Читать книгу At Ypres with Best-Dunkley - Thomas Hope Floyd - Страница 10

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It has already been observed that the 55th (West Lancashire) Division, after a hot time on the Somme, particularly at Guillemont and Ginchy, had come up the Salient in October, 1916. So when I joined the Division it was in the 8th Corps, commanded by Sir Aylmer Hunter-Weston ("Hunter-Bunter," as I remember Best-Dunkley calling him), in Sir Herbert Plumer's Second Army. The 55th Division was responsible for the sector between Wieltje and the south of Railway Wood.

The 55th Division was commanded by Major-General Jeudwine, of whom it has been said: "No General ever was more devoted to his Division: no Division ever was more devoted to its General."[2] The three infantry brigades in the Division were the 164th Brigade (Brigadier-General Stockwell), the 165th Brigade (Brigadier-General Boyd-Moss), and the 166th Brigade (then commanded by Brigadier-General Lewis). The ⅖th Lancashire Fusiliers, who had been commanded by Colonel Best-Dunkley—an officer who had previously been Adjutant on the Somme—since October 20, 1916, were in the 164th Brigade.

In those days a brigade consisted of four battalions. The other three battalions in the 164th Brigade were the ¼th King's Own Royal Lancaster Regiment, commanded by Colonel Balfour, the ⅛th King's Liverpool Regiment (Liverpool Irish), commanded by Colonel Heath, and the ¼th Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, commanded by Colonel Hindle, who, after winning the D.S.O. and Bar, was killed at the head of his battalion at Heudecourt during the great Battle of Cambrai on November 30, 1917. When the necessity for "infiltration" brought about the reduction of the strength of brigades from four battalions to three, the Liverpool Irish were afterwards transferred to the 57th Division. But throughout the whole of the period with which this narrative deals the Liverpool Irish were still with us.

It is interesting to note the summary of the situation written by the chronicler of the ⅖th Lancashire Fusiliers in the 1917 Lancashire Fusiliers' Annual:

"On May 26th, the Battalion moved back to the Prison. Lieutenant-Colonel B. Best-Dunkley went on leave the same day, leaving Major Brighten in command.

"Then began a very memorable 17 days—Ypres was shelled heavily every day, particular attention being paid to the Prison.

"By night the Battalion was occupied in digging a new communication trench, Pagoda Trench. The digging was finished in two nights, but there was all the riveting to do as well. Every night the working parties have to pass through a barrage. Our casualties during this period totalled 60 or 70. The moral of the men was very high all the time. The continual shelling, paradoxical as it must seem, hardened and prepared them as much as anything for the great day which every one knew was not far off.

"We had our first serious gas attack on June 3rd. It was preceded by a heavy bombardment of Ypres, after which some 25,000 gas shells were put over, lasting from 10 p.m. to 4 p.m. We were fortunate in having very few casualties."

That was the position of the Battalion when I set off to join it in the Prison cells on the morning of June 5, 1917.

I rose at 10 a.m. It was a rowdy morning. The guns were still unusually lively. While we were having breakfast shells were bursting three or four hundred yards away from our hut, and we could hear occasional H.E. dropping as far back as Poperinghe behind us.

The following letter which I wrote home from my cell (which I shared with three other second-lieutenants, Gilbert Verity, Bernard Priestley and H. A. Barker) in the Prison, dated June 6, 1917, describes my journey to Ypres:

"At 11 a.m. I set off up the road with another officer to the city where my unit is stationed. We got a lift in a motor as far as a town half-way. This town (Vlamertinghe) was almost entirely in ruins. There has been an ancient church there, but only the front of the tower and all the crucifixes remain. Shells were bursting all about. We sat down on a fence and waited for another lift. It was most exciting. I have not got the 'wind up' yet; I am more interested than anything else. I contemplated a famous hill on my right. Then we got on another motor. This ride was most exciting, the excitement consisting in whether we could reach the city without being blown to pieces by the shells which were exploding to front of us, to right of us, to rear of us, and to left of us! The road was cut up by shells which had exploded on it, and trees were felled across it. We jogged a good deal riding over this debris. We saw one of our batteries on the left of the road which had been smashed by a German shell. A good many of the transport horses had been killed on the road last night, but the bodies had been removed by now. We got out of the car just outside the city and walked into it. What struggles have taken place here! One could hardly realize that in pre-war days this had been a great and flourishing city. Just a few buildings remain standing, and those all in ruins; debris everywhere, shells constantly exploding everywhere. It is reckoned that the rate of casualties in this city just now is a thousand a week; military, of course—there are no civilians here; it is a battlefield where battles have been fought, where strafing is going on now, and around which a great battle is about to be fought. One battalion in our brigade went over the top on a raid last night. Our guns are even now conducting the preliminary bombardment along the line which precedes a great offensive. And the Germans are giving it us back too! My companion was very anxious that we should reach the Prison without personally encountering any shells. He told me that the corner round which we were passing was a windy one! But we got inside the Prison safe and sound, and here I now am writing this while the shells are flying and our guns stationed in the city are speaking. The top of this building is in ruins as shells are constantly hitting it, but we are down below, and we have wire-netting to catch the falling debris.

"I was received by a young Major and the Adjutant, Lieutenant Andrews. I had lunch with them and the other officers in the (Headquarters) mess-room."

There let us pause for a moment. There are scenes in one's life, pleasant and otherwise, which one can never forget, which ever rest vividly in the eye of the mind. There were many such scenes during my experiences in France and Belgium; but none do I recollect more clearly, and few with more satisfaction, than this my first meal with the ⅖th Lancashire Fusiliers. Never was a subaltern given a more friendly welcome than that which Major Brighten extended to me. I was made at home at once. Padre Newman, who seemed little more than a young undergraduate with a gay and affable countenance, but with that unselfish and utterly unostentatious heroism depicted in every feature—a typical example of the kind of hero which our public schools, with all their failings, have sent forth in hundreds and thousands during the last five years—was placing jolly records on a gramophone when I entered the little cell; and the mess-waiters were preparing lunch on a table which had been erected for the purpose.

In England I had been accustomed to "battalion messes," but out here such an arrangement was very rare. "Company messes" were the thing out here. There were generally five messes in all—Headquarters and the four companies. Major Brighten at once invited me to stay for lunch at Headquarters and, when the meal was announced to be "served," told me to sit next to him. I found him extremely interesting. The conversation was most entertaining. The subject upon which his wit pivoted during a good part of the meal was the Brigadier (always an interesting topic!), his latest sayings and possible future career 'after the war'—a period which Major Brighten always declared to be in the very near future. The first thing which struck me about Major Brighten was his youth; he was only twenty-seven. I had not been accustomed to such young senior officers in England. In fact, youth seemed to be the foremost characteristic of the Battalion. Nearly all the officers were extremely young. And I learnt that Colonel Best-Dunkley himself was only twenty-seven! It was the pride of the Battalion that it was led by youth. If ever a proof were required of the truth of Disraeli's famous maxim "The youth of a nation are the trustees of posterity," it is here in the brilliant record of the ⅖th Lancashire Fusiliers. Let Mr. Alec Waugh and the League of Youth and Social Progress carefully note that, for here, surely, is a feather in their cap!

After lunch I was posted to a company—"B" Company; and I was conducted to another cell where I found my company commander, Captain H. H. Andrews, sitting up in bed, looking very happy. It was quite the thing to stay in bed until the afternoon in those days, because the nightly working parties did not get back until just before dawn. It was a day of pleasant surprises. I had already been very favourably impressed by the magnetic personalities of Major Brighten and Padre Newman; now I was ushered into the presence of another amiable military genius, Captain Andrews. I had not been in his presence two minutes before I congratulated myself on my good fortune in having "clicked" for so delightful a company commander as Captain Andrews. Though older and very different in appearance, he was another officer of the same stamp as the lovable and brilliant Major Brighten. He was an ideal company commander. One could not hope for a better either from a military or from a social point of view. He was ability, wit, and sociability combined. Those were great days.

But to continue the reproduction of the letter quoted above:

"I am attached to B Company, commanded by Captain Andrews, and I have been appointed by him to command the seventh platoon. Just before tea Captain Andrews had me in his room and gave me maps of the district and explained—with reference to the maps—the situation. He also told me the plan of campaign and explained what Haig's intentions for the whole summer offensive are and what he requires us to do; so I now know the general idea, and I also know in detail what this battalion, this company, and my own platoon have got to do—and when; but as it is all very secret information only for officers, I, unfortunately, cannot give it you. My opinion is that the general plan is good, with the exception that I do not quite appreciate the point with respect to the particular part which this battalion (and brigade) has to play in a few days; it strikes me as being rather foolish, though it may be all right.

"While we were having tea the Germans set up a most terrific bombardment of this prison. Shells exploded just outside the window-opening, causing quite a wind inside the room. It is going on still; shells keep striking the wall outside. There it goes—bang! And there are our guns smashing back at them. There again—debris scattering in the quad, the other side of the door. Whizz-bang! It is extraordinary that any walls in this city can remain standing at this rate. They say that this goes on day and night. When a shell explodes the room is temporarily darkened by the cloud of smoke which rises. This is some bombardment; it is worse than the worst of thunder-storms.

"I have found Verity here. He has been here some time, and is alive and in the best of health.

"Well, I really must stop now; though I could go on recording every bang as it comes; there are about two explosions during every sentence which I write.

"Now do not get anxious, we manage to exist through it all; and I do not see why my luck should desert me. I am on the one point on the Western Front where I had a desire to explore. There is something doing here."

And "something doing" there was, much sooner than I expected. I had reached the Prison at Ypres just in time to hear and feel the best staged battle in history—the Battle of Messines. The following letter written home on the evening of June 7, describes Messines Night:

"Since I wrote to Mother yesterday a good deal has happened. About 6.30 I attended a conference consisting of the officers and sergeants of B Company in Captain Andrew's room; and Captain Andrews explained the scheme which he had explained to me earlier on; though he did not tell them quite as much. I, of course, will not tell you what the scheme was! Then dinner. Things were much quieter now—quieter than they had been all day. A working party of the Battalion was to leave after dinner. The ⅖th Lancashire Fusiliers are the battalion in reserve to General Stockwell's brigade at present: we hang out here in the day-time, and go out on working parties in the trenches in the Salient at night. But Captain Andrews said that I need not go out with them on this occasion. So I remained behind and censored letters. While doing so my eyes began to water—about 11 to 11.30. Then the Company mess-waiter, Private Saul (Captain Andrews' batman), came in and told me that the Germans were sending over 'tear gas.' So on with my gas helmet. The gas shells were bursting outside the windows; but I thought it safe to take off my helmet after a few minutes; my eyes watered a good deal, that was all. At about midnight I went to bed.

"For three hours I slept quite comfortably. At 3.15 I was awakened by a terrific row. The whole place was shaking like an earthquake; the wall was quivering; our guns were firing rapid as fast as ever they could go; every gun in the city, in fact, every gun on the British Front for miles, was pounding the enemy with shells. A man came in to say that the order was 'everybody down in the cellar.' So I threw some clothes on and went down there. There was a crowd down there. The parties which had been out working had returned, but not without casualties; there had been a few killed and wounded. At a table in the centre of the room, a lamp on it, sat Captain Andrews, in his shirt sleeves, and other officers, seriously contemplating a message which had arrived, the purport of which they were trying to understand. The man who had brought it was under arrest as a suspected spy; but after inquiries had been made at Brigade it was discovered that he was perfectly bona fide; So Major Brighten ordered him to be set free.

"I found myself next to Verity, so I asked him whatever all this hubbub was about. He replied that it was the expected push on our right—'the Messines push'—taking place. The New Zealanders (and Australians, the 36th Ulster Division, the 16th South Ireland Division, the 23rd Division, and the 47th London Division) were going over the top, and this was our barrage. Captain Andrews said that this was a bombardment which our guns were conducting, double in intensity to any which we inflicted upon the enemy during the Battle of the Somme! It was a row indeed, and it continued for some time. Then dawn broke, and it had slackened. At 5.30 we came upstairs and had some refreshment in the mess; the gramophone was set going ('The Bing Boys'—'Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm'—was the precise record which was put on as soon as we entered the mess!); things were much quieter, but we were expecting the Germans to retaliate."

It was at these early morning breakfast parties in the Prison that the grim significance of the word "Gate" impressed itself upon me. "Which gate did you come in at?" was a very common question which one officer would ask another on their return from work in the trenches. "I came in by the Dixmude Gate," or "I came in by the Menin Gate," would be the reply. And some would say that they had avoided "gates" altogether and threaded their way across the open. These gates were places of evil omen. The enemy had the exact range of them, and knew when working parties would be likely to be passing them. And upon no spot was conferred a greater legacy of awe than upon the Menin Gate. It was always one of the most terrible spots in Ypres. People were killed there every day. To go past the Menin Gate was considered to be asking for it. So a terror of the Menin Gate was bred in me before I had ever seen the gruesome, stinking spot. And the Menin Gate had taken its toll on Messines Night.

My letter continues: "At 6 I went to bed again. Just as I was doing so, gas shells began to burst once more, but we did not smell much; the wind could not have been very favourable to the enemy. I soon got to sleep again. We all did. In my room, apart from myself, there are Verity, Priestley, and Barker. They are in different companies from me.

"We got up at midday to-day. Things are very much quieter; there are only, on an average, about one or two bangs per minute; and those are generally caused by our guns firing shells on the enemy. Very few German shells have burst here to-day since the terrible bombardment in the early hours of the morning. We lost no officers last night, but a few non-commissioned officers and men were killed and wounded while returning last night. An official message has come through that all our objectives were captured this morning."

It was on this afternoon that Major Brighten gathered all officers together for a conference in Headquarters Mess, and read out to us, in great exultation, a "secret" Special Order of the Day by Sir Douglas Haig dated, if I remember rightly, the day before Messines. I wish I had a copy of that Order in my hands now in order that I might quote it verbatim here. In the course of his Order I remember the Field-Marshal declared that another such blow as those which we had inflicted upon the enemy on the Somme, on the Anare, and at Arras would win the war! Major Brighten, with his eternal optimism, honestly believed it; and so did everybody else. Everybody was effervescing with excitement about Plumer's brilliant victory at Messines. I hold now with Mr. John Buchan, and I realized then, that "Sir Herbert Plumer had achieved what deserves to be regarded as in its own fashion a tactical masterpiece"; but, as I have already pointed out, I took a much more telescopic view of the World War than that. So, while sharing the satisfaction of the others in the Messines success, I could not endorse the ultra-optimistic view of the course of the campaign which Sir Douglas Haig had inspired. Major Brighten was beaming with delight as he read out Sir Douglas Haig's Order, and informed us that General Jeudwine and General Stockwell, with whom he had just been conversing, were equally "bucked" about it all. And he laughingly chaffed me upon my pessimism. I told him quite frankly that I did not share the general opinion.

That night only one company had to go out to work, and the company detailed was C Company; so I was not affected.

In the course of a letter written the following day (June 8) I wrote:

"I went to bed about 10 last night. About 2, Barker, Priestley, and Verity returned from their working parties. Priestley was very doleful; he was mournfully discussing the horrors of the war, and of his evening's experiences in particular. And it appears that there was some reason, for he had been in command of a party of eight whose mission had been to fetch back some steel helmets from the trenches. (A ruse had been played upon the Boche on Messines Night. A large number of helmets had been placed in such a position as to encourage the Boche to think that we were concentrating troops there instead of, or as well as, at Messines and Wytschaete!) They were returning, and Priestley was remarking that the Boche was very quiet just at present, when a shell burst amongst them. Four of his party were wounded and one killed; and a piece of shrapnel went right through the tube of his box-respirator, he himself escaping unhurt. A near shave! 'Well, do you think those helmets were worth the life of one man and injury to four others?' I heard him asking."

In my next letter (June 9) I wrote:

"There was only one working party last night. I went to bed at 10 p.m. At 10.20 there was a terrible row on our front. A big artillery duel was going on, machine-guns were firing continuously, and flares were going up! I sat up in bed and watched it all through the prison bars. It went on for about twenty minutes! I should think it must have been a raid of some sort. Shortly after this, Priestley came to bed, and, later, Verity and Barker. We had quite a long discussion upon all kinds of topics ranging from the conduct of the war (East versus West), and the doctrine of the Apostolical Succession, to the character and policy of Winston Churchill (whom, of course, they all detest!), and the pre-war morals of civilian Ypres, concerning which Barker held very decided views. We went on arguing until dawn broke! Then we got to sleep.

"I rose at 10 this morning. When I entered the mess for breakfast I was greeted by the inquiry from Captain Andrews: 'How's Palestine?' They all think that the war will end out here and in two or three months' time! They think that the next great offensive will end it. I admit that there is a great deal to be said for their theory; our plans are good, and if successful, will probably do the trick; but I am none too sanguine. We shall see. I hope they are right. Everybody does. Everybody is 'fed up' with the war; that goes without saying. I have not read a single one of the men's letters in which they do not say that. To say that, and to inform their people that they are 'in the pink' is the stock substance of their letters!

"I ought now to tell you something about my platoon. To give you the names of my non-commissioned officers is surely not giving away any information which would be of use to the enemy! So I do not see why I should not do so.

"As I may already have told you I am in command of No. 7 platoon. My platoon sergeant (second-in-command) is Sergeant Williams. (He was a waiter in Parker's Restaurant in St. Ann's Square, Manchester, in pre-war days). A platoon consists of four sections, each of which is commanded by a corporal. My sections are as follows: Rifle Section commanded by Lance-Corporal Tipping; Bombing Section commanded by Lance-Corporal Livesey; Lewis Gun Section commanded by Lance-Corporal Topping; and Rifle Grenade Section commanded by Corporal Baldwin. You will notice that a Lewis Gun Section is part of every platoon; I think that is sufficient answer to your question whether the fact of my attending lectures on the Lewis Gun meant that I should go into a Lewis Gun Section.

"There has not been much to do to-day; nor has anything very notable happened during the day up to now. It is now 6.40 p.m. So I will close."

"June 10th.

"Last night the whole Battalion went out on working parties; so I had command of a party. My party was detailed to repair the parapet of a communication trench just behind our front line. I set off with Sergeant Williams and a party of fourteen men of my platoon at 9.40, just as it was getting dark. We were soon in the open fields and so could see all around us the ruined buildings of the great city. Three shells fell across the path we had traversed, after we had passed the points. Fritz was just a little too late on each occasion! We went on in the dusk, amidst the flashes of booming guns and exploding shells and flares lighting up the weird ruins and ghostly country, as far as a dump (Potidje) where the remainder of the Battalion appeared to be congregated. It occurred to me what a number would have been knocked out if a shell had burst just by this dump just then! Fortunately no such thing happened. Tools were drawn here; then we proceeded on our way by platoons. The whole region was swarming with little wooden crosses where lie the thousands who have fallen on this oft-fought, long-fought, ever contending, battlefield. We threaded our way along a winding communication trench (Pagoda Trench). We passed a party in the trench with bayonets fixed—a party of one officer, Lieutenant Alexander, and thirty men of the ¼th King's Own—waiting to go over the top for a bombing raid on a section of the enemy front line. 'Good-byee!' they laughed as we passed them. Eventually we reached the point at which we were to commence work. Flares were going up the whole time; the enemy must have seen us: the whole crowd of us all in the open by the side of the trench which was to be repaired! When a flare goes up the whole place is as light as day for a few seconds; and they were going up all round the Salient—what remains of it, one side disappeared on Thursday morning! Now and then a machine-gun would rattle a few rounds, and we would all duck down; but none of them were ranged on our party.