Teenage Tommy

by Richard van Emden

  Teenage

  Tommy

  Dedicated to the memory of George Galtress,

  Frank ‘Mickey’ Lowe, Sidney Clouting, the late Reg Cox MM,

  and especially to Benjamin Clouting, 1897 – 1990

  OTHER BOOKS BY RICHARD VAN EMDEN:

  Meeting the Enemy

  The Quick and the Dead

  Tommy’s Ark

  Sapper Martin

  The Soldier‘s War

  Famous 1914-1918

  The Last Fighting Tommy (with Harry Patch)

  Britain’s Last Tommies

  Boy Soldiers of the Great War

  All Quiet on the Home Front

  Last Man Standing

  The Trench

  Prisoners of the Kaiser

  Veterans: The Last Survivors of the Great War

  Tickled to Death to Go

  First published in Great Britain in 1996 by Spellmount Limited

  Reprinted in this format in 2013 by

  PEN & SWORD MILITARY

  An imprint of

  PEN & Sword Books Ltd

  47 Church Street

  Barnsley, South Yorkshire

  S70 2AS

  Copyright © Richard van Emden, 1996, 2013

  ISBN 978 1 78303 287 7

  The right of Richard van Emden to be identified as Author of

  this work has been asserted by him in accordance with

  the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is

  available from the British Library

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

  transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical

  including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and

  retrieval system, without permission from the Publisher in writing.

  Printed and bound in England

  By CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  Pen & Sword Books Ltd incorporates the Imprints of Aviation, Atlas,

  Family History, Fiction, Maritime, Military, Discovery, Politics, History,

  Archaeology, Select, Wharncliffe Local History, Wharncliffe True Crime,

  Military Classics, Wharncliffe Transport, Leo Cooper, The Praetorian Press,

  Remember When, Seaforth Publishing and Frontline Publishing

  For a complete list of Pen & Sword titles please contact

  PEN & SWORD BOOKS LIMITED

  47 Church Street, Barnsley, South Yorkshire, S70 2AS, England

  E-mail: enquiries@pen-and-sword.co.uk

  Website: www.pen-and-sword.co.uk

  CONTENTS

  List of Maps

  Introduction to 2013 Edition

  Introduction

  1 A Sussex Childhood

  2 Crazy to be a Soldier

  3 The First Shot

  4 Audregnies and the Retreat from Mons

  5 Behind Enemy Lines

  6 Knee-deep in Mud

  7 A Different Life

  8 1918: From Cayeux to Cologne

  9 They think it–s all over…

  Epilogue

  Select Bibliography

  Index

  List of Maps

  1. The First Action, Casteau, 22nd August 1914

  2. The Charge of the 4th Dragoon Guards and 9th Lancers at Audregnies, August 24th 1914

  3. Battle of Bellewaarde Ridge, May 24th 1915

  All maps © Derek Stone

  The publisher would like to acknowledge the following for their permission to reproduce the photographs.

  Captain Hornby’s family : pcture 5

  The Imperial War Museum : pcture 10 and 25

  The National Army Museum : pcture 13 – 15

  The Royal Dragoon Guards : pcture 18 – 23

  David Bilton : pcture 34

  Family of Louise Donnay de Casteau : pcture 39

  All other photographs © Richard van Emden

  New Introduction

  I am delighted that this, my first book, has been reprinted in time for the 100th anniversary of the Great War. It is 25 years since I met Benjamin Clouting and 23 years since his death. Yet the memory of a short but very close friendship remains with me. It hardly seems credible now that I knew someone who not only took part in the great heroic Retreat from Mons – Ben always said it appeared to him more of a shambles – but that this man, this sixteen-year-old boy as he was then, took part in the very first action of the British Expeditionary Force in France and, two days later, one of the last great cavalry charges in history.

  I have been back to the locations of both the first action and the cavalry charge on a number of occasions, most recently to take photographs for the plate section of this book. The site of the first ‘shot’ has hardly changed since August 1914, and not much since I went there with Ben in May 1990. A small electrical sub-station has been built next to the chateau where the action occurred and on my most recent visit (on a Sunday, in the hope of finding the place free of traffic) I found to my frustration, a large articulated lorry parked outside the gatekeeper's house. Never mind. It might be argued that the British Army went to war in the first place so that Belgians might be free to park their lorries as and where they wanted.

  There is no blue plaque to mark the spot where the first shot took place. I have wondered if anyone other than Ben knew that it was outside La Roquette Chateau. As for the location of the cavalry charge, that has hardly changed either, except for large wind pylons that now dominate the horizon. Sadly, Ben and I did not return to this place but I feel he would have easily recognised it too, as the ground near Mons was not shot-blasted like that of the Somme orYpres Salient where Ben would later serve and where he was wounded.

  Ben’s story is republished with some new pictures but no added text. Questions that I failed to ask him back in 1990 can find no answers now. I hope Ben would have been pleased with this new edition. He did not live to see the book in print although he knew it was being written and he was delighted.

  Richard van Emden, October 2013

  Introduction

  It was through one of those rare, spectacular coincidences that Ben Clouting and I came into contact. I had become fascinated with the British Expeditionary Force’s ‘first shot’ of the continental conflict, and had long hoped to meet an old soldier who had actually been present. Research into the subject had, however, led me to the sad, if unsurprising, conclusion that the last witness, one Bumble Worrell, a Chelsea Pensioner, had died aged 91 in 1984. The action had seemingly passed into history.

  In 1988 a Reading newspaper, The Evening Post, began a series of articles entitled ‘Berkshire At War’. It was primarily concerned with memories of the Second World War, but nevertheless I wondered if any older soldier, from the First War, had been featured, and so I went to Reading County Library to request some back issues. Through a fortunate misunderstanding, an assistant brought a file of old press cuttings, among which appeared one from 1977 announcing the closure of the Reading Branch of the Old Contemptibles. It read: ‘Early in 1914 a young private in the British Expeditionary Force saw the first shots fired in the First World War. Yesterday at his home in Hungerford Road, Reading, ex-Private Ben Clouting of the 4th Dragoon Guards recalled those shots… ‘A quick search of the register of electors, and the rest, as they say, is history.

  A telephone call elicited the information that Ben was not only fit and well but still a working man, and any idea that I had had of interviewing him midweek was impossible. His work at a window-cleaning company ensured that he was out of the house by 6.30 each morning. ‘Come and see me on Sunday,’ he said. I did, and Sunday became a regular weekly date during which his memories were avidly recorded.

  A friendship grew, culminating
in a wonderful trip back to the battlefields in May 1990 on the final pilgrimage of the Old Contemptibles. This trip thrilled Ben as much as it did me, for although his health was rapidly declining – he died just three months later – any difficulties he had were put to one side and, armed with a walking stick for the first time in his life, he set about enjoying only his second return to the battlefields in seventy six years. The trip, which involved eleven other veterans, encompassed town functions, wreath layings, and a trip back to the battle sites including, for Ben, that of the first action at Casteau on August 22nd 1914. When the party of veterans leftYpres for England at the end of the tour, it seemed fitting that Ben was the last veteran to board the coach: the first one in and the last one out, I thought.

  Unlike many veterans, Ben was glad he had gone to France. He was in fact tickled to death to go after the Regiment had tried to leave him behind, for he was still only a boy of sixteen. His experiences over the next five years remained close to him, but did not blight the rest of his life. He had excellent recall but, perhaps thankfully, he was not blessed with an over-imaginative mind, for it was often a fertile mind which was the root cause of so many soldiers‘ mental and physical collapse, either during or after the war.

  Teenage Tommy is edited from tape recordings made between January 1989 and August 1990. On the whole, what Ben remembered proved correct or remarkably close to the known passage of events. There were time slips, when incidents were placed chronologically out of sequence, and these have been rectified, but, throughout, I have always sought to keep the flavour of Ben’s spoken word in the written text. As the book was put together after Ben’s death, there were many frustrations, when seemingly obvious questions cropped up, and I wondered why I did not think to ask Ben for the answers at the time. As I pondered on how to check or verify obscure facts, the outrageous fortune and coincidences that were a feature of Ben’s service in France seemed to rub off on me, and I often found solutions in the nookiest of crannies! I would like to think he is co-ordinating my efforts.

  During the writing of this biography, I have tried to be as accurate as possible in my narrative. However, while this is principally Ben‘s story, I have made a feature of two famous events in which Ben was involved, the BEF’s first skirmish in Belgium on August 22nd 1914, and the famous charge at Audregnies two days later. In both cases, new and significant light has been thrown on proceedings as a result of follow-up research to what Ben told me.

  This said, I am also aware that mistakes may have crept through, for which I apologise. Even so, I feel that this book is very readable, and gives a new and rare insight into the life of a cavalryman in the First World War. It is not a book of blood and guts. Other memoirs, mostly written by infantry or artillerymen, have far more of this sort of detail than appears here. Ben was a cavalryman, and for much of the war was an officer’s horse orderly and therefore spared such great tests as going over the top, or participating in a trench raid. Ben did serve in the trenches; he shot and was shot at; he was wounded twice, and saw men die, yet the real strength of this book lies in Ben’s deft insights into the daily life of a soldier in the First World War. These insights were often unwitting, but were nevertheless detailed, perceptive, and often very funny.

  I have endeavoured to make this book attractive to read, for both seasoned researchers of the conflict and interested yet more casual readers. For this reason the notes, which could easily have become very expansive, have been sharply curtailed, and are limited to items of distinct historical importance, or to asides which will appeal to a mainstream readership. Within the text, the role of the editor has been to place stories in a broader context, or to narrate, in depth, stories of significant historical interest and appeal. I should mention at this point that in one instance a name has been changed, as Ben requested.

  I would like to thank the following people and institutions for their help; firstly, the curators at the Royal Dragoon Guards Museum at York for their very kind help. The Imperial War Museum and the National Army Museum have both kindly consented to the reproduction of several photographs, which I greatly appreciate. I should also like to express my gratitude to the family of Louise Donnay de casteau, and to the family of Captain Hornby. My appreciation also goes to the Clouting family, and Betty Williams, all of whom have been encouraging and supportive throughout. Thanks are also due to my parents, Joan, and my late father, Wolfgang van Emden, who proved invaluable sub-editors. I am grateful to Maurice Johnson, Tony and Teddy Noyes and David Bilton.

  Finally, I should especially like to thank the superb staff at Pen and Sword Books for their work in bringing Benjamin Clouting’s story to a wider audience. In particular, Jonathan Wright, who is not just someone I enjoy working with, but who has become a good friend too. I would also like to thank Dominic Allen for his excellent book plate design, David Hemingway, Matt Jones and, of course, Charles Hewitt.

  Richard van Emden

  CHAPTER ONE

  A Sussex Childhood

  Ben

  Had luck not been kind to me, I might never have survived past the age of four. My earliest years were anxious times for my parents, who saved me from various dangerous exploits, exploits which lived on, as such things tend to do, as favourite family stories. I was bom in the country, at Beddingham, a little village close to Brighton, in September 1897. My father was head groom on an estate called Little Dene, where he was in charge of a large number of hunting horses belonging to the local landowner and renowned huntsman, the Honourable Charles Brand. The stables were adjacent to my parents’ tied house and it was inside these that I was found at the age of three trying to climb the hind leg of one of two horses in a valiant attempt to mount. By chance I had chosen a docile old mare which didn’t react to the irritant clinging on to her back leg; the other horse, so my father later assured me, would have kicked my brains out. Fate saved me on this occasion, as did the fortunate intervention of my mother, one year later, when any number of fingers were saved as I endeavoured to show my two-year-old sister how the chaff-cutter worked.

  My parents, William and Ellen, had moved to Beddingham soon after they married in the early 1890s. They had met at the Sussex home of the Sassoons, where my mother worked as a parlour maid and my father as a stable boy. I was the eldest of four children, being followed by Dorothy in 1899, Mabel in 1900 and William in 1902. We were brought up in a six-roomed house with three bedrooms. The children all slept in one bedroom in two double beds, my bed being an old wooden four-poster bed with the posts cut off and a seaweed mattress.

  The estate was very much a model of its kind, with its farm and riding stables. The Brands entertained frequently, bringing their guests to the stables to walk round, my father always being on hand to give carrots to those who wished to feed the horses. There was also a walk round after church on Sundays when some of the local gentry paid a visit, so everything had to be spick and span, from the burnished harnesses right down to the painted blue wooden stable buckets, each sporting C.B. in white on the side.

  The Brands had pots of money. The Honourable Charles had married a member of the Vanderbilt family and they had had four children, Betty, Ruth, Eve and Jack. They all lived a luxurious lifestyle, hence the two dozen employees needed to run what was a self-supporting estate which included a small herd of cows and a large number of sheep, all carefully selected and bred. There was the big house, then adjacent to it were tied cottages for the head gardener and his wife, who was the dairy maid. Then, the estate carpenter lived next door to the head carter, followed by another pair of cottages where the second gardener lived next door to Mr Weaver, the bailiff, who ran the farm.

  My father had been taken on as head groom at the princely sum of five pounds a month. He had grown up with horses, trying his luck out in Canada as the driver of a Royal Mail coach. He had returned to work as a stable boy at the Sassoon family home and had worked his way up before getting the job with the Brands. No one could fail to notice my father’s love of horses; he never
hesitated to pass on his natural enthusiasm, talking to the horses as though they were his own children. As a boy, I watched admiringly the rapport he built with them, for they seemed intuitively to understand his chatter. I was barely two years old when my father put me on my first mount. From then on, I ran into the yard every time the horses came in from exercise and my father would place me on a horse’s back as it walked into the stables. By the time I was five, he had begun teaching me all aspects of stable life, and by six I was riding my own polo pony. I was taught to ride military style, as my father himself had been, by an uncle who had ridden in the 11th Hussars.

  I first rode without any reins, holding on with just my knees as the horse was led round the stables. From these humble beginnings, I was taught the basics so that by the age of seven I was able to ride independently, being taken out to go cub hunting with the hounds, a sport designed to break up fox families. A year later, I was riding every morning, taking the horses out for exercise with my father at 6am before returning for breakfast and dashing off to school. In the end I was excused religion, the first lesson at school, so I had more time to ride, although in return I attended Sunday School and sang in the Beddingham church choir.

  Working on a country estate was a full-time job in every sense of the word. In those days, factory workers received a week’s holiday a year but for farm or stable workers, such things didn’t exist. Father worked at the stables every day of the year, with only the occasional break when he and I might go to Tattersall’s to buy a couple of new hunters for the stables, or rarer still an occasional afternoon visit to the races at Brighton. Otherwise it was a daily routine from early morning when the horses went for exercise, to 5pm when the horses were watered, bedded down on soft straw and their day blankets exchanged for night. Night meant 6pm when the working day ended, though Dad, with paraffin lamp in hand, would walk round the stables before bed checking that everything was all right.