by Ken Tout
A patrol of the NY crossing a river in Italy, 1918. (NYA)
The news that the regiment was destined for Italy was received with great rejoicing by all ranks, with a vision of exchanging the alternating soaking mud and clogging dust of France for the vine-clad hills and balmy climate of Italy. And for the horses there would be lush, green pastures and cool, crystal streams flowing down from the snow-capped mountains.
While the main British Army fought on in France and other British troops advanced with the Egyptian Expeditionary Force, great battles were taking place on the Eastern Front involving mainly Germany, Russia and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Armies clashed from the shores of the Baltic in the north, where the Germans had defeated the Russians with a classic encircling movement at Tannenburg, to the mountainous border between Austria and Italy in the south. There, in October 1917, the Austrians had defeated the Italians in the Tolmino-Caporetto area, precipitating a disastrous Italian retreat to the River Piave, with the loss of 250,000 prisoners. Both Britain and France responded immediately by each sending out an army corps to the relief of the Italians.8 The British corps was commanded by the Earl of Cavan.
The release from the horrors of the trenches gave the rail journey from Dunkirk to Italy a holiday atmosphere for men like Cyril Day, in spite of the slight discomforts of ‘about fifth class rail coaches’:
Crossed the frontier to Italy and detrained at Ventimeglia. It was a lovely morning, the inhabitants all the way down were giving us fruit and flowers. It was 10pm when we pegged our horses down … We picketed in a field outside Rega. The Italians opened a big girls’ school for us to sleep in and provided us all with mattresses … At Allassio we put our horses in seaplane sheds on the sands … Weather better than ever, the scenery was very beautiful. All the fellows enjoyed the ride. We had a good welcome all the way.
The Italian civilians, shocked by the apparent disintegration of their entire army, could not express their welcome warmly enough. The Northampton local newspaper reported that the troopers ‘for six days rode through the Italian Riviera among masses of flowers, hailed everywhere with frantic joy by the natives’. George Dixon shared the excitement but also had a thought for some horses which were not quite so fortunate:
We were met by people strewing flowers and handing us wine and grapes. One would have thought it was a peace celebration. We travelled twenty miles each day. At one place we tied our horses up between trees with red berries and about ninety per cent of the horses were ill. It was believed this was due to the berries. About nine of the horses in our squadron died. They were placed on the beach and were skinned by the Italians. However the sharks came after them and spoiled the fishing. So the fishermen tied the horses’ bodies and towed them out to sea. One of our troopers went with them. He said he never expected to get back alive. The sharks kept attacking the horses, nearly upsetting the boat, while the fishermen were cutting them clear one by one. Very nasty.
It is difficult to enter into the minds of horsemen of long ago and determine how much real emotion and sympathy they felt for their steeds. Riders in 1914–18 like those mentioned certainly experienced great empathy with their mounts. A brief glance at present-day advice for horse care shows how inconvenient it was to care for horses in battle. For example, ‘a horse should never be given cold water after a hard sweaty work out’. How could this be reconciled with the NY chargers having to be watered at the Scarpe in the midst of ‘a hard sweaty work out’ when that was the only water available during the entire day? Or ‘have water available at all times’. How could Yeomen traversing the Sinai desert have water available at all times? Or ‘water and feed should be given frequently in small quantities’. As will be seen, the later stages of the NY’s Italian campaign involved such rapid and lengthy pursuits that there could be no convenient frequent pauses for small meals. And the final difficulty, of course, was in considering that a horse may need ‘five to fifteen gallons on an average day’. With 500 animals (2,500 to 7,500 gallons a day) in a waterless desert or amid barbed-wire entanglements on chalk downs, how impossible were the water-carrying tasks of each regimental quartermaster?9
Whilst the NY lads were happy to resume their role as cavalry, other regiments, particularly within the Egyptian Expeditionary Force, were suffering disappointment as they lost their horses and became infantry, equipped and denominated as such. Formed into the 74th (Yeomanry) Division of infantry, they marked their grief by taking as their divisional emblem ‘the Broken Spur’. Seventeen regiments were amalgamated into eleven battalions to form the three brigades of the division. Whilst their Yeomanry designations survived partially within discreet brackets, their working titles were also infantry titles and sometimes different from the original. The Suffolk Yeomanry became easily transformed as the 15th The Suffolk Regiment; the Shropshire and Cheshire Yeomanry regiments were amalgamated and found themselves to be 10th King’s Shropshire Light Infantry; the Fife and Forfar suffered a complete name change and became 14th Black Watch (Perthshire Regiment); nevertheless, the 74th performed as infantry in a manner which did not betray its enthusiastic Yeomanry traditions.
In a sense the Egyptian Expeditionary Force lost its identity as it survived massive attacks by the Turkish Army around Suez, advancing into Palestine and Syria. Some regiments like the RGH had fought hard and suffered much in the initial defensive and first abortive attacking battles. With the arrival of General Allenby and a breakthrough around Gaza, the mounted men at last had opportunities to sound the charge on their trumpets, but, to a large extent, they were ringing down the curtain on the cavalry era.
On 8 November 1917 there took place what has been described as the last classic unsupported cavalry charge (against artillery) of the British Army. In the Third Battle of Gaza the 60th Division had been pinned down by Turkish artillery fire and were unable to advance. The cavalry immediately available amounted to only one and a half squadrons of each of the Worcestershire and Warwickshire Yeomanry, a force consisting of well under 200 riders. They faced eleven artillery guns and four machine guns, and it required a full gallop over open ground with no possibility of shelter. The objective was reached, the guns were captured and the infantry were able to advance again, but at a cost: all the squadron commanders were killed; only three officers survived unscathed, twenty-six ORs were killed and 100 out of 160 horses were killed.
On 13 November, nearing Jerusalem, another Yeomanry force undertook a mixed operation involving three regiments advancing up a hill towards well-dug-in Turkish troops at the top. The Buckinghamshires, wielding swords, were able to storm their side of the hill on horseback; the leading Dorsets used rifles and bayonets as they attacked on foot over ground where horse attack was not viable; and the Berkshires carried out a normal cavalry attack, but then, on following through, reverted to dismounted advance through houses. One comment observed ‘successes such as these proved the effective use of shock action by cavalry against infantry, such as had rarely been possible on the Western front’.10
While the Turkish Army disintegrated around Palestine, the German Army on the Western Front had been reinforced after the collapse of the Russian Army and the Bolshevik Revolution. The spring of 1918 saw the Allied armies under threat from the resurgent German forces and ‘Backs to the wall!’ calls were sounding ominously. Some regiments which had been fighting the Turks were hastily sent across the Mediterranean to France, while other regiments continued across Syria to Damascus and Aleppo. In the reorganisation the Gloucester Yeomen, who had previously been ‘chummed’ with neighbourly county regiments, found themselves brigaded with the 15th and 18th Bengal Lancers.
The NY’s triumphal ride through Italy inevitably ended in the shock of renewed action, but against a new enemy, the Austrians, who came fresh from a famous victory over the Italians. Initially, serious warfare would be the order of the day, as Cyril Day’s first active day revealed:
Left regiment with two officers and a corporal to be attached 9th Devons in the front line. A
t 10pm about 30 of the 2nd Gordon Highlanders went out to raid the enemy’s line. Owing to so many raids being made the enemy were prepared and waiting for them in much larger numbers. The Gordons were driven back with heavy casualties. The Yeomanry were to make a raid on the same place a few nights afterward. We four had to reconnoitre the ground and make the plans … we found the enemy patrols out but got within a few yards of the enemy post. They evidently saw us as we heard them shouting something like ‘Enlisa’ meaning no doubt ‘English’.
Another man, Trooper William ‘Chas’ Cotton, was awarded the Military Medal for his actions in a similar miniscule but dangerous sally:
We got Jerry [soldiers’ name for Austrians as well as Germans] over the river alright. Then he made a stand outside a village. The order came to our Troop for four men to go out on a special patrol and I was chosen leader. The Colonel said there were men and machine-guns 400 yards out and he wanted them located. Away we went and I can tell you we had a pretty warm time. We found the guns and THEY found US too! I had a bullet through my rifle sling and my pal had one in his haversack! However, riding fast no one was injured. The C.O. told me he was pleased with my leading as the point man.11
As if there was not already enough responsibility on the NY with its normal reconnaissance duties ahead of the infantry, the regiment now had to take care of a distinguished attachment in the person of the Prince of Wales, heir to the throne. Aged 23, he was serving on the Earl of Cavan’s staff. He had always been keen to experience the real conditions and perils of the front line but, under the king’s orders, was restrained as much as could be done with a quite wilful young royal. In the thronged trenches of France there were no easy opportunities to evade his guardians; the more fluid action in Italy allowed him to evade minders and join the NY or other forward units. But, for the unit to which he attached himself at a particular moment, ensuring his safety was more urgent than defeating the enemy. He was popular with the troops at the time but would find a kind of notoriety with the NY in years ahead.
Now an ‘old soldier’ in the eyes of new reinforcements, George Dixon was surprised in 1918 to be ordered to do more training. In France there had been little demand for reading maps to move over unknown country. Now in Italy they needed smart navigation among the fields, vineyards and hills. His group was given a distant and obscure landmark to find on horseback, and then they were to mark out defence posts. They found the objective and were sitting triumphantly at the spot. At that point Major Nicholls arrived, confirmed that they were correct and then bawled: ‘What I don’t want to see is four of my NCOs sitting on their horses peering at their maps like four bloody owls.’ For Dixon, serious business resumed soon enough:
We first got in touch with the enemy at Vazzola. We ran into their machine-guns. Our squadron was ordered to try to get through to the place marked on the map. We ran into a machine-gun barrage. I was second-in-command of the section. We had to gallop for dear life, our casualties being one horse. I lost my tin hat but walked back and fetched it after we dismounted. Our other squadrons had done quite well. A patrol of about six men had captured two hundred Austrians. The officer in charge got the MC. The Colonel himself, Sir Charles Lowther had to beat a quick retreat when out on reconnaissance and the Austrians hemmed him in from three sides.
Next day ‘passing through the cheering front line infantry and penetrating nearly ten miles into enemy territory’, Dixon’s group found themselves literally ‘off the map’ as they had ridden beyond the edges of their maps. As they continued one squadron rode into a village to find it thronged with exhausted enemy troops sleeping or sitting with their boots off by the wayside. Meanwhile, another great Territorial survivor, Cyril Day, had temporarily come to grief. Taking over from his sick SSM, Cyril’s horse slipped into a deep ditch and was in danger of drowning, dragging his rider down too. ‘I had to hold his head up to prevent drowning. After he came round he repaid me by plunging and laying me out a yard further up the ditch.’ He was then involved in what must have been one of the last cavalry charges of the war:
Oct 28th: Moved off at 10pm after evening prayer. Roads were packed with traffic and it took us to 0400hrs to reach the pontoon bridge over the river. The enemy had blown up the bridge but we managed to ford the river. We galloped across into a maize field and fired from our horses, returned rifles, drew swords and galloped into the enemy position. To our surprise the whole line surrendered to about out 10 of us. We each took a batch of prisoners back to our infantry who by then had reached the ford.
Our Squadron going on forward we got in front a bit so had to wait. [In the town] we took the station and fought dismounted up the street. Bullets were hitting and flying all around but only one of our fellows was killed. He was my batman.
The 1NY and North Irish Horse were preparing to advance again when the Italians warned them that the Austrians had asked for an armistice. Confirmation trickled down from corps HQ.12 The fighting was over, but not the duties as the King of Italy wanted to review and thank the British troops. George Dixon’s squadron leader, Lord Stallbridge, ‘who was not keen on spit and polish’, said to the SSM: ‘Just let the men polish the brass butts of their rifles, that is about all the king will see.’ After parading at the trot in front of and being thanked by a king, eventual demobilisation was a total and dismal contrast. Cyril Day, jotting down diary entries to the last, noted:
Feb 4th [1919]: Arrived and detrained at Cherbourg. It poured with rain on the march to the rest camp 5 miles away. All the tents were full with water coming through into them …
Feb 6th: The engine drivers were on strike so could not get on train. Demob camp at Purfleet – officer who had our papers had not turned up. Wet and fed up. Got to Cambridge at midnight. Brother Alf waiting with the horse and trap. Reached Mill Farm very thankful at one a.m.
George Dixon heard that many horses were sold for very high prices in Italy, but ‘they did not sell all the horses. They were put into different categories and I think the best came back to England.’ A Northampton newspaper reported that ‘animals which averaged £36 to £40 before the war fetched from £100 to £200 after going through the campaign’. The price increase may have been partially due to the drain on equine stocks caused by the horrific mortality during the war years.
It has been estimated that during the war on all fronts 8 million horses died. In 1917 ‘at this stage men at the front understood that to lose a horse was worse than losing a man’. Men might be replaced but horses might not.13 To compensate for losses from 1914 to 1917 (when America entered the war) about a thousand horses a day were transported by ship from the USA to France as replacements. Many horses in France were killed by poison gas, as although they had been provided with gas masks they tended to eat the masks. The Royal Veterinary Corps treated 725,216 horses during the war, of which 529,064 were saved. The unlucky ones were part of the total of 484,000 British horses killed in action or died due to infection or exposure.14
One Yeomanry formation which deserves a special mention is the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry (FANY). During the war its ‘Yeowomen’, working directly behind the front lines, won no less than seventeen Military Medals, gained a Legion d’Honneur and also twenty-seven Croix de Guerre awards. Not many male units could equal that record.
Future 1NY regimental sergeant major (RSM) and eventually longest-serving Territorial of his day, George Jelley was as yet a boy soldier who had increased his age in order to get to France before the war ended. He was now with a Royal Artillery unit in the army moving to occupy an area of Germany, where the population had suffered greatly in the last days of war. George, scion of the Northampton leather industry, was ordered to shoot a sick horse, skin it, keep the hide and bury the body. Next day he found that local people had dug up the horse for meat.
In Everdon near Daventry, Richard and Mary Bird would mourn their son, 2266 Trooper Eric Bird, aged 19, the youngest Northants fatality. In Newark, alone, Annie Papworth would mourn her husband, 145360 Private
C. Papworth, who at 44 was the oldest of the regiment’s Yeomen who would not return. Perhaps the cruellest news to be contained in the ominous yellow telegraph envelope carrying its message of doom would be that sent to Gladys Tomalin in Northampton; a telegram was delivered to her after the end of hostilities, for her husband, 146135 Private Albert Tomalin, was killed in Italy on 1 November 1918 by one of the last shots fired against 1NY in the war.
NOTES AND REFERENCES
1 Stubbs, NYA.
2 Dixon, Memoirs, NYA.
3 Day, War Diary.
4 Taylor, B., NYA. Lowther’s nose is said to be preserved by family, but not seen by author!
5 Essex Yeo records.
6 Daughter, Joan Simmonds and citation.
7 Lewis, Yeoman Solders (water in Sinai).
8 Liddell Hart, B.H., History of the First World War.
9 Horse care from various modern sites.
10 Mileham, P.J.R., The Yeomanry Regiments and unit sources.
11 Letter home to daughter Margaret, NYA.
12 Author’s father, Sapper John Tout, at corps HQ made boots for Earl Cavan, Prince of Wales and NY colonel.
13 New Zealand Ministry for Culture and Heritage.
14 Holmes, Military History.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PUNCTURED PRIDE
(1919–1939)
George Jelley had wanted to join the Yeomanry in 1916, but being underage and having to falsify his birth date, he found himself posted to the Royal Artillery. He was demobilised in 1919, but in 1920 saw in a Northampton newspaper an announcement calling for recruits for the revived Yeomanry; he was first in the queue.