Warr’s own battery lost every man and every horse, also two guns which they afterwards regained. Warr himself was wounded three times.
That was the day when the 7th held the line and stopped the Prussian Guard from getting through to Calais. The German losses were more than 300,000. I do not know what ours were, but a division is only 18,000 men. Our men must have been wonderful. It makes one very modest, being in contact with them. Also it makes one very proud to be in the 7th Division.
Warr said, ‘Our infantry is marvellous. When properly trained I’d back them against the world.’ Please heaven the 22nd may one day earn a reputation sufficient to justify its inclusion in that opinion.
19th January ’16
B Coy lost their match against C this afternoon – and well we deserved to. C had a very good team going but the same cannot be said for ours. However, it was a good game, rivalry ran high and the men got most excited and keen.
This evening the battn has been on night operations and I have had the patrols again with Wicks.xiv There is a marked improvement in the way the men work and I feel certain that in a very short space of time they will become quite efficient.
And today has come glorious news about leave. I am to get mine on Feby 4th, next to the Colonel, who goes first. It is a stroke of luck and I could jump for joy. The bare thought of it is most exciting. And to think that in about a fortnight’s time I shall really see you and Babs again is joy untold.
20th January ’16
One of the virtues of discipline is that under its hand you can be messed about, lifted to the heights of anticipation, dashed to the depths of despair, told this and told that and generally fooled around and yet learn to wear a smile and keep your temper under it all. So I felt today. Since yesterday I had walked on air thinking of my leave and the joy so soon to be mine and here today I have a cold douche flung over me by being told, quite casually, that all leave is off for some time and so I do not go after all. Of course one grins and says, ‘Oh, never mind,’ but I really would like to return to ‘civvies’ for just one day and be left alone with these inconsiderate blighters who do as they will with you without the slightest consideration for human feelings.
I have been off duty this morning, being a trifle dicky. It was nothing more than a filthy head and a pain in the tum but I felt pretty bad while it lasted. Smith, our cook, I believe was responsible, for I had a tour into his utensils afterwards and found them in a most disgusting condition. I told him he was a dirty beast and that I would play the devil with him but he was so repentant, so full of the assurance that it was today only that the things had even been grubby that I have agreed to his having another chance.
These fellows get lazy when on a soft job, I am afraid. The easier time they have, the easier they want. But friend Smith will be working some of his comfortable fat off on seven days’ pack drill if I catch another spot of grease on his pots and pans.
21st January ’16
We have fought in a wood, we have retired through a wood, and have advanced again through the same wood. We have done that for a whole morning and marched ten miles in all to do it. And it has made us very tired. But has taught us quite a lot – if nothing else at least what an ass a man can make of himself. One or two officers simply got lost with their men at the beginning of the manoeuvre and remained so to the end, getting very worried and quite excited in the process and a considerable wigging as a fitting terminal to their foolish performances.
These big shows, I must confess, however evilly it may reflect upon my disposition, often gratify me, or, rather, basely amuse me. One is so apt to think of majors and colonels as moons in the firmament and brigadiers as suns. Indeed oft-times they seem greater even than these – absolutely omnipotent and omnipresent. But when you come to divisional days and ‘pow-wows’ take place and quite big people are most politely told off and take it without a murmur to, there always comes into my mind the old Gilbert and Sullivan couplet: ‘On every side Field Marshals gleamed, And Dukes were three a penny …’xv
This old Army of ours causes me to recall several such little extracts. For instance, one very true saying comes into my mind time and time again. It is the old one: ‘The bigger fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite them. And these same fleas again have fleas, and so ad infinitum …’xvi
Pullen, of the South Staffords, now Second-in-Command of the Brigade Bombing Company, was in to mess last night. He was telling me how much he thought of our men and that, in his opinion, they would do better than his own at the next attack from the reason that they had been together from the start, had been well trained and that both officers and men knew each other so well. His own poor battalion is now more or less of a collection of oddments with officers scratched up from any old place. It is very rough on the old Regular battalions and I only do trust the new ones may be able to take their place as well as he thinks.
22nd January ’16
A quiet little day of carrying on so far as the morning went, but this afternoon 6 and 7 Platoons played for the best team in the Coy. It was a fast and furious match, not very scientific but exceedingly energetic, and ending in a draw. I thoroughly enjoyed it, it was so refreshing, all the players being so whole-heartedly in the game.xvii
And tonight has come definite news of my leave.xviii I go on Feby 3rd. Hooray! It is truly splendid, and a day sooner than ever I anticipated. I could shout for joy.
I was talking with the Second-in-Command of the Staffords today. He had rather an idea. Nothing less than to tackle the German trenches at night. Make a night attack on them and try and break through before morning. It would be difficult but it certainly sounds feasible. I wonder. It is well worth thinking about and there would be stranger things than the maturity of some such idea.
It is the wire that is the trouble. I cannot think of any good way of dealing with that. Nor, apparently, can others better able to cope with the problem. It always seems to me so hopeless to strafe it with artillery, for the simple reason that the Bosche at once smells something is up. Yet, if you do not cut it, you certainly can’t get men into the enemy trench. It is the most puzzling problem of all.
23rd January ’16
It is remarkable how the tiniest of causes in the army may have most momentous results. By that I do not infer that Neuve Chapelle was in any way affected by Pullen but the fact remains that it may well have been. Delay was the chief trouble there and, as I have told Pullen, it is quite possible that he may have been a contributory cause. Pullen in those days was a full blown private in the Stafford Terriers. His Brigade had marched and marched since landing but on the particular day on which Pullen first exercised the functions of field rank it had marched just a bit beyond anything it had done before. Also there were no halts. Pullen stuck it for one, two, three hours – then he said, ‘Let us halt.’ And those about him complied.
His section of fours was third from the leading one of the battalion and his battalion led the Brigade. Therefore it will readily be seen that when Pullen halted, the whole Brigade did also, to the consternation of its general, the confusion of its Staff and the ruination of the language of its various Commanding Officers.
Later they made Pullen a Lieutenant. I think he thoroughly deserved it and that, for a man who has wielded Brigadier’s powers, he bears his honours modestly.
Cushion has left us today.xix He has gone to St Omer, to HQ for his training. We all feel rather sad about it, and I know he was awfully sick when it came to actually going. However I sincerely hope he will progress well in his new role and live to make a name for himself.xx
Rather a good tale was told me this morning, at the expense of one of the gilded officers of the U.P.S. Battn.xxi He rolled up in the trenches to take over, clad in every latest essential for the compleat officer. A compass hung over one shoulder, glasses over the other. A map-case dangled from his belt and a mighty haversack rubbed his thigh. A revolver and trench digger gave him a bellicose appearance, which a periscope and a c
artridge case in no way modified. He smelt faintly of violets and he wore yellow gloves.
The habitués of the trenches gazed upon him in wonder whilst they furtively fingered the odd pieces of clammy chocolate in their breeches’ pockets and cast sly, shy glances down at their tattered and mud-caked raiment. But the major, an old hand, was in no wise impressed. Rather was his knowledgeful bosom filled with a great pity. He took the resplendent one by the arm, steered him into a dug-out and there talked vaguely about lunch. Incidentally he apologised for its absence. The other rose to the bait like a trout. He had lunch, never worry. Allow him, he prayed. The Major was gracious.
The haversack was opened and out came patent foods, concentrated foods, essences of foods, compressed foods – all sorts and conditions of most appetising looking little morsels. Then a flask was produced, a most resplendent affair – all gold, cut glass and engraving. Then a miniature stove and tiny silver spoons and forks. The major smoked a Teofanixxii – from a platinum cigarette case – and never blinked an eye-lid. All was spread on the rickety table. Everywhere around was an air of moneyed comfort, that gracious air which wealth on plenty alone can produce, when all at once, Whiz-Bang!! Whiz-Bang!!!! Two of them right on each other’s heels and both plumb on top of the dug-out. The major still puffed at the Teofani and only a quick vibration about his belt betrayed the fact that he laughed muchly.
The new man – a trifle white and tremulous – was sitting on a motley heap of patent foods in the wettest corner of the dug-out. On the table was a great heap of mud. One solitary silver spoon stuck out of it. Of the rest of the splendour nothing remained.
‘But this is terrible,’ explained the bereft one. ‘Isn’t it?’ said the major, ‘Have a bit of chocolate. I’m afraid it’s a trifle clammy but it’s better than nothing.’ ‘No thanks. But my flask – I rather valued it!’ ‘Shall I send for the pioneers?’ said the major. The other looked up at him quickly. Then he laughed, and it had the true ring. ‘You must think me an awful ass,’ he said. ‘Not exactly,’ said the major, ‘In fact I rather like you – when you laugh.’
Chapter 5
‘Full of brimming excitement about my leave’
24 January–4 February 1916
24th January ’16
There is a good tale going the rounds about the new bomb of ours. It has phosphorus as one of its ingredients, and this cheerful stuff possesses the virtue of burning right through whatever it touches. The Glostersi – I believe it was them – ran a patrol into the Bosche front line a few weeks back. As usual they found it practically empty, but, having strafed a sentry, they came upon a dug-out from which a light gleamed.
‘Anybody in?’ enquired the linguist of the party. ‘Yah!’ ‘How many?’ ‘Five of us.’ ‘Oh, good, well divide that between you!’ and the humorists let loose a phosphorus grenade. I am told the Bosche did not appreciate the joke. About thirty of him [sic] were strafed altogether and the patrol then came back, bringing its wounded in safely.
Here in billets some of our lads begin to pine. The distractions of the towns attract them. But leave is scarce. Therefore one or two, I am afraid, have taken the French variety, strictly on the principle that when in Rome you do as the Romans do. But difficulties strew the path for the pleasure-seeking sub[altern] when his quest is unauthorised. He cannot go by train because RTOs [Railway Traffic Officers] are sometimes inquisitive and ask to see passes. He cannot walk because of the distance and no mounted officer will lend him a horse without knowing where it is going. Other means must therefore be found. Somehow someone found out that a man living in Airaines owned a motor car. He was no less august a personage than the mayor. Yet, such is the English faith in gold, that two of our brightest youths set out the other day to attempt to bribe him into aiding them in a felonious enterprise. And strangely enough they succeeded.
An hour later they bore down on Abbeville. But there an unforeseen difficulty arose. There is a road guard there, with a barricade, and no motor-cars are allowed through unless they bear a permit. The guard is furnished by the French. The car halted. Its owner was forlorn. Alas, he had no permit. The English officers had asked him to drive and he did so thinking they surely possessed a laissez-passer. ‘Mais, oui! C’est terrible!’ ‘What’s the matter with John Willie?’ asked he of the bright twain who had no French. ‘These johnnies won’t let us through without a pass.’ ‘Is that all? Easy, here, show ’em this.’ The paper was unfolded and shown to the sentry who duly saluted it, waved a polite hand and stepped aside.
The car sped on and he who had French gazed at his companion with added admiration. ‘You’re a topper,’ he said. The pass was duly returned to the pocket book. ‘I mustn’t forget to give it to the Quarter-Master tomorrow. I meant to today but luckily I forgot. The Skipper will begin to play up if he don’t get his picks soon. I’ve had this bally indent for ‘em on me a week now.’
‘My son,’ said the other, ‘You will come to a sad end. I foresee it. But, in the meantime, we will adjourn to the Tête Boeuf and you will there purchase even one bottle of Perrier Jouet with which we may drink to your present health.’
And it was even so!
Rather a joke at HQ this evening after CO’s orders. All OC Coys were there and we had been having a most serious discussion about various little ruses for strafing Bosche. In the end the CO evolved one. No less than to dig a deep pit, cover it with turf and brushwood and then entice a Bosche patrol on to it. How it was to be dug without the enemy seeing it and how the chalk was to be removed he did not say.
I could not help it. I said, ‘Sir, if only you would put a man-trap in the bottom and bait it with a sausage, I feel sure all would be well.’ There was a deathly stillness for a moment, but then came a wild burst of laughter, the CO’s being the loudest of all. On the whole it was really fortunate for me that his sense of humour is well-developed.
25th January ’16
Setting out at 8 a.m. and returning to one’s billet at 9 p.m., makes a full day, especially when one has included in it seven miles on foot, fourteen on horse-back and fourteen in a motor-bus. We have accomplished that today, Murray and I, yet, except that we both feel mighty sleepy, neither of us are tired. That is surely proof of the fit state one unconsciously gets into at this game.
After a field exercise in the morning we have been to Vignacourt for a lecture, which did not mature, this evening. Coming back Kentish was telling me that it is likely we move up to the trenches in about ten days. Rather a surprise for all of us, also quite a worry for me. My leave is booked to begin on Feby 3rd, or ten days from now. If we move it will mean its cancellation and indefinite postponement. However I keep cheerful and hope for the best.
This afternoon Murray and I had to saddle up ourselves. He girthed up on the off side, and swore and sweated in the struggle. But in the end he conquered and we led our mounts forth. His refused to let him come near it, jibbing and backing all round the yard. In such a usually sober horse it was quite alarming – till we looked round for the cause. This was not hard to ascertain. Donald had got the off stirrup under the saddle and had girthed up so. His horse had borne that, but the weight of the round, nuggety Donald on his back to jab the iron still further into his vertebrae was just a bit more than he was prepared to put up with. No wonder he was peevish.
Major Allfrey told me of a little incident which serves to show how quick the men can be if really put to it. The firing line today startled a wild pig which careered down the line at a fine pace. A man saw it coming, whipped out and fixed his bayonet and had pointed [it] in a flash. The major said it was done before you could say ‘knife’.ii
I suggested that perhaps such celerity was in part due to the fact that the man mistook the pig for a German general. The major however missed the point of this pearl, so I was reduced to laughing at it by myself – a state of things I always find rather dull.
26th January ’16
Nothing much to record today. It is the weekly half-holiday and everybody
is playing football. Six and seven platoons play off in the company competition and the battalion is playing the Staffords at Le Mesge.iii
Both will be good matches. I am staying to see the former. I am too keen on getting a really useful team out of B to worry about much else in the football line at the moment.
We have a series of jumps going now and Worthy and I were over them this morning. They are quite good and Lizzie takes them jolly well. She has come on splendidly since coming to France and I am more than pleased with her. Horses are always so companionable and knowing, but I think she is more than usually so. She seems to know exactly what I want and attunes herself to my moods in quite a wonderful way. She has little or no appearance, but she is a good, trusty, useful and sound old soul and I am very fond of her.
27th January ’16
We are a most orderly battalion – or so at least we have been told, and I have not it in me to disbelieve it. We have latrines fitted up inside canvas huts, ablution stands, with tables, basins and drainage pits complete, beneath green canvas shelters. Paths made of up-ended tins let into the ground, very dry, well-drained and orderly.iv And a great incinerator which burns all day and night and wherein every scrap of refuse from the battn is burned to ashes. All except the tins. That’s our one trouble. We have on average fully 100 tins a day taken from that furnace, all cleansed and pure and clean. They are then packed in heaps and, later, buried. That seems to me a waste. The government must be paying out in one way and another some thousands of pounds daily for new tin. Well, why not collect all this used stuff, ship it back and sell it to the highest bidder. The Army is so well organised that this should present very little difficulty and by it the taxpayer, poor devil, might easily be eased of some of his burden. The Germans, I believe, already do it. And we point a finger of scorn at them and say, ‘Ha-ha, see how the Bosche is feeling the pinch. See what the Navy is doing.’
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