Teenage Tommy

by Richard van Emden

  ‘Bull Allenby turns up, nods at Oldrey and rides off. “Get girthed up,” says Oldrey, “Stand by your horses, prepare to mount, mount!” The commands are rapped from troop to troop and “walk-march” follows. There is a whee-thump of shells and a crash of house tiles from the village ahead.’

  If each squadron had a designated purpose in the attack, it became hopelessly lost in the excitement of the now famous charge. At the very least, contemporary accounts do not always square with official accounts which have attempted to add a semblance of order to the events that followed. It was almost the entire Regiment of 9th Lancers which went into action first, with the help of a few men of the 18th Hussars. They attacked to the right of the Roman road, closely supported by the 1st and 2nd Troops of B Squadron, 4th Dragoon Guards, led by Lieutenant Sir Arthur Hickman. These two Troops charged along the road in an attempt to seize a house variously referred to as either a cottage or a farm, which lay on the outskirts of the village of Baisieux. Coming under almost immediate shell, rifle and machine gun fire, both were forced to take cover, though not before a dozen or more casualties were sustained including Lieutenant Hickman, who was thrown from his mount, his knees shattered by shell splinters.

  The direction of B Squadron’s attack was now followed by at least two Troops of C Squadron under Major Bridges, which, in charging to support B Squadron, managed to reach the house, before being swept off to the right by the intense German fire. Moments later A Squadron attacked, making for the north-east edge of the village, where the 4th Dragoons’ Machine Gun Section gave covering fire. Led by Major Hunter, A Squadron, with the remaining Troops of C Squadron galloped out and across the open fields in front of Audregnies, and were cut down.

  During this attack several men were seen to plummet head first into a narrow, fifteen-foot deep cutting which ran across the line of charge, while those that got past were quickly forced to arc eastwards by a torrent of fire coming from the direction of Quiévrain. Such was the confusion that men from all three Squadrons were seen among the survivors who rallied some twenty five minutes later near Elouges, to the east.

  Ben

  After the order to mount, we led off at a canter up a narrow lane, swords drawn, the blade resting on the shoulder. As we passed a comer in the road, I believe I saw de Lisle looking on, then we began to gallop, fanning out into the open fields beyond the village.

  It was a proper mêlée, with shell, machine gun and rifle fire forming a terrific barrage of noise. Each Troop was closely packed together and dense volumes of dust were kicked up, choking us and making it impossible to see beyond the man in front. We were galloping into carnage, for nobody knew what we were supposed to be doing and there was utter confusion from the start. All around me, horses and men were brought hurtling to the ground amidst fountains of earth, or plummeting forwards as a machine gunner caught them with a burst of fire. Ahead, the leading troops were brought up by agricultural barbed wire strung across the line of advance, so that horses were beginning to be pulled up when I heard for the one and only time in the war a bugle sounding ‘troops right wheel.’ I pulled my horse round then, with a crash, down she went.

  Editor

  Major C H Levinson of B Squadron, 18th Hussars had watched the charge with a grandstand view. His Squadron was taking shelter in a railway cutting, when ‘Suddenly there was a tremendous increase in the hostile gun and machine gun fire on our left. I looked in that direction straight down the railway line (we were at the left end of the cutting) and I saw our cavalry moving forward at the gallop ... The first three squadrons carried lances (and were in open column of squadrons – the remainder had no lances) and appeared to be in column of troops as near as possible but in both cases the formation, if even made, was being rapidly lost as they were being exposed to a terrific shell and machine gun fire – a dozen shells bursting over them at a time – and I could distinctly see the men falling off their horses – others evidently wounded just clinging on.’

  Arthur Osburn, who watched the confused scene, wrote later that ‘Nearly every German gun within range had at once been put on to the small area on which our cavalry were moving. Presumably to counter this, our Field and Horse Artillery had also been compelled to open fire... A first-class “battle” had in fact developed with the rapidity of a whirlwind... Every rifle and machine gun on their side was now also blazing away at our rather desperate and rather objectiveless cavalrymen.’

  Ben

  I hit the ground at full tilt and with my sword still firmly attached by a lanyard to my hand, was lucky not to impale myself. Dazed, I struggled to my feet and can now recall only an odd assortment of fleeting thoughts and sights – a single image of chaos. A riderless horse came careering in my direction and, collecting myself, I raised my hand in the air and shouted ‘halt’ at the top of my voice. It was a 9th Lancers’ horse, a Shoeing Smith’s mount and wonderfully trained, for despite the pandemonium, it stopped on a sixpence.

  Running through the field to my right was a single track railway, and mounting, I rode off in that direction. The racket was engulfing, but as I was about to cross the line, I caught a voice crying out, ‘Cronkie, don’t leave me’. I turned and saw Thomas Cumber, one of my own Troop. He’d been brought down on the railway line, and there he lay, prostrate, with one side of his face smashed in and bleeding profusely. I pulled up, jumped down and struggled to get him on his feet.

  Editor

  Ben was just part of the general flight from the inferno of fire. Little could be achieved except to buy a momentary respite for the 5th Division; otherwise it was nothing short of a chicken shoot, as several men later testified. One recalled how ‘we rode across the enemy’s firing line absolutely galloping to death, the noise of the firing was deafening, being mingled with the screams and the death shouts of men’. Another remembered comrades falling on all sides with horses ‘sprawled all across the road breathing their last...’; another, Lieutenant Chance, watched as a trooper, crouched in his saddle, was blasted to smithereens by a direct hit.

  Among the Dragoons’ ranks, Corporal Murphy of B Squadron was shot through the chest, while Private Burgess, also of B Squadron, dropped from his horse, his mount racing away, the sword hilt covered in blood. Trumpeter Patterson of C Squadron had become pinned down in No Man’s Land after his horse had fallen, as had Lance Corporal Cornall of ‘B’ who found himself spreadeagled on the ground, plumb between ‘our infantry fire and that of the Germans’. Among those of A Squadron, Sergeant Talbot was brought down in a crashing somersault while Lieutenant Wright’s horse slithered over the top of three other horses brought down by fire. Just yards away, Lieutenant Gallaher lay, one leg trapped under his dead horse, while Sergeant Hynes had begun painfully to drag himself towards a cottage, having broken at least two ribs in his fall.

  Those who were mounted rode to whatever cover they could find. One trooper wrote later that, ‘A party of us who seemed to have kept together God only knows how – saw a small cottage in front and made for the scanty shelter it offered, several of us coming to grief in trying to jump the wire fence which surrounded the little garden... It was here that we found Major Bridges standing against the wall with blood streaming down his face and smothered in dust.’

  Brought to earth early on in the charge, Bridges had been kicked in the head by another horse as he lay stricken on the ground. Only semiconscious, he had nevertheless collected himself enough to order others to get out of the action as fast as possible. ‘They won’t hurt me, I’m an officer,’ he is reputed to have said before fainting. The cottage, already heavily pitted by shell and Maxim machine gun fire, was proving too hot for those who were still there, so they left, dashing for a sugar factory half way between Audregnies and Quiévrain.

  Surrounded by a twelve-foot high wire fence, the factory was a large imposing building with high brick walls. Two days before, it had offered the 1st Field Squadron, Royal Engineers, overnight billets. Now it appeared to offer shelter of a different, more urgent k
ind as several dozen troopers crowded in behind. But it was an illusion of safety, quickly dispelled as first the German artillery and then machine gunners readjusted their range, plastering and splattering the walls with shrapnel and bullets, flushing the hapless troopers out. There was certainly no way forward, and really no way back; the only chance appeared to be eastwards to two large conical slag heaps, 600 yards east of the sugar refinery.

  Already at the slag heaps was Lieutenant Chance, the junior subaltern, keeping remarkably cool despite having his haversack shot away and his right collar badge broken. He had found himself among those halted by the wire and had veered right, with men of the 9th Lancers arriving at a slag heap ‘like a flock of sheep’. Sergeant Talbot, remounted after his dramatic tumble, was there with a mixed bag of men from all three squadrons, as was Major Hunter and Captains Wright and Sewell, Sewell’s chestnut horse coughing foam and blood at Chance. Those with Talbot were ordered to dismount and get into action on top of the slag heap, but like the sugar refinery it proved too dangerous, for the German gunners quickly reset their sights and began to take the top off the mound with several well-aimed rounds.

  The order was retracted, and a mad dash was made, under fire, in the direction of Elouges. Levinson records that five or ten minutes after he witnessed the charge ‘... a mob of men and horses, many wounded, poured into our cutting. I recognised Capt Sewell of the 4th DGs and Capt Grenfell of the 9th Lancers, and I believe I saw Colonel David Campbell of the 9th Lancers. They galloped on down the cutting taking some of my led horses with them.’

  It was on the same railway line, probably a little to the east, that Ben had come across the prostrate Cumber.

  Ben

  Cumber had apparently broken several ribs in the fall, and was in severe pain. I managed to pull up another loose horse and with difficulty helped him to mount before we followed the railway line back out of the action, Cumber more or less bent over the horse, half conscious and in a very sorry state. A dressing station had been rigged up near Elouges over which flew a makeshift Red Cross. There were already around forty men there as we arrived, but a doctor came out to help Cumber off his horse, quickly diagnosing that my friend had no choice but to stay put. Cumber was very distressed and said he wanted to carry on, but the doctor made it clear this was not possible, and I had no choice but to leave him behind. It was heartbreaking to go, for Cumber, like the rest who were in no fit state to ride, was now left to become a prisoner. Saying goodbye, I took his horse and rode on, joining a mixed bag of Lancers and Dragoons, straggling down a road, all looking for their units. I was fortunate in finding the remnants of my Squadron almost straight away, but it was days before the Regiment was anything like together again.

  Editor

  Hundreds of men and horses now lay strewn across several fields, some dead, most wounded, some suffering from horrific injuries. Troopers like Private Cumber and Corporal Murphy could count themselves lucky, for although wounded they had found help, while the luckiest of all, those who had come through unscathed, were out of sight at Elouges and Audregnies, congratulating each other and shaking hands as adrenalin and jubilation mixed freely.

  To those who took part, the ill-fated charge became known as ‘Shrapnel Monday’ or the ‘Joy Ride’. Yet despite the ferocity of the Germans’ rifle, machine gun and artillery fire that day, much of it was poorly directed against the on-coming cavalry. The Germans, as Osburn noted, ‘seeing a comparatively large mass of cavalry suddenly let loose and galloping towards them, got a bad attack of nerves’. Their lack of resolve may also be attributed to the accurate fire of both the RHA and RFA Batteries which, while unable to locate their German counterparts, caused havoc among the closely formed ranks of infantry advancing from Quiévrain. They had advanced in the open and at a distance of little more than 2,000 yards. Twice they broke, retreating beneath a veritable hail of low bursting shrapnel, before finally pushing round the west of Audregnies at 2.30pm, forcing the batteries to retire. Captain Francis Grenfell of the 9th Lancers, who had been badly wounded, and Major Ernest Alexander of 119th Battery, were later awarded Victoria Crosses for helping to extricate the guns of 119th Battery under fire.

  The batteries had been admirably helped by the Norfolks and Cheshires on the ridge, and by the machine guns of the 3rd Cavalry Brigade west of Angre which, for a time, checked the Germans’ enveloping movement by firing down a valley towards Baisieux. Only when it was clear the Germans could not be held did the Norfolks’ Commanding Officer Colonel Ballard (temporarily in charge of the Cheshires, Norfolks and 119th Battery combined) order the withdrawal. This order was sent three times but failed to reach the Cheshires, so that by 4.30pm they were left to fight on alone. They were finally overwhelmed and forced to surrender at around 8pm, at which point they had lost some 800 men, killed, wounded or taken prisoner, leaving 200 of the Battalion’s original complement to fight another day.

  And what of the charge? In little more than ten minutes, the Brigade had lost 234 men, killed, wounded and missing, although it could and perhaps should have been much worse. The 4th Dragoons’ two-and-a-half squadrons lost eighty one men (two Troops under Major Hutchison and Captain Magillicuddy were elsewhere) of whom just nine were killed, including their principal French liaison officer, the Vicomte de Vauvineur, shot straight through the forehead. Of the remainder, most were wounded and subsequently taken prisoner, Hickman, Murphy, Cumber, Patterson, Cornall and Burgess among them. The 9th Lancers lost fourteen killed, including one officer, and seventy three wounded or missing. The 18th Hussars, though not principally involved in the charge, lost nine killed, including one officer, and fifty seven wounded.

  In the hours that followed, the Germans gradually rounded up the wounded from the fields in front of Audregnies, and from the many small farm holdings in the area. The majority were taken to one of two convents in Audregnies, and included among their number Lieutenant Gallaher of the 4th Dragoons. He recalled that a mixed bag of some 190 British POWs (including many officers and men of the 1st Cheshires) remained there under guard for at least a week until well enough to be moved. Shortly before they were due to go, Gallaher and Sergeant Hymes made a bid for freedom and on August 31st undertook a dramatic escape northwards, on foot to Tournai and by train to Bruges, before travelling onwards to Ostend and eventually all the way back to Britain. They achieved this remarkable escape despite both suffering from injuries, Gallaher in particular being handicapped by a head wound and, incredibly, a broken leg.

  After the charge at Audregnies a Special Order was issued by Brigadier- General de Lisle:

  ‘I wish to express to the 2nd Cavalry Brigade my extreme pride and satisfaction with their conduct at Audregnies on Monday August 24. The fight was necessary to save the ‘V’ Division from an organised counterattack during their retirement and the object was achieved by the gallant and steady conduct of the Brigade. Major-General Sir Charles Fergusson, commanding ‘V’ Division, thanked me personally for saving his Division, adding that, but for the Cavalry Brigade, his Division would have been destroyed to the last man. I specially wish to commend the 9th Lancers in daring to charge unbroken infantry, in order to save neighbouring troops, and the 4th Dragoon Guards in the effective support given, without hesitation or thought of danger. I intend to bring to the notice of high authority, how greatly I value the devotion of my Brigade.’

  While de Lisle was rightly proud of his Brigade, and Mullens of the 4th Dragoons, both now had to make the best of the few men left at their disposal. Trooper Dyer of B Squadron noted that immediately after the charge he saw Mullens with only fourteen men, and that, at a roll call taken later that day, some 400 Dragoons were missing, some seventy per cent of strength. To all intents and purposes the Regiment was momentarily broken, although large numbers were able to rejoin over the following few days. Lieutenant Wright, for example, joined up with remnants of the 9th Lancers riding to Bavai, Landrecies, and Le Cateau before finding the Regiment three days later at St Quentin.


  The Regiment had also lost around 300 thoroughbred horses, many of which had come from the Rothschild stables on mobilisation. Despite being badly wounded, some of these horses attempted to follow the Regiment as it moved south, a heartbreaking sight for anyone, but particularly for those in the cavalry. In the end those horses which could not be saved were shot.

  Note on the absence of wire:

  It has been thought that barbed wire fences of one form or another halted the headlong attack by the Dragoons and Lancers that day. But a ‘Statement about the non-existence of wire during the Charge of 9th Lancers, 24 August 1914’, to be found at the Public Records Office, appears to contradict the evidence of the time. It reads:

  ‘Accompanied by a friend, I visited the area Quiévrain – Audregnies – Elouges, on August 25th 1921. There was no sign of any wire fence near the Sucrerie de Carochette, or anywhere else in that neighbourhood. Four men were ploughing on the spot. They each informed me separately that they had lived there continuously before, during and since the war, and never had there been any wire fence in the neighbourhood. A sportsman with a gun who was standing near also made the same assertion; he also had lived all the time in that place. All five appeared absolutely positive in their belief and statement.’

  A.H. Burne Maj. R.A, Sept 28th 1921.

  This may be where the apparent contradiction lies, for once the cavalry were driven to the right of the Chaussée Brunehaut by both frontal and enfilade fire, then the large sugar factory complex in effect steered what was left of the attack away to the east, barring any further advance. The assertion might be made that other than a quickset hedge which bordered the single track railway from Quiévrain to Elouges, there were few impediments at all other than the fence which surrounded the sugar factory. Most troopers were unable to see anything owing to the liberal amounts of dust kicked up in the air, and by the time they could see most had been driven off eastwards. It is possible that the principal wire fencing was that which surrounded the sugar factory, but which has been dismantled by discussion and oft repeated stories into a network of field partitions. Certainly there is no indication that the advancing German infantry were hindered in any way other than by the accurate fire of the British infantry and artillery.