Part 6

Custom!

German shell fire is not nearly so effective shot for shot and gun for gun as ours, in spite of all the fine things they claim for it, and where great accuracy in range is necessary they are hopelessly out of it. Their infantry can’t stand half the shelling our men will put up with, and they get awfully panicky under fire from our guns. It is a favourite trick of the Germans to keep a battery well masked for hours, and then when our infantry are deploying within range, without the slightest notion of what is coming, the German shells begin to fall round like the autumn leaves. That’s very trying to the nerves, or was at first, but we are now getting used to it: _Gunner T. Wall_.

Buried and Burnt

There was one interesting sight I saw as the column was on the march, and that was a duel in the air between French and German aeroplanes. It was wonderful to see the Frenchman manœuvre to get the upper position of the German, and after about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the Frenchman got on top and blazed away with a revolver on the German. He injured him so much as to cause him to descend, and when found he was dead. The British buried the airman and burnt the aeroplane: _A Private of the 1st Royal Kent Regiment_.

“That Tired Feeling”

We are now getting into our stride and beginning to get a little of our own back out of the Germans. They don’t like it at all now that we are nearer to them in numbers, and their men all look like so many “Weary Willies,” they are so tired. You might say they had got “that tired feeling” bad, and so they have. Some of them just drop into our arms when we call on them to surrender, as though it were the thing they’d been waiting for all their lives: _Lance-Corporal T. Williams_.

Lucky Fellow!

It was a pitiful sight to see the people fleeing from their homes carrying all they could save. Our soldiers are very kind to them, and give them whatever they can spare--and sometimes more than that. I saw one young woman trying to reach some fruit from a tree which was a good way out of her reach, and, not thinking, I went over and gave her some pears which I had given me. She ate them hurriedly, but before doing so gave me a kiss on both cheeks, which was rather enjoyed by the rest of the troops standing by: _Driver J. Brennan, Army Service Corps_.

So Glad!

Oh, dear! I am pleased all my good women live in England. Often I see cottage homes a-smoke and in flames. Villages, too! Dogs forlorn, cats despondent on doorsteps. And yesterday I saw three little dots walking along the muddy road with a tiny wheelbarrow. We were, when we passed them, going under cover from a severe shell fire, whilst they were going in the direction whence we were coming. At present we are billeted in the buildings about a huge water-mill. The wooded hills are all around, and the harvests seem all gathered in about here. It is not so elsewhere: _A Reservist of the Beds Regiment_.

The Gallant Belgians

We are doing fine, and have earned the name of the “Fighting Fifth” again. We have heard that some Hindus have come from India to fight, and the public expect great things from them; but you take it from me, no matter how brave, how fearless they may be, they will never equal the brave little Belgian people. What other race in the world could have fought with more courage and determination than they when the German curs burnt Louvain and committed the most dastardly outrages? Who were they who bit their lips to hide their feelings, but who swore that the Germans should pay for it--not in the way the Germans made the women and children suffer, but by good lead and cold steel? The Belgians! _Pte. A. Hayes, of Upper Wortley_.

In the Dark

We had not gone three hundred yards before the Germans fired on us. We were between two farmhouses. We were only about thirty to forty yards off, and we didn’t half give it them. We could hear the wounded Germans moaning and groaning, and it was awful to hear. It was dark, and we fired low because we knew that was the best way to get them. Just then a piece of shrapnel came through the peak of my cap and grazed my nose. It was a near thing, but I took no notice of it and kept on firing. The man next to me was then shot dead, and our captain was shot slightly in the head, but he continued to give orders. A piece of my boot was blown away, and I received a piece of shrapnel in my right shoulder, and consequently saw no more of the fighting: _Pte. Brayshaw, Guards Brigade_.

A Bold Battery

Half the horses of L Battery Royal Artillery got smashed, and we had to bung our poor old tired ones to fill up. Only a few gunners were left, but they stood by firing still and singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” Then the Germans charged, and our gunners did a bunk, but not before they had driven spikes into the guns so as to make them useless to the enemy. They said they guessed they would get them back in a day or two, and if they did they could repair them easy enough. The Germans don’t know these tricks, and we can do them down any time: _A Driver of the 4th Ammunition Column_.

Before the Dawn

I was given a map, and a message for my company officer. When I had made my way in the dark to where the outpost should have been, I found it had retired. I went to where I saw a picket posted, and noticed a body of men. It was just getting light, and I thought I saw an English officer. I put down my rifle and whistled. They immediately dropped down and fired at me. I dropped into the grass, too, to bluff them into thinking I had been “winged.” I crawled through a big turnip field, and heard a general action commencing. I could hear people talking, but not loudly enough to know whether they were English. So I hoisted my cap upon a stick and called, “Hullo, West Kent!” Then shots came in my direction, and, as it was getting lighter, I decided, as the best thing to do, to make for our big guns. I crawled along the ground for nearly two hours, and when I stopped for a short rest a bullet hit my right arm: _Corpl. Drinkwater, West Kent Regiment_.

Rescued

In getting out of my trench I fell back, so injuring my back that I could not move. I lay there, expecting every minute to be my last, but it did not come. I took a bold front and looked over the trench to see what was happening there. I saw that the Germans had taken a sweeping curve to the right, and I saw the tail of them a long way off. They seem to be driven along by their officers rather than led, for the officers have their swords drawn. I laid down in the trench (my comrades had evidently thought I was shot, as they took no notice of me when I fell back into the trench) for two hours, looking now and again to see if I could see any signs of our men. At last, after nearly giving up hope, I saw a patrol of the 15th Hussars, and managed to attract their attention, and they put me on a horse and carried me to a French hospital in a village: _A Private in the Royal Sussex Regiment_.

A “Jelly Fish”

I was ordered to remain behind with the aeroplanes, one of which was to go up early in the morning and return, and I was to take reports on to headquarters. The machine had been gone half an hour when rifle fire was heard, and we discovered that a German aeroplane was flying overhead. The officers got rifles, and likewise myself, and stood up to have a shot, but he went away, only, however, to return. We allowed him to get in range and then opened fire. He came over the place where we were lying down. I fired twenty-five rounds and expected to have a bomb dropped on us, when I saw he was done. He made one dive and landed in a heap behind us. On examining him we found twelve bombs, all of which had safety caps and pins attached, luckily for us. He had a lot of papers which I had the honour to carry to headquarters. The fall made him like a jelly fish: _Private A. J. Davis_.

Cold--and Hot!

We had to climb up a big hill, and then through a quarry, so that we were fagged out and wet through before we saw the enemy. When we did get to the top they gave us a good welcome with shot and shell. It was so heavy it dug up the ground in front of us, but we had to go on and try to shift them. I saw some sights up there, with one man down after another. I expected the next to be me, but I had determined that I would keep my end up and do my best, so I kept going on. Well, the long and short of it was that we got to them about tea-time, or what should be tea-time. We found them about sixteen to one, or that is what I thought. We could not shift them, but just as I thought we were getting the best of it someone gave the order to retire, which we did. When we got back we found we had lost all our officers, and nobody could tell who gave the order to retire, and the sun was then sinking. It was in going back that I was wounded. It is not a bad wound, and you must thank God, as I have done, that I got through at all: _Pte. Clare, 1st Royal Lancashire Regiment_.

“Knocked!”

When night came we knew where the Germans were, so we crept out of the trenches and went down to the roadway. No sooner had we got there than a great volley rang out. We were in the midst of it, and knew it was either the Germans or us. So we at them. In the struggle that took place I thought of you and the children. I made a jump at a German, but whether I got him or not I don’t remember, for I got such a terrible knock over the ribs. It must have been with the butt of a rifle. You talk about getting your ribs bent. I got mine, and more than that my appendix got first. They thought at first that it was a bullet wound, but happily it was not, or I might not have been here to tell the tale. I was knocked into a “trap” trench about eight feet deep, but I was pulled out and carried eight miles on horseback: _A Private of the Gordon Highlanders_.

In a Château

Two hundred of us went into a big château, where we were told we would be quite safe, and we sat down to a meal of tea and biscuits. We were just in the middle of it when a patrol of German cavalry scouts discovered us, and as we were eating, a shell struck the roof of the building, smashing it into fragments. Then there was the greatest excitement as the men scurried out of the building. As the shells were getting very busy we lost no time in retreating from that place, and took up our position in a field about 200 yards distant. There were a lot of wounded around, and we were lying on a slightly elevated ridge in the field. We had only been a short time in this position when we saw the Somersets getting badly cut up. We went to the assistance of the Somersets, and succeeded in checking the Germans’ advance. We began to go forward and went at them with the bayonet, when they turned and fled. We were just 150 yards away when they packed themselves into motor-cars that were waiting on them and drove off, but before they went we managed to capture five of their machine guns: _Pte. T. O’Dea, Seaforth Highlanders_.

“Made Good!”

Our last action was the worst. Men fell like corn before the reaper. I tell you truly, I never expected to get out alive. The Germans must have lost thousands, but they were ten to one, so we had to retire. The shrapnel and hail of lead and bullets--I see it all now, and I was one of the last to leave the field. I won’t say more, only I got a bullet through my right leg, but still kept on twenty yards or thereabouts. I got a great piece of shrapnel shell in my neck--laid me senseless. I came to again, and, as if possessed, ran for my life through it all and “made good.” It’s wonderful how you can run with a bullet through your leg. I have not been long at it, but fellows say that they saw more in the last four days than they did in three years in Africa. That’s the truth. Ah, well! I’m not grumbling. I’m not disfigured or maimed like so many poor fellows, so let’s rejoice over all. Some of our engagements lasted thirteen hours, and the last--and worst--ten hours. So tired, must sleep: _A Lance-Sergeant of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry_

A “Terrible Time”

We had a terrible time at Mons, and for four days and nights we did nothing but fight, and I should think the Germans had three men to every one of ours. On August 24 we lost one hundred men in about five minutes. We had a mile and a half to gallop over open country with as many as thirty shells a minute bursting round us. How I got out of it I do not know, for I had not gone 200 yards before a shell burst under my horse and killed it. I was not touched, and I managed, with a bit of luck, to get another horse from a comrade who had been killed. I am sure it was worse than hell let loose, and I think I said a prayer afterwards, but anyway I shall soon be right now. The man who was with me when I was wounded is dead. He died as soon as the search party found us. He was shot twice in the stomach, whilst I was shot in the thigh. I crawled to him when he was dying, but I could not help him as I was in such agony myself. He gave me his papers, and I gave them to the officer when he rode up to us: _Lance-Corpl. Potton, 18th Hussars_.

His True Colours

We had been entrenched two days when a German spy was captured. He spoke English as well as I do, and shouted to me, “I surrender, I surrender; take me prisoner.” He was placed in a corner of the trench, seven feet deep, and was guarded. He soon began to chatter, and told us his history in such a plausible manner that we believed him. He told us he had been in private service as a butler in Surrey and Sussex, and also a waiter in hotels at Brighton, Liverpool, and Manchester. The devil actually cried when he pulled out of his pocket the photo of a girl he said he intended making his wife when the war was over if he was spared, and begged we would not take it away from him. He said she was a Lancashire lassie--he could put on the north-country dialect all right--and read portions of a letter she wrote him when he was called up. The traitor gave us a lot of supposed information about the Germans, and pretended to be as wild as a March hare when he spoke of their officers. They were everything that was bad. I must admit I thought the fellow was genuine, and I gave him some of my rations, but several of the others had their doubts. He had been with us three days when he showed himself in his true colours. It was pitch dark, and raining like cats and dogs. He jumped out of the trench and made a dash for the German trenches, but he did not get thirty yards away before he was brought down. The next morning we saw his dead body lying where he fell: _Sapper A. G. Hutton, R.E._

A Barricade

We were just about five minutes billeted in the various houses and just stretching our legs when our officer came running in shouting, “The Germans are upon us; outside, everyone.” We came out magazine loaded, bayonets fixed, and eager to get a good bayonet fight with them. It appears they do not like it, but we found none; they had not yet arrived. It was 10 P.M. before they did so. In the meantime, the poor people were leaving the town in crowds with as much goods and chattels as they could carry away, and it was well for them, too. It was a dark night when we formed up in the streets, and the lamps but dimly burned. The noises of rifles and field guns were terrific. We rushed to the heads of the various streets, where our German foe would advance. Our field artillery and the Coldstream Guards went out to delay their advance, whilst we stripped off our coats and commenced to tear up the square setts, gather carts--in fact, everything that would build a barricade to keep back our numerous German foe, and we did so under perfect showers of shrapnel shell that fell around us and struck the houses about us, but we were undaunted, and so succeeded: _Private Spain_.

Wounded and Waiting

The order came to retire to a neighbouring haystack. How the bullets flew about! Up I jumped, and up the slope I ran. I soon reduced the distance. Another 100 yards to safety--80, 60, 40, 30, 15 yards. Oh, my left knee! I dropped down flat, with my right arm underneath my body, and my left hand feeling if my leg was still on. An officer ran by shouting out, “Wounded, lie still.” I was laid on my chest, and I could see them coming, 200 yards behind me. They did not put their rifles to their shoulders, but fired from the hips. Bullets were spitting in the ground around me. “Should I ever get out of this?” I thought. Something seemed to say to me, “Keep still, and you will be all right.” On the Germans came to within 100 yards of me, then 50 yards, then 20 yards, then 10 yards, and there they halted. They were on the slope leading to the stack, and after a short conversation two of them came in my direction. “Now for it,” I said to myself. But no, they passed me and went to the top of the hill. My arm beneath my body was paralysed, and I could feel the blood running from my wound. Now and again I could hear one of them shout out, “Hoch, Kaiser!” and I said to myself, “Hurrah for the King!” Then I saw them fall in, and about to turn. Thank God! off they went: _Pte. Wood, Coldstream Guards_.

VIII. HOW IT FEELS UNDER FIRE

_Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty’s in every blow! Let us do or die!_

ROBERT BURNS: “Scots Wha Hae.”

_And man, whose heav’n-erected face The smiles of love adorn,-- Mans inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn!_

BURNS: “Man was made to Mourn.”

I must admit we were all a bit shaky until we got properly stuck into it, and then you feel in your glory. You forget all fear, everybody full of excitement. You hardly think of your funeral: _Gunner J. Robinson, Royal Field Artillery_.

Inconceivable!

People in England can have no idea what it is like on a battlefield, thousands of dead and wounded lying about with nobody to help them. After my pal and I got hit we could hear the deadly shell on its way, but could not move, and had to lay for some time. My pal had his foot blown off: _Gunner J. Edgecombe, Royal Field Artillery_.

Gets Used to It

I shall never forget when the first shot was fired. We soon got used to it, and I was as anxious to get at them as anyone else. It is awful in action. I saw my two chums shot down beside me, and one of them said with his dying breath, “Kill ten of those German devils for me,” and I think I did: _Pte. E. Mead, 19th Hussars_.

Gay to Grave

You must not take too much notice of the reports of the soldiers in the trenches singing as if they had not a care in the world. I heard more talk of religion--and from men from whom you would least expect it--than any popular songs! Some of the sights are simply shocking--you could not talk about them: _Private Pope_.

Encouraged

It was my first baptism of fire, and I frankly confess that I thought my time had come. It was a nerve-racking experience. I said a prayer to myself. But the fear soon wore away, and I recognized that to save my own skin I must beat the enemy. We were also encouraged by the poor marksmanship of the Germans: _Pte. Gallagher, Royal Scots Fusiliers_.

Wondering!

We saw some terrible sights--women and children cut up--and I shall never forget until my dying day some of the awful things I saw. The firing was awful. I am not much of a praying chap, but I prayed when the shots were coming thick about us. It was maddening to see the fellows shot down right and left, and wondering when it would be my turn: _Pte. Sibley, 3rd Worcester Regiment_.

Jubilant

War! How terrible the word sounds, but our British spirit in us makes us view things from the bright side. I do not mean to imply that the troops do not think it a serious concern--far from it--but all seem quite confident. When under heavy fire there seems to exist a jubilant sort of spirit, each and all steady and ready to sacrifice themselves for the honour of England: _A Private of the Scottish Rifles_.

Mad!

You feel pretty shaky going into battle at first. When you are going along the road and see dead lying here and there and hear the groaning of the wounded you do feel rather queer, but once you see what you are getting at, all that feeling disappears and your one desire is to get at them. In fact, when the bullets begin to fly you turn mad for the time being: _Pte. Lightfoot, Cameron Highlanders_.

Know nor Care

You don’t realize that you are in danger until some of the men around you get knocked over by shells and bullets, but afterwards you have the feeling that you don’t care. You know you have to be there, and you don’t care a hang whether you get knocked over or not. In a way you are only too glad when you can get to close quarters with the Germans. As to the sensation caused by being struck by a bullet, it is just like being hit by a stone thrown at you: _A Sergeant of the Irish Rifles_.

An “Infernal Din”

Artillery fire is the deadliest thing out, and it takes a lot of nerve to stand it. The Germans keep up an infernal din from morning until far into the night; but they don’t do half as much damage as you would think, though it is annoying to have all that row going on when you’re trying to write home or make up the regimental accounts. The French seem to like the noise, and don’t seem at all happy unless it’s there. There’s no accounting for tastes: _Sergeant J. Baker_.

Splendid but Awful

The order was given, “Retire! Every man for himself!” It was a splendid but awful sight to see horses, men, and guns racing for life with shells bursting among them. The Germans rushed up, and I lay helpless. A German pointed his rifle at me for me to surrender. I refused, and was just on the point of being put out when a German officer saved me. He said, “Englishman brave fool.” He then dressed my wound, and he gave me brandy and wine and left me: _Gunner B. Wiseman, Royal Artillery_.

How It Happened

How I came to be wounded was like this. I had got my bayonet fixed in some fat German, and I could not get it out in time, and a German officer hit me over the head with the butt of his revolver. Of course I went down for the count, and when I came round I found I had stopped a stray shot with my left foot, so I had to lie among the German dead until it became dark. Then I crawled to the British lines three miles away, and into hospital: _Pte. P. Rourke, North Lancashires_.

Joe to Bill

You know, Bill, it looked hard to see my old chums mowed down like sheep.... After being under shot and shell for seven hours, Bill, I know what it is to be at death’s door. You can bet your hat God answered my prayer, for I asked and He accepted. They were killed on each side of me, and shells were bursting front and back, but none hit Joseph, so that was a Godsend. What do you say? I know what I think, Bill: _A Reservist of the Lancashire Fusiliers_.

The Stuffing Wrong

“Never say die till you’re dead” is the only motto for us in the firing line, for every hour of the blessed day you’re expecting to have your head blown off by a German shell, and you wonder how on earth you managed to escape every time it hits something else instead of you. Their shells make awful havoc when they do burst, but it is not so often as you would think. There seems to be something wrong with the stuffing of them: _Engineer Hughes, Royal Artillery_.

Guarded!

When you do drop asleep you awaken suddenly and think you are being fired at. Twice now while I have been in battle, the man on my right and on my left has been killed. The last one next to me to be killed was poor ----. He was asking me where the enemy was when he got shot in the arm. Then he got hit in the stomach, and afterwards, poor chap, in the chest. The man on my right got hit, and then it came my turn. It is strange that the same thing should occur twice running. God is guarding me all right: _Sergt. Greeley, South Lancashire Regiment_.

A Scamper