Part 3

The Uhlan prisoners created some amusement as they were being marched along, for, as they are not used to marching, and were wearing great jack-boots, it nearly kills them, but they were pushed along by the infantry. While the Uhlans were thus being urged along the Frenchwomen tried to get at them and shouted to the soldiers to cut their throats. Fortunately for the prisoners, they were strongly guarded: _A Gunner of the Royal Field Artillery_.

Grave-digging

We were told off to bury German dead, but we couldn’t get through, there were so many, and we sent into their lines under a flag of truce to ask if they would come out and help. They sent a lot of men out, and they were quite friendly. They were well supplied with cigars, which they most likely looted from some French houses, and they offered us some, which we were glad of: _Pte. Brady, Irish Rifles_.

A Barber in Lambeth

I went to a village by motor with an officer to dress some German wounded, about forty all told. I was doing two German brothers, and they spoke very good English. One said, “Where are your good people going to send us?” I replied that I thought they would be sent to England, and he said, “That’s good. I hope it will be somewhere near Lambeth Walk, for I have a barber’s shop there, and then my wife can come and see me”: _Pte. Flaxman, Army Medical Corps_.

Berlin “Nuts”

I am writing this on a lady’s glove-box. I picked it up here, but how it got here God only knows. These German officers are awful “nuts,” and carry as many beautifiers as an actress on tour. They use their gloves for another purpose. They put a bullet or stone in the finger of a loose glove and flick the ears of their men. We found a wounded German who had been a clerk in London. His ears were extra large and were both swollen and skinned by the flicks he had got from his officers: _Pte. F. Burton, of the Bedfords_.

“Collies?”

It’s my opinion that you couldn’t find greater collies between the seven seas of the world than these Germans, not if you were to walk about for a month of Sundays, with all their bragging and bantering and bullying of the plucky little Belgians, and any Christian might be ashamed to use our wounded the way these sausage-faced German pigs used them. The “parley-voos” treated us right decently from the first day that ever we set foot in their country: _A Private of the Connaught Rangers_.

The Track of the Huns

One of the worst features of the war has been to witness the plight of the refugees in the stricken countries. I have seen many a strong man in our ranks with tears in his eyes when we have passed poor women and children flying from their homes, their only food being that which our soldiers gave them. Every village through which the Germans had passed in their retirement was practically blown to pieces. It is also tragic to see thousands of acres of corn and vines rotting, with no one to gather them in: _Sergt. Walker, King’s Liverpool Regiment_.

Got the Guns

The Germans seem to think that you can catch Irish soldiers with fly-papers, for they just stepped up the other day and called on us to surrender as bold as you like, and bolder. We didn’t waste any words in telling them to go about their business, but we just grabbed hold of our bayonets and signed to them to come on if they wanted anything, but they didn’t seem in a hurry to meet us. After a bit they opened fire on us with a couple of Maxims, but we just fixed bayonets and went for the guns with a rush. They appear to be delicate boys indeed, and can’t stand very much rough usage with the bayonet. We got their guns: _Pte. E. Ryan, Royal Munster Fusiliers_.

“Made in Germany”

The first thing we saw was what looked like a big black screen rolling up and blotting out the countryside. It turned out that the screen was the German motor-cars. I must tell you that they never marched until they got near to the firing line. They filled the cars with men, as thick as they could stick. Then another batch would sit on the shoulders of the others, and a third lot on theirs. Straight, it struck me as so funny the first time I saw it. I was reminded of a troupe of acrobats on the halls: _A Private of the Middlesex Regiment_.

“Over the Shoulder”

They don’t like steel, those Germans. I threw three of them consecutively over my shoulder on the point of the bayonet, and the very next moment a shrapnel shell burst right on my rifle. How I escaped with what I’ve got I don’t know. All the shell did was to blow my rifle to smithereens and the tips of my trigger and next two fingers off. The doctor says it’s only the tips gone. That’s good, as I shall have enough to pull the trigger with again, and if that fails there’s the “over-the-shoulder touch,” which is more than enough for the Germans: _A Scots Guardsman, at Mons_.

No Chocolates

It is pitiful to see the innocent women and little children driven from their humble homes to trek to different parts of France, literally starving on the road. And when they return they will find that their only shelters have been burned to the ground. I see in the papers that English people have been giving chocolate and cigarettes to the German prisoners, and, I daresay, every comfort they require. Yet a few weeks ago the same men were robbing, looting, and causing grief and anxiety in this country! Instead of giving them cigarettes and chocolates, English people should distribute the money amongst the wives and families whose husbands and fathers will never return: _Gunner E. Tyler, of Bristol_.

Kill or Wound?

One of the German soldiers captured by the Lancashires observed, “You shoot to kill; we fire from the hip, and only want to wound.” On a German officer who was made prisoner a diary was found in which was entered the advice: “Do not face the British troops when entrenched; their fire is murderous. First sweep the trenches with artillery fire.” One of the German methods of finding the range with their big guns is to heap up the corpses of their fallen men, and thus, when the Allied troops advance, their distance from the batteries can accurately be gauged: _A Private in the Coldstreams_.

A Lucky Escape

The devils came into the village and said the poor people were hiding English soldiers. They then set the houses on fire, and I could see the flames coming my way. I managed to get out before the stack took fire, only to run into the arms of three of the Germans. They were as drunk as they could be, and I soon got out of their grips. If two of them are alive their mothers will not know them. But I was caught a little later by two more of them. I thought it was all over with me, when one of them was shot dead by one of our chaps who was hiding. I didn’t know he was there, and you may imagine my feelings when he came running to me. We got away, but we should have been riddled if they had been sober: _A Trooper of the 11th Hussars_.

False Bugle-calls

We found the Germans continually sounding our bugle-calls for the purpose of deceiving our men, and one of our worst fights took place at a place I can’t tell you the name of, because the Germans sounded the retreat for one of our advanced battalions, and then it was attacked in murderous fashion as it deployed across the open in the belief that it was being ordered to fall back. For a time that threw the whole line into confusion, but we soon got right again, and drove the Germans off in fine style with the bayonet. After that bugle-calls were dispensed with, but the Germans soon “tumbled” to that and took to picking off the dispatch-riders who were sent with orders. In that way it happened that bodies of men never got their orders to retreat or advance, and that’s why some of our regiments got cut up here and there: _A Private of the 18th Royal Irish Regiment_.

A Tell-tale Diary

I found this diary on a German officer we had captured:

July 20: At last the day! To have lived to see it! We are ready. Let him come who may. The world race is destined to be German.

August 11: And now for the English, used to fighting farmers. To-night William the Greater has given us beautiful advice. You think each day of your Emperor. Do not forget God. His Majesty should remember that in thinking of him we think of God, for is he not the Almighty’s instrument in this glorious fight for right?

August 20: The conceited English have ranged themselves up against us at absurd odds, our airmen say.

August 25: An English shell burst on a Red Cross wagon to-day. Full of English. Ha! ha! serve the swine right. Still, they fight well. I salute the officer who kept on swearing at Germany and her Emperor in his agony. And then to ask calmly for a bath. These English! We have hardly time to bury our own dead, so they are being weighted in the river: _Pte. Crow, 2nd Seaforth Highlanders_.

V. CAMPAIGNING IN GENERAL

_What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn-cocks say Night is growing grey, To hazards whence no tears can win us; What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away?_

THOMAS HARDY.

It is a rough life, getting food the best way you can, and cooking it all ways. One morning we were cooking some rabbits and the Germans surprised us, so we had to leave quick: _Corpl. Prickard, 11th Hussars_.

Wanted a Hat!

I have lost another horse. A piece of shell caught it, and another took my hat off, so I have a big French sun-hat now for headgear until I can find one lying about somewhere: _A Trooper of the 15th Hussars_.

A Day in Bed

There is one thing I would appreciate as much as anything just at present, and that is a day’s sleep in bed. We have not undressed for a month, and a little straw under some cover is considered a luxury: _A Private of M Section, B Signal Company_.

Lost!

If we lay down on the road we fell asleep at once, but if Germans got wind of us they were on top of us before we could get to sleep. We just lived on pears and apples, and eventually fell in with a party of French cavalry, who shared their bread with us: _A Sergeant in an Irish Regiment_.

Looked After

I am in the best of health and am getting plenty of food. We get bacon for breakfast, corned-beef stew for dinner, cheese and jam for tea and supper, plenty of tea and sugar, and at four o’clock every morning a half-quartern of rum, so you see they look after us all right: _Lance-Corpl. Feeley, 1st Dorsetshire Regiment_.

“Have You a Light?”

We keep a fire or candle going all day and night specially for lighting “fags” and pipes. If on the move we keep a lantern on the go, so if you could send me a good substantial pipe-lighter (I don’t care how much it costs) it will be the best turn you have ever done to the army, and I shall be in great demand: _Sergt. Horwell, Royal Artillery_.

Don’t Know!

It’s fighting and marching every day. There was a majority of us that thought it would be over by this time, but I am afraid that it will last a lot longer than what one thought. We get no news here at all, and we don’t even know where we are stationed; they won’t tell us anything: _Pte. E. Lawrence, Bedfordshire Regiment_.

The Cannon’s Roar

Townsmen who are used to the noise and roar of streets can stand it better than the countrymen, and I think you will find that by far the fittest men are those of regiments mainly recruited in the big cities. A London lad near me says it’s no worse than the roar of motor-buses and other traffic in the City on a busy day: _Sergeant-Major McDermott_.

Hard Lines

We had been two days and nights in the rain and were soaking to the skin. My section was told off to hold a farm till we got the order to retire, but to burn it before we retired. I was in a hay-loft setting fire to it when the floor gave way and I was sent flying through to the ground below, and I could not get up. It was hard lines: _Private R. McBride_.

Roughing It!

I am laid on my stomach on a barn floor writing this with the light of a candle I am lucky enough to get hold of. As I write this I can hear our big guns firing; in fact, they fairly shake the place I am in. We are just going to turn into some nice dry straw, and have a well-earned sleep. Talk about roughing it: a man that gets through this can get through anything at all: _Trooper Stephenson, 18th Hussars_.

A Sing-song

Every night round the camp-fire we have our photos out--that is, if we have any--then we have a song. The favourites are “Never Mind” and “The Last Boat is Leaving for Home.” The French people gave us a great welcome when we came here, and they have kept it up in every town and village we have come through: _A Private of the 2nd Royal Scots_.

One Blessing

We are a rough lot out here, and washing and shaving are things of the past. The roof we sleep under is large--the sky--and the rain comes through very often. Our shirts we change when they wear out. You must not worry too much if there are very long lapses between the letters, as we can’t always write. It’s a game of dodging shells here. There is one blessing: we get plenty of food, and they are looking after us the best they can: _Sergt. Prout, South Wales Borderers_.

Not Worrying

I’m doing and going as I’m told, not worrying, but taking things as they come. I’ve slept in barns, wool stores, cinemas, casinos, dock sheds, and for a bit had the stars as a counterpane. The fighting has been very fierce and close; as one pal said, “Oh! ain’t it ’ot?” We have been outnumbered, sometimes 10,000 to 2000, but our boys stick to them, and have played havoc with their “mass formations.” The Maxims have cut them down like corn, and when we charge with fixed bayonets see ’em run like rats. They will get no quarter from our “mob”: _Pte. Bromfield, Royal Engineers_.

Scrap Iron

We were kept on the go for a week, day and night, with hardly a wink of sleep. What we did get was just lying down and dozing off, sometimes in the road, and sometimes in a ditch. We raided a convoy. Bacon, biscuits, sugar, and jam all came to us. The wagons were simply packed up. I think we had about 150 lb. of bacon between four of us. We marched all that night, and in the morning we collected a few sticks and started to make tea and fry a few rashers, when they opened fire on us, and 15 lb. of scrap iron interrupted our meal: _Gunner J. Talboys, Royal Field Artillery_.

Not Swept Away Yet

The other day we were off in pursuit of a body of infantry, and when we overtook them they simply flung themselves down on the ground and let us ride over them. Then, when we came back, they surrendered. Some of them were so dead beat that they could not run away, not even if they had wanted to, and that seems to be true of their men everywhere. Some of them have had their fill of fighting and marching by this time, and I do not blame them, for they got it hot in the fighting with us since the third week of August, when they came along to sweep us into the sea: _A Trooper of the 3rd Hussars_.

From the Hip

The Germans have a funny way in fighting. Their infantry when advancing fire from the hip and come on in masses, splendid targets for our guns. As soon as one lot gets mowed down the gaps are filled up with fresh men. They are in terrible numbers--about ten to one in some places. Nearly all the men’s wounds are shrapnel, and heal wonderfully. Men almost cripples a day or two ago are going on splendidly since being treated here. My worst wound is on the right arm, a piece of flesh torn away, but with good dressing it should heal up well: _Bombardier A. E. Smith_.

A Cupboard Skeleton

Two Royal Irish Fusiliers picked me up and took me to a farm, where there were other three wounded. That night we heard somebody prowling round the farm, and thinking they might be the enemy, the Irish Fusiliers hid in a large cupboard, where they would be able to make a good attack. We hadn’t long to wait, and a small party of German infantry came in--on a looting expedition, likely. The men in the cupboard accounted for three, and the others yelled and ran. The farmer and his wife got scared, and they disappeared: _Pte. Cunningham, 8th Northumberland Fusiliers_.

Food for Powder

The impression we got was that the Germans have so many men available at the point where they deliver an attack that, as soon as one body gets tired out or shows signs of losing its nerve under fire, it is recalled to the rear and replaced by fresh men, who are brought up in motors and all sorts of vehicles. The used-up men are then taken away, and very likely they come on again after a rest. That’s an altogether new way of fighting, but I fancy the Germans go on the principle that “enough’s as good as a feast” in what they get from our rifle fire: _A Private of the Manchester Regiment_.

Not Good Shots

You have read about their famous Uhlans. They are worth nothing. When we have come close to them they have always turned round. We are just wanting to get them to charge. They are very hard to tell from a distance because they are very much like ourselves. I am just getting settled down to it now. If the Germans were good shots I would not be writing to you now, but I must say their artillery fire is very hot. It is that which has found most of our fellows. The people here can’t do enough for us. They simply go mad when they see us: _A Trooper of the 9th Lancers_.

Adam without an Eden

I got made prisoner along with Sergeant-Major H---- of ours. We did not think we should ever see England again, as they made us strip every mortal stitch off our bodies so that we could not escape. At the time they were being hardly pressed by our troops. But in the middle of the night we made a cut for it. We got away, and after wandering about absolutely naked, not even a fig-leaf (a lifetime it seemed, but really about a couple of hours), we fell in amongst a French division of infantry, and they clothed and fed us in no time and put us on the right way: _A Trooper of the Dragoon Guards_.

The Enviable “Terriers”

I read in one of the papers that some of the “Terriers” in England have to put up with the inconvenience of sleeping three in one bed. I feel sorry for them. Some of us would be glad to get a bundle of straw sometimes. There is one thing, up to the present, we have been having plenty of grub and a tot of rum nearly every night, which no doubt you will guess we refuse. We get tobacco issued to us, but are very short of fag-papers. A couple of packets would come in very handy: _Gunner Richards, Royal Artillery_.

Pea-shooters

At one place we had a surprise attack. We were just getting ready for some food, when all of a sudden shells started bursting around us. I can tell you it was a case of being up and doing. Dixies and tea-cans were flung on one side, our tea spilt, fires put out, and the order given to stand to our guns and horses, everyone to prepare for action. Still, we were not to be caught napping. Our boys only close one eye when we get a chance of a sleep, so you can tell we were wide-awake by the fact that it was a case of do or die. Our gallant boys, the Guards, held them at bay until our death-dealing pea-shooters put them to flight: _Driver Clark, Royal Artillery_.

Had “To Nip”

Two Germans had a pop at me one day when I was crossing a ploughed field, but they might as well have tried to shoot the moon. I have had some narrow escapes from shells--they were German shells, or I should not be writing this now. We laugh at them sometimes. The Germans don’t like steel--although we have not done much in that line. We play on a different line to that. We like to catch ’em napping, and we have done it, too, but, of course, they have had our fellows the same. It would make you laugh to see how we dodge the shells and nip under cover for all we are worth. We had to scatter one night just when I was making some tea. I was just going to put the tea and sugar into the boiling water when bang they came just overhead, and I had to nip: _Corpl. Newman, Somerset Light Infantry_.

“Fairly Well”

While I am writing this letter I am cooking the dinner, boiling a piece of bacon we managed to get and potatoes. I have been elected cook on our car. I expect you will say it is just like me to be among the grub. Anyway, we are getting plenty of it now. We get our day’s rations every morning--one rasher of bacon, one tin of bully beef, one pot of jam (between five), a piece of cheese, so much tea and sugar, and so much bread, when we can get it; if we have not bread we get biscuits. We get plenty of potatoes out of the fields, and sometimes make what we call bully-beef stew. It is very nice, and consists of bully beef, potatoes, carrots, and onions--all boiled together. Sometimes we get fresh meat, so you see we are living fairly well: _Pte. Calvert, Army Service Corps_.

Rained on

We struck our tents this afternoon and then the rain came down. It is eight o’clock now and the rain is still steadily driving down. I suppose you imagine that you can picture the discomfort, but I bet you can’t. As a help, however, I will give you a few details. We have had to erect the tent in the pouring rain, which means that the floor-boards are soaked, and each one has to find a little dry oasis for himself, and there aren’t many dry places left when nine fellows have to be crowded in. Now the tent-cloth is soaked through and little streams of water are trickling across the floor, while miniature cascades are dancing merrily down the walls: _Lance-Corpl. J. W. James, Royal Fusiliers_.

Quagmires and “Mug Racks”

A German device that is new to me is the making of quagmires in front of the trenches, usually by digging extra trenches a few hundred feet from the real ones, throwing in the loose clay, and then flooding them so that you get a ditch of liquid mud. One day a French infantry detachment was advancing finely against the German position until they stumbled into one of these bogs, and just as they were stuck fast they were treated to a hail of fire. Barbed-wire entanglements are ten times worse than what we found in South Africa. Usually they are hidden away in the long grass, and you don’t see them until they catch you in the legs and bring you down. However, we’re getting up to the dodge. Now we call the wires “mug racks,” because it’s only the “mugs” who get caught in them: _A Private of a Scots Regiment_.

Cave-dwellers

We are like brigands at large in a cave, but one thing spoils it--that is, these blooming shells. The guns are only from six to eighteen hundred yards off, but we cannot see them on account of their being like ours, so cleverly concealed, and our aeroplanes cannot find them, although if they go over it is ten to one they are heavily fired at, but with them being so high it is impossible to see anything. We, the machine gunners, are rather lucky, as we draw our rations from the cooker where they are at present in the village, and then take them to our house that we have, and where the corporal in charge of the limber stays. He acts as cook, and we have bully stews, marrows, walnuts, turnips, and different things, and plenty of potatoes: _Pte. H. Tesseyman, Coldstream Guards_.

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