by Ian Uys
Four Jocks then came to their aid, carrying two Lewis guns. There followed heavy shelling — then a lull. One of the Jocks stood up, then shouted “Here they are!” A wave of German infantrymen seemed to rise out of the earth. A couple were only five yards away. Heunis looked directly into a face with a large handle-bar moustache. Then the Jocks mowed them down with the Lewis guns.
When the attack failed, the enemy fired whizzbangs at them. The first shell burst before them and the second behind, showering them with clods of earth and pieces of wood. Heunis screamed at his friend, “Jack, they’re going to get us!” and the next shell exploded in their trench. Despite his ringing ears and the stench of cordite, Heunis heard one of the Jocks call out, “Charlie, I’ve had it.”
The only one unscathed was the man who had warned them of the German attack. Heunis was hit in his legs and shoulders. He made his way back to a dug-out 100 feet back but could go no further as the Germans were infiltrating the wood.
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Dick Unwin lay helpless in his battered trench when the enemy took it. A German officer walked over to a South African machine-gun officer and shot him. Unwin tore off his sniper’s badge with blood-stained fingers and pushed it into the mud. It was like destroying his death warrant. He was later led away with other walking wounded and prisoners, his head swathed in bloody bandages.
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Private Cecil George Trenam, 25, was a clerk and diamond digger from Bloemhof, OFS. He had served as a trooper in the Bloemhof Commando under Gen Coen Britz during the Rebellion and in SWA. On 25 May 1915 Trenam was promoted to sergeant-major. After the SWA Campaign he joined the brigade as a private.
During the bombardment shell splinters almost severed his right arm and shrapnel hit him in the neck. Although weak from loss of blood, Trenam staggered to a first-aid post. He was delirious when stretcher-bearers carried him to an ambulance.
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Captain (acting Major) John William Jackson was in the thick of the fighting until killed. He had served with the Queens Bays during the South African War and afterwards joined the SA Mounted Police. Jackson was subsequently engaged in gold mining at Roodepoort. When he joined the brigade his wife, Anne, and four children remained at the Princess Estate Goldmine.
One of the few remaining officers was Sec-Lieut Alfred Richard Barton, 34. He was the eldest son of the Rev P J Barton of Norfolk. After agricultural training he came to South Africa in 1901 and joined the Southern Mounted Rifles as a lieutenant.
Barton then farmed in the Transvaal before serving in SWA, then joining the brigade and serving in Egypt. His younger brother was killed during the fighting at Ypres in February 1916.
At Delville Wood Barton was last seen on the 18th fighting hand-to-hand among the few who were left in his trench.
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Private Dudley Meredith and his companions on the southern perimeter were methodically wiped out.
“July 18 — the fourth day in the wood — dawned and with the dawn began one of the most violent bombardments known up to this time. Hour after hour the wood was afire from end to end with bursting shells. Mingled with the shriek and roar of bursting shells were the crashes of falling trees and the rending of branches. Every now and again a heavy shell would land in the wood and not explode, with the result that the whole wood shook as if in an earthquake.
“All the while, cowering and dazed we crouched in our little trenches while mud, leaves, twigs and shell-splinters rained down on us. The fumes of bursting shells caught us in the throat — the bursting of near ones seemed to strike us in the chest and take our breath away.
“Gradually I felt my nerves going and began to pray for one to hit me and end it all, or for the shelling to stop: I seemed to bear a charmed life however — one whizzbang landed on my rifle where it lay handy on the bank and left nothing but the bayonet, while another landed behind me, not two yards away, as I stood up in the trench; but it only deafened and dazed me.
“The bombardment suddenly stopped at about 4 pm. With a cry of ‘There they come’ we manned our parapet, but there was no sign of an attack from the Waterlot Farm side. After about fifteen minutes the barrage came down again with renewed violence and once again we crouched praying for the end, at the same time expecting and even hoping that the next moment would be our last.
“The bombardment suddenly stopped again about 6 o’clock in the evening, and once again those of us who were still able prepared to beat off the attack. Again there was no sign of an attack from Waterlot Farm and we were wondering what was happening when there was a sudden cry — ‘My God! Look behind!’
“We looked back to see a line of Germans advancing through what underbrush remained, and at once we knew that Delville Wood was again in German hands. Without thinking I jumped back into our trench and opened fire on the Germans I could see in front of me. My mates thought that the better plan would be to retire back to the British lines diagonally across the fields in front of Waterlot Farm and without worrying about me, away they went. After the war was over I learnt that although subjected to a very severe rifle and machine-gun fire most of them reached the British line unscathed.
“A German appeared from behind a bush and instantaneously it seemed, we fired at one another. His bullet hit our parapet about four inches from my left eye and shot some gravel into my face. When I cleared my eyes I saw him reeling and suddenly fall. Looking round now I saw Lieut Barton on my left, lying kicking in his death agonies — how he came to be there I did not know. At the same moment I realised I was alone in the trench.
“Another German became visible through the bushes and as I fired one of our men ran past in front of me. A second later, Sergeant Becker and two of our men, Lees and Hartz, came crawling into my trench, along with Scottie Ellis from the Machine-gun Corps, who was wounded in the back. ‘Meredith, it’s all up,’ said Becker, ‘and we had better try to get out.’ Accordingly we started crawling down the trench in the direction of British lines, but soon came to the end of the trench behind a clump of bushes.
“We stopped here a moment to decide on our next move and no sooner had we done so than a German stepped round the bushes with his rifle trained on us. Turning quickly to get a shot at him, as I was at the end, I slipped and fell over in the mud at the bottom of the trench. The expected bullet did not come and on scrambling to my feet I saw Sergeant Becker and the others climb slowly out of the trench and put their hands up. I followed their example and our fighting days were over — we were prisoners.
“When we climbed out of the trench we realised how hopeless was our position, for not ten yards from our last little trench was a German machine-gun and a detachment of thirty to forty men. No doubt the German who had covered me had seen us crouching behind the bushes.
“As we now stood dejected, with heavy hearts, the Germans crowded round us, jabbering away while they disarmed and searched us. One fellow in particular waved a revolver in our faces and it really seemed as if he was prepared to shoot the five of us until a superior officer came and evidently ordered him to put his revolver away.
“Not that we really cared, for it seemed so disgraceful to us to be taken prisoners like rats caught in a trap — without having put up a decent fight. Dejected, unwashed and unshaven, weary and muddy, we felt that nothing really mattered now that like cowards we had tamely put up our hands to the foe.
“The officer in charge now detailed one man to act as a guard and motioned to us to go with him towards the German lines. As we moved slowly along we found Newberry — who was well known as a cricketer, and had been our platoon cook — lying seriously wounded below the knee. I am almost sure that it was my last shot at the Germans that had hit him as he ran past, trying to get out of the wood. We bandaged him up as best we could, although the poor fellow was in agony and begged us to leave him alone, and I picked him up and tried to carry him out of the wood.
“Struggling painfully along through shell-holes we managed to progress about fifty yards or more, with Newbe
rry begging pitifully all the time to be put down as the pain was unbearable. At last, when I could go no further, we came to a shell-hole somewhat larger than the surrounding ones, and here we decided to rest for a few minutes. It had one occupant — a German soldier shot through the stomach from side to side.
“As I put Newberry down he declared that he would go no further, and when we went on he wished to be left where he was. Hardly had he said this than a bullet hit him in the chest, and he slumped forward and passed away before our eyes. While we were seeing what we could do for the poor fellow, our guard tried to bandage up his compatriot.
“A momentary lull then occurred and so our guard motioned us to move on forward towards the edge of the wood — and Germany. Dejected and dispirited we moved slowly along while the tragic passing of Newberry and the pitiful haunting look in the eyes of the wounded German, made our hearts heavier than ever. The British now started putting down a barrage and machine-guns began to sweep the wood. Utterly dejected, however, we did not try to dodge or take shelter — nothing seemed to matter any more.
“As we reached the edge of the wood we found a very deep shell-hole and the British fire having increased in intensity, our guard made us get into it. This shell-hole also had an occupant — a German soldier shot through the knee. The artery was severed and so we had to lie there and watch the poor fellow getting yellower and yellower as his life blood spurted out. Our guard evidently thought the poor fellow was too near death to try and do anything for him — he was almost at his last gasp as we jumped in beside him.
“We were now joined by the wounded German we had left in the shell-hole where Newberry was killed. I fancied I could see a look of triumph on his face as if he felt pleased that he had managed to catch up with us again. A moment later I received a terrific knock on the back of my leg. A shrapnel shell burst behind us and one of the pieces had hit me on the calf. It did not cut through the puttee fortunately, but the blow was severe enough to cause me to limp.
“After this occurred I was looking over the edge of the shell-hole, hoping that a chance of escaping might present itself even at this eleventh hour, when a wounded German passed by a few paces away, making for the German lines. As he passed our shell-hole he turned his head and saw me, and up went his hands. The grim humour of one prisoner surrendering to another impressed the incident on my memory, through all the misery and dejection of the time.
“Our guard now began to get restive and there being another momentary lull, made us get up and move across no-man’s-land — here 60 to 70 yards wide — to the German trenches. The number of German dead lying here and at the edge of the wood bore silent testimony to the severity of the fight for Delville Wood — as we passed we saw bodies lying in hundreds everywhere.
“Half way across the open space a shrapnel shell burst over us and our guard was wounded in the foot. To our surprise he ignored us from that moment. Divesting himself of his equipment he threw it on the ground with his rifle, took off his boot and started off for the German lines as fast as he could go. We were left standing but there was no chance of escape for an officer observed this incident from the German lines, and sent a guard to bring us to his trench.
“This officer in the intervals between watching operations through field glasses and giving orders, observed us intently for a few moments and then proceeded to give our new guard instructions for we were motioned to proceed with him, and at the same time help along a German soldier badly wounded in the leg. We took turns in helping this German along, one on each side, and so we gradually and painfully left the battlefield behind.
“As we approached Gueudecourt (north-east of Longueval) the fields showed fewer and fewer traces of war, until finally not even reserve trenches could be seen. Finally, after what seemed an almost endless march, we reached Gueudecourt. Hungry, dirty, dejected and with a swollen eye, I limped along a pace or two behind the other fellows.
“Just as we entered the village we passed some German billets and before I knew what had happened, a burly German had rushed out and literally kicked me up into line with the others as he shouted ‘Marsh, schwein’. We had heard of the harsh treatment meted out to prisoners and so that kick, the memory of which will probably never be effaced from my mind, was not calculated to set our minds at rest with regard to our fate as prisoners.
“Just before we reached Gueudecourt some remarks shouted out from a German battery gave us an inkling with regard to the terrific punishment we had endured in the wood. One of the artillerymen enquired in excellent English how we enjoyed the day in Delville Wood. On our replying that it had been pretty hot, he informed us that his battery alone had fired 1,600 shells that day.
“In Gueudecourt we were marched to the field dressing-station, where we handed over the wounded German and Ellis had his wounds dressed. Here we were given a cup of coffee each and while standing about were an object of much interest to the Germans about us. One fellow got into conversation with me and asked in fairly good English what quarrel had South Africa with Germany that we should come halfway round the world to fight on the Western Front.
“We now were motioned to pick up a stretcher case and proceed with our guard, and thus commenced what was a fitting climax to the bitter trials of the day. Tired, hungry and worn out as we were we had to carry a fairly heavy patient nearly five kilometres to Le Transloy (east of Gueudecourt).
“This German was evidently badly wounded in the head for his whole face was covered with bandages. We could not see, therefore, how he was bearing up under our rough handling, but all along the road we hoped and prayed he would die so we could leave him at the side of the road. At long last, however, Le Transloy was reached and we handed our silent burden over to the hospital there.
“We were next taken to what was most probably the German divisional headquarters which were situated in Le Transloy. Here we were questioned by an officer speaking fluent English, but apart from learning our regiment and division he did not get much information from us. As a matter of fact we had nothing to impart had we wished to be communicative.
“It was now dark, so we were marched away to a large brewery nearby, where in the corner of a large room we prepared to make ourselves as comfortable as we could for the night. In this place we were again an object of great interest for an hour or so to the regiment of young Prussians billeted there. They treated us kindly, however, and once they learnt we were hungry plied us with biscuits, jam and coffee from their own rations.
“Thus ended 18 July 1916, and our active participation in the war. From henceforth we were to be, as it were, spectators and yet indirectly still vitally concerned with the progress of the war. Absolutely worn out by the arduous day and all unaware of what might be in store for us in the dark days ahead, we slept peacefully on the brewery floor in Le Transloy.”
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Harry Cooper recalled how their colonel had rallied them.
“During the night a voice kept calling out our war cry (I still do not know how to spell it) to keep us on the alert. It came from one of the finest gentlemen who ever breathed, our own Colonel Thackeray. He has since passed on, but his memory will never die while a 3rd Regiment is still alive.
“Someone, somehow managed to get some paraffin or petrol tins of water into the wood — and did we pile in! But the trouble was the tins could not have been washed free of the paraffin and petrol. I can still taste the darned stuff.
“The wood was beginning to look less like a wood now and more like a ploughed-up field. Stumps of trees and trees lying flattened out and still the Jerries pumped into what was left. There was very little respite, sometimes they would stop for a short while to have their ‘Sauer Kraut’ I suppose, and then it would go on again.
“One day I was given a written order and told to do my best to get through to brigade headquarters. Off I went like a rabbit, through the village, down the sunken road with all the ‘devils of hell’ going through me. You don’t know how scared you can be until you are alo
ne, entirely alone, surrounded by dead. Dead everywhere looking at you with sightless eyes and the smell made me feel bad.
“Anyway I found my way and a non-com led me to the general’s dug-out. I faced the general (Lukin), saluted, gave him compliments of our colonel (Thackeray) and gave him the note. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and asked me to tell him something about his men in the wood. All the time he was exclaiming, ‘My men, my poor men.’ I told him as much as I knew. He then told someone to get me a drink and a bite. Was I grateful for both.
“It appears that the note informed him that more stretcher-bearers were needed as regiments had been helping one another to carry out wounded.
“My job was to show the bearers the way to the centre of the wood or to where they were most wanted. I might tell you that I lost no time in getting along that road again, back to the wood. How the chaps following got on I don’t know, but when we reached the wood and I found the colonel to report to, there were very few of them left. But the SA medical corps got right down to it.
“One of those fellows was my ex-school teacher. He was not far from me when over he went. I thought he was dead. After the war I met him again, minus a leg.
“During all this time ‘purposes of nature’ were almost forgotten. One can understand this when you realise that we had had precious little time to eat or drink, and hundreds remained in their one position all the time. Sleep was done in snatches, for who could sleep with this hell?
“Then lice got to work on us — scratch, scratch, until blood came. You could see some men, fast asleep, still scratching. The darn things got under your puttees; you could not remove puttees there, so the little fellows just got in. Well! They at least gave the chaps something to do besides killing Jerries.