To Fight Alongside Friends

by Gerry Harrison

  Bunting has come back. A bedraggled and repentant Bunting, clothed in a wonderful mixture of garments which he has conned from various friends. I had meant to be angry with him but his repentance was so deep and his condition still so sad that I had not the heart. He has now gone sick with a septic foot and is on ‘Light Duty’. I wonder he has not succumbed to a combination of diphtheria and typhoid fever. Had any one less inebriated than he fallen in the pond there is no doubt but that would have been his fate.

  28th December ’15

  We have been out today on a battalion attack and most enjoyable it was. Quite a change from the ordinary ruck, quite like an old day down Stonehenge way on the Plain. If routine continues like it has for the last two days we shall bear up beneath it quite well.

  And tonight comes the rumour that we leave here in a day or two, but whether it be true or not I do not yet know. Nor does rumour say our destination, whether trenches or another village. The big bombardment, we have heard, has commenced. If so, it may well be that we move up to the firing line. If we do, I trust that this time we may go through. But I talk foolishly, the whole thing is only rumour and may well end as so many such have done.

  29th December ’15

  Usually is rumour a lying jade, but for this once she has told the truth. We do leave here, and tomorrow morning we go to Le Quesnoy[-sur-Airaines], another training billet and not to the trenches. Not yet anyway. Perhaps the next move we will. At any rate we can but live in hopes.

  I have just been reading some extracts from letters found on German prisoners. They are authentic, and, from them, one can only conclude that life in Germany is not easy to sustain just now. Some of the people seem in parlous state. So much so that until one remembers the excesses committed in the first days, when Prussia’s star was in the ascendant, one can almost find it in one to pity the poor devils.

  A blow has fallen on me tonight, a very heavy blow, yet one, I am glad to say, which I could, had I would, have avoided. I mean that they have asked for Garsideviii for a commission in one of the new units at home, and I have recommended him. He will, I feel sure, get the job, and his going will be the blow. As yet I do not know what I will do without him. He has been invaluable to me and to the company and I cannot imagine B without him. However, I suppose it must be. One has to look on these things from the larger rather than the personal standpoint. Nevertheless I feel very sad. One cannot have a good servant for long without getting a sincere attachment for him, and such an attachment I most certainly have for my keen, hard-working QMS.

  He told the CO he wouldn’t take the commission if I didn’t want him to go. And, later, he said to me that he hoped he would not get the job, that he wanted to stay with me, that I was a leader of men and he would never feel the same under any other captain. Which was all rather foolish, I suppose, but which I hadn’t the heart to stop him saying. Damn it, he meant it so! Please God I may always justify half such faith. It is marvellous. I cannot understand it. As you so well know, I am such a truly ordinary sort of clout-head. Poor Garside.

  30th December ’15

  We have now moved as ordered to Le Quesnoy. That is scarcely worth recording now. It is not like the days when first we were out and moves meant endless thought and fret and worry. Now everyone is so used to it and so knows his job that the battalion just flits from one village to another as easily and with rather less fuss than a commercial traveller.

  It was a fine day, a fact I am only too thankful to put down. For otherwise we should have had a bad time indeed, the roads – save the mark – being as it was absolutely atrocious and ankle deep in mud in many places.

  This, Le Quesnoy, is a much better village than any yet which has suffered from us. We have good billets and the people are kind. I think we shall be all right here.ix

  It was quite a send-off from Fourdrinoy this morning. Half the village was out. Papa and the three daughters from our particular billet came right outside the place to see us go and waved handkerchiefs and shouted good wishes as we trudged off. One felt like a bedraggled Lord Mayor’s Show. We must have pleased them better than the last battalion and, personally, I feel quite satisfied with Fourdrinoy. I have learnt quite a lot of French there and will remember it because of that.

  Tonight I have had two letters from you, two sweet letters but so full of news and kindnesses that I despair of ever being able to answer them as I would like. My soul, you pour out your love on me, abasing yourself, in the depth of it, before me. You should not. I am so poorly furnished as an inspiration for romance that I am utterly undeserving of such a deep affection as is yours. It is I who should abase myself. It is I who am the fortunate party to our bargain. Believe me, my soul, I am fully conscious of it. And my love for you grows with the speed of the flame in stubble. How else could it be? Every day I see such evidence of your goodness, your thought for others, your bravery and your perfect womanliness that I would be but a senseless clod did my love for you not respond as I say. May our sweet Babe grow into such another woman as her mother. It is my hope that she does.

  31st December ’15

  New Year’s Eve. And what a strange one. The first for six we have not been out together. I feel sad and sick at heart, for I hate the anniversaries unless they be in happy company. Don Murray and I intended seeing it through together but the D mess came in about eleven and insisted on hauling us round to C Coy. We went under protest and found many merry spirits there but mostly flushed and rowdy and quite out of touch with our mood. We, I expect, grow somewhat staid or perhaps it is that we have so much more to think about, perhaps, being married, we feel we have given up so much more than the others, that life can hold for a man such thoughts, such sweet, sad memories that he had rather be alone with them. I do not know, I am so poor a theorist, but I felt out of the throng. All I desired was to be alone with the night and to dwell on my memories of other New Year Eves with you and to think out plans for future ones. And as I came home from C Coy at 12.10am. this New Year’s Day a shooting star sped right across the heavens before me. It is a good omen for our future New Years.

  1st January ’16

  New Year’s Day. And, I am glad to say, a day full of promise for the battalion. I may be slightly sanguine in saying that, but I care not in my present mood, for I am somewhat elated. We won today our first match in the Division League, beating the Queen’s 2–nil. I mean no injustice to our team when I say surprise added zest to our pleasure. We had thought the ‘Lambs’x almost too hot to tackle. No doubt they took us for more rotten than we are. Both were mistakes I doubt not. And, anyway we gave them a whacking.xi

  Before the match we were inspected by Coys by the CO.xii The men looked and stood very well and I think the colonel was pleased. They do good, these inspections. They cause men to buck-up and do their best to turn out well and so ensure really clean things being displayed.

  In the evening we went to D Coy and talked and told tales and played ‘vingt-et un’, a feeble pastime which left me 1fr. 50c. richer at the end of an hour’s listless dealing.

  We do some Brigade work next week, a thing we rather look forward to, since we are rather anxious to see how we shape in the field alongside regulars.

  2nd January ’16

  There is little to put down tonight. I have been most of the afternoon on a scheme for training patrols for night work, but there is little of that can go in here except the fact that I have devised a little formation all my own for catching our wily friend Bosche in small numbers, and only hope the CO will let me practise it with a view to getting it perfect against our return to the trenches.

  The only other item worthy of record is that the battalion is washed tomorrow. The Division has given us the use of their baths and we are to put the men through at the rate of 50 per half hour. The men are pretty braced about it, poor beggars. If cleanliness is next to Godliness, I think lousiness is next to Hell. Anyway, some of the men are pretty fed up about it, and one certainly cannot blame them for feeling so, littl
e as it can be helped.xiii

  Some, of course, do not appear to mind at all. In the full course of time I suppose one can get used to and even attached to anything, even a louse. It seems hard to believe, but I really think such a state of mind is quite possible.

  3rd January ’16

  A most interesting day, laying out a complete set of trenches in the morning and going to Vignacourtxiv in the afternoon to attend one of the most absorbing lectures it has ever been my good fortune to listen to.

  Major Mansfield, of the East Yorks, talked, and all the heads were there. Generals and other red hats simply swarmed. Both Generals Fry and Congreve were present and I did not envy the major his job.xv He discharged it, however, splendidly, as no doubt a man would who had faced what he has.

  He told us all about Loos.xvi And a great tale it was, a tale of big deeds quietly done and of danger faced with wonderful coolness and presence of mind.

  How near it was to complete success. What a pity we had not that extra Div handy. Yet when one thinks of the Spartan deeds performed as in the day’s work by our dirty, tired and hungry British Infantry, one almost feels that one would not have the tale other than it is for anything.

  For seven days and seven nights they fought and dug and floundered in the mud, and never once did the rain give up. The East Yorks, Devons, Camerons, Queen’s, Wilts, Beds, and others were all in and not one can show a better record than his neighbour.

  All fought as only, I believe, the British can and the heroism and devotion to duty of both officers and men was little short of marvellous. 68,000 casualties for the apparent gain of a few hundred yards on half a mile of front may seem at first sight too great a price but when one thinks how nearly through we were, how another touch and the German line had been completely broken, one feels it was not in vain and that from the lessons gained we will next time wring complete success.

  One cannot attribute blame to anyone for the only partial success in this big venture but the impression left on the minds of those present was that perhaps more forethought might have been displayed by the Staff. I do not know. It is not for such as I am to have opinions on such gigantic topics. But one cannot help wondering why the fresh troops were not available sooner.

  As one officer said, ‘Bread is the staff of life, for the Staff is one, big “loaf”.’ I do not range myself on the side of such a sweeping statement but the joke is too good to allow of its being omitted.

  4th January ’16

  We have started on our big entrenching scheme today and this time really hope to complete the idea. Each platoon has been allotted a sector to delve in to its heart’s content and rivalry is therefore keen.

  One of the men made a remark which greatly tickled me, as I know it will you. He was struggling hard with some tough ground of the time. ‘There’s one good point about this ’ere firm we’re working for. We’re never b........ well out of a job.’

  Considering they go from 7 a.m. to 4.30 p.m. every day without cease, I am inclined to agree with his statement. Today I have been put in charge of the patrol organisation and will therefore be pretty hard at it for some time to come. There is a big lot of ground to cover but I think with unremitting ‘butting-in’ we will be able to make a fair show in a week or two’s time. However, here goes.

  5th January ’16

  It is now 10.55 p.m. and I have been in exactly 20 mins. I started duty this morning at 6 a.m., so it has been a pretty good day. The Brigade, I am glad to say, stood me lunch of the château at Gissy, otherwise I should have had to go through on three beef sandwiches which are not over filling and leave an absolute void when one has done a full attack and ridden 12 miles.

  The attack was a great success. The Queen’s took the left and we the right with the 21st and the Staffords in reserve. These others are regulars but, without being in the slightest degree prejudiced by my own affections, I must say our fellows did their job a great deal better than did the others.

  We have been to Vignacourt again today to hear a further lecture on Loos, this time by an Engineer. He was quite excellent and most interesting. General Congreve was there again and General Watts.xvii I do admire these lecturers for their pluck in carrying on so steadily with so much red flannel about.

  6th January ’16

  My commission is a year old today. How strange it seems. If it were ten years I could more understand it. It feels to me as though I had never known any other than army life. I simply cannot picture myself as an ordinary business man, in a blue suit and a bowler hat, who just dabbled in soldiers as a pastime. Yet such I must have been once and, no doubt, will be again, ‘When this ruddy war is over’, as the men sing. Which reminds me that they now have a new ditty. It is rather good, making a swinging march. The last two lines express a sentiment with which I am in most hearty accord. They are, ‘Oh! My! I don’t want to die. I want to go home.’xviii Also they have another. This last the song of the good soldier, resigned to his fate. ‘If the sergeants drink your rum, never mind. If the sergeants drink your rum, never mind. They say they take their lot, but they scoff the ruddy lot. Still, though the sergeants drink your rum, never mind.’

  I hear that we are now known as ‘Whetham’s Flying Column’ throughout the Div. This is partly due to the number of moves we have made since landing and partly to the way we went through Picquigny after doing 14 miles. They tell us the Gordons were astonished at the ‘go’ about the battalion.xix I don’t know. But I know we have been christened as I say.

  7th January ’16

  Troops have been passing through here all today. Where they have come from and whither they are bound I do not know, but there are plenty of them. We have also been given mobilisation orders today, i.e. what we are to do in case the Div suddenly desires to move in a hurry. I hope they don’t. I hate doing things in a hurry. Men get stupid and everyone else excited and the ensuing strafing makes the whole army miserable for days, more or less.

  Tonight the battn is out on night ops. I had the patrols only and did some elementary work with them. They are very keen, but most thick-headed. The dear, old English Tommy only has, and I expect, will ever only have, one idea of warfare. That is, to walk up to a johnny and stick a bayonet into him. In the aggregate, that is his sole aim and object. He cannot dissemble, has no cunning and only a canteen interest in strategy and only then as an excuse to blither with a friend over a can of beer. He cares nothing for the idea of stealth. He is not really built for quietly stealing on an unsuspecting foe. As proof you need only put one tin can in a sixty-acre field and turn two Tommies loose in that field to do a silent night march. I will guarantee that in three minutes one has stumbled over the can and that in a further three both have kicked it. There must, I think, be some magnetism between ammunition, boots and odd cans which unknown people have discarded in out of the way places.

  So long as I live and can think of night ops, I will think of my silent patrols kicking tin cans.

  8th January ’16

  Lloyd, Bowly, Cushionxx and myself have been into Amiens today, and an enjoyable little time we have had of it. We had to ride four miles to Hangest and get the train from there, leaving Finchxxi to bring the gees back. He also met us with them in the evening after, as he told me, having no end of a tour with them. They had never been led before, and resented starting. Also, when they did, they both kicked and bit each other and took their male chaperon more or less where they listed. However he got there in the end and I’ve no doubt but that the experience did him no harm.

  Amiens improves on acquaintance. It has some really fine boulevards and the shops are quite good. Also the Café de la Paix puts on a most excellent lunch. I feel quite a gourmand to be always talking so eulogistically of food but, really, one gets so tired of ration beef and potatoes that a proper meal does assume somewhat undue proportions in one’s ideas of the general scheme of things. I managed to get a little souvenir for you, a little item to put in the bric-a-brac cupboard when this war is over and we again
set up our own home. It is delightful to think of, that resetting up of our own tiny castle once more.

  The trains were full of young Frenchmen proceeding to mobilise. It is the 1917 class they are calling up and a fine, set up, good-looking lot of material it was so far as we saw it. They were all whistling, singing and wildly excited, but I saw none drunk. How different from our own stubby, round-headed beggars on similar occasions! I suppose one should prefer the French way, yet I, for one, cannot. I like our boys too well.

  A colonel I met today told me a rather good story. There was a big review up north a bit a little while ago in honour of an illustrious personage whose name must go unrecorded by me. Three divisions were out with cavalry and guns and a real slap-up fight was conducted. When it was all over, the big man was most displeased. ‘But I have seen nothing,’ he declared. ‘Do it again. I want to see the troops rush and the cavalry charge.’

  And so it was done again, but not as previously. This time the infantry advanced in mass formation, brigades in line, bayonets fixed and men cheering. They rush to the onslaught so, à les Allemands. Then the cavalry charged, all waving sabres, plunging horses and yelling men.

  It was a grand sight, as unlike war, as incorrect in both theory and practice and as utterly mad as one could well imagine. But the big man was delighted. He said, ‘It is magnificent.’

  ‘Certainment,’ thought many, thinking of friend Nap. ‘Mais, c’est ne pas la guerre.’xxii However I believe a certain gentleman, who wears red on his lapels, has received another decoration and has salved his conscience with it. Ever so does the way to success lie.