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

fair name

of the Fleur de Lys. We were pleased later to see his name in the

honours list for a D.S.O. in recognition of his work with the 7th

Manchesters.

 

On that day the battalion marched to Winizeele and there we were joined

by the new C.O. A sort of kinship sprang up when it was discovered that

he had been wounded at the landing on Gallipoli with the Worcesters of

the famous 29th division.

 

NIEUPORT.

 

It was now apparent that our destination was north, one more step in the

direction of Blighty, towards which we had constantly moved since

leaving El Arish. But it was as near as we ever should get until the

final crossing. We were to join that small, isolated batch of the

British Army which had taken over the coastal sector from the French

with such high hopes in the middle of the year. Ever since the first

furious German onslaught in 1914, when the Kaiser had come in person to

see his myrmidons seize the coast road to the Channel Ports, and when

they met the wonderful defence of the Belgian and French troops

culminating in the flooding of the Yser lowlands, the Nieuport sector

had settled down to a quiet front.

 

The intention was for the British Fourth Army, under General Rawlinson

to steal quietly in, and on an appointed day to startle our friend the

enemy by a quick turning movement along the coast, which, worked in

conjunction with the Ypres offensive would free Ostend and Zeebrugge. A

far-reaching conception, but unfortunately doomed from the first by its

over-importance. The Hun had found out. Someone had told him there were

British soldiers on the coast, so he stampeded—not in the way we should

have liked but in a disastrous manner for ourselves. It had been part of

the scheme to preserve the secrecy of this movement by not bringing up

the guns when the infantry came, for there is nothing like gun positions

for “giving the game away.” So soon as the German knew, however, that

the British had arrived, up came his guns very quickly, for he was well

aware that they had not come for a rest, especially in view of other

activity near Ypres.

 

The 1st division had taken over the Coastal sector with the 32nd

division in front of Nieuport on their right. On the coast the line ran

through the sandhills on the east side of the Yser, while on the right

of this the ground was very low lying and was largely flooded from the

five canals which converge near the town. In July the Huns smashed down

all the bridges over the river with shell fire and then attacked in

overwhelming numbers, with the result that amongst the sand dunes, being

unsupported either by artillery or infantry, the battalions on the east

of the river were completely blotted out. Very little progress, however,

was made against the 32nd division, and their line remained more or less

intact. It was impossible to retake the lost ground, for the wide river

mouth had now to be crossed. This incident altered the whole face of the

situation, for a general advance over the inundated sector alone was out

of the question, and the scheme was given up. A number of guns was

brought up to form an effective background to the infantry and that was

as far as matters developed.

 

When the 42nd arrived they found, by a curious chance, the 66th division

in charge of the coast sector. This division was composed of the 2nd

line battalions of our own units, so there was a tremendous amount of

interest in each other displayed by both sides. Friends met friends, and

opportunities for these meetings were further afforded by the fact that

most units relieved their own 2nd line battalions.

 

The 7th, after a novel experience of being carried up to the coast on

motor ‘buses from Winizeele, were “debussed” at Coxyde, where they

billeted themselves comfortably in the deserted houses. The Boche had

paid this place some attention prior to his attack in July, and had not

really left it alone, so that the civilians had made a rather hurried

departure. A few had elected to remain, and were to be seen walking

furtively about the streets with that curious strained look that the

war-driven peasantry of France and Belgium always wore. Here we met the

2nd battalion of the Manchesters, and were glad of the opportunity to

make their acquaintance. A 7th officer, then Capt. L. Taylor, was

amongst them and it may be mentioned here that later in the war he added

lustre to the Fleur de Lys by winning, with the 2nd Manchesters, the

Military Cross with two bars, which decorations he fortunately lived to

carry home after the conflict. Whilst here the 2/7th being anxious to

prove their mettle, challenged us to a game of football, from which we

carried off the honours by a comfortable margin. Needless to say, this

match excited considerable enthusiasm.

 

After a couple of days we took over the brigade support position, where

we were charmed to find ourselves living in huts amongst the sandhills

behind Oost Dunkerque Bains. There was a fly in the ointment, however,

for the enemy knew about this camp, and being in possession of a couple

of high velocity 5.9 guns for which this place was a suitable target, he

pooped them off at us occasionally in the evening time. The night before

we came, indeed, a shell dropped upon a hut occupied by 2/6th Manchester

officers, killing four of them. Although we were worried this way, there

being little feeling of security under a thin wooden or canvas roof,

we fortunately sustained no casualties. On October 2nd we took over the

front line from the 5th, and were now in the unique position of being

the left battalion of the whole Western Front.

 

[Illustration: NIEUPORT, AND COAST SECTOR.]

 

It was an extraordinary place to fight in—like having a real war at

Blackpool amongst the houses along the front. Nestling in the corner

made by the mouth of the Yser and the coast, is the seaside resort

ostensibly belonging to the town of Nieuport, for it is called Nieuport

Bains. The war had arrived here suddenly, apparently, for an engine and

trucks still stood in the station, much battered now of course, while

every cellar was filled with most expensive furniture which the people

in their rapid flight had been unable to remove. All the houses had been

of the new and large type, particularly those overlooking the promenade,

but they were now skeletons of their former glory, and to see property

of this kind in such a state only served to bring home still more

forcibly the cruel destruction of modern war. The French had made this

front, and with typical French ingenuity they had connected all the

cellars of the houses and so constructed a perfectly safe communication

trench to the front line. This C.T. was continued backwards as a sort of

tunnel along the beach, but it was really a camouflaged trench, just

covered with a layer of sand. Flash lamps were thus greatly in demand on

this sector. As well as watching the Hun on land we were expected also

to keep a look out to sea for submarines and any other vicious craft,

and the two posts allotted this duty were armed with wonderful pom-pom

guns that no one had the courage to experiment with. Still “the man

behind the gun” had a comfortable feeling of importance so long as there

was nothing to shoot at. In that eventuality one trembles to think what

might have been the effect upon himself and the remainder of the crew.

 

Patrolling was also a queer business. In warmer weather it was

accomplished in bathing costume and tin hat, with revolver between the

teeth or behind the ear, but cold nights discouraged these efforts, and

we sneaked about on our side of the river wondering what we could do.

We were now at the seaside and there was the usual crop of mad holiday

projects. One of these was to experiment with a new gas to be projected

into the Boche front trench across the river. Then Lt. Morten was to

pilot a boat over, hop into the said trench, and return in possession of

a “gassee” from whom the results would be studied. Morten went down the

line with a sturdy crew of A.B’s. from “D” company to practise rowing,

but luckily that was as far as the scheme progressed. Then we had our

sea-serpent. An odd sentry or so had sworn to having seen a boat on

successive nights knocking about the river. A careful look-out was

instituted, but no one in authority caught a glimpse of this “mystery

ship.” After six days of this sort of thing we were surprised to find

ourselves relieved by the 20th D.L.I. of the 41st division. They had

just arrived from Ypres and the 42nd were to take over the sector on the

right. The 127th brigade, however, went out into reserve at La Panne and

there we had a splendid time.

 

It was about this time that the new divisional commander

arrived—Maj.-Gen. Solly-Flood, D.S.O., who was destined to raise the

fair name of the 42nd to rank with the proudest of the British Army. He

had been for a time the director of training at G.H.Q., and this fact

filled us with awe but none the less with pleasure, for every sensible

soldier knows that success in the field is the product of good training.

We expected strafe upon strafe whilst out of the line, but it was a joy

to find that the new commander knew that the best results are obtained

by instructing everyone down to the meanest soldier in his job rather

than by bullying. What could the Manchesters better wish for then, than

to have Generals Henley and Solly-Flood? It was indeed a lucky chance

that had brought us under his command. The 7th were also able to welcome

an old friend in Major Hurst who suddenly rejoined the battalion from

England about this period.

 

La Panne had not altogether lost its characteristics as a pleasure

resort, for it was the place where the tired officers of the Belgian

Army came for a rest cure. King Albert and the Queen frequently stayed

at their residence here in their usual quiet, simple way. The Belgians

told you with pride how their monarch could at any time be seen walking

by himself about the streets of the town or along the country roads like

any other officer in the army. A story was told how a couple of young,

dashing French flying officers met the Queen on the beach one day but,

not recognising her, started a conversation. She, seeing the possibility

of a good joke, invited them to her home, and they gleefully accepted.

Picture their consternation when they were presented to the King!

Altogether we spent an extremely pleasant fortnight in this place, and

it was by way of a study in contrasts that October 20th found us

installed in the Redan on the opposite side of the river from Nieuport.

 

This town is a sister in misfortune to Ypres, but the destruction was

even more complete because it was almost in the front line, and shells

of all calibres dropped in it well-nigh continuously day and night.

Peace-time bridges, of course, had been obliterated, but soldiers had

built others to connect up the front line defence, which was east of the

river, with the rear. Who will ever forget Putney Bridge? Lancashire men

who knew nothing of its parent in London, had now perforce to take a

lively personal interest in this wobbly structure. There were two others

but they were not