by homeland leave, then further training, often for situations which would never be encountered. When Cecil Knight’s turn for leave came round in late July he went off to Northamptonshire for fourteen days. As the farm work at home was in full swing he reported to the depot and was awarded a further nine days of agricultural leave. His thoughts on return to the trenches from the clean, golden fields of England are not recorded. Another trooper, Alf Norman, was allowed a full month’s agricultural leave extension during the peak harvest period.

  It was now apparent to regimental officers, as well as to other ranks (ORs), that, in spite of the initial excitement as of the hunt, there was no glory to be found in the mad gallop against machine guns and barbed-wire entanglements, under a storm of well-directed artillery fire sending down lethal shrapnel and erupting under horses. The riders suffered the double shock and bereavement of seeing both their own mounts and their human mates massacred. Most of the men were convinced that their horses could weep as well. Until the vast wire entanglements and deep-dug redoubts were finally breached in late 1918, the cavalry would have no way through places like Monchy.

  Before that, other Yeomanry regiments deployed in the Middle East would have opportunities of advancing at the gallop in open warfare, the Warwicks and Worcesters sharing perhaps the last charge against enemy guns. Other regiments were also moving through historic places of biblical interest: Jerusalem was captured and the Gloucesters took the town of Nazareth. But they too would first have to slog through similar travails of trench warfare against the Turkish Army, even if the slog led through parching sand rather than soggy mud.

  Those regiments were also having to encounter problems not known to the English country hunts or even regiments on the Western Front. One tactical fact was that the more numerous British Army guarding the Suez Canal had to stretch itself out along the entire length of the canal, whilst the Turks, with fewer troops, could quietly assemble a locally overwhelming force to strike through a small area of the vast desert. Another problem for individual soldiers was the difficulty of digging trenches for shelter in sandy ground which collapsed again and again during the digging. Yet a further constant problem was the finding, or delivering over long distances, of water in such a terrain, the Sinai desert being one of the driest places on earth. On one particular day the RGH had, apart from about 350 humans, some 456 horses, thirty-eight mules and sixty-two camels all needing regular water to drink.7 And there were many such units spread out between the few available wells. One story concerned an Australian trooper who saved a part of his water ration, which he poured into the crown of his slouch hat. With this he managed to wash his feet. He was about to throw away the remaining slops when two other men rushed up, grabbed the hat and drank the water.

  Back on the Western Front the Northants lads had no visions of anything but a continued routine of dull slaving, back and forward to the trenches. On 29 September 1917 Sergeant Cyril Day recorded ‘Enemy planes were over dropping bombs most nights. On Thursday they hit the guard tent of the Cyclists, killing one and wounding six. Several bombs were dropped round the farm in which two of our troops were billeted.’ Aeroplanes were now designed and equipped to bomb accurately as compared to the rudimentary 1915 plane whose pilot might lob a bomb out of the cockpit almost casually, without much hope of hitting anything vital.

  An old-fashioned kind of genteel relationship existed between some higher commanders and troops. On 30 July 1917 five
Yeomanry regiments were gathered well behind the lines for further training and were inspected by the corps general (four ranks higher than Lieutenant Colonel Lowther). He then ‘sent a nice letter to thank and praise the Northamptonshire Yeomanry for the good work we had done and said he was sorry to see us go’. Cyril Day and his mates did not know they were ‘going’ but by next day they were packed up and moving out, and the kindly general turned out at dawn to wave them goodbye. Not quite the ‘donkeys leading lions’ that some critics have deigned to call First World War generals.

  George Dixon was clear in his mind that it was the quality of the regiment’s horses which led to its next assignment:

  We were sent to a refitting camp at Ayette, where we joined several other Yeomanry regiments. Several of the regiments were to be disbanded but owing to the quality and condition of our horses we were to remain as cavalry and proceed to Italy to help the Italians. We went to Dunkirk and trained on the beaches whilst waiting to go.

  The mention of the condition of the horses is a reminder that many high-ranking commanders like Field Marshal Haig were originally cavalry subalterns. An ex-cavalry general, instead of peering down the barrel of a trooper’s rifle or cocking a machine gun, would be more likely to open a horse’s mouth and judge its general health, later basing his report on the efficiency of the regiment more upon the condition of the horses rather than the cleanliness of the weapons.