Part 9

Our time for loading at railhead was usually about midnight, and at about this hour on the night of the 17th the weather changed, and the heavens began to pour forth rain and continued to do so throughout the night. We were not the only Division to be loading at the time, and the chaos of traffic in the pitch-black darkness and pouring rain can only be described as appalling. The amazing thing is that accidents and collisions between lorries are of such rare occurrence; their almost entire absence is due to the careful handling of the vehicles by the drivers. To back a heavy lorry up against a railway truck in the dark without damaging the tail-board or trying to knock the train over requires care and much practice. During the night a few shells came over; they fell in a field at the far side of the railhead yard, doing no damage. The change in the weather had evidently upset the Hun gunners. It had been very cloudy in the earlier part of the evening of the 17th, and they had even omitted the usual hour of "hate," except for a salvo of shrapnel shells, some half-dozen or so, which went over Albert and burst on a brow of a hill beyond. No doubt they were trying to _strafe_ the guns, which from that direction had been firing at them continuously all the previous day and night. Loading being finished, we got back to our camp and between the blankets at 4 a.m. Fortunately, we had by now been issued from Ordnance with a few bell tents, which we pitched alongside the entrance to a dug-out. A subterranean gallery, some forty or fifty yards long, ran underneath, and opening out of it were several spacious dug-outs--some of the best I have seen; as good as many German ones, which is saying a good deal. The whole earthwork was dug deep into the chalky soil, its perpendicular walls wire netted; it was roofed with stout tree-trunks, and laid across these were sandbags. It was conveniently situated for us to beat a hasty retreat into when the shells became too frequent and fell sufficiently close to make us wonder how much nearer the next might come. This dug-out was behind a row of shell-shattered and deserted small suburban houses, and extended under the back gardens of some of them, now all joined into one. These had evidently once been well stocked and cultivated gardens, as there were the remains of strawberry beds and patches of all the domestic vegetables. Our mess cook was not long in discovering and picking enough spinach for dinner one night, and a patch of thriving young turnips provided the vegetable courses for several days following. What, one wondered, would be the feelings of the unfortunate owner of one of these houses should he one day come back to find his garden connected by subterranean passages with those of his neighbours? Incidentally, there is little to be seen above the surface of the ground to indicate the existence of the large cellars and passages underneath.

Throughout Monday, the 18th, the rain continued. We convoyed the rations in the afternoon to the cavalry, who were still bivouacked. Nothing could have looked more miserable than those miles of horse lines on the rain-sodden ground, now a quagmire of mud. A line of small flags had been stuck in the ground, and stretched away in the distance, indicating the route across country which the mounted men were to take when the time for them to go up to the line came. But that day no one was very optimistic; somehow, in the rain everything seems hopelessly impossible! At about 8 that evening the rain ceased for a time, the sky cleared, and our guns, which had been very quiet all day, started on their exploits once more, much to the annoyance of every one in their vicinity who was at the time anticipating a night of undisturbed and well-earned slumber. On the night of the 19th we turned in early; the supply train was not expected to arrive till 3 the following morning. Hardly had I blown out my candle, when once more the German shells started to come over. All through the night they shelled Albert intermittently, and we were glad of the homely dug-out. For every one they sent over they seemed to get about twenty back, including some from a 15-inch gun that had suddenly got busy. The supply train eventually arrived at 7 a.m. on the 20th. At the station there were a few big shell holes, but little damage. True, one had exploded on the permanent way; one short length of line had been torn up as a result and was pointing skywards, several sleepers being destroyed; but the damage was only such as could be repaired in a few hours, and did not hold up the traffic at all. The Germans were still shelling, and continued to do so throughout the morning in several directions, in their attempts, no doubt, to search out the guns that were bothering them so much. So things went on from day to day. On the afternoon of the 21st, half a dozen shells landed in the field adjoining our little camp. One, which fell on a house, killed several soldiers; the others did no material damage. Towards night they started to _strafe_ again, and succeeded in hitting the ammunition dump near our lines which I referred to earlier in this chapter. The whole sky was lit up by the red glow from the fire, which was, of course, the result, and for some hours afterwards there was a succession of "ping-ping-pom-poms," as the fire spread and the ammunition became ignited. All night long, as usual, the _strafe_ continued, the Huns, also as usual, getting back good measure for what they sent over, including some useful efforts on the part of a large howitzer battery which had recently joined in the fray. When fired at a distance of a mile or so away, one could literally feel the blast in one's face. The resulting din can be better imagined than described. On such occasions, even from the point of view of getting away from the noise, there are worse places to spend a night in than in a dug-out 7 feet high, 8 feet broad, and 15 feet long, 12 feet below the level of the ground.

Albert at this time was distinctly unhealthy. The shells exacted their daily toll. Occasionally the Huns varied their hate by sending over a few lachrymatory or tear shells, which, however, falling a fair distance away from us, only had the effect of making our eyes smart for a time. We at first attributed this to the lorry "exhausts" and the quality of the petrol.

On September 25th one squadron of a Native lancer regiment was put into action. Cavalry patrols were sent on ahead, and returned to report that the village of Gueudecourt was still held by the enemy. The squadron galloped to the outskirts of the village; dismounting, they got their Hotchkiss machine guns into action and engaged the enemy for several hours. They had a few casualties amongst men and lost some horses, but achieved their objective. At Albert there was a sudden and unmistakable lull in the enemy's shelling. The reason was soon forthcoming. On the 27th we heard that not only Combles, but the fortress of Thiepval, which had for so long been bombarded by our artillery, had at length fallen to the Allied arms. Doubtless it was there that the guns which had been shelling Albert were situated; the shells had at any rate invariably come from that direction. Along the road from Thiepval to Albert that day were to be seen Hun prisoners being marched back not by tens but by hundreds. Many were wounded and looked pitiful as they came hobbling along, helping one another, guarded by mounted men--not that they needed guarding or were capable of escaping. Those that were not wounded seemed dazed and demoralized; here and there was one who had obviously been driven mad by the ordeal he had been through--the continual and ever-increasing hell fire which had been directed on Thiepval. One prisoner taken that day I heard, much to my surprise, had before the war been employed as chief telephone clerk in a big London hotel. At midnight on September 27th the Column left Albert and moved back to Corbie. Thence, in conjunction with the cavalry, we retraced our steps by gradual stages westward.

_*Chapter XIV*_

_*TO BAPAUME, PERONNE, AND BEYOND*_

Events sometimes occur quickly and unexpectedly in this war. Recent ones justify another chapter. The 1st day of November 1916 found us on our way to winter billets; and in the same "back area" as that occupied the previous year we spent the long, dreary winter months. They were chiefly characterized as being the coldest on record and by the most prolonged and severe spell of frost within recollection. The thaw was, if anything, more unpleasant. French roads, even the main ones, seem to lack a sufficient foundation of metal, and the results caused by the passage of heavy transport over them during a thaw are, to say the least, disastrous to both roads and transport. They consist in the giving way, and in places utter collapse, of the roads. The difficulty is theoretically overcome by a procedure known as _barrieres fermees_, which roughly means that when a thaw sets in all main roads are closed to heavy motor traffic until the thaw has been in progress for several days. After that, _barrieres fermees_ become _barrieres ouvertes_ once more. Whether it was owing to the impossibility of carrying out this scheme for a sufficient length of time, or due to a failure in the perfect working of the system, it is difficult to say, but the results were unfortunate. Many roads became impassable, and mechanical transport lorries were constantly getting "bogged" everywhere. A period of rain did not improve matters, and when they were almost at their worst for the moving up of ammunition and guns, the astute Hun began this retreat to the more salubrious neighbourhood of the Hindenburg line. Immediately, almost, we were on the road towards Albert.

The last week of March found us encamped just outside it. The cavalry had made a forced march, covering the best part of seventy miles inside two days. Not bad going, taking into consideration the heavy, muddy roads. Once again there was a wave of optimism and confidence in the air. The Huns were in retreat, unable to hold any longer the line they had fortified and stuck to for so many months; Bapaume had fallen; our troops were still advancing and meeting with little opposition from the enemy. Three very good reasons for optimism!

The town of Albert was, we found, little changed in appearance since our departure six months before, but it was a very much more healthy spot, being out of range of artillery. Even its civilian population was returning in considerable numbers. One of the largest Expeditionary Force Canteens had been established, also quite a good Officers' Club.

During the first few days of April enemy aeroplanes came over and dropped several bombs. The damage done, however, was negligible, except to a motor-lorry, in which three men who were sleeping were unfortunately killed. Later on, when the last week of April brought fine weather and clear blue skies, Taubes became our daily visitors, though the barrage of anti-aircraft batteries kept them too high to make bombing worth while. Heavy snow marked our arrival at the front, and it certainly seemed that spring operations had started in weather that was as unfavourable as it was reminiscent of mid-winter. To add insult to injury, on almost the coldest night of all the British Expeditionary Force advanced its clock an hour and "summer time" came in! Railhead was moved up as far as ----, as soon as railway communication was opened up. It had been a village of some hundred and thirty houses. Now, of course, it was completely ruined, but none the less a place of considerable importance. Surprisingly few "traps" were left behind there by the Germans. On two occasions only, mines exploded, each leaving fair-sized craters under the permanent way, but only causing such slight damage that traffic was not seriously interfered with.

To reach Bapaume from Albert there is a long, straight road, which, from strategical importance, must almost equal that wonderful road from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun. The latter has come to be known as "La Voie sacree" and General Petain is said to have stated that the battle of Verdun was largely won by the prowess of the motor drivers along it, during those months when there passed over it a never-ending, continuous line of convoys, transporting munitions and rations to the defenders of France's most famous outpost.

The Albert-Bapaume road presented many points of interest. A few kilometres along it is Pozieres, the name of a village which formerly existed here. Now it is indicated only by a signboard announcing the fact.

To the left are such places as Ovillers, Thiepval, Courcelette--names which recall bloody combats of a few months ago. Like Pozieres, nothing now remains of them. A little further along one strikes Le Sars. There are indications here of what was once a village and a wood. Now the wood looks like a skeleton and the ground is littered with bricks and odd pieces of timber. On either side of the road the ground is literally studded with shell holes; not a solitary square yard of it has escaped: everywhere are broken-down dug-outs, old artillery emplacements, and irregular and much battered lines of trenches, running seemingly in all directions and difficult to follow. There is not a blade of grass or any sign of life. To leave the road is to meet with quantities of unexploded shells, broken and abandoned equipment, skulls, and corpses of both British and German soldiers. Salvage and burial parties are constantly at work and gradually clearing the ground, a task of some magnitude. Here and there are the little military cemeteries--row after row of long brown mounds of earth, each surmounted by a wooden cross; here and there a smashed-up aeroplane waiting to be salved.

Nowhere is the ghastly aftermath of war more in evidence than around the Butte de Warlencourt, a few miles further along the road. The Butte appears an isolated hill, rising by gradual ascent to a height of about 100 feet. To capture it from the enemy must have been a matter of considerable difficulty. On its summit is a large wooden cross, dedicated to the memory of the gallant officers, N.C.O.'s, and men of the Durham Light Infantry who fell there in November 1916. At various points on the road, particularly, of course, at cross-roads, the Germans before their retreat set mines; these, later exploding, have caused enormous upheavals of earth and craters large enough, many of them, to bury half a dozen motor-lorries in. To let traffic pass them, it has been necessary to circumvent them with causeways built around their lips, until such time as they have been filled in again and the road is once more built up and able to follow its usual course. Eventually appears Bapaume, and the Albert road at this point strikes at right angles the road which, to the left, proceeds to Arras, and to the right into the centre of the town, into which converge roads from Cambrai, Douai, and Peronne.

Bapaume itself presents a sight which is at once amazing and tragic. The first thing that strikes the observer is that it is not suffering so much from the effects of artillery bombardment as from the deliberate burning and blowing up of its houses, and chiefly by the fronts having been blown out. Where these have thus been destroyed, the roofs have collapsed into the houses. Almost every building has been demolished in this way; in many cases the grey slate roofs lie complete, warped but intact, over a mass of debris caused by the blowing down of the supporting walls. Most of the furniture from the houses was presumably removed some time ago to furnish German dug-outs; what has not been made use of in this way has been piled up inside the houses, and, after being tarred, set alight. The trees which formerly adorned the main roads have, to a great extent, been sawn off near their stumps, and the trunks lay, till removed by our troops, at right angles across the roads. I take the object of this tree-felling to be threefold. Firstly, to impede advancing troops; secondly, to leave no cover, and thus throw the roads open to aeroplane observation; and thirdly, for the sake of sheer destructiveness. The third is an undeniable reason, for even the little fruit and rose trees in cottage gardens had not been spared at the hands of the Hun.

The wells everywhere had been poisoned with arsenic or fouled with manure. In Bapaume itself the cleanest well was found to contain eight German corpses. To appreciate the "wanton and cruel spirit," as Mr. Ian Malcolm so aptly describes the spirit in which the Germans are losing the war, I quote in full a letter from him which appeared in _The Times_ on April 7th, 1917. Comment would be superfluous. I can only add that, judging from the devastation, the Hun soldiers must have carried out their orders with a thoroughness which is typical of German organization, except, of course, in such places from which their hurried evacuation did not give them time. The following is the letter:--

MORE INHUMAN DOCUMENTS

TO THE EDITOR OF _THE TIMES_

SIR,--I enclose herewith two "scraps of paper" taken from German prisoners in the region of Bapaume, where I found myself last Monday. Their contents should, I think, be made known far and wide, for they bear eloquent testimony to the wanton and cruel spirit in which the Germans are losing the war. I will add that, for the time being, the originals are in my possession, and that these translations are faithfully done from the originals.

No. 1, dated March 9th, gives instructions for the procedure preliminary to the so-called German "withdrawal" on the British front, and runs as follows:--

1. Pioneer ----, and 1 infantryman will throw dung into the wells.

2. Pioneer ----, and 2 infantrymen will cut down the trees.

3. Pioneer ----, and 2 infantrymen will carry out special tasks.

4. Pioneer ----, and 2 infantrymen will stack wood in houses.

No. 2 is a time-table to be carried out at Bancourt, a village just east of Bapaume.

In the village of Bancourt it is more important to set fire to the houses than to blow them up.

5th March:--Straw will be heaped up and tarred.

10th March:--Explosives are to be ready for the cellars and wells in Bancourt.

11th March:--All unused wells and watering ponds must be plentifully polluted with dung and creosote soda. Sufficient dung and creosote soda must be placed in readiness beside the wells which are still in use.

12th March:--Bancourt must be ready to be set on fire.

13th March:--Parade in fighting kit, issue of iron rations, cleaning of arms, instruction regarding safe roads to be used and instructions for the demolition party.

14th March:--Explosives to be issued for destroying the cellars and wells in Bancourt. Bancourt church tower will be blown up.

16th March:--All wells in Bancourt with the exception of one will be blown up by 6.30 p.m.

17th March:--The road mines will be fired at 3 a.m. The remaining cellars in Bancourt will be blown up at 3.15 a.m., and Bancourt will be set on fire at 4 a.m.

Your obedient servant,

IAN MALCOLM. BRYANSTON SQUARE, April 6th.

5, BRYANSTON SQUARE, _April 6th_.

It is noticeable that along many roads the great trees on either side of them have only been felled on one side, sometimes on the other, seldom on both at the same point. Possibly those left were intended as landmarks for artillery ranging purposes. Beyond Bapaume every village, with a mine crater at its entrance, has shared the same fate. At Beugny, part of the outer walls of the church still stand; inside them are lying about church ornaments, crucifixes, figures of saints deliberately destroyed by being decapitated, and mingling with this strange collection on the ground are countless old champagne and hock bottles. Around the church are hundreds of German graves. Amongst them I noticed one cross, similar to all the others, bearing as an inscription the one word "Englander." Hidden in the ruins of these places the Germans have not omitted to leave traps and ruses. Many of the roads were left for us mined, so that every cross-road became suspicious and the R.E.'s were busy investigating. A good many traps were discovered in time; others, unfortunately, were not.

The country the other side of the old German line looked refreshingly green, but only traces remained of former supply dumps and camps, of which everything of value had been completely cleared away. The roads, too, had obviously not been subjected to such severe wear and tear as those on our side. The Germans had used light railways running along the roadside in lieu of transport by motor-lorries on the roads themselves. Though the railway lines had been carefully taken up and removed, the sleepers still remained in many places and the lay of the former track was still visible. The devastation and laying waste of the countryside suggested to one's mind that the enemy did not anticipate having to fight over the same ground again.

Perhaps one of the most striking roads on this part of the front is that which goes through Aveluy and runs along the valley of the Ancre to Miraumont. From it can be had a wonderful panorama landscape of former trenches and heavily shelled battlefields.

The end of March and beginning of April saw, for a time, at any rate, a return to the more interesting though less comfortable open form of warfare. Cavalry patrols were out on reconnaissances, and in touch with Uhlans and the rearguards covering the German retreat. They were at such places as Miraumont and Bihcourt, and not once, but several times, Brigades marched out in the early hours of the morning "into the blue," spoiling for a big open fight.

During this time, one echelon or section of the Supply Column was employed in rationing the troops. The second section was employed on various other jobs, such as stone and road repair material fatigues, and taking up ammunition for the guns. The latter is a particularly interesting job; especially is it so when 9.2-inch howitzer shells compose the load. First of all, there is the loading, at one of the many ammunition dumps. These dumps seem to be everywhere; they spring up like mushrooms in a night and in the most unexpected places. Perhaps on what was once "No-man's-land," to-day there are enormous stacks of shells silhouetted against the sky. From these dumps the lorries draw their death-dealing loads. The shells are taken from the stacks and piled on to trucks running on a light railway to the edge of a road. Here they are transferred to the motor-lorries. Then there is the journey up to the battery, at snail's pace, probably, for no vehicle, except a Staff car, must pass another along the ---- road. Traffic control officers and mounted military police on the road see to this. Arriving back at your parking ground, you have just swallowed breakfast, only to find that you must go off again almost immediately and repeat the performance. So that, though tired perhaps, you feel you are of a little use, even though it is only the Army Service Corps you are in! Long days and nights, but full of interest, and not infrequently enlivened by a few "souvenirs" from the Hun batteries across the way-shells that blow motor-lorries into matchboard and scrap iron and kill the men in charge of them.