Daniel Casey (1878 - 1958) 5th Dragoon Guards |
Daniel Casey - The Great War
Monday, 4 August 2014
Sunday, 3 August 2014
Daniel Casey - The Great War
The following text was written by Daniel Casey (11/12/1878 - 06/03/1958) who served in the 5th Dragoon Guards during the First World War. It details many of Daniel's experiences in the war as well as discussing some of the war's consequences. It is part of a larger text which also discusses the actions of a man called Jack Daly (John Daly) who was Daniel's brother in law. The text was written some time between 1955 and Daniel's death in 1958. Daniel was my great-great-grandfather and I have typed these memoirs up from a photocopied version of his handwritten text. I have included the page numbers from his original text in square brackets and I have added footnotes to help put the events in context, for instance, giving the details of a person or battle that is mentioned. I hope to publish the full text soon. David Barrett, 4th August 2014.
In 1913 I became a London cloth
worker, but a lot of more important events were happening in 1913, for at that
time there was a large number of German emigrants in London. There were German
butchers, German bakers, German tailors, they even had their German bands
playing in the streets. I knew some of these German tailors, as my wife who was
a tailoress worked for a German, and one day when I was in the company of one
of these Germans we were walking across Tower Hill, when he pointed to the flag
on the Tower, he said “that flag is coming down and the German flag is going up
in its place.” I thought he was joking, I knew our royal family were of German
descent, so I said “when is this going to happen?” and he replied “on the day.”
I realised he was quite serious about this, yet all our politicians were
arguing over was free trade v. tariff reform. Asquith [1]
had promised Ireland home rule and as a result Carson [2]
had armed the Ulster men with German rifles. British army officers had mutinied
on the Curragh.[3] All of
this made news in the newspapers but none spoke of war.
In the summer of 1914, the
newspapers were excited over cricket scores. Then came the murder of the
Arch-Duke Ferdinand.[4]
This was a contrived political murder that was to lead to a World War, due to
the entanglement of military alliances. I do not profess any claims to be an
historian or to any expert knowledge as to what took place behind the scenes,
but I do know that ultimatums were issued from the embassies, and due to our
alliance with France, this country was committed to war. There was a great deal
of hesitation on the part of our Liberal government who were hoping that the
German Emperor [5] could be
persuaded upon to respect the neutrality of Belgium, added to the fact that
[41] this country was unprepared for war. It was at midnight on August the
fourth that it became known that we were at war with Germany.[6]
The streets were crowded with people, and I was disgusted with some of them who
were singing and dancing, one would have thought it was holiday time. They were
soon to learn how tragic war can be.
All reservists were called to the
colours, and Lord Kitchener [7]
who had no illusions as to what war with German meant, called for volunteers in
a famous slogan “your king and country need you.” Also there was two other men
in important positions who in my humble opinion deserved the deep gratitude of
the people of this country for the part they played in the drama of 1914. They
were Lord Haldane [8] who had
built up a volunteer Territorial Army and Prince Louis of Battenberg [9]
who on the pretext of manoeuvres had the British Navy mobilised so when war was
declared they were able to “bottle up” the German Navy in the Kiel Canal, for
the German Navy was useless as far as the war was concerned, but their
submarines got out and did severe damage, and those capital ships that managed
to get out were engaged in the Battle of Jutland and put to flight.[10]
Yet these two men were hounded from their high positions. Lord Haldane had once
said that his spiritual home was in Germany and Prince Louis was of German
descent. Such was the hysteria of some newspapers that the editor of a two
penny journal who was later convicted to penal servitude made King George the
fifth change his name to Windsor.
But long before these forgoing
events happened I was in Flanders, for on the outbreak of the war I had
re-enlisted in the 5th Dragoon Guards. Jack Daly came to see me off
at Euston Square as I was sent to Dunbar in Scotland.[11] I
had to wait until midnight for the train and to my surprise he insisted on
paying for everything. He paid for a supper at a restaurant. He treated me in
pubs and he bought me a bottle of whiskey to take with me on the long train
journey. He seemed genuinely upset that I was going away. When I reached Dunbar
I met some old comrades who I had [42] left in South Africa, and who like
myself had re-enlisted so we all made an application to be transferred to
Aldershot as it was from there that troops were sent to the war front.
I had not been in Aldershot very
long before Jack Daly came to visit me. I made arrangements as regards his food
and sleeping accommodation and then I told him that in the evening I usually
visited the corporals’ mess in the canteen and that if he came with me he would
have to buy a round of drinks for my mates so this he readily agreed, although
I did not foresee that he would make a profit by doing so, for Aldershot at
that time was a scene of confusion and chaos. Hundreds of men who had flocked
to the colours had no uniforms, no rifles, no equipment, and no sleeping
accommodation. The barrack rooms were over-crowded with men sleeping on the
floors. Here was evidence if proof was needed that England was unprepared for
war. An appeal had been made for blankets and overcoats for these men for the
coming winter months.
When I took Jack Daly into the
Corporals’ Mess that evening I introduced him to my four mates with whom I had
soldiered in the Boer War. One of these a Corporal Mason [12]
was a police constable in civilian life. He was a burly figure of a man with a
big ginger moustache. He was always cheerful and was greatly attached to me, but
I knew him to be a rogue and a brazen thief. He always had a bunch of humorous
stories to tell of his experiences as a policeman. That raised a laugh and Jack
was enjoying listening to one of these stories when Mason suddenly said to me
“there is a big load of overcoats arrived for these recruits and I have twelve
of them up in my room, and do you know they would fetch three quid a time
second-hand up in the ‘Smoke’ (London).” Then Jack said to my astonishment “And
how much do you want for them?” Mason gave Jack a keen glance and said “Well I
reckon they are worth a quid each.” “I will buy them” said Jack “and here is
the money.” And he put twelve pounds down in front of Mason. I said “you will
never be allowed to take them out of the barracks, for you will be stopped by
the sentries or [43] military police.” But Jack and Mason laughed and said it
was easy. So the two of them made parcels of these coats, took them to the
railway station and addressed them to the shop in Poplar. When the two of them
returned Jack said “they will get there alright, and they are lovely overcoats.”
He said “I am glad I came to see you at Aldershot as I have made a profit
as those coats are as good as sold at a shilling a week.”
It was to be a long time before I
saw him again, as the next day I sailed to France to join the British
Expeditionary Force commanded by General Sir John French.[13]
My first impressions of the French towns and people were not favourable for it
seemed as if they had not made any progress since the days of the French
Revolution. I saw the cobbled streets, the old world chateaux, the farms with
the stinking ponds in front of the houses. Their lavatories were stomach
revolting. The men seemed to have no decency and the women no morals, and if we
were out of date as regards our army, the French were more so as how they
expected their soldiers to fight in the long uniform coats they wore I failed
to see. But I am casting no aspersions on their bravery, for brave they
certainly were.
I saw what the Germans had done
already to their villages and towns, and I was to be in their country for four
years and see the Germans do more damage. We had fought with the Boers in South
Africa with rifles, and it seemed at first as if the Brains in the British army
expected the troops to do the same against the mighty armies of Germany who had
long prepared for this war, because we only had the same equipment that I
carried in South Africa. The Germans were superior in numbers, superior in
armament, for they had abundant supply of machine guns, of which there
was a scarcity in our army, and as a result of the previous war with France in
1870 they had all the French roads registered for artillery purposes. And to
fight this mammoth military machine, the British government had sent an
Expeditionary Force. It was soon found that this was not going to be a war of
movement but a trench war, miles and miles of trenches were dug six feet deep
and three feet wide and they were dug in a zig-zag fashion to avoid enfilading
fire. There was communicating trenches, so it was possible to walk [44] long
distances without your head appearing above the surface of the earth, for as
much as our guards hold their heads up outside Buckingham Palace, in the
trenches the order was “Heads Down.”
This was in November 1914, just
four months after war had been declared. My regiment the 5th Dragoon
Guards belonged to the 1st cavalry division and this division was
commanded by General Allenby (who was to be send to Palestine to take command).[14]
We were 17 kilometres behind this battle front of Ypres, considered to be the
bloodiest sector of the whole line. We were scattered in Flemish villages and
owing to the incessant rain were sleeping in rat infested barns and out houses
in squalid conditions. Our horses had no protection against the weather and
were tethered to picket lines in various fields standing in liquid mud well
above their fetlocks. Any lover of animals would have felt sorry for these
horses, for although they received constant care and attention their conditions
were severe. It seemed strange to know that just a month had passed since these
villages were the scenes of bitter engagements, but the crude wooden houses at
the road side were grim reminders. The Trappist Monastery and church on a steep
hill known as Mont Des Cats [15] had
been occupied by the Germans who had been forced to retire by cavalry. It was
here that a son of the German Emperor was killed among others and buried in the
same ground as men of our own cavalry, but one could tell that these men had
been buried by the monks of the monastery, by the reverence displayed.[16]
One had an excellent view of the
battle front at Ypres from this monastery and could see that it was a salient
shaped like an horse shoe, with our troops on the inner-ring. Our poor battered
infantry were bearing the full brunt of the fighting against vastly superior
numbers and their losses were heavy and this knowledge cast a spell of gloom on
us. General Allenby came to us and stated that these infantry were to be pulled
out for a rest, and that we were to go as dismounted cavalry into the trenches.
One man to every four horses was to remain behind. We were issued with
emergency rations. These are rations that must not be eaten until one gets the
[order to leave].[17]
We were also issued with thick dark whale oil [45] to smear on our legs
and feet as many of the trenches were water logged. We had heard tales of men
standing up to their waists in water. We had seen hospital trains loaded with
men who had frozen feet, and we were no going to have a similar experience. The
troops had no illusions about Ypres. We all knew how bad it was and some grim
jests were bandied about as to where they would like to be wounded so as to get
to ‘Blighty’ (home). I heard one sergeant say he would not like to be wounded
in the stomach, yet strangely enough that is just where he was hit and killed
only two days later. But we all knew that some of us were not coming back.[18]
At 11 PM that night we assembled
at the cross roads to get on the buses that was to take us to the trenches.
These were old double decker buses from London that had been painted a slate
grey colour and had the windows boarded up. No lights were allowed and all
smoking was forbidden. It was a pitch dark night as these buses moved off at
intervals so that a distance was kept between each bus, as the Germans had this
road registered for shell fire. It was raining heavily when we arrived at the
entrance to the communication trench, and we were warned to walk on the narrow
duck boards that floored these trenches as there was deep shell holes concealed
by liquid mud in these trenches. So in single file we went in each man gripping
hold of the man in front of him. We knew we were in the battle zone alright
with the artillery on both sides blazing away and the very lights [19]
going up in the air like a Brooks firework display.
We done so much twisting and
turning in these zig-zag trenches that I was quite bewildered to learn that I
was in the front line trench and that not many yards in front of me was the
German army. The regiment we had relieved was the Middlesex Regiment and one of
them said to me as he was leaving “it’s all quiet here mate, so long as
you leave Gerry alone.” I was to recollect those words later. When a
very light went up, I saw that there was only six of us in our part of the
trench, but I knew on my right and left was the whole regiment. We had no time
to look about us for sentries were posted on the fire step of the trench with
strict [46] orders to keep their heads down and not to move about. They had to
be like statues. For the remainder there was plenty of work to do for there was
ammunition boxes to be brought up, rations to fetch up, trenches to repair, and
it was not long before we were all sodden with rain and covered in mud. Then to
add to our misery these trenches were infested with big rats who seemed to have
no fear because one only had to put his haversack down for a minute to find a
rat at it after the emergency biscuits it contained. I saw one man put his
haversack suspended by a wire in a manner to defeat rats but he had hardly
turned his back when a rat was hanging head down on that wire. But my worst
moment came when I was posted on the fire step as sentry for every man had to
take his turn as sentry. I had my orders not to move so judge of my dismay when
a big rat walked across my extended arm and just at that moment the Germans
sent a very light up, so I dare not flinch. But the worst time for sentries was
just before day break, that was known as zero hour, that is when every man
stands to, tense and alert for that was when an attack could be expected. And
one could feel the sigh of relief that came when the order “Stand Easy” was
given for we knew that was one danger past.
When daylight came there was a
chance of a smoke for those who were not on duty, and I saw a crude notice that
was scrawled on a board, and was evidently done by a previous occupant of these
trenches. It read “keep your head down when passing here.” Then I saw something
uncanny at this angle of the trench for in less than 30 minutes we had a dozen
men killed one after the other. They were all shot in the head. It was clear to
everyone that not far away there was a concealed German sniper. A burial party
was told to bury these men in some side trench. I know that they did not climb
out of the trenches as that would have been too dangerous. And just then the
artillery started a duel, the shells travelling over us with a noise like
electric express trains. Some of these dropped near the burial party, so the
dead were hastily buried. It was then I understood the peculiar smell in these
trenches. It was then I understood why the rats were so big and so bold.
[47] But if some of us were in
low spirits, there was one who was not, and that was my mate Moe Mason, for
nothing seemed to upset him. I don’t know what he was like in the police force,
but in the army he was the “life and soul of the party” with his brazen
impudence and kept us in fits of laughter. So judge of our amusement when the
officers came round asking if any man could cook (for they wanted a man to cook
their food), when Mason said “I can cook sir.” So they took him to the
officer’s dug-out in the trench that was screened by a blanket. A little while
later Mason came to me and said “you ought to see what they have got down
there. All their stuff comes from Fortnum & Mason in Regent’s Street. They
have got tinned chicken, tinned soup, tinned butter, biscuits and bottles of
whisky. I will bring you out some later.” And sure enough he did, for I had
soup, chicken, and he did not forget a tot of whisky. He then said “I must go
and scrounge some wood” and I knew where he was going to steal this wood
because in the rear trenches the Royal Engineers had a dump of barbed wire,
wooden stakes, brush wood, and all things necessary to strengthen the trenches.
The rain had ceased and it was a clear day when Moe Mason approached this dump
so he thought he would have an hour’s precious sleep, so he climbed on this
stack of brush wood but his weight caused it to sag in the middle so presently
Moe Mason was sound asleep in a hollow.
But what was his dismay when he
opened his eyes to see a full blown General staring down at him with a
full breast of medal ribbons on him. “Who are you?” roared the general. “Mason
of the 5th Dragoon Guards Sir” said Moe. “Stand to attention when
you speak to me” roared the General. “But I can’t bloody well get up Sir” said
Mason as he struggled in the midst of the brush wood. The General swore and
threatened what he was going to have done to Mason, when Moe saw that he was
wearing the South African war ribbon that he himself was wearing, so he said
“You would not get an old soldier into trouble that was with you in the Boer
War would you sir?” and the General went away grinning, and when Moe came and
told us his adventure we also grinned.
But it was our [48] adjutant who
was the cause of what happened to us that day, for he came round looking for
something he could find fault with. He was escorted by the officers, and I
heard him say “it’s rather quiet here, let’s stir them up, let them know we are
here. Give them the 15 rounds rapid.” There was ten cartridges in the magazine
of a rifle [20] and
with another clip of 5 cartridges it would be possible to fire them all off in
one minute. The sound effects would be the same as a machine gun. But there was
no visible target, for the Germans like ourselves were in their trenches, yet
every man had to fire 15 rounds into space. In my view it was a senseless
order. In my view it was a waste of ammunition. But we got our answer quick
enough. We certainly had stirred them up, for the Germans plastered our
trenches with high explosive shell fire. I thought the end of the world had
come as I crouched against the wall of the trench. For the earth trembled under
my feet and it seemed as if the trench was closing in on us. On the left and
right of us shells had landed in the trench and men were blown to fragments. It
seemed an eternity before our own heavy guns started firing, and that diverted
the Germans. It was then I remembered the words of the soldier I had relieved
the night before – “it’s all quiet here mate so long as you leave Gerry alone.”
It was with gratitude as far as I
was concerned that I heard we were to be relieved at night. I do not know how I
looked but the faces of all the others was grey and their eyes red-rimmed for
want of sleep. We staggered to the buses that was to take us back. The roll
call had shown we had heavy losses. Now anyone would have thought that after
such an ordeal we would have been allowed to relax to have some leisure, but we
had to clean up, we had to attend to our horses. And then we received a shock,
for recollect none of us were conscripts, we all were regular soldiers, trained
and used to army discipline. There had been no panic under shell-fire, there
had been no weakening of morale, yet a new order was now issued - sergeants
must not fraternize with the men. They must give an order and if it was not
instantly obeyed, the man must be arrested and charged. [49] Furthermore, the sergeants
must not answer any questions. This meant that if you asked your troop sergeant
a question, he stared at you as though you did not exist. I think the sergeants
felt this more bitterly than the men, because formerly when work was done and
we were off duty, they would come across to our camp fire and have a chat and a
drink of the men’s tea. Besides, the squadron sergeant major who was their boss
now treated them like dogs and that was the manner the Brains of our
command expected to win this war. We had to parade every evening to hear the sergeant-major
read out regimental orders and there was always a post script of a long list of
men who had been court-marshalled and shot at dawn for various charges.[21]
It seemed as though we were to be treated worse than convicts.
We were well aware that the poor
battered infantry were suffering terrible casualties, especially among their
company officers and although we had no respect for the staff officers in their
glossy riding boots and smart uniforms and who were known as brass hats, we all
had the deepest admiration for the infantry officers who were in the trenches
with their men. These were officers who led their men “over the top” to the
attack on the German trenches, by the orders they received from the command who
were well out of danger in the rear, whose staff head-quarters was in some
chateaux where they had man servants to wait upon them. But so serious was the
losses incurred among these infantry officers, that the War Office decreed that
sergeants and sergeant-majors in the cavalry regiments should be granted
commissions as officers so we lost our sergeant-major and troop sergeants. But
this led to some grim jests by our men, who maintained that they were
committing suicide and that they only had four days to live and according to
their time take this is how those four days would be spent. On the first day
they would go to Cox’s Bank in London and cash their cheque for the officer’s
allowance, on the second day they would get their officer’s uniforms and kit,
on the third day they would get gloriously drunk around Piccadilly, on the
fourth day they would join their infantry battalion, go “over the top” and finish.
[50] This order also offended our
wealthy cavalry officers who had been trained at Sandhurst College. The mere
thought that they would have to associate with ranker officers was
repugnant to them. These also had they had plenty of money could go on leave to
London for a few hours where they were to be found in high class hotels and
restaurants. This came to the notice of Labour MPs in the House of Commons who
demanded that if officers could obtain leave why not the men, so the order came
that all men who had been at the front for over 12 months should have 96 hours
leave, but I was out there 15 months before it came to my turn for leave.[22]
And what an exciting time for me it was in such a short space of time, for we
were honour bound to return so as to permit another man to have leave.
Although I had taken every care
to keep myself clean, we were herded together in cattle trucks coming down from
the front, that I was lousy when I reached home in my full kit, so my first
request was a bath and a change of linen. My relations could not understand
because I looked so clean. Then it was a rush around to see friends, and that
was how I met Jack Daly again after 15 months at his shop in Poplar. But there
had been great changes in those 15 months. Women were working in the munition
factories and making khaki uniforms. The call of Lord Kitchener that your king
and country needed you now fell on deaf ears because the news of our serious
loses had reached the people. The government had appealed to men to come
forward and fight for their country, they put up Lord Derby [23] a
well-known sportsman to introduce a scheme. It was all in vain, so conscription
came and when I arrived in Poplar I found Jack’s wife Beattie in a very
anxious frame of mind, as they were taking able bodied men irrespective of
class, and she did not want Jack to be a soldier.[24]
At first I thought why should he evade it when others had to go? I had seen war
in all its grimness. Why should he not go and take his chance? But Beattie had
been good to my wife and me, she always brought something for my young
children, and so I suggested how he could avoid being a soldier, in fact how he
could avoid leaving the country, by joining the Navy.
[51] Now that may seem strange at
first, but all wars bring rackets and I knew a racket was being worked in this
one, for my own brother in law had been in the navy since he was a boy. He had
climbed the ladder of promotion and had retired on a chief petty officer’s
pension, but when war broke out he rejoined the navy and was now the chief
regulating officer at a naval depot, and this naval depot was the Crystal
Palace. I knew that there were two sailors from this depot who in civilian life
were two well-known music hall comedians and I knew they were now appearing in
a leading part at the Drury Lane Theatre in pantomime and they had not missed a
performance. So it was a clear indication that a racket was being worked. About
twelve months previously I paid a visit to Portsmouth to meet my brother in law
and his family and while there I had been introduced to and became acquainted
with some chief petty officers who were friends of his. I knew these CPOs were
now at the naval depot at the Crystal Palace, and in the last few hours of my
short leave I was calling on them before going to Victoria Station and I
thought I might be able to do something for Jack Daly. I explained to his wife
Beattie what she would have to do when she received my letter. I was almost sure
that if Jack was accepted for the navy, in due course in the process of his
naval training he would arrive at the Crystal Palace where he was to make
himself known as a relative of mine, so Beattie was very grateful for my
endeavour.
My wife and her sister who were
seeing me off at Victoria Station came to the Crystal Palace with me.[25]
We all had tea in the warrant officers mess and my brother in law and another
warrant officer made up the party to accompany me to the station and on the way
I fixed it up about JD. But what a sight was Victoria Station. They had erected
barricades to prevent relatives and friends intruding on the platform where the
long troop-train was waiting. Most of the women were weeping and the men’s
faces were grave, because they knew that for some it was a final parting.
Victoria Station was aptly described as the Station of Sadness and Sighs. As
soon as a soldier crossed the barrier then his leave expired. Military Police
examined his papers and he was [52] hustled into a railway carriage, words of
command were shouted. The parting was over. The leave was over. You were back
in the army. Nearly every soldier was silent and depressed. No joking or
laughter when the train reached Folkestone.
The sea was rough and we thought
we might have another day in ‘Blighty’, but that night the ship came alongside
and we were herded aboard in the darkness. Then an officer came along to see
that each man had his life-belt on because although the ship was escorted by
two destroyers it was a risky crossing on account of the German submarines. At
Boulogne we were marched early in the morning to a base-camp. There was a
couple of hundred of us all from different regiments marching into this camp,
and then I heard the angry shouts and wondered what it was all about until I
saw what they were shouting for. There lined up to meet us was some celebrities
of the boxing ring and these were dressed as physical training instructors
which of course was phoney and we all knew this was a ‘racket.’ They were dodgers,
and they were not the only ones. Other well-known faces were here for safety.
The camp commandant’s face went white when he heard that shout and so we were
formed up in a hollow square while he made a speech. He made all sorts of
excuses, why these men were retained at the base, but that was not all that
upset us, because we saw army lorry drivers cooking their breakfasts at the
roadside of nice thick slices of bacon that was destined for the troops in the
front line trenches. The people in England were sending out to the troops,
cigarettes, tobacco, and other comforts and these were being stolen at the
base.
When I rejoined my regiment I did
not have a lot to say and my mates left me alone to get over my despondency,
because they all had the same experience after returning from leave. I know it
was a couple of days before I was normal. Due to the weather and the conditions
prevailing we were issued with a ration of rum. This worked out at eight men to
a pint of rum so a man received a tablespoon full. This rum is excellent to
repel cold if taken at its full strength, but yet again the troops were done
down, for the sergeant major and the sergeants had first approach to it and
also more than their share [53] and they made up the deficiency with water. We
all knew this but there was nothing we could do about it except grouse. But
there was one amongst us who evidently had other ideas, and that was my mate
Moe Mason, for nothing seemed to escape his keen eyes.
We were halted one day on a
march. The order came to feed our horses and rest easy. When Mason came up to
me and asked me what I had in my water-bottle, I told him water, for ever since
my South African experience I always kept my water-bottle filled. “Lend it to
me” said Mason. “What for?” I said “you have got your own water-bottle slung
around your neck.” “Don’t argue” he said “lend it to me”, and when I did so I
knew he contemplated mischief. Then a short time afterwards I heard a sergeant major
shout “has anyone seen my water-bottle?” and he came straight over to Mason and
said “show me your water-bottle”, which being given to him he tasted and
spat it out. It was mine. It only held water. What he was searching for was
rum. Presently Moe Mason shouted “here’s a water bottle”, pointing to one on
the ground on its side with the cork out, “is this yours sir?” The Sergeant
Major glared at the troops who were trying to stop from laughing, because they
knew what he must have had in the bottle, the rum he had pinched, and now
someone had pinched it off him.
When we had halted again Mason
came up with my bottle and said “empty that water away and have some rum.” Now
both of us knew the potency of this spirit and it would never do to get drunk,
for that would be asking for serious trouble, so I used to put a little drop in
my tea, and I was eking it out. But one night when we were all sitting on the
ground drinking our tea a fellow close to me shouted “I can smell rum.” I
nearly choked myself drinking that tea and quickly rinsed the mess-tin out, but
it was a narrow squeak. But Moe Mason was not finished with this sergeant major
because I saw him watching every move this sergeant major made, and that’s how
he came to find out that he kept a jar of run back that should have been issued
to the troops. But this incident happened on our way back from the Battle of
Cambrai.[26]
I ought to explain that there had
been some [54] considerable changes since the early months of the war. For now
the men who had enrolled in Kitchener’s Army were now fully trained and in the
field, and ship-loads of troops had arrived from Australia, Canada, and New
Zealand. We also had a naval division with their heavy-gun[s], even the
conscripts were having the finishing touch to their training behind the lines.
So we now had several army corps, and the 1st Cavalry Division was
attached to these in turn, if and when a ‘push’ had been planned, for the
cavalry were always in reserve for a break-through. It was the 3rd
Army we were attached to commanded by General Byng [27]
at Cambrai. The infantry had managed to make an advance that was grossly
exaggerated in the newspapers as a Great British victory, and we heard that the
church bells in England had been rung in honour of this event. Now no war
correspondents was allowed in the battle zone, so they must have obtained a
garbled version behind the lines to report what they did or else it was done to
revive the morale of the people at home, for the facts were that the Germans
counter-attacked the very next day and drove our men back to where they had
started from. In effect the Battle of Cambrai was a failure. My own view was
that the espionage system of the Germans must have been perfect, for they
seemed to be fore-warned. There was certainly a leakage of information, and
that did not come from the troops, for we had been forbidden to talk about what
we did and all our letters were censored, besides, none of us knew anything
about the strategy of the war.
I saw Sir Douglas Haig in his car
that day looking at the map. He had generals and staff officers with him and he
was in a terrible rage, so it was obvious there had been yet another blunder. I
heard a fellow next to me say as we rode along “The Brains of the British Army
I could put in a thimble” and I was inclined to agree with him, because
although we were sleeping rough and our horses and saddles were out in the open
unprotected from the weather, we were expected to be just as clean as if we
were in barracks. Boots and buttons had to be polished and our steel-work
bright and burnished. We had inspections nearly every day, besides guard
duties, and the sergeant-major seemed [55] to delight in bullying the sergeants
for not being stricter with the men, all of whom hated him, but he was smarmy
towards the officers almost licking their boots. One of the officers gave him a
very valuable coat. It was a uniform coat that was fur-lined, and he was going
to send this coat home to England, but he kept the jar of rum he had stolen
from the troops rolled up with this coat and made into a parcel. This package
he used to put on the ammunition-limber that was drawn by four horses, with
instructions to the two drivers to take care of it on the line of march. Now
Moe Mason had observed all this, so as we came away from Cambrai, he must have
put his plan into effect, because that evening when we halted and bivouacked
the parcel was missing.
The two drivers declared that it
was impossible for it to have fallen off the limber, so the sergeant-major went
around like a bear with a sore head, smelling the men’s breaths. He would come
up close and ask a question, but we all guessed what was the matter and we was
all hoping that one of the officers had taken it by mistake, for then there
would be an enquiry and it would be traced to him, and he would have to account
for having this rum in his possession. Then someone mentioned in his hearing
that the two cooks told off to make the tea were drunk. He almost ran over to
these two men only to find they were perfectly sober. But if he had gone around
the next night, he would have found all the men smelt of rum. There were
plenty of mud-filled shell holes at that place so the coat and empty jar
was never found, and for weeks after when he was near, one man would say to
another “it was a mystery how the sergeant major lost his coat.”
For a couple of months I was away
from my regiment and my mates, as I was one of a dismounted detachment under
the command of a captain ordered to the Somme Battle-Front for night-work.
None of us had the least idea what was meant by night-work, because they never
give any explanations in the army, one gets an order that has to be instantly
obeyed. I think the term should be blind obedience, but we were
told that we would sleep in the day-time. We travelled in army lorries as it
was a long distance from where the regiment had camped. [56] We passed through
towns and villages as yet untouched by the war with shops, restaurants,
business premises, all of them conducting business as usual. We passed men and
women working on the land and it all seemed so peaceful. It was a lovely day
with the sun shining, the sort of day one would choose for a picnic, and then
we came to the battle zone.
What a contrast it was. It was
just as if we had arrived at the verge of a desert. Nothing but desolation,
rubble, and clouds of dust. Not a building left standing, all razed to the
ground and although it was summer-time not a blade of grass to be seen and only
the stump of trees that had been blasted by shell fire. Military policemen
covered in dust were challenging and directing the traffic. There were no
French people here, this was British territory. Our driver asked a policeman
for direction as to our destination, and then I noticed that our troops had
given their own descriptions to various places, for there were crude sign posts
up stating “this way to Tommy Trench” “This way to Dead Horse Hollow.” There
were soldiers and wagons everywhere. I saw some steel Nissan huts that our
troops had erected to be used as offices and store-rooms, but this was only the
beginning because we had to go on further.
When we stopped our final job was
to put up our tents which had to be in a straight line, and the lorries having
gone back, I got a chance to look around me. Close to us on our left was a
captive observation balloon with the artillery observer in the suspended basket
high up in the sky. From this a field telephone cable led to a battery of guns
on our right-front. I noticed that these artillery men had dug a deep shelter
close to these guns and I was soon to learn the reason, because I saw these men
emerge from this shelter putting out their pipes and cigarettes and form-up
behind their guns. I heard the officer give them the elevation at so many
degrees for they were firing from “the map.” I heard the order to fire, and
then to my amazement they dashed into their deep shelters like a lot of
rabbits. I realised only too well [57] what that meant as we all took cover. I
thought all hell had been let loose over there for German high explosive shells
was bursting all around those guns making deep craters in the ground. But that
was not all, for when the shaking had ceased, a German aeroplane came out of
the blue and set the observation balloon on fire. The observer jumped out and
was parachuting to the ground when this airman circled around him firing at him
with his pistol. Instantly we all seized our rifles and fired at him, and we
thought we had hit him for his plane came tumbling over and over just like a
wounded bird. But just when he was a few feet from the ground he flattened out and
went skimming away to the German lines. We almost cheered that German so full
of admiration were we at what he had done, and we agreed if anyone deserved
medals, then our observer and this German deserved them, for it was so
thrilling. Our people soon had another balloon up, and the same observer, who
was unhurt, went up again. But for sheer audacity this same plane came back
again, but this time we were all prepared and he was driven off.
For the first couple of weeks we
all thought what an easy job we had. We had no horses to worry about, we had
good rations, we had fine weather, and there was no guard duty to do. Also,
there was little danger in the work we were doing. The engineers to whom we
were attached had erected water-tanks at the entrance to the communications
trench and we had to lay water-pipes up to the front line trenches, but it all
had to be done at night. But then we got more dangerous work to do, for we had
to work in what was termed “the out.” That is outside the trenches in “No
Man’s Land.” We had to erect barbed wire entanglement. We worked in pairs
under supervision of a private in the Royal Engineers. We first of all posted
our “look-outs” who had to lay flat on the ground with their guns at the ready
position. The remainder of us were issued with thick leather mittens,
and warned that a soon as a very rocket was fired into the sky we were to keep
perfectly still. These rockets as they descended to the earth illuminate the
ground but they only last a minute, but it was a nerve wracking experience to
me every time one went up, as I felt as if cold water [58] was running down my
spine.
But there were any amount of
unburied dead laying around in strange posture. I saw one sitting up, another
on his hands and knees as if he was looking down a grating. I saw one in the
German barbed wire like a scare crow one sees in a field with his tattered
clothing fluttering in the breeze as one of these rockets lit up this area
where we were working. I was told that this one on the wire had been there
since the early days of the war and that nearly every sentry who came on duty
at that part of the front line trench had fired at it in mistake.
One half of us was employed in
hammering in the long iron stakes into the ground while the others came along
with the barbed wire which is coiled on a big reel with a hole in the ends
through which a stick is passed. Two men handle this reel. It was not such a
simple job as putting a single wire fence up. This had to be an elaborate job,
for these engineers certainly know their work. This entanglement had to be of
varying heights and extend in depth for about three yards until it was level
with the ground. It was a man-trap, anyone getting caught in that wire had
about as much chance as a fly has on a fly-paper. We all had to be out of it
before daybreak and no one was more relieved than I was when the order came to
“pack up.”
There was one thing I noticed, we
never received any bullying from officers or sergeants while we were on this
job. On the contrary they went out of their way to be friendly with us. It was
quite a different atmosphere to that of being with the regiment, but owing to
the stress of the previous months I had failed to write home to my wife, so I
was surprised when I was told my captain wanted to see me. I went to his tent
which he used as an office and saluted him. “Why have you not wrote to your
wife?” he asked. I explained that none of us had any leisure time during recent
times. “Well, write now” he said, “you sit down and write now because she is
very anxious about you.” At the same time he lent me his pen and gave me a
field service postcard half of which is printed to say you are fit and well.
But as I sat down to write I could see he was studying me. Then when I gave him
the card [59] he said “Can you read a map?” I said “yes sir.” He said “Well
here are two maps. I have got a job on the general’s staff, so I want you to go
back to the regiment tomorrow and fetch my horse back here at the same time as
you bring your own, as I shall want you to be my orderly. You can travel back
on the ration lorry tomorrow as far as it goes then you must manage to pick up
another lorry to take you the rest of the way to where the regiment is.” I said
“I will need a document in case I am challenged.” He said “I never thought of
that, but of course you will.” So he wrote me an official pass. He gave me some
money for expenses, and the next day I went off on the lorry to find the 5th
Dragoon Gds.
This lorry took me less than half
way, but the driver had advised me how to pick up another lorry, and by
enquires I found the regiment was in a French village. After I had reported my
errand to those concerned I sought out Mason and the rest of my mates who were
all pleased to see me. There was a little estaminet (a small wine shop) in this
village and that was well patronized by our chaps in the evening. It was kept
by an aged French woman. It was a proper old world establishment not unlike one
we read about in novels of old time France, but I don’t suppose it was ever so
crowded as it was now by our chaps. Some were playing cards, others were
gambling on the crown and anchor board, this is a game where the owner of the
board has the advantage of three chances to your one. It comprises the heart,
the diamond, the club, the spade, the crown and the anchor, painted on a board
and is played with three dice on each of which is painted the above. The
betting is even money, but should three of one kind show up you get a treble
concession. As we passed this board to get to the bar I placed two francs on
the heart but talking to Mason and the others about our job on the Somme I
forgot all about it, and some time later I heard a shout of “who owns all this
money on the heart?” It was remarkable for it had shown up continuously, and my
stake had doubled each time so my winnings was a large sum. But where I was
going the next morning, back to the Somme battle zone, money was useless so I
treated [60] the whole crowd of them to bottles of white wine (vin blanc). This
can make you intoxicated, so I had a hangover at daybreak the next morning, but
I had plenty of willing workers to help me and see to it, that I had all I
required for my journey.
It was a novel experience for me
to find my way alone. I did not push my horses too hard and when I came to an
hotel that had stables, I saw that they were well cared for. Of course as soon
as I arrived in the area of the Somme I was challenged by our military police.
We used to term them ‘red-caps’ and none of us had any liking for these police
when we were in England as their main purpose seemed to be to get soldiers into
trouble, but out here it was a different matter, as the jobs they had to do was
both difficult and dangerous. You could come across them directing traffic on a
road that was being shelled by German artillery, and they had no cover to
protect them. So when I was challenged by these police I showed them the
document that my officer had given me.
My first job was to report to him
and he immediately came over to look and fondle his horse which was in good
condition and did not look any worse from the long journey we had done. This
captain gave me instructions what he wanted done. I was to go to him each
evening at 7 p.m. for orders. The rest of the time was my own (except to care
for the two horses). No more barbed wire work. No more taking orders from sergeants
and corporals. The only one I had to take notice of was the captain. It was the
first easy job that had come my way since I arrived in the country. When we
went up to the front on horseback we who were the orderlies stayed at the
entrance to the trenches to look after our horses, while the general and his
staff officers went on up to the front line. But one night while we were
waiting with the horses, a long distance shell exploded very near us making a
big crater in the ground. When our party returned the general said “We did not
expect to find you here.” He said to me “where did it drop?” I said “Just over
there sir” because it was so dark, yet when he flashed his torch we who were
the orderlies could see how close it had been.
This job as orderly came to an
end too soon for me, for we were ordered to the regiment for the big
offensive and strangely enough it was to be the Somme where this was to
take place. When I rejoined my troop I found it had been issued [61] with a
newly designed automatic gun. It was in the shape of a rifle and fired like a
rifle with a butt firmly pressed into the shoulder, at the muzzle end a tripod
was affixed to it and it was loaded by a clip containing 25 cartridges. It was
called the Hotchkiss rifle. It required three men as a team to work this new
invention, number one was the one who fired the gun, number two fed the
ammunition clips into the gun, and number three was in charge of the pack-horse
that carried this gun on its back and the cases of ammunition in panniers at
its side. He brought the gun into action and was responsible for it on the line
of march, and I was the number three that led this pack horse. In my view I had
the hardest job in the team because I had two horses to attend to and two sets
of saddling and harness to clean. We were continually rehearsing as a team with
this gun. We would gallop to a selected spot when the other two would quickly
dismount and hand the reins of their horses to me. They would then seize the
gun and ammunition from my pack horse and laying flat on the ground begin
blazing away at the target. I would wheel about with the four horses and gallop
to some sheltered hollow. This all had to be done quickly. It was a matter of
timing. I think they expected good results from this new weapon, as first the
colonel came to watch this rehearsal and then the general, and both clocked the
time it took, but what used to annoy and embarrass me was when we were on the
march the “top brass” used to come along and inspect my outfit. As most
soldiers know I would rather have been less conspicuous.
July the first 1916. The Battle
of The Somme began, and I saw another one of our inventions that day, it was
the first army tank, but unlike the elaborate tanks we have today. In fact we
called it a land Crab.[28] It
had caterpillar treads and was in the shape of a diamond ◊. The driver rode on
a bicycle saddle inside and his two mates had a Lewis Gun each to fire through
the turrets of the tank, but I should not have cared for their job. Any amount
of troops were there, the guns were blazing away on both sides and shrapnel
shells were bursting over our heads. We had to stand aside to let our foot
guards pass through. These were going to be thrown in to attack the German
lines. [62] These were the old type of foot-guards, every one of them was six
foot tall and as a Londoner I had often seen these same men in their scarlet
tunics and busbies and admired the precision of their marching as they took up
their various guard duties. They were now dressed in their khaki field service
uniforms, each man had a short trench spade stuck in his belt. They had
mills-bombs in their pockets, and with their bayonets fixed they certainly
meant to give a good account of themselves.
We were mustered in Carnoy
Valley. This was a deep hollow with a ridge that screened us from the enemy,
and as we had orders to “stand easy” we were free to move about, so several of
us climbed up the ridge to see the guards go into action, because if the Somme
attack could be termed a spectacle, then these guards were star performers. We
saw them go forward in an open order. Our guns had opened up with a barrage and
behind this barrage of artillery fire, the guards walked steadily. We saw the
gaps that came in their ranks from the concealed machine-guns of the Germans.
We saw them digging in and we knew something had gone wrong. Then a staff
officer came up to our own commanding officer and said “It’s a failure – get
your bloody cavalry out of here. This is an infantry job.” The poor battered
infantry have got to hold the line.[29] I
thought this staff officer seemed unnerved, but we retired a few kilometres
back in a very desolate place where we camped.
But at 4 a.m. the next morning
each troop had to send a detachment to form a burial party, and as usual those
who names are at the beginning of the alphabet were selected as I was one. None
of us had any idea where we were going when we rode out of camp that morning.
We passed through the empty and desolated town of Albert and we saw the church
whose spine had been hit by a shell dislodging a statue of the Virgin that had
been at its summit. It was uncanny to see this statue hanging head down with no
visible means of support. I daresay that I have heard hundreds of soldiers
commenting on this strange sight.
We arrived at Fricourt and what a
grim and horrible job awaited us. To our left and right I saw men from other
regiments already on the job of digging and pulling the dead out of dug-outs
and trenches. [63] As one party of men lifted these dead they searched for the
identity disc which every soldier carries. This was handed to the officer in
charge who wrote the particulars in a book. Then the second party conveyed them
to a deep trench that was to be their grave. If where we had been the day
before had been bad, this was much worse, for this place had been the scene of
hand to hand fighting. British and German dead lay here in strange postures.
That was unnerving to see. I saw a dead German who was trapped by a beam of
timber on the back of his neck, like a rat in a break neck trap. A bomb had
been thrown into this dug-out, and as he rushed out this timber had trapped
him. But what was awful to see was his face was laughing. I saw a man of the
Bedford regiment locked in death with a German. The British soldier had run his
bayonet through the German’s stomach but the German had run his bayonet through
our chap’s throat.
There were other gruesome sights.
When I looked at our officer’s face he seemed as if he wanted to be sick. I
think we all felt that way and was glad to get back to camp. We were a very
subdued body of men, and when the others came round asking what sort of job we
had been on, none of us had any desire to talk about it. But there are so many
various jobs to do in a cavalry regiment that next day the whole grisly scene
was erased from my mind. It seemed to me as if the discipline was becoming even
more strict, for we were having inspections and drills very frequent. The troop
sergeants seemed to snarl when they gave an order and men were being punished
for trivial offences. One of my mess-mates was a young fellow who came from
Newcastle. He was a good soldier who took great care of his horse. He thought a
great deal of this horse and used to fondle it, but just as we were about to
march one day, the troop sergeant ordered him to hand this horse over to an
officer’s servant while he would have to ride another horse. Now to be fair to
the servant, he had nothing to do with this arrangement, for he was like us, he
had to do what he was told. But the effect of this order on my young mess-mate
whose name was Davidson was sad to see. I saw the tears in his eyes. This
servant was also sorry and to spare [?] matters
with Davidson [64] he invited him over to the officer’s mess, where he gave him
a good mean and some whisky.
Now I don’t suppose Davidson had
even tasted whisky in his lie, and when he came back I could see he was drunk.
If it had been in the evening I could have concealed him, but it was in the
morning and we were saddling-up to mover off. I said to him “when the sergeant
comes round you are looking at your shoes.” But this sergeant came straight up
and said “Davidson.” Of course the young fellow straightened up. He could see
the state he was in, but even then I think it would have been alright, if
Davidson had remained quiet. Instead here before him was the man who had taken
away his horse, so he made a dash at the sergeant. He was over powered by the
men and placed in charge of the guard. I was awfully upset at the way matters
had turned out, but when I took him his evening meal I was shocked to see what
they had done to him, for he lay on the ground tightly bound hand and foot and
a rude gag had been forced in his mouth. I was mad with rage. I said to the sergeant
of the guard “Loosen those ropes” but he was another of the bullying type. He
said “And who the hell are you?” I said “Unless you loosen those ropes I am
going to fetch one of the officers here.” He said something about the prisoner
being violent and they had to use restraint, but he took the gag and ropes of
Davidson. Of course I told Mason and the other members of our clique all about
it, and Mason who had police training said to me “Watch your step, because
those bastards will try to frame you.”
The next morning when I took
Davidson his breakfast I said to him “Look Bill, I am an older man than you and
an older soldier, so will you take my advice.” He asked me what that was, so I
told him that I wanted him to send for the troop sergeant and apologise to him
for the attack he had made on him, and my reason for this was that I had an
idea that this sergeant Yates was at heart a decent type of a man, who had only
been carrying out his orders. In my view he was not to blame for the harsh
discipline, that was the policy of the fellows with the red tabs on their
uniforms and glossy boots. We all [65] knew that Davidson would be
court-martialled, and the officers comprising the court would not be officers
of the 5th Dragoon Guards, but officers from other regiments. We
also knew that Davidson faced a serious charge “drunk and striking a superior
officer while on active service.” These courts had the power to sentence
a man to death for had we all not listened to regimental orders with its post
script of the names and regiments of men who had died at the hands of a
firing-squad at dawn.
The following day this sergeant
Yates came up to me in the horse-lines where I was grooming my two horses and
said “Is that chap Davidson a ‘towney’ of yours?” I said “No sergeant, he comes
from Newcastle and I come from London.” And then I explained how upset Davidson
had been when ordered to hand over his horse to the officer’s servant. I told
him of the care and attention that he had lavished on this horse, all of which
was news to this sergeant who was as I guessed a decent type. Besides, all
troop sergeants like to have their men take an interest in their horses. I
would get up in the night if we were near a farm or a hay rick to get extra
forage for them. Of course I had to get permission from the sentry, because in
feeding my horses on the picket line it disturbed the others. But as a result
of my talk with the sergeant, when the court martial was held, no mention was
made of the whisky he had been given. The sergeant soft pedalled his evidence
and said Davidson was a good soldier and had previously given no trouble, so he
was sentences to 25 days field punishment No. 1. This is a senseless form of
punishment for the prisoner is crucified to a wagon wheel. With both arms
extended he is lashed with ropes tightly tied for two hours every day, he also
has to do all the unpleasant jobs there are to do in a camp. But we all knew
punishment could have been much worse.
Now although Davidson was
grateful to me, Moe Mason’s words came true because the sergeant-major had me
under suspicion as being a “sea-lawyer.” This means a man who causes
trouble. But I took great care not to give him a chance to make a charge
against me. But the next incident happened to one of our clique of which there
was five all belonging to different squadrons of the regiment. This man’s name
[66] was Jackie Fisher, who like myself had returned to the colours at the
outbreak of this war, and like the others had been with me in South Africa. He
was well educated and could speak three foreign languages fluently, these were
French, German, and Spanish. Before he had joined the army he had been a sailor
in the Mercantile Marine as a ship’s officer. Now one would have thought with
such a background, that when he was recalled as a reservist to the colours,
that he would have been sent to the navy, but that is the way the “brains” of
our army works. For he had to come to the 5th Dragoon Guards. But he
was quite a character. I do not know if he had any domestic worries for none of
us spoke of our home affairs, but he was certainly reckless. He was also a good
man to have with you in an emergency for he was a quick thinker. But his vice
was drink. If there was any possible chance to obtain drink Jackie Fisher would
be there, so there was no excuse for what he did.
In France there were some
villages we passed through or else camped near whose estaminets (pubs) were
placed out of bounds to all British troops mainly because they sold brandy and
rum. But to forbid any British soldier to do anything is simply an incitement
for him to do it. We were halted one day in a village in which one of these
pubs were with its placard outside stating “this place is out of bounds to all
British troops.” When it was found out that Jackie Fisher was missing we were
all ready to move off. There was Fisher’s horse but no Fisher. Presently he
came out of this pub speechless drunk and lay down on the foot path and went to
sleep. None of us could rouse him as much as we tried. The officer was furious.
“One of you bring his horse and leave him there” he shouted. So the regiment
moved off and left him stretched out on the footpath. Now when Jackie woke up
he found a circle of curious villagers around him. His knowledge of French
enabled him to have a good wash and brush up also some food and then he set off
to find the regiment.
He was able to find the camp of
another cavalry regiment that belonged to our brigade. This was the 2nd
Dragoon Guards who were termed the Queen’s Bays on account of their bay horses.
Jackie Fisher made his way to where the cooks were preparing the evening meal
and to their engussers [?] he stated that [67]
he had just come out of hospital and had missed the regiment. So clever was he
in acting this part, that he even obtained the sympathy of their sergeant-major
who ordered the transport to take him to his regiment, and that was how Jackie
Fisher arrived back ‘in state.’ He was not in the least worried and did not
want any telling where he had to go, for he went straight over to the
guard-tent and surrendered himself as a prisoner to the sergeant of the guard.
We were all wondering what punishment he would receive. He came up before the
colonel carefully dressed and smart in appearance and was sentenced to spend 25
days Field Punishment No. 1, exactly the same punishment meted out to Davidson,
but in this case it was to have different results, because when they lashed
Jackie Fisher to the wagon wheel it was behind an estaminet (pub) and as he was
securely fastened no guards were posted over him. The daughter of the landlord
at thus pub came out into the garden and Jackie attracter her attention. She
was full of compassion and wanted to get a knife and cut him loose, but Jackie
said “No.” Then he told her to take some money out of his pocket and bring him
a bottle of brandy. When she brought the brandy he told her to pore it down his
throat which she did and when they came to untie him at the end of the two
hours, Jackie Fisher was drunk again, and they wondered how a man who was tied
hand and feet could get in such a state.
But several of us knew the full story. At any rate Jackie was not tied
up any more because we got urgent orders to move on a forced march to Arras for
a big offensive.[30]
We arrived there on Easter Sunday
1917[31],
and by a freak of the weather there was a heavy snow storm with a freezing
northern wind. The snow was blinding and visibility was nil. We got orders to
load the magazines of our rifles with five rounds and have one in the breach
with the safety catch on, so we all thought we were going to get through. We
got as far as St Catherine that is East of Arras under heavy shell fire and
shrapnel fire, but the snow storm seemed to stop all the fighting it became so
dark that it was almost uncanny. I had endured some severe weather in this
campaign since 1914, but I consider that was the worst I had encountered.
We were halted and told to
dismount. [68] Our major told us to make a bonfire as the weather prevented and
craft from flying. We did not far to go for firewood as quite close to us was a
ruined sugar factory, all the same some of our chaps risked their limbs in
pulling the timber from these ruins. I was detailed off to make some tea as we
had orders to use our emergency rations, so with two dixies I went to find some
water which I got from a shell hole for there is a belief in the army that any
water is fit to drink provided it has been boiled. We of course had no milk in
our tea but it was hot strong and sweet and everyone said what a lovely drop of
tea it was. There is a reason why I mention this as I will relate presently.
Now although I had helped to build this fire there was such a crowd round it
that I could not get even a glimpse of it. Our horses were formed in a circle
and kept on the move because of the freezing wind. I was dead weary for want of
sleep as I lay down in the snow and covered myself with a blanket. Then I felt
both my legs go number so staggered to my feet. By the glare from the fire I
saw a mound of snow not unlike a newly dug grave and I realized that under it
was one of our chaps. I hastily cleared the snow away and shouted to the men
around the fire to come and give me some help as this man was frozen stiff. We
got him to his feet, slapped him, rubbed snow in his face and dragged him [up] and down until we had restored him to a sense of
his surroundings. Years later I was to meet that man in Oxford Street. He was a
taxi cab driver and he made a terrible fuss of me for saving his life.
When daylight came there was some
more tea to be made but another man had the job of making it. He asked me where
I had got the water from the previous night and I pointed to the shell hole.
When he got there he started shouting “Come here some of you and see where
Casey got the water.” We ran up and standing in this shell hole were three dead
German soldiers whose bodies had decomposed. Their faces were green. The
language the troops used is unprintable, but I quietly reminded them that they
all had said “What a lovely drop of tea it was.”
We were told that our advanced
troops had taken the front line trenches of the Germans and had captured
hundreds of prisoners [69] and presently we saw these prisoners coming towards
us and stumbling through the snow all held their hands above their heads
including their officers yet the only escort that I could see was a couple of
our infantry-men with fixed bayonets. But also coming towards us was a long
line of stretcher bearers and walking wounded men. We found that we were not to
be used but to retire a few kilometres back behind the line. None of us had any
sleep, and our horses were so stiff and weak so that they staggered as we
mounted on their backs. We passed the advanced dressing station and saw outside
on the ground a wide area of stretchers of badly wounded men, Germans as well
as British all awaiting the attention of the over worked surgeons who looked
more like butchers than doctors in their blood stained overalls. The hospital
orderlies were hurrying from one stretcher to another at the call for water.
But also outside was a pile of blanket covered dead with only their booted feet
exposed to view and each of these had a ticket attached to them. Then strangely
enough the sun came out with a summery glow and the snow rapidly melted. The
warmth of the sun caused our wet garments to steam. It was also strange to see
those long ranks of cavalrymen riding along enveloped in a steam cloud. We had
a German aeroplane hovering above us. He was “spotting” for his artillery and
we soon knew that we were the target as shrapnel shells began bursting in the
sky quite close. But our colonel gave the order to change our direction which
took us out of the line of fire.
We entered a wood where we halted
and made camp after attending to our horses. Fires were lit and we made some
tea, but the order was that all fires must be extinguished before dark as we
were resting there for the night. I saw some of our chaps were digging shallow
trenches to sleep in so as to evade shell splinters, but I could not be
bothered and decided to sleep at the base of a tree near an open glade. We all
saw that this glade had been the scene of recent fighting, as there were dead
bodies of Canadian soldiers and Germans laying around, and death had caught
them in strange postures. There were three Germans just climbing out of a
ditch. One Canadian was putting a biscuit in his mouth. All [70] were like a
lot of wax work figures in a museum. But so inured were we at seeing such
sights, that we viewed them with a detached interest.
I lay down under the tree but for
some reason I could not sleep. I could hear the German plane up in the sky
cruising around. It was the first time in the history of war that aeroplanes
had been used they had no wireless as that had not come into general use. They
signalled with the Morse code. Then I saw standing close to where I was laying
the figure of a tall man in khaki. I said “what job are you on mate?” and to my
astonishment he ran away, so I got up to look which way he had run. It was then
I discovered the dug-out with steps leading down so I went down and struck a match
and there on a rude shelf was a telephone receiver. So I went and brought my
troop-sergeant to see it but either he did not wish to be bothered or else he
did not wish to disturb the officers. He said that our people had cut the wire
but I knew he was wrong yet I dare not contradict him. I lay down again and it
was then I heard the shot. It was a sentry of a regiment next to us, The
Queen’s Bays who had fired. I jumped [?] up with
my rifle and saw he was firing at the tall fellow whom I had spoken to. He was
running towards me in a series of leaps and bounds, so I fired and I got him.
Up came this sentry. “Did you see what he was doing?” he asked me. “No” I
replied. “Come here and I will show you” he said, so we both went out in this
glade, and then I saw what he meant. For on the ground in the shape of an arrow
was some tree wood covered in phosphorus paint. This fellow was a German
dressed in our uniform who was signalling to the German plane overhead. But
when I reported it, no comment was made. It seems to be the practice in the
army only to find fault and never to give praise.
But soon we received the order to
saddle up and mount and we moved to the opposite end of this wood facing the
roadway where we dismounted and holding our horses’ bridles stood in a long
line listening to the German shells exploding in the place we had recently
vacated. This persistent German plane descended to tree-top level and I saw
clearly the black cross on its under carriage. Then there was a terrific
explosion that rocked the ground and nearly stampeded [71] our horses for this
air-man had blown up one of our ammunition dumps at the side of the road. This
developed into a blazing bonfire and we must have been observed by him in its
glare. Looking back into the wood I noticed a light as if someone was carrying
a lantern. I pointed this out to a man standing next to me. “Keep your mouth
shut” he whispered. “Why?” I asked. He said “You will be asked to go in there
and find out what it is.” I suddenly realized how right this fellow was,
because that is just what would have happened if I had reported it to my troop sergeant,
so discretion came before valour for I don’t profess to be any hero, so I kept
my mouth shut.
We received the order to mount
and in single file and keeping close to the side of the road we rode at a fast
trot away from this dangerous spot, when we got the order to form sections we
all knew we were safe. Back we went for about 18 kilometres and we halted and
camped at one of the most pleasant places I had yet seen in this campaign. This
was a grassy meadow surrounding by fruit trees. In the distance one could see a
large town which was St Pol. Close and nearby was a village with ships, houses
and an estaminet. It all looked so peaceful. It was like returning to
civilisation. It seemed hard to believe that only three days previously we had
been frozen, that we had been in Arras where death and destruction was rife.
Our immediate needs was a bath, as we were dirty and lousy, so it was a great
pleasure to be marched to a nearby brewery where there was a huge vat of
running hot water. We carried a change of underwear in our saddle wallets. We
also were able to boil our dirty washing, in fact within a few hours we all
were as smart and as clean as if we were home in barracks. I found time then to
write some letters home, all of which had to be censored by an officer so could
not mention any of our experiences.
We had a deal of inspections and
drill, notably bayonet fighting. For this purpose we had an instructor from the
Scots Guards to teach us how to push the bayonet into the dummies that were
laid out along the difficult course we had to advance over. He made it very
real and he would insist on us using bad language. I thought [72] surely this
is out of order, to force a man to swear, but he told us that when you stabbed
a man you did not say “take that ‘mate’’ you said instead “take that you ---
German bastard” (I have a reason in describing this as I shall relate further
on in this manuscript). We also had practice with the Mills hand grenade. Now
since the beginning of the war there had been three types of bombs with which
we practiced with. The first type was one you had to light with a match like a
firework, this was fixed to a small wooden bat not unlike a Ping-Pong bat. The
second type was in a jam tin and called the plum and apple bomb. The mills bomb
was pear-shaped and when you extracted the pin you had so many seconds in which
to get rid of it. It was thrown like a cricketer throws a ball and its
explosion had a 50 yard radius. But our tricky instructor wanted us to hold it
until the last two seconds. I always threw mine as soon as the pin was out. But
it was in bayonet fighting that I came off best, because I had watched every
detail of the expert instructor from the foot-guards sent to teach us, notably
the drawing up of the right leg when one is lying in a prone position for this
gives one a leverage to rise quickly to one’s feet. This experience was being
watched not only by our own officers, but also staff officers. I was therefore
embarrassed and nervous when one of the latter said “I want that man to do it
by himself.” So I went through all the actions alone. Then he said “that’s the
way it has got to be done.”
Well, well, did I hear about it
from the troops when we sat down to tea that evening. They kept saying “did you
hear about Old Casey being sorted out by the brass-hat?” Several reckoned I
would be promoted and they were certainly right, for next day our major came up
and told me I was a corporal and that my name would be in the orders that
night. Moe Mason and the rest of our clique was furious. Mason said I wanted my
brains tested if I took the stripes. He said “it is not as if you are going to
stop in the army after the war and besides you are only going to be a lackey
for the sergeants.” And to a certain degree he was right, for a corporal does
all the running about for the sergeants. He has to keep a rota of men for
fatigue duties and men for guard duties. If he takes his man on guard parade
and that man’s outfit is not clean [73] it’s the orderly corporal who gets a
telling off from the regimental sergeant major. He was also responsible for the
division of the rations so that each had equal shares, but still it had its
advantages, there was no more Sentry Go for two hours at a stretch, no more
miserable fatigue duties, and you were entitled to give orders. But I was
resolved it would make no difference to my friendship with Mason and co.
I had not been promoted very long
before I was in trouble through doing a man a good turn. There was a tall
muscular man who had been called up as a reservist for the war in my squadron.
He came from Yorkshire where he had been employed in the woollen mills making
cloth. He and myself had much in common for in civilian life he was a trade
unionist and so was I. At that time to be a trade unionist was like sticking
one’s neck out for trouble as they were not popular. But from what little he
told me about his domestic life, I was led to believe that being called up had
disrupted certain plans he had made so that he was short tempered. I would
personally not like to upset him if he was drunk. One day he left the camp and
found one of those forbidden estaminets that sold absinthe, brandy, rum, etc.
and although he was the only customer in the place the proprietor left the door
wide open so anyone passing could see inside. Then there came along an officer
of the army service corp. He was a well known race-horse trainer and had been a
jockey so he was not very tall, but seeing this soldier in a forbidden pub, he
went in and ordered him out. But our man had drunk too much to realise the
position. “I am a cavalry man” he shouted “and not a short --- Comms.” That was
the nick-name we call them, Comms, short for Commiserat [?] This officer went and fetched the guard owing to the man’s
threatening gestures, and he was arrested. It was a foregone conclusion that he
would face a district court-martial, for this affair had been reported to
General Head Quarters, and was very serious indeed.
My acquaintance with him had told
me that he had a wife and family at home, so I managed to get to see him. I
told him to say that he suffered from stomach trouble and for days he could not
eat solid food and on the day in question the pain had been acute. He went to
buy some brandy at this pub [74] which on an empty stomach made him dizzy so
that he had no clear recollection of seeing the officer. To this he agreed. I
got him to rehearse what he was to say as an excuse, but I did not know that I
should be one of the escort to march him in to the court martial. A deal board
mounted upon two trestles and covered with an army blanked was the table behind
which was seated three officers, a major, a captain, and a lieutenant all from
different regiments and the major in the centre was the president of the court.
Two other officers were there, one as the prosecutor and one as the prisoner’s
‘friend’, also this one who had made the charge and our sergeant-major. To hear
the manner that charge was read out one would have thought it was the ‘Old
Bailey’ but when it came to the time when the prisoner is asked had he anything
to say, this unfortunate fellow was tongue tied. He could not speak. So I
quietly kicked his foot as a reminder to say what I had suggested. But I did
not know that this major could see under the table/ “Why are you kicking the
prisoner’s foot corporal?” he asked and I replied “so that he will tell you
what he has told me since he has been in my charge.” And before I knew what I
was doing I was telling about the stomach trouble and the affects of the drink.
But then he asked “what did he tell you about the foul language?” I replied
“Bad language is part of our military training, we are compelled to swear.”
Well, if looks could have killed me then I ought to be dead because I explained
what happened when we were taught by the instructor – bayonet fighting. He
roared at me “What are you a sea lawyer?” and as I made no reply, he
sentenced this man to five years imprisonment to be served in England.
When we came out our sergeant
major said to me “what’s the matter with you do you know you are asking to be
shot?” I said “sir what I said about the bayonet training is true.” He said “of
course it’s true but I would not have the guts to tell them so.” But it was
Mason who took a serious view when I told him. “Whatever you do” he said “watch
your step for they will have you as sure as God made little apples.” By this he
meant that faults would be found with everything I did and this sort of thing
was not uncommon in the army. But I think [75] I was fast becoming as reckless
as Mason and Jackie Fisher and did not care, for we were enduring a primitive
type of life not unlike animals. The Earth was our mattress and the sky was our
roof. We slept in our clothes for we only took our boots off to sleep and when
we were aroused all our joints were stiff. What a boon is sleep. I used to
think the worst torture any one could endure is to be deprived of sleep. I have
seen our fellows when we were on the retirement and they were on dismounted
work stumbling along and then some have fallen flat on their face for want of
sleep. I have seen men sitting in mud fast asleep. I myself have fallen asleep
in the saddle riding along on a night march and we had plenty of night
marching. I can recall an incident that happened to me on a night march when we
were in a long column of troops going up for the second battle of Ypres.[32]
Riding along I fell asleep and when I woke up another cavalry regiment was
passing me because my horse with no control had dallied. I had no means of
knowing where my regiment wold camp, so I done something that I had learned in
Africa, for I dropped the reins on the horse’s back, and in the darkness that
horse took me right through the camps of other regiments he took me right p to
the picket lines of my own troop. People who say that horses are not
intelligent do not know much about horses.
It was raining heavily all the
time we were in this sector. One could see the water pouring off the gunners as
they rammed the shells into the breech of their guns. Mud was everywhere, it
was pitiful to see the infantry in their muddy trenches, when the glare of a
very light went up. But I saw a very famous man that night, a man who could
aptly be termed a second Lord Nelson for he had lost an arm and an eye. He was
totally devoid of fear as he stood outlined on the parapet of a trench giving
his orders his only weapon was his walking stick. His name was General Carton
De Wiart[33], and I
was not alone when I said that was the sort of leader I would follow to the
death.
We failed again to make a break
through and suffered terrible casualties in our infantry divisions. If these
figures had been published at the time it would have caused an upheaval in
England. The Battle Fields of Ypres will long be remembered [76] when the
history of the First World War is told. Years later with the British Legion I
marched passed the Menin Gate memorial on which was inscribed thousands of
names of every regiment including my own who lost their lives in the Battles
for Ypres and whose bodies were never recovered. It has been said that every
blade of green grass that afterwards grew there represented a human life. The
thing we have to ask is was it worthwhile? Was it right to order these
men to their death. Some generals seemed to think that men are expendable
material. They are the type that play chess on a board, the type with their
maps and their charts and their staff officers, are well in the rear of the
battle zone yet who dictate their orders to those in the front line.
I can recall an incident in which
I was concerned. We were having a spell in the trenches to relieve the tired,
overworked and battered infantry, when one dark night three of our Hussars
wondered by mistake into the German lines and were captured. Our general we
were told was furious because it informed the Germans what division they were
confronted with, so he ordered that a patrol must go out and bring back some
German prisoners “dead or alive.” This order was given to us with the
same indifference as if we were told to go and fetch some parcels from the
stores. We had to leave behind us all means of identification, all personal
letters, pay book, and identity disks. We had to discard our steel helmets and
wear woollen caps termed balaclava helmet. Our leather jerkins were work inside
out. This patrol consisted of over thirty men with two officers and two sergeants
in five lines spaced well apart. The first line was armed with bludgeons. The
second line with bombs and revolvers, and the others (including myself) with
loaded rifles and fixed bayonets. In the centre came a couple of men carrying
what looked like a long drain-pipe. This was termed “a Bangalore Torpedo” and
was to be used to blow up the German barbed wire defences. In the darkness I
heard the two sergeants planning to jump into the first shell hole they came
to, but whether they did or not I cannot say because shortly afterwards we
surprised a German working party who were working in front of their trench.
There was a scuffle [77] we fired a few shots and then we were on our way back
with six badly damaged Germans. But as we neared our own line out of a
shell-hole there emerged the figure of a man. A youngster on my right (he was
only 19 years of age) rushed forward and pushed his bayonet through his
stomach. Then we found it was one of our own officers. It was obvious that it
was a case of cowardice but we had to take him in. He was in terrible agony but
before he died he exonerated this young soldier from all blame.
These prisoners we had captured
were Bavarians. That told us what divisions we were confronted with. A report
was sent back to General Head Quarters of the result of the patrol, and we were
told the General was pleased. Bud I do not supposed it disturbed his breakfast.
He might just as well have been sitting in his club in Pall Mall, because he
did not experience that tense feeling of fear that must have gripped us all, as
we crossed No Man’s Land in the darkness. It would not have mattered to him if
none of us had returned, for men were expendable material, and so again the
question arises was it worthwhile? Then for those who were fortunate
enough to return form this war cam the Great Betrayal by the politicians. They
had promised “Homes Fit For Heroes To Live In” when the facts were one had to
be a hero to live in one. Hundreds of men found they had lost their old jobs
and could not find new ones. Unemployment was rife. Gallant officers who had
led their men against the German trenches facing murderous machine-gun fire,
were to be seen pulling barrel-organs around London’s West End streets begging
for a living. Yet war time profiteers had made huge fortunes, the malingerers
and slackers who had evaded the net of conscription, had made money in the
rackets that prevailed, and to those who like myself were able to return to
their old jobs they found that although their employers could afford to pay excess
profits tax, that although the cost of living index was 300 per cent above
pre-war level, they had to work for a starvation wage, because the trade unions
were weak. And the factory gates was haunted by unemployed men that intimidated
those at work. [78] Is it to be wondered at that men thought, with all its
misery, with all its mud, with all its blood-shed, we were better off with no
money in our pockets in the comradeship of the Battle Fields, where the
brotherhood of man was sincere, where pals stuck together stronger than glue,
where greed and meanness was unknown. None of us were saints but we practiced
and did not preach our own doctrine, “help one another.”
We travelled back a good distance
behind the lines to billets in farm 13 days [?] and
were told the King of the Belgians was coming to visit us as he was the
Honorary Colonel of our regiment. So it was arranged that we should have a
sports day, a kind of military tournament. Marquees were put up to serve as
refreshment bars, one for the officers, one for the sergeants, and one for the
men. In our one two barrels of French been had been bought by our officers to
be sold at a franc a litre. This was a scandal as it meant they would be making
a big profit on their investment. They had put in charge of this canteen a man
who was disliked due to his habit of toadying to the sergeant-major. This man
had previously been in charge of a dry canteen selling Quaker Oats biscuits and
etc. and generally carried a large sum of money on his person that belonged to
the officers. We who were not engaged in the events went into this canteen, and
the five of us who belonged to one clique pooled our money so that we were able
to buy several litres of this French beer which is so weak that it ought to
have hospital sisters to serve it. But presently the man who was serving said
“no more beer” yet the second barrel had not been tapped. Mason said “I will
soon see about that” and he went over to the sergeant’s tent and called the
regimental sergeant-major out. Because he knew that he also had invested money
in this canteen project. He came over and ordered the canteen man to sell
everything he had for sale, but it was soon evident that this canteen man had
no idea of tapping a barrel so Mason said “I will tap it” and taking off his
jacked he flung it on the ground close to where the canteen man’s jacket lay.
I had to leave them as one of my horses was in the next event, but shortly
after Mason approached me and he was whistling away. He said “do you want some
money” and he thrust a bundle of franc notes in my hand and went down the road
whistling a tune.
That [79] evening as we sat on
the ground drinking our tea our troop sergeant came up to us and said “Have you
heard the news. The canteen has been robbed of 1300 francs.” I nearly choked
myself drinking my tea because I guessed who had taken it, but Mason made no
secret of his wealth for he went into the estaminet used by the troops and bought
them all bottles of wine. This reached the ears of our colonel and Mason was asked
to go and see him. The colonel said “did you know about the canteen being
robbed?” and Mason said “Yes sir I heard about it.” The colonel said “it
has been reported to me that you are flush with money have been buying the men
wine.” Then Mason put on a confidential manner and said “Well Sir, I know it in
not allowed but I have been having a gamble on the crown and anchor board and I
have won a packet.” There was no way of proving this for no one would inform on
the crown and anchor men so as much as they had suspicions they had no evidence
as Mason said no one can identify money unless they take the numbers on the notes.
But in any case, whatever they thought or suspected it did not appear to worry
Mason for he was just as cheerful and as brazen as ever.
We travelled back again to the
Somme region and made our camp in a desolate place from which the Germans had
been expelled. There was ruined farms and buildings there, it was January 1918
and a heavy snow storm was making things bad for our horses whose endurance was
something marvellous.[34]
It speaks volumes for the discipline of a cavalry regiment that these horses
which had come out from England had survived all the rigours of this terrible
war. There was plenty of timber in the ruined buildings that could be pulled
out, so we all worked like slaves to build stables for our horses. It was the
first time in four years that they ever had a stable together. With broken
bricks we made roads because the place was pitted with shell-craters which were
treacherous now as they were covered in snow. For our own shelter we found some
sheds left by the Germans and had to admire how clever and thorough these
people are for they had built tiers of bunks in these sheds with wire
mattresses for beds. I had seen German trenches which [80] were far superior to
our own. To their dug outs they had built stairs, and in them they had built shelves.
They also contained furniture they had stolen from the houses they had
destroyed, but as soldiers we certainly had to give them credit.
Now although these sheds were
nice and dry and we were out of the snow and the biting wind, it was bitterly cold
so we searched in the ruins of the nearby buildings and found some old pails
and some old oil drums and as there was plenty of wood to be dug out in these
we made a number of fires. But there was no outlet for the smoke and soon the
atmosphere was not unlike a thick London fog. As I was having my tea one
evening in these conditions, I heard the harsh voice of Moe Mason shouting my
name, and presently he found me and I was astonished to see that he was smoking
a long cigar. He had a boxful of these under his arm and he started handing
round as if they were cigarettes. He said “Have a smoke, it’s my birthday.” He
little dreamed when he said those words that in less than an hour he would be
dead.
“Come on outside” he said to me
“I want to talk to you.” So we both went out of the shed into the cold fresh
air. “Do you want a drink?” he asked me. I thought he still had some rum saved
from what he had pinched from the Sergeant-Major, so I said yes. He said “Go
over to that limber (wagon) and help yourself.” So I went over to this limber
and I could scarce believe my eyes, for among a lot of other things I saw a 6
dozen case of Reid’s Stout. “Don’t be frightened” said Mason “it won’t bite
you”, and then he told me the story, which for brazen impudence and audacity
would want some beating. It appears the officers were again going to invest in
a canteen by getting supplies from the rail-end at Peronne which is 18
kilometres away from where we were camped and where the Expeditionary Force
Canteen had their depot. This was a large stores of goods supplied to British
army officers. These supplies that Mason was to fetch was going to be sold to
the troops, and the officers intended to make a profit. The regimental sergeant
major was in on this deal and it was left to him to make all the arrangements,
so he had given [81] Mason a list of the goods required, and had asked him to
take the limber which was drawn by four horses to this depot for his
lead-driver he had given him a man whose name was ‘Nobby’ Black. This man was
of a surly disposition and was not one of our clique. Mason had left camp at 4
am that morning to travel to Rail End, but when he got there he had found that
there were other limbers and wagons from other regiments lined up at the side
of the road all waiting to be attended to. So Mason having rigged up the horses
and leaving Black in charge went to have a look around this depot, and what he
saw fairly surprised him. There was cases of whisky, cases of beer, boxes of
cigars, tins of soup, tins of chicken, butter biscuits, salmon, in fact almost
everything. He saw a sergeant who belonged to the stores with a list in his
hand, “How much longer have I got to wait sergeant?” asked Mason. “Don’t worry
me” said the sergeant “I am looking for x in a diamond.” By this he meant he
was looking for a mark on a case of goods. Mason watched this sergeant go out
of this marquee, then going to the entrance he shouted “Nobby, pull over here”
and when the limber came over he said “stand by the horses while I load up”,
and taking off his top coat he helped himself to whatever took his fancy. Then
he said to Black “Pull the shut across and pull over there while I go in and
sign for the goods.” So putting on his top coat he went in at one entrance and
came out the other, got mounted and they were away en route for the camp.
As they neared the camp they met
the colonel, the adjutant, and the regimental sergeant-major and Mason as the
oldest soldier of the two shouted “eyes left”, that was the salute, then again
“eyes front.” Just then the regimental SM rode back and said “Mason, did you
get those supplies?” “No sir” said Mason “you have to send a GS wagon in
tomorrow morning.” The lead driver turned round as the RSM rode away and said
“Moe then what is that stuff we have got in the limber?” “Look to your front”
said Mason “and keep your mouth shut”, and that was the first knowledge that
Nobby Black had that he had assisted in a big robbery.
Mason said “Jackie Fisher, Dodger
Brown, [82] and Jimmie Litherland are over there putting up a tent, come on
over, we are right away from all the others. We have cleared away the snow and
we are going to have a big do tonight.” So I went over to lend a hand to put up
this tent. Mason had found an old pail in which he had lit a fire and he was
laughing as he swung this pail over and over to make the fire draw up – when it
happened. None of us had heard the aeroplance come over our heads and drop the
bomb. I was blasted up in the air, Mason and Brown were blown to pieces. Poor
Jimmie Litherland had a huge hole in his back, but my first recollection was
Jackie Fisher slapping my face and asking if I was alright. He said “Mason and
Brown are dead and Jimmie has gone down the road to the dressing station.[35]
Pull yourself together. There is a lot to do before they get here.” I heard
revolver shots as they were shooting the horses that were maimed because it
seems this airman had dropped a second bomb on the stables we had worked hard
to build. Fisher said “Quick, that bomb has made a deep crater let’s get all
this stuff into the crater and cover it with snow.” So all the stuff Mason had
nobbled the stores of went into this bomb crater. Then Fisher said “Here they
come, make out you are shell-shocked. Put on an act.” He laid down as if he was
senseless.
Up came an officer and a sergeant.
“What happened” he asked me. I made out I did not hear him and kept my eyes
shut. He said “this poor fellow has a severe shock” then he saw the mangled
remains of Mason and Brown. “Two dead” he said “but what about this chap here”
he said as he went up to Fisher. Now if I had put up a good performance it was
nothing to the performance of Jackie Fisher. He ought to have been an actor.
When he finally agreed to act normal the others were on their way to the
stables. “Let them go on in front and hang back” whispered Fisher. In the same
tone I asked “why?” Gripping my arm he said “Moe has got that money on him from
the canteen do. That must not be found, go and get it and bury it with the
rest.” So back I went to poor Moe Mason and took this blood stained money from
his pocked and buried it with the rest of the stuff. I put more snow over it
and hoped it would not [text can’t be read] while we were there. I also took
some personal [letters to? text can’t be read] his wife as I found her address.
The next day our major saw [83]
watching me very closely. Presently he came up to me and said “was Mason a
great friend of yours?” I had all sorts of things come into my mind, but I
replied “Yes, sir.” “Would you like to go to his funeral?” he asked. “Yes, sir”
I replied. Then in a grating voice he said “then go and get him ready.” This
was a brutal order and when I found that Fisher had been ordered to do the same
service for Brown I guessed why. What Fisher called the officers was not
appropriate for a funeral. I had to get a blanket and some wire to fix Moe’s
head on his shoulders and tie his leg on with wire then fold him in the
blanket. He was so light I could have picked him up with one hand. But the
strange thing was his face was laughing at me. Then along came an old French
manure cart in which one of our horses was in the shafts and led by one of our
own fellows, and that was the hearse. Fisher and myself we walked behind until
we came to the burial pit of the hospital. This was a long deep trench in which
hundreds of dead were buried packed one on top of the other six high. We both
had to get in this trench and place Mason and Brown close up to the last lot
one on top of the other. And that was the final resting place of Moe Mason,
ex-policeman, a brave soldier, always cheerful, always generous. He may have
been a rogue and a thief, but he was the best pal I ever had in my life. I
often pray, may God rest his soul. As for Jimmie Litherland, he had managed to
get to the hospital safely, and I learned some time later that a wonderful
surgeon had saved his life. I was very glad when I heard this because I had
known Jimmie in Dublin many years before.
For the fortnight as far as
Fisher and myself were concerned everything was normal. The snow had
disappeared but there was so many shell holes in and around that camp, that it
was difficult to tell where we had pitched that tent. None of the troops shared
our secret. Nothing that could link Mason’s name was ever discovered. Fisher
and myself are the only two who knows the history of Moe Mason, and how he met
his death. At the end of that fortnight something occurred that is etched on my
memory. It was the 21st of March 1918. The morning was cold and
there was a thick mist. When I was ordered to take a man and go with the waggon
to the ration dump and collect [84] the squadron’s mail and rations. This dump
was at the side of a road some distance from the camp, for the lorries that
fetched these rations dumped them at certain points on the map. As we rode
along in this waggon towards this dump, a heavy explosive shell exploded behind
our waggon. It landed where a few seconds earlier this waggon had been. The
follow who was with me said “that’s Big Bertha” – that shot was fired from
Paris. I said “don’t talk rubbish for that shell has come from a place much
nearer than Paris.” At the same time I was puzzled because we were 17
kilometres from the front line. It was now 6 am so when I got to the dump, I
said to the lorry driver “have you heard any news?” He calmly said “yes, Gerry
broke through at 4 o’clock this morning.” I could hardly believe what he was
telling me, because for months our own army had been strengthening our
defences. As I have already described I had personally done some of the work
that had to be done and I know how elaborate these defences were. They seemed
to me as if a rat could not get through.
When I returned to camp, an
officer said to me “Corporal is there any news at the dump?” I said “yes sir,
Gerry has got through.” He said “don’t talk so ridiculous” but he had hardly
got the words out of his mouth, when the telephone rang a minute later. The
call came “Boots and saddles. Saddle up.” And with the precision to which a
cavalry regiment is trained, and without any panic, men were mounted and formed
up on parade. I was ordered to take over the ammunition limber, as at that very
moment the corporal in charge of it had his leave pass come through. I said to
him as a joke “bet you that you don’t get any farther than Boulogne” and it
turned out afterwards that I was right. Off we went at a fast pace up to the
front. My limber was drawn by four horses and I was the wheel driver while I
had a good man as the lead driver in old Rig Whyatt who was a reservist and
knew his drill. When we reached Varmands [?] we knew there was trouble. All but
the number three of each section seizing their rifles and handing their reins
to him dismounted and hurried into the trenches. They were all fully trained
and each man knew his job. All the horses and my limber had to seek cover. We
did not know then that this [85] was to be the Big Retirement. We all knew that
for some time now there had been “unity of command.” We all knew that the
supreme commander was a French general, and we all knew his name was Marshal
Foch. But to our amazement our own chaps came out of the trenches without even
firing a shot, for the order had come “retire.”
Not even mounting their horses,
they took another position, but hardly had they got their guns sighted when
again the order came “retire, retire.” None of us could understand it, but it
was then I saw the Germans, coming on like the waves of the sea in close
formation. There must have been thousands of field-grey uniforms. But there was
no panic amongst our troops. They started to dig trenches but hardly had they
completed them, when again came the order to retire. O saw a man sitting on top
of a pole of rolled blankets, so I dismounted and went over to him. “What are
you supposed to be doing?” I asked. He said “I am waiting for a lorry for these
blankets.” I said “take my advice and clear out of it before you are wiped up,
look over at that rise far in the distance.” The Germans were now coming over
the summit in large numbers. This fellow was off those blankets and running
towards the retiring troops as hard as he could run. We came to the Bridge of
St Christ [?] which our engineers were preparing to blow up. When an officer of
the Royal Ulster Rifles came up to me and said “we have got to hold this bridge
head for a time, can you let me have some ammunition.” I said “certainly sire,
take what you require”. And just then the bridge was destroyed, but the worst
part of it was that the 18th Hussars had just arrived on the other
side. But calmly those horses were made to swim across.
We passed a hospital where the
soldier patients came out in their hospital garb, wanting to know what was the
matter. We told them the Germans were close. They all knew they would be German
prisoners yet they accepted the news calmly. So it went on night and day
without sleep, and our dismounted men walked all the way. I could not
understand why they were not permitted to ride their horses the long column of
them were behind my limber. We came to a place called Carby [?] where when I
went to get some water for our horses a group of French women were gossiping.
“Madame” I said [86] “Allemande ici” (Mrs the Germans are here), and just then
up came a French gendarme who told them to get away at once. It was pitiful to
see those people old and young leaving their homes. We looked in some of these
houses which were well furnished and saw the personal garments had been left
behind, all loot for the Germans. These refugees had barely got out of sight,
when shells began to explode on these houses. But on the tenth day there came
Haig’s famous order “with your backs to the wall, fight.” There came Marshal
Foch’s jubilant should “Now I have got them.” Because the Germans were
driven back they were allowed no respite night or day, they were driven back
far beyond their own trenches onto their Hindenburg line which was supposed to
be impregnable. And so we come to the 5th of August when this great
stronghold of the German Army was taken. For after nearly four years of [text
can’t be read] the tide had turned in our favour.
But during that German retreat
their armies had maintained to retire in good order leaving a trail of
destruction, and this destruction was something to be seen to be believed, it
was so devilish. With some of our fellows I entered a large house, which seemed
untouched. One chap said “this is one house they have missed”, but I knew he
was wrong for there on a sideboard dresser all the crockery was hanging up in a
normal way, but each tea cup had a hole bored in the bottom, every utensil was
treated in the same manner. Out in the orchard every fruit tree had been
ruined. We had been alerted to watch out for booby-traps so when the wind blew
in our direction and the Germans sent up in the air children’s coloured toy
balloons, none of us touched them for they were filled with bacteria germs, and
the medical staff men dealt with them. The Germans placed explosives in the
brick work of wall so that if a man on horse trod on a certain part of the
roadway he struck a detonator, and these walls would collapse on anyone
passing. We saw the empty prisoner of war bagis [?] from which they had removed
our troops and read the messages on the walls that our chaps had wrote just
before their departure, and those messages hardened our hearts, and the sentiments
that was expressed was – [87] “the only good Germans are dead
Germans.”
It was after midnight when we
rode through the shell-wrecked and empty desolate town of Amiens. It was a
bright moonlight night and we were able to see how the Germans had destroyed
the cathedral, railway station, and shops. It was like riding over something
that was dead. Had rejoined my troop and
had long since handed over the Hotchkiss gun to another man so now I only had
my own horse to consider and care for. This was quite a change for me as for
months I had always had two horses to groom. The one I was riding was a mare
and I called her Cinderella and she knew her job, she was a good jumper and
could gallop as good as any in my troop. I saw that there was plenty of cavalry
Regiments riding through the streets of Amiens that night.
In the dawn we were formed up
near St Quentin, and I saw we had massed artillery besides the heavy siege
guns, but none of us had been ‘briefed’ on what we had to do, yet I could sense
it was something out of the ordinary. But all through the years of this war all
cavalry jobs had been dismounted work, but this was to turn out to be something
different, for at half past four that morning every gun opened fire in a
ceaseless drum-fire that alone must have made the Germans get under-ground and
must have smashed their barb wire entanglements then in open order I saw the
tanks go forward. But then we got the order “trot-gallop” and we were past the
tanks. “Draw swords” was the order, and then we were leaping over the German
trenches, and Germans were surrendering before we were near them in hundreds.
We had come to open country and on we went one long line of British Cavalry
with drawn swords. We passed the big-gun on the railway, the gun called Big
Bertha. But all the German artillery men had left their guns eager to
surrender. We saw the concrete pillar-boxes that each contained a machine gun,
but these gunners when they saw horses leaping over their trenches were too
petrified to fire.[36]
Our captain had gone too far in
front of our squadron and the boy trumpeter could hardly keep up with him,
which was just as well, because a tall German officer came out of a dug out and
aimed his pistol at our leader’s back. “Look out sir” shouted the boy. [88] Our
captain and his horse turned as if on a turntable, and he shot the German dead
centre between the eyes. Then we saw the long line of German transport. I had
the job along with others of making this transport turn round towards our
lines. There was lorries, waggons, carts, in fact every kind of vehicle, and
some of the drivers must have been grand-fathers for they had grey whiskers.
Our casualties were mostly leg
wounds, but the infantry especially the Australians were very busy collecting
wrist watches and other articles from the Germans who were being herded along
in hundreds. I saw also on our way back that big gun we had passed in our
charge on the Germans, now had a chalked sign that read “Captured by the
Australian infantry” when in fact we were the first to pass that gun and make
the gunner put up his hands. Of course none of us had any knowledge of how
important that cavalry charge was, until later in the day we were visited by
Lord Rawlinson[37] who was
in command of the Fourth Army and Field Marshall Sir Douglas Haig. They both
told us as we were assembled on parade, that the day’s events had already had
its repercussions in Berlin. Haig also said we were going to drive the enemy
right into Germany, but there was still a lot of fighting to do before that was
possible.
Some few days later I was one of
those who was caught in a gas cloud sent over by the Germans, and the next
thing I recall is being attended to by an American army doctor, who ordered me
to be taken to the hospital train. This meant a journey by motor-ambulance,
from the advanced dressing station, where stretchers of badly wounded British
and German soldiers lay side by side. I know I was grateful to a medical
orderly, who took an interest in me, because I must have been at a very low
ebb. But when we eventually reached the train, and I saw the hospital sisters
in their clean starched uniforms, it seemed a step nearer to civilisation. One
of them put me in a sleeping bunk that were on each side of these Pullman
carriages, and we were soon on our way to the Base Hospital.
I was taken to the Canadian
Hospital at Stales, where I was bathed and put in a bed [89] with spotless
clean sheets. It was the first time I had slept in a bed for nearly four years
of war. The doctor came round and we were all given a card marked H.S.D. This
meant Hospital Ship Deck. I know that I got very excited at the thoughts of
going back to “Blighty”, that I must have had a relapse, because when I woke up
I saw all fresh faces in the ward. At first I thought I had been transferred to
another ward, and then I recognised the sister, who was a good looking fair
haired Canadian girl, so I beckoned her to me. “Where are those fellows I came
down in the train with, sister” I asked her. She replied with a smile “they are
all in England now, but you had a temperature and so could not go. But when you
get better, you are going to the Convalescent Camp at Wimereux on the coast.”
Well I could not control my feelings and broke down crying. She patted me on
the shoulder and told me to chin up, but she did not know I had been out there
since 1914. She did not know all the hardships I had endured for nearly four
years.
Some three weeks later a batch of
us patients comprising men from different regiments were conveyed in motor
buses to this camp, which was situated on a high cliff over looking the English
Channel and on a clear day one could see the white cliffs of Dover. The staff
at this camp, were ex-pugilists and music hall comedians, all dressed in the
red sweater and white slacks of gymnasium instructors. None of these had ever
been near the front line, but their job was to get us all back to normal. The
food was good and plentiful, and we did no work of any description and these
people did all they could to make things pleasant. They invented all sorts of
games so as to get us to laugh. That was their job, to make us laugh and get us
well again. One came was called “O’Grady says this” and you were not supposed
to take any action, until the preface “O’Grady says” was uttered. This is a
game that makes you laugh, but while all this light hearted games are in full
swing, the adjutant would be strolling around with a pencil and a note book. I
soon found out why, because I had only been there three weeks, when the
instructor told me the doctor wanted to see me. So I went to his tent and saw a
burly army doctor sitting at a table smoking a pipe. [90] There were a lot of
documents on this table. He said “Ah yes, let’s have a look at you.” So he
examined me. “Yes” he said “you are alright. Up you go, and the best of luck.”
He then shook hands with me, and that’s how I knew I was destined to go up
country again, back to the mud and the misery, to have lice crawling over me
again, to never have my clothes off.
No time was wasted for next day we
were herded in cattle trucks that was to take us on the first stage of our
journey to Rouen, where I was to receive a complete new outfit. I also had a
deal of back pay due to me, so I resolved I would ask for 100 Francs, and have
a spree in Rouen, which is a large place and was untouched by the war. I knew
that my stay there would be short. This cavalry camp was situated outside
Rouen, and consisted of a large number of canvas tents to accommodate officers
and men of British cavalry regiments, all waiting to be refitted and
transported to their regiments at the Front. I was issued with a brand-new
outfit including under-wear. I was given a pair of high-leg riding boots that
were specially made to keep out water. These boots alone must have cost the
British tax-payer several pounds. There was no trouble in getting an advance in
pay. In fact everybody there seemed eager to help.
I was lucky to find two fellows
that I knew, one was in the 4th Dragoon Guards, so the three of us
moved into one tent. I invited them to come into Rouen with me as they had no
money. We got a tram-car just outside the camp that took us into Rouen. In my
view all towns in France are alike, for the moment one leaves the main
thoroughfares, you find yourself in mean squalid streets which at the period
was dimly lighted. There was a number of cafes, restaurants, and estaminets. In
some of these were some tough looking characters, but we were not interfered
with. The next morning was November the 11th, and at first I thought
that everybody had gone mad, until I got the news. The War was over. I
saw colonels and officers wrestling on the ground shouting with joy. Needless
to add I was also pleased, but I had to go up country all the same.
We were all cooped up in cattle
trucks, and every time the train stopped, we were running up to the driver to
get hot water to make some tea. Then the line got so bad we had to get out and
wait for army lorries. [91] When my lorry arrived I found we had to travel
another 180 kilometres to reach my regiment. When having reported myself, I
learned we were going right into Germany. The order had come from Sir Douglas
Haig that from now on “every British soldier must sleep in a civilian bed.”
This meant that the population must give up their beds. So I had the job of
knocking at street doors, and demanding sleeping accommodation for some of our
men. We had heard the news that the German Emperor had fled to Holland and that
there was a revolution amongst the German people. We heard of the mutiny in the
German Navy, and every day as we rode towards the German frontier at the heels
of the retiring Germans, we saw sights of what happens when a great army
disintegrates, when discipline no longer prevails, when an army becomes a
rabble, for we saw guns abandoned in ploughed fields. We saw army lorries over
turned in ditches. We saw rifles and bayonets by the road side. We had strict
instructions not to interfere with the disturbances that seemed to be happening
everywhere we went, for angry crowds of women were seeking out the girls who
had been living with German soldiers during the four years of occupation. I saw
a gang of women seize a blonde young woman and tear every inch of her clothing
off of her as they beat her up. I saw others go into the house this young woman
occupied and bring out the furniture into the roadway where it was smashed and
burnt. I saw another angry crowd dray a shop keeper out of his shop and beat
him up, while others smashed up his premises. This was vengeance on those who
had collaborated with the Germans. Yes the French and Belgian people had good
reasons for hating the Germans that people in England fail to understand, for a
Divine Providence ordained that Germany should not invade England. We were
spared the robbery – rape – and destruction that the people of France and
Belgium suffered for four years. Yet there were people in high places in this
country as the records show who allowed the Germans to arm and form a powerful
army, to menace the world 25 years later.
I shall not forget our march into
Germany, for it was to make history as we entered Bonn. We rode in a column 4
abreast with drawn swords. At every window, in every door way, and lining the
[92] streets were crowds of people, yet the only sound that could be heard was
the clatter of our horse hooves. The silence was so tense that one could
imagine it was a funeral procession, as indeed it was for Germany. For the
first time in her history British cavalry was entering as victors of the war
she had schemed and planned. Our destination was the German barracks in Bonn,
where our horses was made very comfortable because we did not stand on army
ceremony in obtaining straw, hay, & oats. We simply went around and took
all we required. The mayor of Bonn was ordered to find us all beds, and that
was when I saw how efficient these Germans are, for we went to the stadt (town)
school where the classrooms had been transformed into dormitories. Everyman had
a bed with spotless clean sheets and pillows, so I told this mayor we all
needed a bath. He took us to another part of this school in which was a large
circular bath that was capable of bathing 40 boys at one time with hot and cold
water. That was the best bath I have ever had. Our dirty washing was collected
and returned fumigated clean and mangled. It was surprising how quickly this
was done.
I was very interested in this
school which was oblong in shape and catered for Protestants – Catholics – and
Jews. On the left was for the Protestant children, on the right for the
Catholics, and at the end was for the Jewish children, but they were all under
one roof. I saw some of the school children who appeared to be well cared for,
well clad, and well shod. This was after four years of war, and I reflected
that at home amongst the poorer homes in the East End of London children had no
boots to go to school in, and that our authorities in England could learn
something from the Germans. We were allowed to go out in the town but the order
was no one was allowed out singly. We had to keep in pairs and wear side-arms.
It was then I saw Haig’s proclamation posted on the walls everywhere. It was in
German, French, and English. It was a warning to the civil population, not to
interfere with British troops, anyone who disobeyed these warnings, the penalty
was death. We were surprised at the fashionable shops we saw and the well
dressed people, the streets were clean and well lighted. I think we all agreed
that Germany was far better and cleaner than France, and even London [93] at
that period had nothing to compare with German public houses, which were
scrupulously clean and commodious. Their beer was excellent after the weak beer
of France. It was also very cheap. We saw that all houses and shops were
lighted by electricity and all had telephones.
Out fellows had been well-behaved
and orderly up to now. We had no quarrel with the civilian population, but that
state of affairs was to be altered much to my disgust, for right opposite the
German barracks where our horses were stabled was a very palatial public house
containing comfortable chairs and round marble topped tables, and when our work
was done, in the evening we used this pub as a canteen. We only had French
money but the landlord who was a fat elderly German accepted this and supplied
us with some excellent beer. Everything was quiet and orderly when in walked
our captain accompanied by the squadron sergeant-major. Every man sprang to
attention. “As you were” said the captain, then turning to the sergeant-major
he said “what did these men have for their dinner today?” The sergeant-major
said “bully beef and potatoes, sir.” “Why” said the captain, “are there no
chickens about? And look, they are paying for their beer. Have these men
forgotten what they saw in Northern France and Belgium?” Then he went behind
the bar and selected bottles of wine and spirits and calling one of our fellows
he told him to take them to the officer’s quarters across the road. They then
walked out. I sensed what was going to happen because for a few moments there
was a tense silence. Then one fellow said “who wants some more beer?” At the
same time he went behind the bar and started serving up the beer. He was soon
joined by a couple more who started putting bottles of wine and spirits on the
counter. They said to the landlord “Get out of our way you German bastard.” The
old man must have foreseen what was going to happen for he called to his two
daughters to come down from upstairs and when they did so, he hustled them out
of the pub to safety. Then one of our fellows hurled his glass mug at a plate
glass mirror behind the bar. Another threw his at the plate glass windows and
then they started smashing things up. So I came out in disgust and there right
outside the pub door was our military picket of a dozen men whose duty it was to
maintain law and order, but this picked went in the pub and started helping
themselves to drink and tobacco. [94] And the man responsible for all this was
our captain.
This elderly German had done none
of us any harm. He was not to be blamed for what the German soldiers had done
during the war, at least that was my view, but others thought differently. It
seemed as if they were going to have vengeance on the German people for their
soldiers had done in Flanders, France, and Belgium. The ancient Law of Moses,
of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, was to be enacted.[38]
When our captain said “have these men forgotten what they saw in Northern
France and Belgium” I knew to what he was referring, for we had seen in a
Flemish village the daughter of an inn-keeper, a good looking young woman who
had been raped by sixteen German soldiers, and when her young brother a boy of
ten years of age had intervened, they had shot him. It seemed as if there is
but a thin veneering to turn a man into a beast in war-time, but looking back
to that period, I consider that the men of the 5th Dragoon Guards
were as well behaved and orderly a body of men in that long arduous campaign as
could be found in the British Army.
We had orders not to fraternise
with the civil population. We went on requisition forays, for what we required
and for payment we gave a slip of paper, which stated that their government
would pay. We all knew that our stay in Bonn would be short as we had to march
on to Cologne, so the next day the Canadian infantry marched in.[39] We
all trooped out to see them come in, on both sides of the road there were
crowds of people, attracted by the sound of their brass-band at the head of
their procession. Leading these troops was a senior-officer who carried the
Royal Standard unfurled. He was escorted on both sides by officers with
drawn swords. This splendid body of men, nearly all of them were six-foot in
height, marched with the precision of our foot-guards. Then I saw among them a
giant Negro soldier. He was over seven foot tall, but he marched with his rifle
and bayonet on his shoulder as of Bonn belongs to him. I little knew as I
watched this big nigger that in a few hours him and myself would clash, but
what annoyed me was that on each side of this procession was six Canadian sergeants
who were armed with short sticks, and with these sticks they were [95] knocking
off the hats of the Germans in the crowd, as they shouted “hats off for the
Royal Standard.” I saw one poor old man felled to the ground by a blow from one
of the sergeants. I was indignant and I shouted “I come from London and have
often seen the changing of the Guard at St James’ Palace, but I have never seen
Londoners take off their hats.” My mates who were with me whispered “shut your
mouth or they will think you are a Bolshevik.” That was a name that was given
to the Russians who had revolted in 1917. But I thought these needless acts of
brutality was unwarranted, especially as the Germans involved were mostly
elderly men.
That evening as we were allowed
out in twos, I had as my companion a man named Brock. It was the same man who
had relieved me of the Hotchkiss Gun duties when I was made a corporal. He was
a steady sober sort of a man, a clean and smart soldier. He was not the type
who drink for drinking sake, although he was not averse to having a social
drink. I imagine that in civil life he must have been employed in the building
trade, because he displayed a great interest in the fine churches and buildings
we saw. We walked across the Bonn Bridge that spans the Rhine River and I had
to admit we had nothing in London to compare with it.
We were on our way back and
turned down a side street, when we met this giant Negro whom we had both seen
marching into Bonn that morning and at close quarters he was a fearsome kind of
figure. I reckon they must have recruited him from some circus. To make it
worse he was drunk. Where he had stopped us was right outside a small grocers’
shop in which behind the counter a stout middle-age German woman was serving.
There was a group of women who were gossiping in this shop. This black giant
said in a nasal drawl, “say – youse guys – where is there a “hook shop” round
here.” I told him that we did not understand what he meant. He growled “you
Limeys don’t know what a hook shop is?” Then he muttered “this will do for me”
and he made his way to this grocers shop, where as soon as these gossiping
women saw him approaching they fled in all directions, leaving the woman of the
shop alone. We both saw this [96] Negro lift up the flap and go behind the
counter. We both saw this middle age German woman retreating from him, terror
in her eyes, for his intention was obvious, and then I said to my companion
“Brock, are we going to stand here and let a black man rape a white woman?” “No”
said Brock as he pulled out his revolver “come on.” We rushed in the shop and I
said to this black fellow, “put your hands on your head, you are under arrest.
We are taking you to your guard room.”
It was but a short distance away,
but neither Brock or myself expected the reception we got, for in this Canadian
guard room besides the sergeant and members of the guard, was a Canadian
officer who it seemed to me to be half drunk, who when I had told the story of
this black fellow’s intent to rape a white woman, said “and who the hell are
you? Who are you?” I told him I was a corporal of the 5th Dragoon
Guards. He roared at me “what right had you to interfere? Why did you not let
him do it? Get the hell out of here both of you before you are kicked out.” We
could not argue with this officer, and we were a very bewildered pair as we
left that Canadian guard room. Then about an hour later, our fellows came and
told us, that this big Negro was looking for us with the intention of giving us
a beating up, but they had sent him in a wrong direction.
We were moving from Bonn at four
in the morning to go on to Cologne, and as we assembled on our horses in the
road I could see this big fellow down in front of the column peering under the
steel helmets of troops as they formed up in sections. As he came close to me,
I leaned over in the saddle and touched him on the arm. The string of curses he
shouted attracted the attention of one of our officers, who could see the state
he was in. He shouted “Get away from here, you black scum, before I have you
arrested and put in irons” and he slunk away like a whipped cur. But I
reflected on the difference in discipline there is in the British Army as
compared to the Canadians, because no British Army officer would have released
a man from the guard room in the drunken state this man was in. I also thought
that the civilians in Bonn were in for a tough time while these Canadians were
there.
We travelled [97] all day in our
march to Cologne, and we kept near the banks of the Rhine River all the way,
and saw some wonderful scenery. The Germans certainly have every reason to be
proud of that river for it is far more attractive than our River Thames. Our
destination was a village on the outskirts of Cologne, and again the order was to
be enforced – that every British soldier was to sleep in a civilian bed. I was
detailed off to find accommodation for 12 men, and so went round knocking at doors,
and when the woman opened the door I said “Fraulein Slapen” [woman, sleep] –
that was the only German I knew. At the same time I held up one finger as a
sign she would have to find a bed for one man. This was sullenly agreed to, for
they had no choice in the matter. They had to give up the best bed in the house
even if it meant their son’s or daughter’s, but I had left my own accommodation
to the last, and the door I knocked on was a very poor dwelling. A woman opened
the door and she had two young children clinging to her skirt, and I could see
she was going to have another very soon. They seemed scared when they saw me,
and I thought she was going to faint, but just then the husband arrived, and I
could see that he was a poor working man. he told me in broken English that he
was a plate-layer on the railway at very low wages. He had been discharged from
the German Army with war wounds that he had received on the Eastern Front in
Russia. He showed me some terrible scars as the result of some very crude
surgery. I had every sympathy for this chap, who I could see was worried, so I
told him I would make do on the sofa in the kitchen, for although they were
poor, everything was very clean.
There was no much food in their
larder, and what there was it was a substitute for food, what the Germans term
“entsatz” [relief]. They had burnt oats for coffee and black bread which has a
sour and bitter taste. They had no butter or sugar but used saccharine. Their
home made jam was unsweetened, but one thing they did not seem short of was
coal for a cheerful fire burnt in the kitchen grate on this cold evening, and I
had slept in far worse places than this during the war. I had placed my rifle
and equipment close handy [98] and had laid down on this sofa to sleep, when
this kitchen was invaded by a group of noisy excited women and then a doctor
arrived so I knew the woman of the house was confined, and in the midst of all
this excitement, then came a knock on the door. It was a motor-cycle orderly
from head-quarters with a message for me. It read “proceed to England on leave at
once” and when the army says at once it means what it says, so I
gathered up my belongings and went for instructions.
There was another man in my
squadron who like myself had waited a long long time for leave, and him and
myself were to go together. We were to travel on horseback to Cologne railway
station and two men were to go with us, to bring our horses back, but the order
also was that we were to hurry so as to catch the train, so we rode at a fast
pace and dashed up to the station where the train was already in at the
platform, so we had no time to say good-bye to the two fellows who had come
with us, but got on the train with our rifles and gear in a breathless state. Then
I got a chance to look about me and found we were in a saloon carriage with red
plush seats. So I said to my companion, “it looks as if we are going home in
style” and he replied “Not on your life. We shan’t be long in this train, about
as far as the border, then it will be battle trucks for us.” And he was right
for when we got there we saw hundreds of men from different regiments who were
going on leave, waiting on the railway track for a French goods train to arrive
it was a bitter cold night and they were stamping up and down to get warm. When
the train came along we were hustled in box cars that are used for cattle forty
men in each truck. This is how British soldiers were transported in the 1st
World War.
It was now the 20th of
December, and I was hoping to be home for Christmas, but that train on the
first stages of its journey had to travel through the war ravaged areas and the
rail track was pitted with shell-craters, so there were many stops and delays.
Then it seemed as if the train was taking us all round France so that it seemed
an eternity before we reached Boulogne and then we had to go to a rest camp for
the night. This was on [99] the top of a hill, and consisted of a large number
of canvas tents. It was bitterly cold, and all of us were “fed up” at the way
we had been pushed around and the manner we had travelled. And when next
morning there was no move made in getting us on to the boat, I began to feel
indifferent as to whether I went on leave or not. For although I had left
Germany as clean as a new pin, I was now in a dirty and dishevelled state. But
towards evening we were marched to the jetty and on to the boat, and this time
no order was given us to put life-belts on which was another reminder to us
that the war was over.
When we arrived at Dover there
was a train waiting for us, and I felt a real pleasure in being once again on
an English train after such a long absence and travelling in a carriage like a
human being, instead of cattle trucks. Also the engine driver unlike the driver
on the French railway must have known how anxious we were to get home, because
he travelled at express speed all the way, and when we reached Victoria
Station, there was ladies to greet us with cups of tea and coffee, sandwiches,
cakes, and cigarettes all of which was free. We all had to see the transport
officer who advanced us £4-0-0 when we showed our pay books. He also gave us a
railway warrant to our various destinations. This occupied a deal of time and
so it was not until 11 p.m. that I got away from Victoria Station. I was not
expected home, and so was not surprised that no one had come to meet me, and
when I arrived home at Wapping I found that my wife and family had gone to
midnight mass, because it was Christmas Eve, so without a rest I also went.
The Church of St Patrick’s was
crowded but I was able to find a place at the back of the church, and as I
attended to the service and listened to the hymns, with their message of “Peace
on Earth, Good Will to all men” I felt that I had a great deal to thank God for,
for this was the church I had been married in and all my children had been
baptised in, and so I felt it was a good omen, that after four years of
absence, our re-union should be at the doors of the church. I was well known
and friends and neighbours wished me the seasonal greetings, and yet but a few
days previously I had deemed it hopeless that I would ever reach home. I had a
very happy time that Christmas, and I had been home only three days, when a
telegram [100] came from the adjutant of the 5th Dragoon Guards. It
stated that if I could return to my previous employment I need not return to
Germany. It also told me I would get my discharge papers from Wimbledon. This
was a pleasant surprise to me, but I soon learned that I was not the only one to
receive this kind of message, for the government had decreed that all
reservists – all re-enlisted men, all the men of Kitchener’s army, were to be
discharged at once. This was to avoid paying any further allowances to the
dependants of these men, and it transpired that this was a big political
blunder for no organisation was prepared to cope with this sudden return to
civilian life of thousands of men, many of whom could not get their old jobs
back because during the war their employers had engaged women at a cheaper rate
of wages and did not want to discharge them.
When I went to Wimbledon to get
my discharge from the army, I saw a scene of confusion for there were hundreds
of soldiers, milling around like a crowd at a football match, and the staff was
too small to cope with them. There was no orderly arrangement or the discipline
that one expects to find in the army, so I decided to postpone my discharge
until a later date. Then I went to visit Moe Mason’s wife and deliver to her
the package which was addressed and marked ‘personal.’ When I knocked at the
door it was opened by a good looking boy with curly hair, he was about eight
years of age, and I saw the resemblance to Moe Mason and knew that this was the
youngster that Mason had a great affection for. He said “mum, there is a soldier come to see
you” and out of the kitchen came Mason’s wife and also two men. I saw a good
looking woman about thirty four years of age, of medium height and a plump
figure, but for some strange reason I did not like her, and her greeting was
none too friendly. One of the men told me he was Mason’s cousin. She said that
she had no regrets at Mason’s death, as he had not been a good husband to her.
But Mason’s cousin who was in the back-ground [101] signalled to me that she
was not to be believed, and later told me she was living with the other man as
his mistress and this had been going on since the beginning of the war. He said
“she is a proper bitch and I am concerned over the poor kid.” And then I knew
that this was a case of a broken home and a broken marriage due to the war. That
while Mason had been fighting for his King and Country, there had been
infidelity at home. I wondered what would be the future of the boy, and whether
he would be sent to an orphanage, and then I thought of his dead father whose
remnants I had buried packed like a sardine in a very long trench in No Man’s
Land.
When later I got my discharge
papers, I found that I also had to go to a labour exchange, but here there was
no delay. I was given a book of coupons that entitled me to twenty-six weeks
unemployment pay. But as I was resuming work at my old firm, I never had to use
them. I found things had changed as far as sentiments was concerned from that
of 1914. Then on nearly every wall placards had stated ‘your king and country
need you.’ Now it was different, for the slackers and the spivs now openly
boasted of the manner they had evaded military service and instead of being
condemned they were admired for their cunning. They also bragged of the money
they had made in the war time rackets. Yet these types had jobs and hundreds of
ex-service men had none. I saw British officers in their war time uniforms with
medal ribbons on their breast pulling street-organs around the West End streets
begging. They wore black masts to conceal their identity, but these officers
had commanded companies of soldiers. They had led their men against the German
trenches, and many had war wounds, yet these men were reduced to cadging for a
living in the same streets in which war profiteers were staying in hotels and
living in luxury.
I recalled that in the blackest
days of the war, politicians had made promises, Homes Fit For Heroes To Live In
[101] was Mr Lloyd George’s promise. Then a composer of music made a song, Land
of Hope and Glory, but not for ex-service men at that period. And so these
ex-soldiers began to organise in a movement called The British Legion, whose
objects were to secure reasonable pensions for disabled soldiers, and this
movement was frowned on by people in authority as they said it was revolt. It
makes me smile to think that at the present time this British Legion is
patronised by Royalty and also famous field marshals and political leaders.
They seem to forget what it was formed for. There is no doubt about it, this
movement has done good work in the interests of disabled soldiers. It states
that it is non-political. Let’s hope it remains so, because we do not want a
militarist political part in this country, for political stability is not
possible. There is a saying “that the evil that men do lives after they are
dead” and in my view that could also apply to the policies of some statesmen.
In the First World War when General Allenby conquered Palestine, a British
Statesman called Balfour[40]
decreed that Palestine should become a national home for the Jews. I have no
animosity against Jews, but I have always thought that from the beginning of
the Christian Era that the Jews were a wandering race of people who had deep
roots in many lands. It used to be a saying of Jews in London’s East End when
talking to a Christian “it is your king, but my country” and if one went around
when the Jewish holidays came round, and saw a large number of shops and
businesses premises that were closed, one would realise how deep were the roots
of this race of people in that part of the globe. But when Balfour gave
Palestine to the Jews, it meant that the occupiers would have to be evicted.
These Arabs we dispossessed of their lands and possessions and as refugees were
driven in to the sterile desert where there is no irrigation. Then when Hitler
began his persecution of the Jews some years later, they fled to this national
home in such vast numbers that another British statesman named Bevin[41]
gave orders to British armed forces, that these Jews were to be repelled. So
there was blood shed and outrages.
At the present time [103] according
to the newspapers, these Arab refugees are agitating for the restoration of the
lands they were dispossessed of. They are living in squalor, they have no work,
and are living on the charity of the United Nations, yet strangely enough both
Arabs and Jews are being supplied with weapons of war. The Egyptians also do
not want the Jews as neighbours and they are being supplied by Communist
countries with the latest type of weapons. And so there is all the inflammable
material to start a war in the Middle East. There is some lip-service being
given to the theme that this is the “Holy Land” but to certain “Greedy
Interests” it is also the Oily Land that is coveted, for the Middle East is
rich in oil, and it all began at the period of the First World War and the
politicians’ decision.
Yet another instance occurs to me
of what happened ‘after’ the First World War, for when the peace terms
were issued to the Germans, the one who had the deciding voice in dictating
those terms was a very old French statesman [42]
who had twice seen his country ravaged by German troops so his terms were harsh
and vindictive. He assumed a Divine Right for the scriptures state “vengeance
is mine said the Lord, I will repay”[43]
So this old man caused hatred and sowed the seeds of a future war for the next
generation. He also caused disruption and distress in this country because when
the transport of reparation coal from the German mines began to arrive in this
country, the British colliery owners sought to reduce already low wages of the
miners, and when these were rejected by the miner’s union, the owners closed
the pits and locked the miners out, so there was unemployment, distress and
hunger in the mining areas. Our British ship building was also affected for our
ship yards were idle notably the town of Jarrow where distress and hunger was
very acute so that they organised a hunger march and led by their woman labour
MP marched on London, and although they got no satisfaction when they arrived
because London had mass unemployment.[44]
In the East End at nearly every
street corner there could be seen groups of idle men. The labour exchanges had
very long queues of men waiting to sign for the ‘dole’, and to these men there
came the collectors for the organised unemployed movement, asking them to enrol
for a penny a week. [104] This was the beginning of the British Communist
Party.[45]
The trade unions seemed to be out of touch with events and devoid of sympathy,
by their rigid adherence to the rules, for no matter how many years a man was a
member, he only had to be 13 weeks in arrears with his contributions and he was
lapsed. How they expected a man to pay contributions from the miserable dole he
received at the labour exchanges I failed to understand. At the other end of
the social scale there was also a scandal, it was termed in the newspapers “the
sale of honours scandal” for the men who had made big profits from the war, by
contributing to a political fund, were given titles.[46]
Such was the peace that victory had brought.
I was privileged to go with the
British Legion to visit the war graves on the Western Front and to attend a
service at the Menin Gate memorial. This was an ornamental archway on which is
inscribed the thousands of names of men whose bodies were never recovered from
the bloody battle field of Ypres where this monument stands and where every
blade of grass represents a human life. Surmounting this archway is a statue of
the British Lion looking towards Germany and underneath are inscribed the words
“if you dare” but the sculpture must have been a mistake for this lion had its
tail between its legs as if it was cowed. The Bishop of London gave a sermon
that was relayed by loud speakers to the multitude present.[47]
His text was “was it worthwhile?” He spoke of the thousands of men who had lost
their lives. He spoke of the vast number of men who were blinded, mutilated,
crippled and gassed, and we were all standing where this had occurred, and yet
when I remember all I have described I thought what a lot of humbug and
hypocrisy it all was and what an illusion that old Frenchman was the cause of
in what was termed ‘the war to end all war.’
And when I went to visit Jack
Daly I found he was another one who regretted the war was over, for it had been
a long holiday for him. He told me that when he had joined the navy he had been
sent to this training depot at the Crystal Palace where he had made it known to
those I had spoken of, that he was a relative of mine. They had given him a
staff job on the camp police and as he evaded being drafted to a ship and sent
to sea, he had [105] obtained frequent leave of absence, which entitled him to
free railway warrants, and by giving false addresses he had made use of these
warrants to travel to Scotland, Ireland, Manchester, and other places all at
the tax-payer’s expense. His wife had received the separation allowance for
herself and her three children, and he had claimed and been paid compensation
for loss of business, when in fact his wife had managed the business all the
time he was away. He had received the war gratuity and a month’s furlough on
full pay, and as most of this money had been added to his banking account he
was better off after the war than he had been before the war, and yet,
but for my intervention on his behalf he would have been sent into the army and
drafted to a war zone. He might possibly have been one of the many thousands
that never returned, but if he did not wish to remember this, I was not going
to remind him, for his wife Beattie never forgot.
[1]
Prime Minister Herbert Asquith, who introduced the Third Home Rule Bill in
1912.
[2]
Edward Carson, who helped to establish the Ulster Volunteer Force in 1913.
[3]
The Curragh Incident took place on 20th March 1914 in County
Kildare, Ireland. British army officers refused to take part in any potential
action against the Ulster Volunteers.
[4]
Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary, nephew and heir to Austrian
Emperor Franz Joseph I, was assassinated on 28th June 1914 in
Sarajevo by Gavrilo Princip, a Serbian Nationalist.
[5]
Kaiser Wilhelm II, ruler of Germany from 15th June 1888 until 9th
November 1918.
[6]
The British government gave an ultimatum to the Germans that they should leave
Belgium by midnight German time (GMT – 1) on the 4th of August. When
the Germans did not do this war became inevitable. A telegram was sent out to
the British military just after 11 PM GMT stating simply “War. Germany. Act.”
[7]
Horatio Herbert Kitchener (1850 – 1916), who became famous for his actions in
the Sudan and Boer War and served as Secretary of State for War at the
beginning of World War I. He died aboard the HMS Hampshire on route to Russia
in 1916 when the vessel was hit by a German mine.
[8]
Richard Haldane (1856 – 1928) served as Secretary of State for War between 1905
and 1912. He was an advisor to Prime Minister Asquith when the war broke out
but was accused of having German sympathies.
[9]
Louis Alexander Mountbatten (1854 – 1921) was a British naval officer and a
German prince related to the British royal family. He was born in Austria and
raised in Germany and Italy, but joined the British Royal Navy at fourteen. He
became First Sea Lord in 1912 but had to retire from this post shortly after
the war began. He changed his name to Mountbatten and relinquished his German
titles in 1917. His son Louis Mountbatten was the last Viceroy of India and was
murdered by the IRA in 1979. The Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Phillip, is one of
his grandchildren.
[10]
The Battle of Jutland took place from 31st May to 1st
June 1916.
[11]
According to the John Gray Centre, Dunbar housed a cavalry depot where the 5th
Dragoon Guards had their headquarters. 85 men were billeted in Dunbar Parish
church halls at the beginning of the war and volunteers from the congregation
paid for and cooked their first meals. Those from the 5th Dragoon
Guards slept in the ladies cloakrooms and took their meals at nearby houses.
[12]
Daniel Casey refers to Mason throughout his text as ‘Moe Mason’, however, my
research shows that his name was probably actually Arthur Robert Mason. It may
be that ‘Moe’ was a nickname, or that Daniel preferred to use an alias for him.
[13]
Sir John Denton Pinkstone French (1852 – 1925) was an Anglo-Irish soldier in
the British army. He served as commander in chief for the BEF in the first two
years of the war. He became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in 1918 and remained
such throughout the Irish War of Independence.
[14]
General Edmund Allenby (1861 – 1936) fought in the Boer War and World War I. He
captured Jerusalem from the Ottoman Empire in 1917 and helped to force the
Turks to make peace on 30th October 1918.
[15]
Also known as Catsburg, close to Ypres and visible from the Tynecot British
cemetery.
[16]
Daniel Casey’s memoirs are slightly inaccurate here as all of Kaiser Wilhelm’s
children survived the war. The person to whom Daniel is referring can only be
Prince Max of Hesse (1894 – 1914) who was a nephew to the Kaiser being the son
of his younger sister Margrethe and Friedrich Charles Von Hesse. He was killed
in the capture of Mont Des Cats on 12th October 1914 whilst serving
with the Prussian 1st Life Hussars.
[17]
The text here could not be clearly read, but seemed to say “order to leave.”
[18]
The Commonwealth War Graves commission lists four men from the 5th
Dragoon Guards as having died on the 16th of November 1914, with a
further two deaths on the 17th of November. This is likely to be the
date of Daniel’s first experience of the trenches. However, the commission also
lists 23 men from the 5th Dragoons as having died on the 31st
of October, which means there is the possibility that the events described
actually took place on that date.
[19]
The phrase ‘very light’ refers to signal flares which were fired from Very
pistols. These were named after their inventor, American naval officer Edward
Wilson Very (1847 – 1910).
[20]
This is likely to be the Lee Enfield Short Magazine rifle.
[21] A
total of 306 men were executed by the British and Commonwealth military command
during the war.
[22]
If Daniel Casey was in the trenches by November 1914, as he stated on page 44
of his text, then this short period of leave should have been taken in
approximately February 1916.
[23]
Edward George Villiers Stanley (1865 – 1948) was the 17th Earl of
Derby and served as British Minister for War from 1916 – 18. In 1915 he was in
charge of recruiting and set up ‘The Derby Scheme’ to encourage men to join the
army, and was involved with setting up the ‘Pal’s Batallions’ which encouraged
people from the same area to join up together and fight in the same unit.
[24]
The Military Service Act of I916 was introduced in January 1916 and came into
force on March 2nd 1916 throughout Great Britain, although it
excluded Ireland due to political unrest in the country. The original act
required all unmarried men between 18 and 45 to serve in the army unless they
were a widower with children, a minister of religion, or in a reserved
occupation. A second act was passed in May 1916 which extended liability to
married men.
[25]
Ellen had several sisters: Mary (born 1867) who married a man called Pringle;
Agnes who married a man called Dave Reidy; Margaret (born 1878) who married a
man called Hasom; Kate who married a George Pointer. It is unclear which sister
is being referred to here or who the naval brother-in-law was.
[26]
The Battle of Cambrai was fought from 20th November to 7th
December 1917 in the Nord-Pas-De-Calais.
[27]
General Julian Byng (1862 – 1935). He was born in Hertsmere, England, and
served in Egypt and the Sudan. During World War I he served in Gallipoli before
being put in charge of Canadian forces at Vimy Ridge. Between 1921 and 1926 he
served as the Governor General of Canada.
[28]
Tanks were originally known as ‘Land Ships.’ The exact word that Daniel Casey
uses here is not entirely clear but I believe it says ‘crab.’
[29]
The initial plan at the Somme was to break through the German lines and then
send cavalry forward to attack the open country beyond. It was expected that
the German defences would be severely weakened by days of bombardment, however,
for a variety of reasons they were less damaged than hoped, for instance, many
of the British shells did not explode on impact. Over 20,000 British soldiers
died on the first day of the battle.
[30]
The Battle of Arras took place between 9th April and 16th
May 1917 in Arras near Lille.
[31]
Easter Sunday 1917 was the 8th of April.
[32]
The Second Battle for Ypres in Belgium was fought from April 21st to
May 25th 1915.
[33]
Sir Adrian Paul Ghislain Carton De Wiart (1880 – 1863) served in the Boer War,
World War I and World War II. He was a British army officer of Belgian and
Irish descent. He was shot in the face, head, stomach, ankle, leg, hip and ear,
survived two plane crashes, tunnelled his way out of a POW camp, and bit off
his own fingers when a doctor refused to amputate them. When talking of the
Great War he said “Frankly I had enjoyed the war.”
[34]
Whilst Daniel Casey asserts that these events took place in January 1918, my
research indicates that they actually took place in December 1917.
[35]
The Commonwealth War Graves Commission states that Arthur Robert Mason and
James Brown were killed on the 23rd of December 1917. They are both
buried in Tincourt New British Cemetery near Peronne.
[36]
This would appear to be the Battle of Amiens, which took place on 08/08/1918.
[37]
Lord Henry Rawlinson, 1864 – 1925.
[38]
The Bible, Exodus 21:24.
[39]
This would probably have been the 22nd Canadian Infantry in December
1918.
[40]
British Foreign Secretary Arthur Balfour (1848 – 1930) who issued the Balfour
Declaration to Baron Walter Rothschild on November 2nd 1917
promising to create a Jewish state in Palestine.
[41]
Ernest Bevin (1881 – 1951) served as Foreign Secretary to the Labour Government
after World War II. He oversaw the British withdrawal from India and much of
the Middle-East, and helped to set up NATO. After the war there was over
100,000 displaced Jewish persons seeking to move to Palestine, but Bevin
refused to remove immigration caps on Jewish immigration to Palestine.
[42]
Daniel Casey is probably referring to Georges Clemenceau (1841 – 1929) who was
French Prime Minister during the time the Treaty of Versailles was signed in
1919.
[43]
This is first stated in The Bible, Deuteronomy 32:35 and is repeated in Romans
12:19 and Hebrews 10:30.
[44]
The Jarrow March or ‘Jarrow Crusade’ took place in October 1936. 207 workers
marched from Jarrow to Westminster, a distance of 30 miles or 480 kilometres.
They were led by their MP Ellen Wilkinson.
[45]
The Communist Party of Great Britain was founded in 1920 from the merger of
several smaller Marxist political parties.
[46]
The selling of honours became a scandal in June 1922 when Conservative MPs were
able to show that Liberal Prime Minister David Lloyd George had been selling
peerages and knighthoods to raise funds for his party. This, together with
other problems such as granting the existence of the Irish Free State, led to
Lloyd George’s downfall as Prime Minister in October 1922.
[47]
This is likely to be Bishop Arthur Winnington-Ingram (1858 – 1946) who was Bishop
of London from 1901 to 1939. He was a vocal supporter of the First World War
and encouraged recruitment. He was affiliated with the London Rifle Brigade and
London Royal Navy Volunteers and visited men on the Western Front to serve as a
chaplain.
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