In the Vimy Ridge trenches whenever we had spotted what we suspected to be an enemy mining-shaft we would take counsel with the trench-mortar officer or gunners and have the location consistently pounded, meanwhile watching with delight many hits which resulted in throwing up blocks of timber, the latter usually denoting a direct hit.
On account of the difficulty of obtaining the right atmospheric conditions for a gas attack, we would often have a number of false gas alarms. The "gas merchants," as they are called by the British, would place their steel cylinders in the parapet front line and carefully conceal them with sand-bags until the proper wind and velocity were obtained. It was usual to withdraw every one from the front line with the exception of the Lewis gunners. The "gas merchants" had planned to put over a gas attack in the trenches opposite Gommecourt Wood and we had taken our men out several times when it had been found inadvisable to throw the gas over on account of the shift of wind or some other reason. On this occasion I had withdrawn my men from the front line, and an hour later, having learned that the gas attack was not to come off this time, had gone up to the front line again alone by a different communication-trench. In passing along the fire-trench I happened to ask a corporal of a gas crew whether the gas attack was called off for that night. One of their sergeants overheard my questioning the corporal, and, seeing a strange officer alone in the trenches, very properly followed me up for a distance. When I arrived at the scene of our work I found that my men had not returned. The sergeant's suspicions naturally grew, and as I started out again he informed me that I would be placed under arrest until I could identify myself. I told him we would walk around to the infantry commander's dugout and he would vouch for me. As it happened, I had met some of these infantry officers in the morning, but they had only come in that day and did not know us very well. On reporting to the company headquarters, the infantry captain informed me that he guessed it was all right, but that he was taking no chances. I had better accompany the sergeant back to battalion headquarters. These headquarters were at the entrance to F., the village behind, and as I was marched back, with the sergeant closely following, I picked up one of my Irish corporals at their billet in the village. The latter seemed highly amused at my arrest. On arriving at battalion headquarters I established my identity very quickly to the battalion adjutant, but made a mental decision I would be careful about going around the front lines alone in the future.
Twosections of our company left Soastre the next day and proceeded to Albert. In going down we ran into a very severe thunder-storm. The roads were filled with a heavy traffic, troops marching into Albert and to neighboring towns, all going into the Big Push. Immense quantities of supplies and ammunition were being sent down. Shells and ammunition were piled everywhere on rough wooden platforms by the side of the road. Most of the troops were bivouacked near the roads, and on this day were having a very rough time, especially where they were camped in the valleys. Many of them were up to their knees in water and their small bivouac or "pup" tents nearly submerged. The whole of the countryside around Albert was dotted with camps. Inside of a few hours of this rain the camps were simply quagmires. Roads were cut up badly as a result of the heavy traffic, and our progress was slow. For several miles before reaching Albert we could see the figure of the "Madonna Holding the Child" outstretched against the sky-line. This bronze statue is a notable landmark and could be discerned for miles around. It was situated on the top of the Albert church, and the church and tower had been shelled so badly that the figure had by this time almost reached a horizontal position. It was common belief among the French that as soon as the figure fell to the ground the war would be ended.
We found that our billet at Albert was to be in a corner house facing a crossroads from which four roads radiated. Albert was being badly shelled at the time, and our billet had met the same fate as many others. No windows were left in the house and very little plaster on the walls or ceilings. However, we were well used to billets of this description and promptly proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would allow.
The next day we started on our work in the trenches and in the evening I took in my party. We drove up in our trucks as far as the hill overlooking Ovilliers-la-Boisselle, and then walked the remainder of the way into the trenches which we had to consolidate. We had said good-by to underground mining for a while. Here our work consisted in consolidating the trenches as they were captured by the infantry. I think this night, incidentally my birthday, was the worst night that I have ever spent in the trenches. We had to march in single file, my party of seventy men, separated into small groups, along a road which at that time was being terribly shelled by the Huns. We were obliged to keep to the road on account of the fact that all the trenches captured since the 1st of July by our infantry had previously been flattened out by our own and the German artillery-fire, and only small depressions showed their original location. We marched for the last mile in pitch-darkness in mud up to our knees and passed through several barrages of enemy fire. The bombardment on both sides was terrific. The British guns were so numerous that in this La Boisselle valley they stood almost limber to limber. I had some four guides with me. These men had been up in the daytime and were to take our four parties to our new work here. Three of them lost themselves hopelessly in the dark, but fortunately one lad managed to find one of our dugout positions. The surface of the ground everywhere around was so pitted with shell-holes that it was impossible to find a piece of ground five feet square which did not have one or more shell-holes in it. The bodies of German and British soldiers were lying around us in thousands. The fitful glare from the star-lights and flashes from the guns showed these bodies and portions of bodies lying in every conceivable pitiful and grotesque position. Most of them were lying face down in the shell-holes and almost filled trenches, while others stretched on their backs stared up to the skies with glassy, unseeing eyes. Rifles, bombs, and all manner of small weapons and equipment, German and British, were scattered around on all hands. We had all seen plenty of the horrors of war before and were just fresh from the Vimy Ridge trenches, where bodies also were numerous, but here it was a veritable shambles. These men had all been killed within the last two or three days. Freeman, the reliable guide with me, warned us about stepping on the bodies in the dark. To my disgust, I stepped on a body right away, and in climbing over an earth mound, placed my hand on another. I thought I was pretty well inured to these horrible sights, but my revulsion was so strong that I vomited on the spot. Our men here were working in six-hour shifts. I remained in charge for two shifts, some twelve hours, and I can say truthfully that I was never more happy in my life than when I was relieved in the morning. It certainly was not a pleasant way of celebrating one's birthday. We wanted to bury some of the poor British lads whose bodies we found there, but this was impossible. We did bury a few bodies the next night after taking their identity tags and effects from their pockets. It is impossible for me to even half describe the scenes in these terrible battles known as the first Somme offensive.
We started work at once on some five dugouts. The entrances to three of them were destroyed the first night, some of our fellows being caught in them and buried at the time. Fortunately, we were able to shovel them out not much the worse for wear. A working-party of cavalry were assisting us here, and I shared my breakfast of hard-tack biscuit and cheese with the officer in charge. This officer, it appears, was the son of a very wealthy tobacco manufacturer in England and, as his brother officers afterward informed me, the heir to $65,000,000. No wildcat insurance company even would have insured his life for thirty cents during this time.
Our work was near Mouquet Farm and to the left of Pozières. A mile to our north was the famous Thiepval. The Australians were fighting all around here when we arrived, but about a week later were relieved by the Canadians. We had some two weeks of this work, going up for eight hours out of every twenty-four. At our back billet at Albert we did not get much rest. The Huns were shelling the town regularly with heavy shells as they retreated, and sleep was almost impossible by reason of the continual rumbling of traffic on the granite pavé road alongside our billet. It seemed to us that the whole British army must have driven past that house. There was no rest day or night on account of this noise. As my brother was with the Canadians, I looked forward eagerly to their arrival. However, this did not mean that I was likely to see him; as things happen at the front, your lifelong friend or your brother may be in the next sector to you and yet you will never know the fact or, even if you do, you would probably never get the chance to see him.
At Albert we were some twenty-eight kilometres from the beautiful city of Amiens. All troops, officers included, have a weakness for this city, and whenever it was possible to get a few hours away from the line, they would try and reach it somehow, on horseback, by truck, or any means of conveyance. We were fortunate in having motorcycles, and, when time permitted, would ride down from Albert to Corbie, get on the tow-path of the river Somme there, and ride into Amiens. The horrors of war were soon forgotten, and we would get a good meal at the Café Godabert or at some other place, and soon feel at peace with the world. An American bar we patronized would furnish us with champagne cocktails and other so-called American drinks, and, if time allowed, we would see a cinema.
In riding back along the tow-path, we would see the Red Cross barges, full of badly wounded men, being slowly towed down. Numerous French and British troops were camped by the river. In summer it was very pleasant there for the troops at rest. This is the country where several of our own divisions are now fighting, brigaded with the British and French troops. We were riding back on motorcycles from Amiens one day along the tow-path when Captain B. rode right into the river and stuck in about four feet of mud and water. It was amusing to watch his struggles from the bank, but when he insisted on our helping him out with his machine, not quite so funny. We put it on the rack and in a few minutes had it going again. They furnished us motorcycles that would stand anything. We had many thrilling rides on these up to the trenches, being shelled consistently. I was lucky enough to get my leave whilst here—seven days in England. I never enjoyed a leave more. The officer who relieved me was wounded in the leg the same night, and now, though still crippled, has rejoined my old company in the trenches. Within twenty-four hours of leaving these terrible scenes of wholesale slaughter I found myself in a theatre in London. Naturally enough, life seemed to be going on much as usual, and I proceeded, as every one else does, to have the very best time possible in the short and infrequent leaves. Not many hours were wasted on sleep during our furloughs from the front. We figured we had plenty of time to catch up on sleep when we got back to the front, but the luxury of being able to take off all your clothes, have a real bath, and then sleep between linen sheets again is never really appreciated until you've lived for months in a dirty, muddy trench.
One of my brother officers was an Irishman who lived in Dublin, where he invariably spent his short furloughs. He went back once when the Sinn Feiners were busy with their revolution in Ireland. On his return he complained that it was more exciting dodging the machine-gun and rifle fire around the streets of Dublin than it was in the front line, but, being a cheery soul, he appeared to have enjoyed to the utmost their little private war in Ireland.
On my way back to France I was held up for three days at Folkestone on account of loose mines in the channel, thick fog, and enemy submarines. Stopping over at Boulogne in waiting for the Third Army train to go up to the line again, I went to the movies at the Kursaal. Curiously enough I saw a film there entitled "L'Invasion des Etats-Unis." I had seen this picture in New York on my way over in October, 1915. The French audience greeted it with much enthusiasm and plainly showed their warm feelings toward our country.
I met H., a brother officer at Boulogne. While travelling together to Amiens we discovered the fact that we had less than forty francs left between us. Economy is not a strong point with men on furlough from the trenches, and I know that most of us managed to spend all of our pay and usually overdraw a month in advance by the last day. H. and I figured that we could get by, but dropping into the Café Godabert in Amiens in a lordly way to luncheon we found to our dismay that our bill was over thirty francs exclusive of wine, which we had carefully refrained from ordering. With our bad French we had ordered "à la carte" instead of the regular meal, and we were obliged to content ourselves with a small packet of malted milk until breakfast the next morning. That luncheon, however, was good.
On my return to Albert I found that my section were now constructing Russian saps and dugouts in the trenches opposite Thiepval, and we were there when the capture of this enormously strong fortress was effected at the end of September, 1916. The underground defenses of the Germans at Thiepval were very elaborate. Many of their machine-guns would be run up on elevators as occasion demanded from the dugouts below. Thiepval had withstood the most terrific hammering and pounding since July 1, of that year.
The tanks were first introduced in the fighting near us in the battle of the Somme, and were very successful.
In going up to Thiepval we drove every day through Aveluy Woods. These woods were shelled with persistent regularity and intensity by the enemy. One day as we were driving up, some shells burst among an infantry party marching just ahead of us on the road. Among the resulting casualties one of their officers was lying in the road with one leg blown off, while his orderly lay headless a few feet from him. A Tommy called attention to the head of the orderly in a tree near by. We had five casualties ourselves on this particular trip. One of them, not wounded very badly, danced with delight. "Good-by, sir, any message for Blighty," was his last call as we sent him back to the nearest aid-post. None of us enjoyed this daily ride through Aveluy Woods.
Aftersome six weeks on the Somme we were ordered to return to Hébuterne and remained there during the operations known as the battle of the Ancre. Our rest-camp was at Souastre, a village some three miles back of the front line. Souastre was shelled irregularly. Whenever our artillery shelled a village behind the Hun lines, the Germans would retaliate by shelling the corresponding village behind the British lines. Retaliation was always a strong point with the Boches. Our work, which was now mostly deep-dugout construction, was in the village of Hébuterne and in the front and support trenches near this village. It had been anticipated that we would have captured the trenches at Gommecourt Wood and the German lines opposite Hébuterne in the Somme offensive, and as a result of this optimism, very little work had been done to repair and revet the trenches in this sector. The rain was rapidly making them almost impassable, despite the constant efforts of the engineers and infantry to repair them. We could hardly move in any of these trenches during the winter without a pair of rubber thigh-boots, and some men, going in or out alone, were drowned in the mud. This was not a rare occurrence. Many men are lost in this way during the winters. Our other sections had been working in an advanced sap which we called the "Z" hedge (British called this "Zed"), and we had continued to carry on repair work in the tunnels under No Man's Land there. It took us about three hours to get up to the "Z" hedge, nearly every man carrying some timber, and another three to come out. Sometimes I have taken a full half-hour to walk fifty yards in these advanced trenches, every step in mud above my waist. The alternative of sticking your head in the mud, ostrich fashion, or getting out and going over the top and taking your chance did not make it any more pleasant. We usually preferred to get out on top. One day the general in command of the infantry brigade visited these forward saps, and as a result we were ordered to abandon them—not however before we had paid a heavy price to hold them. A machine-gun section had set up a Vickers gun in this sap to cover the possible underground approach of the enemy and these parties would often be without rations or supplies for several days at a time. In addition to this, they were unable to light any fires on account of the smoke being seen from the close Hun trenches. Taking the tip from our fellows, they would heat their tea and bully beef (corned beef) in mess-tins with the aid of candles. We always sent up a few extra candles for them. The hedge here afforded a very useful target for the enemy, and they succeeded in planting many heavy minenwerfers around and in our sap. There were two entrances to this. One day just before I arrived a heavy minenwerfer had destroyed one entrance and killed three officers and four men. Those killed, including one engineer officer, had been blown to pieces. One of my corporals, with the rest of the shift, managed with infinite difficulty to bring out the wounded through the heavy mud. We were not at all sorry to say good-by to the "Zed" hedge.
A cellar, protected by sand-bags, in the village of Hebuterne, used as a shelter by engineer officersA cellar, protected by sand-bags, in the village of Hebuterne, used as a shelter by engineer officers.
A cellar, protected by sand-bags, in the village of Hebuterne, used as a shelter by engineer officers.
Our billets in Hébuterne were the usual cellars. These we strengthened by piling sand-bags and anything else we could find on them. Like most other cellars, even when reinforced, they were not proof against heavy shells. We would often sit and wonder whether the next would land right on top. A six or eight inch shell landing squarely on it would have smashed it like an egg-shell. Quite a number of our men and some from our attached infantry working-parties were killed in these cellars by shell-fire. The whistle and swish, too, as they passed over searching for the heavy batteries behind us was not too entertaining. You could hear them as they came, faintly at first, and with increasing sound until they burst with an ear-splitting crump. With experience we could determine from their sound those which were going to explode near. However, one is in doubt for a very few seconds only, though these seconds are very valuable. When walking along a road, which is being shelled you will sometimes have time enough to jump into the trench which is usually alongside all roads subject to enemy shelling. One evening I had just relieved Lieutenant G., who remarked before leaving: "The Huns have a nasty hate on to-day, and have been plastering shells all around the billet." They landed a whizz-bang (77-mm. shell) first about 6p.m.some seven feet from my cellar entrance. A few minutes later a 5.9-inch shell burst about twenty feet away in the yard, and from eight to ten that evening a dozen landed, all within twenty to thirty yards of the dugout, one of them carrying away the roof of the house next to us, and just missing the end of our cellar. Finally they put a whizz-bang square on the entrance, and almost on top of it a heavy shell which blew down the front sand-bag wall. Fortunately for us we had already built another exit in the form of a tunnel into an adjoining cellar, where the cooks of the section held forth. The shells exploding near had blown out our candles each time, and we patiently relit them, but the last two had in addition blown down half a ton of bricks on us. We were getting decidedly peevish by this time, and when my orderly suggested the thought that was strongly in the minds of both of us—that retreat was in order—we proceeded to put thought into action and moved for the balance of the night to a large, safe dugout near us. The next day I returned to the cellar, but not before putting an extra tier or two of sand-bags on it.
To the right of us there was an advanced aid-post with a mortuary above. This mortuary was in the ruins of a house which had no roof and only two walls. For a time the bodies of men killed each day in the trenches near by were placed here. It was an unfortunate choice. One night my men reported that they had seen rats running over the bodies. Directly I learned of this, we placed sentries to prevent such horrors recurring.
One day we received a request from the brigade to investigate a mysterious crater at the head of Woman Street trench. It appears that an explosion had been heard there two nights earlier, and the following morning it was found that ten infantrymen were missing and a crater some twenty feet deep had been formed in No Man's Land just ahead of the front line at this point. The brigade staff could not understand the situation and requested that an investigation be made at once to determine whether the enemy were mining here and had blown this crater from below ground. As the trenches were some 200 yards apart here mining did not appear probable. I visited the site and later ascertained the fact that an old trench-mortar bomb store had been located there some time previously. We took out a party of our sappers and dug around in the very symmetrically shaped crater. We unearthed some remnants of trench-mortar ammunition-boxes. What happened to the ten men was never definitely known, but we concluded that an enemy shell must have landed squarely on the T.M. store, detonated all the trench-mortar ammunition and blown out the entire gun crew. None of the bodies were found anywhere in the vicinity. The night before our fellows went out to dig around in this crater an infantry bombing-party had been detailed to occupy it. In the morning they were all found bayonetted. A Boche patrol had surprised them. One man in the party who was wounded had managed to crawl away in the dark and escaped the fate of his comrades. As happens so often in this war, the Huns had not been content with killing. On the body of one man were found five bayonet wounds.
This village of Hébuterne was well known as being a bad spot. The infantry preferred the trenches to the village cellars. The enemy shelled the village with unwelcome intensity daily and also all the roads leading to it. Our cellar was some fifty yards from a crossing where the roads radiated in five directions. This spot came in for more than its share of shelling. The fact that numerous artillery batteries were located in the immediate neighborhood added to the intensity with which it was bombarded. The road to Hébuterne from Sailly-au-Bois was also shelled regularly and at almost any hour of the day or night one would see wrecked and burned wagons and dead horses lying around in their harness. I have known as many as seventy casualties from one Hun shell at this crossroads.
We had some four big trucks in regular use and these were kept busy every night in taking up rations, tools, timber, etc., to the trenches. On several occasions we had to "get out and get under" to avoid the splinters from shells bursting near. The drivers of these trucks were plucky fellows. It was difficult to excite them. One night at Hébuterne a 5.9-inch shell burst about five feet from one of our trucks. Six men were more or less badly wounded, but luckily no one was killed. They would drive up at the same even speed every night in the pitch-darkness.
Most of the drivers were hit at some time or other, but always came back as soon as they were released from the hospitals, and carried on with their driving again. Not much time was wasted in unloading these trucks. Often it was done under a rain of shrapnel. When their work was completed the drivers would come into our dugout for their customary tot of rum. Almost nightly in coming up on these roads trucks and wagons would be ditched and hold up a long line of traffic behind them. Frequently it happened that a number were filled with 6-inch or 9.2-inch shells, and the waiting on the road to move on whilst the Hun was spattering everything around us with shrapnel was a little trying. There were some 15-inch guns beside the road at Sailly-au-Bois, and these came in for their regular share of attention from enemy batteries.
While we were constructing a number of deep dugouts in Hébuterne and in the trenches around, we found a big chalk cavern in the village. This useful place was discovered by a man accidentally falling down a well. On being pulled out, the wide-awake sapper noticed an opening off the side. The cavern was explored and several entrances opened up. Very useful accommodation was in this way provided for a large number of troops.
On the night of November 12, 1916, I was trying to get some sleep in my cellar at Hébuterne when about twoa.m.a motorcycle despatch-rider awakened me and handed me the following message, marked "Secret and Confidential."
Secret.148th Bde. No. G. 205/14.O.C., 1/2nd Field Coy. R.E.O.C., 181st TunnellingCoy. R.E.√"Z" Day is to-morrow, THIRTEENTH instant. ZERO hour is FIVE FORTY FIVE A.M.Acknowledge.SignatureCaptain,Brigade Major, 148th Infantry Bde.12.11.16.
Secret.148th Bde. No. G. 205/14.
O.C., 1/2nd Field Coy. R.E.O.C., 181st TunnellingCoy. R.E.√
"Z" Day is to-morrow, THIRTEENTH instant. ZERO hour is FIVE FORTY FIVE A.M.
Acknowledge.
Signature
Captain,Brigade Major, 148th Infantry Bde.
12.11.16.
Interpreted, this meant that three hours later, five forty-fivea.m., on the thirteenth, the infantry would go "over the top" on the first assault of the battle of the Ancre. The infantry in the trenches just in front of us were not to be in the attack, but were instructed to throw large numbers of smoke-bombs and maintain rapid fire, the idea being to make a good bluff that they were also going over and keep the enemy guessing in the trenches opposite them. At five forty-five exactly, the artillery around us all burst loose, and the fireworks started. Several batteries of 9.2-inch howitzers, not a hundred yards from us, soon tested the drums of our ears. The twelve-inch batteries just half a mile away also started firing as hard as they could, together with the others all around. The combined noise was naturally deafening, and reminded us of our experiences on the Somme. Above and around in all directions the whistle and swish of the shells made the air seem almost alive, all carrying their messages to the poor devils of Huns opposite us. The return shelling that day in Hébuterne was not intense. I imagine that their guns were too badly needed a little farther to the south. The push was to be made by eight divisions at first, and extended from about a quarter-mile south to Thiepval, about six miles below. We captured the village of Serre, just to the south, but were driven out again. Later on, it was retaken. As in almost every action, villages and points were captured and lost, then recaptured, and so on. A Boche general and his staff, who were at the time inspecting the enemy front lines at Serre, were captured. Beaumont-Hamel was taken the first day, and other villages to the south. At the start we captured over 6,000 prisoners, and our own casualties were very light. The weather then took a change to our disadvantage. The frost disappeared and was followed by rain, which made the ground very sodden and muddy. This state of affairs occurred so often after the first day or two of an attack that it almost seemed as if the weather was in league with the Germans.
Time and again it has happened that the British would capture the first and second objectives and then on account of bad weather developing the attack would come "unstuck" and troops unable to advance at any speed in the heavy mud.
We were obliged often to ride up on our motorcycles at night. Some fellows got used to this and the regular motorcycle despatch-riders do it habitually, but I can't say I ever enjoyed it. To a short-sighted man it isn't much fun. The fact that one of the despatch-riders one night was killed by running into our truck as we were coming out didn't encourage me. I have seen some fellows blown into ditches, and others crashed into walls by the concussion of shells exploding near them. Fast riding is usually a necessity and many accidents happen. I had many falls, but was fortunate enough to only spend one night in an ambulance-station.
The observation-balloon (or kite-balloon) section officers had bad times occasionally. One day at Souastre I noticed one of these "sausages" being carried away by a strong wind. The cable had broken and the wind was carrying the balloon very quickly toward the enemy trenches. As I looked up I saw the first officer observer drop out, hanging on to his parachute. Somehow it failed to open, and he dropped over 4,000 feet like a stone. The other man probably stopped to secure his maps and instruments, and a few seconds later, he dropped. Several hundred feet below the balloon his parachute opened and he came slowly sailing down, some four or five minutes later, fortunately landing in our lines. In the meantime two flying men had raced after the balloon and set the hydrogen bag on fire with tracer bullets from their Lewis guns, in order to prevent it from falling into the hands of the Huns. The poor fellow whose parachute had not opened was formerly a well-known and popular London actor, Mr. Basil Hallam.
Busy as all the engineers were, we couldn't build enough dugouts for all the troops. One day I went over to a very inadequate and shallow shelter in a part of the front line which was used as a company officer's dugout. They needed a new one badly, and we arranged to start the work the next day. As bad luck would have it, the Boches landed a five-nine on it that same night and killed or severely wounded every officer and orderly in the dugout at the time.
Occasionally some of the men would get what is known as "shell-shock"; most of the cases are undoubtedly genuine, but a small few are suspected malingerers. To reduce the number of the latter, most of the British army doctors required evidence confirming the details of the specific shell explosion causing the shock, that is, when it was not the result of cumulative conditions. My experience is that when a shell bursts very close to you, your heart seems to tighten and jump up. Actual displacement of the heart really occurs sometimes, my medical friends tell me, and the old expression of "one's heart is in one's mouth" takes on a real meaning. Fortunately in most cases as one becomes accustomed to shelling, the shock to the nervous system decreases, and an explosion or concussion which would thoroughly unnerve a new man is taken by a veteran with a nonchalance which certainly shows the development of strong will-power. However, the continued nervous strain tells its tale in gradually lowering the vitality of the men exposed to constant shelling.
InJanuary, 1917, we were directed to proceed from Hébuterne to the trenches near Arras. Our rest-camp was at Beaumetz, a village about two and a half miles back of the lines, and our work was the construction of forward underground galleries under No Man's Land and deep-dugout construction in Arras and the villages and trenches to the south. Another man and myself were billeted at B. with a French family, four generations of whom were occupying the kitchen, while we used what was formerly the parlor. I think we paid Mme. —— about five francs a month rent (which is incidentally by way of being quite a contrast to the rent of apartments in Washington this last winter). My forward billet was at Achicourt, a suburb of Arras. This part of the line was then pretty quiet and we were not sorry to get into a comparatively peaceful sector for a while. In Achicourt, a village about half a mile from the Germans' front line, a few civilians were still living. The troops would buy eggs, butter, bread, vegetables, and such like articles from these French residents. Another man and I used to make a practice of going down to the house of a French carpenter's wife and having the usual meal of omelet, "petit pois" or "haricot vert" and café au lait. She was a wonderful cook, as most of the French women are, and seemed to find a good deal of amusement in our attempts at conversation with her. Like many other French women still living in their homes close to the line, shelling did not bother her much. We used to have our meals in her kitchen. The room adjoining, the parlor, had been entirely destroyed by a shell, and several bullets had gone through the window of the kitchen. Shells would often land in the road outside and in the garden at the back while we were at meals here.
Madam B. would immediately order her young son, aged about twelve, and her daughter, about eighteen, to light a lamp and go down to the cellar while the shelling continued. Her husband was serving with the French army at Verdun and returned on a week's "permission" (leave) during the time we were in this village. It amused the Tommies very much to think that any soldier would care to spend his leave in a village so close to the line. We were constantly advising the civilians to move back to a safer area, particularly the women, but the poor people had not much choice. The British army authorities I understand offered to move them all, together with their portable belongings, but they were evidently afraid of having their houses destroyed and their little farms or gardens torn up. Their love of home was stronger than their fear of death, or else they couldn't understand. At any rate, very few of them left, even when the shelling became more active. Many of these civilians were later killed and gassed. We also came in for our share of shelling later at our billets here; the cellars were small and did not provide sufficient accommodation for all of us. Shortly before the beginning of the retreat of the enemy, which occurred on our front on March 18th, they gave us a last dose of heavy shelling. This day they landed at least 100 medium and heavy shells within a radius of 50 yards around us. I had more than my share of close calls during this bombardment. A shell had just burst in the road near our little ruin and I walked out to see what had happened and heard another one coming straight for me. I ran to the nearest wall and dropped alongside. The whizz-bang burst about 8 feet away from me on the same wall. I happened to be the nearest man to the shell, but was only hit with a brick in the middle of my back, knocking my wind out, but not doing any real damage. One poor fellow behind me was killed and two others wounded. Incidentally I got the full concussion along the brick wall, and my ears were ringing for an hour afterward.
I then hurried to one of my section billets to order the men to their cellars. That same morning the Boche had put one shell through the wall of the second story of this building, but as luck would have it we had no men billeted up-stairs. Just before I reached a barn occupied by eleven of my men in the yard of this billet, a 4.2-inch shell burst on top of the east brick wall. Poor Holloway had his head blown off by the bricks, another fine lad, McNulty, was mortally wounded with shrapnel in his lungs and stomach; and six others wounded less seriously. The remaining three were not touched, but were badly shaken up. After covering the bodies of the poor lads who were killed, we bandaged up the other fellows as well as we could and took them down to the aid-post in the village. Infantry quartered in the next house to us had over seventeen casualties from one shell the same day.
After getting all my men in the cellars, I hunted for a cellar myself. This was not easy as they were by this time pretty full. On my way I was caught in several buildings when they were hit. Twice I stood in the doorway between two rooms and watched the tiles falling all around as shells burst on the roofs over me. Presently, I found temporary shelter and stayed there for fifteen minutes until the worst was over. A house with two cellars next to one of our billets and on the same street was closed up securely. I obtained permission from the town major (the officer who has charge of all billeting accommodations in the French villages) to use this billet, providing I could get the consent of a French lady who was acting as a kind of watchdog for the absent owner. Madame —— was loth to give her consent. I'm afraid I was not very patient. We had already that day lost several fine lads through a shortage of cellar shelters, so we proceeded to take over the billets anyhow and moved to rooms above the stores of household treasures which had been placed in the cellars for safe-keeping.
Billets near ammunition-dumps or trucks filled with shells were not popular. Eleven large trucks with several hundred 9.2 shells in them were parked in the square of this village for several hours. A Boche shell hit one of them. All the houses surrounding the square were levelled by the resulting detonation and over 200 men killed and wounded. It was impossible afterward to find a piece of wood or steel from these trucks larger than a brick in size. During the retreat it was a very common occurrence for enemy shells to explode large artillery ammunition-dumps in this way on account of the fact that it was impossible to get them under adequate cover. Every night one could count dozens of fires caused by enemy shells hitting the cordite propellant of batteries.
We were billeted for some time in Arras, one of the best laid-out cities in France, which before the war had a population of about 40,000.
It had suffered severely from bombardment in 1914 and 1915. The trenches ran right through the town. The granite blocks of the pavé in the streets had been taken up in many places and formed into breastworks, with loopholes arranged for rifle and machine-gun fire. The Arras railway-station was quite interesting. It had been formerly a handsome and well-built structure of steel and glass. Now the glass was all broken, but the steel frame had remained intact. Along one platform a pavé breastworks, shoulder-high, had been built, while between the rails, many of which were broken, grass was growing. It was a melancholy sight.
We were fortunate enough to be billeted for a couple of weeks in the office of a sugar-refinery. Here we had leather armchairs, desks, stoves, and most of the appurtenances of civilization. Seventy-five per cent of the houses and buildings in Arras had been hit at some time or other; those undamaged or not so badly destroyed had their rooms and cupboards locked and paper seals placed, warning soldiers not to open them. Shells are no respecters of seals, however, so it happened that many houses had been more or less destroyed by enemy shell-fire, and all the furniture exposed to the weather. Although orders against looting were strictly enforced, it nevertheless happened that many dugouts in the trenches in this vicinity were furnished quite comfortably. One would see large mirrors and comfortable armchairs in them, and in some cases even pianos.
There was a doctor's house about four houses away from the one we occupied, and one evening while the Huns were shelling us they landed an "obus" right into the upper story of this house with the result that the two stories were merged into one. The next morning we examined the damage. The house had been very nicely furnished and a piano and some armchairs were untouched; but everything else was badly wrecked. So the work of destruction goes on—a shell breaks open a house and lays the furniture open to the weather, which soon spoils it.
The trenches here had been occupied by the French until the spring of 1916, and they had also evidently made themselves as comfortable as possible. Before the retreat and during the day all stores in Arras would be closed, and the city was apparently almost deserted, very few soldiers being seen on the streets; but at night things were very active, troops marching in and out at all hours, and all supplies going up. Such stores as remained to do business were open from six to eight in the evening. There was one street, the Rue St.-Quentin, which had been dubbed "piano row." When we reached Arras, this was a street of ruins, but an infantry officer whom I met here told me he had been billeted in Arras in the previous spring and that every house in this street then had a piano in it. Not even a chair was to be found then. A number of French gendarmes and British military police were protecting the property of former residents and enforcing army regulations in regard to looting. The troops sometimes used the furniture found in the houses, but took good care of it and handed it over to the parties succeeding them in these billets. To be sent to the Arras sector before the retreat was an "end devoutly to be wished for" by all British forces.
Previous to the German retreat one of our sections working with a New Zealand mining company, had opened out all the old sewers of the city and constructed tunnels in the chalk through to the front trenches, and in some places these tunnels were continued as far underground as the Boche support-line. During the battle of Arras thousands of troops would be marched up the main St.-Pol-Arras road, and then underground to come out on top again at the Boche second line.
In February I obtained another leave to England, and crossed during the first week of the widely advertised 1917 Boche submarine blockade. The U-boats did not bother us much in crossing the Channel, however, as we always had torpedo-boat escorts. During the nineteen months I served in the trenches, I had four furloughs, and in this I was particularly lucky. As a matter of fact, leave for most troops was often cancelled, especially for a few weeks previous to a big offensive, but as our tunnelling companies did not obtain the usual divisional rest behind the lines, we were always allowed our furlough, and mighty welcome it invariably was. It happened frequently that infantrymen would just reach England for a ten-day leave when they would receive a wire from their commanding officers informing them that their leave was cancelled and ordering them to immediately rejoin their unit back in the trenches. This was the epitome of bad luck and resulted in much gnashing of teeth and profanity generally.
For a week previous to March 18 we had noticed many fires in the enemy lines and heard numerous explosions in the villages behind their trenches. Everything seemed to indicate that the enemy were preparing to retire along the trenches opposite us, as they had been doing to the south. Our own plans for an offensive were nipped in the bud by this untimely retreat of the Boche. It came earlier than was anticipated by the British Staff. For our part we had nearly finished the construction of a large number of dugouts close up which were to be used as assembly shelters for large attacking forces. On March 18 they evacuated the trenches at Beaurains, a village in the enemy lines across from us at Achicourt. Evidently they had abandoned these lines on the night of the 17th. On the morning of the 18th our infantry reported that there were no Germans in the trenches opposite.
In the afternoon another man and I crossed over to Beaurains to investigate any dugouts which might have been left there. We only found two or three which had not been destroyed. These were all very deep and were strengthened at the entrance from the trench with heavily reinforced concrete and in most cases there was a concrete wall also on the parados side of the trench opposite the entrance. As they were shelling the village heavily with eight-inch shells as they retreated, we did not tarry longer than necessary. The next day we went across again and followed up the retreating Huns until we came within rifle-range. Our infantry had pursued them as hard as they could, but they were considerably handicapped on account of the fact that no supplies except what they could carry in their packs could be brought forward. The infantry had a hard time. The destruction of the road made it impossible for them to use their transport. It was very difficult for them to carry up sufficient rifle and machine-gun ammunition, much less adequate rations and water. I saw many poor chaps drinking from the muddy shell-holes, and they lived for several days on much-reduced "iron rations." Everywhere along the area of their retreat the Germans had blown big craters in the roads, craters from 30 to 100 feet deep and from 50 to 200 feet wide. These were blown at all crossroads, and in addition, at every quarter-of-a-mile interval on the roads. Their work of destruction everywhere was most thorough. All buildings and walls had been destroyed. Those alongside roads were felled across the latter—anything to tie up traffic. We seldom found a wall left which was over three feet in height.
Cellars, dugouts, and shelters of any description were obliterated or their entrances had been closed by firing charges of high explosives. The dugouts and ruins in many places were still on fire or smouldering. All trees were sawn off within a foot to eighteen inches of their base, this work having evidently been done with small gasolene saws. Large trees were everywhere felled and left lying squarely across the roads. All wells were either blown up or had been poisoned by chemicals. The latter course must have involved the use of very large quantities of chemicals. The work assigned to us later was to unearth and withdraw all mines left in dugout entrances and elsewhere, and pick up all bomb-traps and devilish contrivances of a similar nature.
This kept us very busy. Thousands of these had been laid. All railroads were undermined; the first train going over near us at Achiet-le-Grand was destroyed. Contact-mines were left under the roads in many places, especially at crossroads, and these would be fired when any heavy vehicle or gun crossed them. In other places they had placed mines with delay-action fuses. A large brigade dugout headquarters near us at B. went up in smoke about ten days after being occupied. Most of the dugout mines were placed about half-way down the entrances on the right or left side, and these had been tamped with sand-bags, detonators connected with leads which were fastened to the wooden steps, and these would be fired as men walked down. It required a careful eye to detect them. We would notice some slight change in the timber at these places and invariably carefully withdraw this and the sand-bag tamping and take out the detonators and the high explosives. Running short of high explosives, the Germans often threw in bombs, trench-mortars, etc., to add to the charges.
Numerous bombs which a touch would fire were found everywhere. In the barbed wire on top of the trenches we would find the German hairbrush bombs tied by their fuses to the wire, with the latter looped in a half circle so that as a soldier walked along he would catch his foot in the loop and fire the bomb. In the trenches we found thousands of the German egg-bombs connected to and underneath the duckboards or trench boards laid on the floor of all their trenches.
These would be fired by any one stepping on the duckboard, and as there was no other place to step in the trench, it was a case of Hobson's choice. It afforded us much amusement to explode these by throwing bricks on them from behind cover.