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

calibre guns. The huge, ever popular 15-inch and large naval

guns lay beyond Ypres, and were not for the eyes of the ordinary

infantryman, but evidences of their sound work would be found when the

advance continued. It required very little imagination to picture the

German guns similarly placed and in similar numbers, for this offensive

had alarmed the enemy, for did it not threaten the existence of their

submarine bases in Belgium, to say nothing of their hold upon Lille? His

defence was careful, however, as we found to our cost, and, however much

the papers at home kept up the morale of England by sneers at the

“pill-box,” the soldier on the spot regarded it with extreme caution and

respect. After all they were the only things that stood the test of this

bashing method of fighting and their very existence, when everything

else was destroyed, was ample proof of the fact. Tacticians from the

highest general to the platoon sergeant tried hard to discover the most

effective and least costly manner of “dealing with a pill-box,” and the

highest in the land eagerly snatched at ideas from the man out of the

line if they bore the scent of feasibility about them.

 

One never knew if it was in pursuit of the solution of these tactical

problems that the higher command persisted during those sad August and

early September days in their policy of “minor” operations. Certainly no

part of the salient was ever at rest. Local attacks were launched here,

there and everywhere, but comparatively few succeeded, or if they did it

was merely a temporary success. While our advance parties were in the

line the Black Watch and the Gordons of the 15th division, executed a

night attack on “Gallipoli” and Hill 35, a job which had been previously

attempted, and very little advance was made. Those who had reached the

foremost position were immediately expelled or captured, or killed where

they stood, by the Boche counter attack next morning. Losses were very

heavy.

 

The 42nd took over the right portion of this front near the Frezenburg

Ridge, and the 61st division the left. Incidentally, the latter again

attempted Hill 35 but with equal success. The 125th brigade was given

one of these unfortunate tasks, with the 6th Manchesters in support.

They were to take the Iberian, Borry and Beck Farms, now no longer

farms, but strong pill-boxes well defended by a system of outworks. They

carried out the job and suffered heavy casualties, so heavy indeed that

they could not withstand the inevitable Hun counter attack which came in

the evening and was delivered by fresh storm troops brought up for this

purpose from the rear. After they had attained their objective they

realised the peculiarity of the strength of the German defensive system.

They were subjected to heavy cross machine gun fire from the enemy

positions which had not been attacked. It was evident that unless these

latter were taken also they could not hold on. In other words, the

policy of local attacks was suicidal and was, in fact, playing into the

German scheme of defence.

 

While these things were taking place the 7th had moved from behind

Poperinghe to Toronto Camp near Brandhoek, where it enjoyed its full

share of the evening’s excitement from Hun bombing planes. On September

7th, the battalion went by train to Ypres as far as the Asylum, and from

there filed cautiously by platoons through the town, past the ever

famous Cloth Hall, whose scraggy skeleton could be only dimly discerned

in the darkness, and through the Menin Gate. A short distance along the

Menin Road, and then we turned off and eventually got on “J” track—the

interminable length of duck boards that carried generals, privates,

rations, ammunition, runners, artillery observers, and all the other

various persons and impedimenta of war, through the maze of shell holes

up to the forward positions. There were a number of these tracks all

leading out like arteries from the bases of organisation to the front

line. They were labelled at intervals with small boards bearing the

distinctive letter or number of the track painted in white luminous

paint so that they were equally legible by day or by night. These were

the only guides in this desolate waste, and woe betide the man who in

the night came across a spot where shelling had obliterated a good

portion of the track, for it was a difficult job to pick it up again,

and frequently a nerve-racking experience.

 

With the exception of a few bursts of 4.2’s at intervals none of which

came uncomfortably close, the battalion were fortunate in having a

peaceful passage that night, and the relief of the 7th Lancs. Fus.

proceeded without incident. We were in support in old German positions

just in front of Cambridge Road, headquarters being established in the

shafts of a dug-out which had filled with water. Oh—how we longed for

the comfort of Havrincourt! But we never allowed this thought to cause

depression, for it was all in the game and other men had had much worse

things to do.

 

I think the dominant note of our stay in this sector was shelling. It

was an ever present serious factor, and a most disturbing one. Men were

killed and maimed “for doing nothing” so to speak. They were merely on

the spot, and there was nowhere else to go. Tactical reasons demanded

that they should be there, should scratch a little cover and remain, and

there they cheerfully remained—and waited. Officers moved about and

tried to get their men interested in their surroundings, in their

comfort, in their protection, and in the rigging up of a defensive

battle if necessary. The men understood and worked with a will, and

laughter and song rang out over the torn earth. But every man knew that

in a place like this almost anything might happen; however, the worst

would never happen to him—the other fellow perhaps, but not him.

That, I imagine, was one of the secrets of sticking it.

 

Undoubtedly the Boche was putting up a fight for this bit of ground, and

his guns never ceased, only in the grey hours of dawn was there any

semblance of peace along the front, and then one felt that he had just

temporarily put a hand over the mouth of the guns in a straining

attitude of watching and listening for a movement on our part. A sudden

withdrawal of that hand and they would all bark forth together in a

terrible chorus. It was a strain for all, and faces began to show the

lines of wearing mentality. Our persons lost their spruceness too. There

was mud clinging to us, we were unshaven, equipment hung rather loosely,

but our rifles and ammunition were still as ever, and Lewis guns would

be found in good condition.

 

After two nights the battalion occupied the front positions, relieving

the 5th Manchesters, and headquarters were established in a good sound

pill-box at Wilde Wood. Another attack was being planned upon Borry and

Beck, to be carried out by the 5th, with ourselves in support. Meanwhile

our job was to dig new trenches out in front as jumping off places for

the attack. They were successfully completed, but when the enemy saw

them he paid his usual attention to them and as a result 2nd-Lt.

Chatterton (C Coy.) was badly wounded, and eventually lost a leg. He was

an extremely popular figure both with officers and men being known to

everyone as “Joe,” and his absence was keenly felt, for he had gone out

originally with the battalion in 1914.

 

Luckily the plan of attack was abandoned, and apart from a feeling of

personal relief everyone felt that a wise thing had been done. There was

little hope of the enterprise proving any more successful than that of

the L.F’s., especially as similar attempts had just been made left and

right of us and had failed miserably. It was clear that the only way to

ease the situation was to carry out a big attack on a wide front.

Evidences of the imminence of such an attack showed themselves very

soon, for advance parties from the 9th division came up to learn the

front, and they intimated that they had a “big job on.”

 

One night one of our patrols out in No Man’s Land, heard not far from

them, feeble calls for help. Making their way across the shell holes

towards the sound they found a man with a smashed leg and absolutely

exhausted. He was brought in and proved to be an Inniskilling Fusilier

who had taken part in an attack some four or five weeks previously! He

stated that he had kept up his strength by eating the food and iron

rations and drinking the water which he had found upon the dead men

around him. It seemed incredible that such a thing could have happened,

but on making inquiries concerning his division, the number of which I

have forgotten, it proved to be perfectly true. Surely this case

presents physiological and psychical problems worthy of consideration.

 

We were relieved again by the 5th and went back to our old support

position. After two days the L.F’s. came up again to relieve the

brigade, but the bulk of our battalion continued to go up in the evening

to dig in a corps cable which was being laid as far forward as possible.

By the time we completed the last of our journeys to the east of Ypres,

we were a battalion chastened in body and spirit. Many big gaps had been

made in the ranks, and it was when we settled down to the more

comfortable and peaceful existence that these gaps were keenly felt. A

most noticeable absentee was R.S.M. Hartnett. He had been badly hit by a

piece of shell at Bill Cottage, and later died in hospital at Rouen.

Hartnett’s work with the 7th Manchesters has nothing but good to show.

He had been a sergeant instructor with the battalion in pre-war days,

being sent to us by the 1st Manchesters, and had gone out in 1914 to the

Soudan. He stayed on through Gallipoli, and became R.S.M. when Franklin

was made adjutant. A keen, regular, disciplinarian and the scourge of

feeble N.C.O’s., he was an untiring worker in entertainments. His song

in Gallipoli—“Oh, Achi, Achi Baba,” to the tune of the “Absent Minded

Beggar” will never be forgotten, while some of the sketches that he

wrote and had performed were masterpieces of good humour. C.S.M. Clough,

of “D” company, was appointed as his successor and although the post of

R.S.M. is a difficult one to fill, he did some excellent work,

particularly in the line.

 

Toronto Camp sheltered us again for a night or two after which we moved

nearer to Poperinghe. It was evident by now that we were to leave Ypres

altogether, and no one exhibited any regrets, but there was a peculiar

feeling that the division was rather under a cloud, and apart from a

natural partisanship in the matter, everyone was indignant at the

unfortunate opportunities which had been afforded us to make our

reputation in this country. All were emphatic that had we been given a

sporting chance in a general attack, there would have been nothing

wanting in the final result. However, there was a violent spring clean

through the division. The G.O.C. left us, as well as a number of the

staff. In accordance with an army scheme to move round commanding

officers, Lt.-Col. Cronshaw was exchanged for the C.O. of the 8th

Worcesters—Lt.-Col. Carr, D.S.O.—and bade a sad farewell to the 7th on

September 20th. The men sent a good many regrets after him, for he had

done sound work, and had had a big hand in the creation of the