The Seventh Manchesters by S. J. Wilson (inspirational novels .TXT) 📖

great state of excitement,

because it was their first venture of this sort, and it had been

crowned, after a glorious five minutes’ rough and tumble, with

unqualified success.

 

2nd-Lt. Hodge was decorated with the Military Cross for this feat—the

first M.C. in the division in France—and this was really the beginning

of a brilliant career for him as a soldier. He was eventually

transferred as a Company Commander to the 5th East Lancs. with whom he

obtained the D.S.O. From there he progressed to Major with the L.F’s.,

and finally finished the war as Commanding Officer of the 8th

Manchesters, leading back the cadre of that battalion to Ardwick Green

in March, 1919. He is unreservedly one of the officers whom the Fleur de

Lys are proud to claim.

 

Sgt. McHugh and Ptes. McLean and Braithwaite received Military Medals on

this occasion, and they also were glad to know that they opened the long

list of decorations that the battalion was to obtain in France.

 

I have spent some little time on this “Wigan Copse” raid because it is

an important event in the history of the battalion. The 7th Manchesters

never looked back after that show, and they held up their heads in the

proud consciousness that they had attempted a good thing and had

achieved it. It gave them confidence—for there was a reputation to live

up to, and all felt that they could not possibly fail once a job was

begun. And so it was. Nothing the battalion ever touched in future went

wrong, and there has been no incident in the war which the 7th need look

back upon with remorse or regret.

 

Another important event in our life at Havrincourt was the digging of a

new front line about 500 yards in advance of the old one along almost

the whole of the divisional front. The 5th, being the collier battalion,

achieved their part of the business on the Slag Heap, while the 7th and

6th worked on their right. The first night was a great success, there

was not a whisper of protest from the Boche, and we had cut through an

almost continuous line, adequately protected by concertina barbed wire,

and particularly strengthened at various points where posts had to be

held during the next day. The enemy must have rubbed his eyes rather

vigorously next morning when he saw what had been accomplished during

one night. However, he soon began to register on the new trench, and

unfortunately an isolated tree (Cauliflower Tree) helped him in this

work. We were not surprised therefore to have our labours frequently

interrupted on the next night’s digging by violent displays of wrath

accompanied by pyrotechnics. One of these was particularly spectacular,

eliciting from a digger the remark: “Wouldn’t Jennison be damned jealous

if he was here now!”

 

Rumours increased about going out for Divisional rest, until elements of

the 58th (2nd line London Territorial) division began to appear and make

reconnaissances of the front, from which we augured good. One of their

C.O’s. on being told that we had arrived in France in March, was quite

delighted, and said he had been searching the British Army for troops

who had come out after they did. They arrived a month before us—but

from England! Nothing pleased Col. Cronshaw better, and he carefully led

him through the exploits of the 42nd from the day they sailed from

England in September, 1914. The London C.O. left the dug-out with a more

or less chastened countenance, and I presume he still continued his

search.

 

July 8th was our last day at Havrincourt, and although we were glad at

the time for the promise of a respite from trench duties, we have since

frequently looked back on those sunny days with great pleasure, for by

comparison it was a “bon front,” and picturesque withal, which can

hardly be said about any other sector we learned to know. The light

railway was utilised again to take the battalion to Ytres, and after a

night there we marched first to Barastre, and then to Achiet le Petit,

beyond Bapaume.

 

ACHIET.

 

The 127th brigade resided under canvas about the battered village of

Achiet le Petit on patches of ground not too incommoded by shell holes.

The war had passed comparatively lightly over this portion of France,

but a short walk westward took one to the battle-scarred fields of the

fierce Somme fighting, and this was useful to us for we could pay visits

to these districts to learn something of modes of battle in those days.

One day, the Brigadier took a number of officers to Thiepval and

recorded his own personal experiences of the fighting around there. On

another occasion a brigade scheme took place on the famous Gommecourt

trenches. We little guessed in those days that we should actually be

fighting for our lives in those same trenches in less than twelve

months. It seemed as though the tide of war had rolled over this ground

for ever, and that the very earth would cry out if it were to hear again

the shrieking and tearing of shells that came to wound it.

 

Intensive training was the order of the day, and realising that we had

still much to learn the work was seriously taken up. The men came from

Lancashire, the division had been sorely tested by fire in Gallipoli,

and by endurance in the Sinai, so that hard work under able leadership

was all that was required to uphold the flag of achievement which had

yet received no stain. As the days wore on, and we had almost forgotten

our trench activities at Havrincourt, rumours began to float once more

about an early move, and this move was to be connected with a big stunt

coming off soon “up north.” At any rate no one disputed the suggestion

that our next contact with the enemy would probably be of a more serious

nature than the last.

 

Let it not be supposed, however, that these rather sordid thoughts

occupied our minds completely whilst we remained at Achiet. Officers and

men took full advantage of the period of rest, and the weather

fortunately was exactly suited to enjoyable life under canvas. The thing

of the moment only concerned us, and this was more often than not an

important football match with another battalion, a game of cricket, a

sports day, a visit to the divisional concert troupe—“Th’ Lads”—who

gave some very good shows about this time. Boxing was a great thing, and

Pte. Finch, who was, poor chap, killed and buried in this spot the

following March, knocked out all comers in the divisional heavyweight.

Some of these events took place in a huge crater, which had been

transformed into a sort of Roman amphitheatre, produced by the blowing

up of a large and deep German heavy ammunition dump. In the divisional

sports also, the officers proved that they were at least the most

able-bodied in the 42nd by winning the Tug-o’-War cup.

 

On the whole, we look back to the weeks at Achiet as a period of solid

training, plenty of “Spit and Polish,” but “lots of fun.” On the 1st of

August we got word of the big offensive at Ypres amidst all that

disastrous rain, and we expected to move up there any day. It was not

until three weeks later, however, that we did move, and then it was

known definitely that we were for Flanders. The battalion marched down

to Aveluy, near Albert, on an enervatingly hot day and remained one

night in huts there. The next night they entrained and proceeded to

Poperinghe in Belgium, and so added another country to the list of those

they visited during the war.

 

CHAPTER V.

 

Belgium.

 

YPRES.

 

Ypres! That wonderful place, the sound of whose name makes the heart of

the Englishman at home glow with pride, but makes the soldier, friend or

foe, shudder at the mere recollection. It was the scene of much stern

work, and if Belgium has been dubbed the Cockpit of Europe, surely the

“Salient” was the cockpit of cockpits. More men lie buried in that small

patch of ground than one cares to think about, and when instances of the

unreasonableness and veritable folly of war are cited from other fronts,

they can always be equalled by experiences at Ypres.

 

In many respects, however, the 7th were lucky in this sector, for we did

not actually go over the top during our stay. Other units of the

division carried out what would be termed minor operations (which are

anything but minor operations to the people concerned), but the 7th

escaped any such work. So far as we were concerned it was a continuation

of line-holding, but under vastly new conditions. It would be useful,

perhaps, to indicate the nature of these conditions.

 

As all the world knows the third battle of Ypres commenced on the 31st

July, 1917, preceded by a terrific concentrated bombardment of the Hun

positions lasting about ten days. The effect of this bombardment was to

obliterate all signs of life on that part of the earth, with the

exception of a few horrible, naked, and shattered trees. Nothing green

was visible anywhere. In fact the land looked as though it had been a

very choppy earth-brown sea suddenly frozen to stillness. Everywhere

was shell-holes, shell-holes, shell-holes—large and small. Only by

careful searching could one ascertain where enemy trenches had been.

Dotted about over this terrain were the Hun “pill-boxes,” concrete

shelters in which the enemy had made their last machine gun fight.

Whereas at one time they had been skilfully concealed from view, they

were now standing stark above the ground which had been torn away from

them. Some of the pill-boxes, indeed, had been smashed in by direct hits

from the heavies, so deadly had been our gun fire during those ten days.

 

The opening of the British offensive had brought bad luck with regard to

weather. The men had gone over in a terrific downpour of rain, so that

all the advantage lay with the defences. The tanks had struggled

wonderfully with the appalling conditions, but the ground was against

them, and most of them were “ditched” before they were knocked out. A

few, however, had got well ahead, until they were out of action, and it

hardly required field glasses to be able to distinguish them within the

enemy’s lines, now functioning, by the cruelty of fate, as German

pill-boxes and sniper-posts. Such was the salient in the early days of

September when the 42nd went up to take over the “line.”

 

It was ascertained that we were to relieve the 15th division, a most

excellent division consisting chiefly of highlanders of the New Armies.

They had fought over this ground in the first days of the offensive, and

after a short rest had come back again to help to hold the positions

taken and to initiate “minor” operations. They were situated astride the

Potijze Road, due east of Ypres, and that is where the advance parties

from each battalion of the division found them. The first impression

was: “What a contrast with Havrincourt!” It was the exact antithesis in

every respect. This was a country where the desire to kill and destroy

had developed to an unimaginable intensity. Nothing of use was to be

left by either side, and every yard of ground almost was searched by the

gunners to carry out their cruel game.

 

As evidence of the meaning and determination of the business the

18-pounders were packed axle to axle amongst the mud and shell holes,

ready to bark forth their loud defiance to the Hun. The 4.5 howitzers

were visible in batches at various places. Further back, but still

closely packed were the 6-inch howitzers, the 60-pounders, and the

heavier