His mother writes:
"One was aware of the extreme danger to young Officers, of the risks innumerable, but none the less the War Office telegram came on Sunday, February 28th, with an awful suddenness. It contained those words which were becoming so sadly familiar to fathers and mothers and wives in every rank of life."
"And then came the never failing Royal message of sympathy."
"The King and Queen deply regret the loss you and the Army have sustained by the death of your son in the service of his country. Their Majesties truly sympathise."
* * *
Major Trefusis and Captain Young wrote to tell how he died.
1st Battalion Irish Guards
February 27th 1915
"DEAR MRS ALLEN
It is with my deepest sympathy that I have to write and tell you of your son's death. The circumstances under which he met his death were as follows:- He was looking with a periscope over the parapet of a new trench which had been dug the night before, in order to see if he could discover the whereabouts of German gun which had been bothering us, and generally what was in front of him.
A shell came and landed about fifty yards in front of him, and then another which pitched on the parapet and killed him intantaneously. Although he had been with us only a comparatively short time he was picking up his work very quickly, and was a valuable officer. He lies buried in a small cemetary at Cuinchy, where three other of his brother officers are next to him. I have had his grave photographed and I will send you a copy as soon as I get one.
I should like one more to express to you my deep sympathy in your loss, but I hope it may be some consolation to you to feel that he died a gallant soldiers death.
Yours sincerely
J. F. TREFUSIS, Major
Commanding 1st Batt. Irish Guards."
Irish Guards
4th Guards Brigade
2nd Division
Expeditionary Force
February 27th 1915
"DEAR MRS ALLEN
I am taking the liberty of sending you a line to tell you of your son's death. He was in my Company, came out with me, and we were billeted together in Bœuvry.
We were in the firing trenches, and during the night of the 25th had built a barricade across the La Basseé road. About 9 a.m. next morning, I imagine he went down the trench to the barricade to see how the fire positions looked by daylight, and apparently he was looking down the road with his periscope when a shell burst right over him. Death must have been instantaneous.
He has been buried at the little cemetery at Cuinchy where many of his comrades lie. His effects will be sent to you in due course. I think the Ajutant sees after them, as they are now in his hands. I need hardly say how grieved we all are. He was such a brave man, always cheery, and did his work very keenly and thoroughly. He took a very keen interest in his men, knew most of their personal histories, and they were devoted to him.
I hope you will not think it impertinent of me to add, what of course you know, that he was one of those really good men who are always ready to face their Maker.
I say this because I know by experience that mothers sometimes like an outside appreciation of what they know their sons to be.
We are all so sorry for you.
Yours very truly
G.E.S. Young
Captain."
Friday 27 February 2015
Wednesday 25 February 2015
February 25th: final letter from the trenches
"It is surprising how inaccurate shell fire can be. For every ten fired eight or nine miss the mark. In a field behind the village church there is not six yards that has not a ploughed up hole in it. And yet the church, as such, is not longer recognisable except for its tower. The trees also in the neighbourhood and the telegraph poles are half of them slashed up - not one of them fails to have some sign of damage or gash. Yes, they seem to have peppered every square yard of this place, and yet long as we have been in the trenches only a bare half-dozen men have been struck.
'It's an ill wind that blows no one good.' The men even rejoice at times to see the house where they draw wood and water from come down piecemeal. A well-placed shell makes the job of these hewers of wood and water so much the easier.
In the trenches we split the day up by meal times - and they come close to one another - and we sleep and sit about so much that we are getting fat and sleek. I have been made Mess President of No. 4, with orders to see that members don't get overfed. We had such a tiring succession of cocoa that it as quite a relief to find a new liquid in café au lait, made out of condensed milk.
So we pass the day, and evening comes on. We look at the rifles and lay them on the parapet, take precautions about a nasty bank along the road where the Germans might crawl up and throw bombs. In another trench one of our men was on sentry, when he felt a touch on the end of his rifle. He fired, there was a groan, and he crept over to find a dying German, who had lost his way, I expect, scouting.
We have our two hour shifts at night, and drowse the rest of the time. About five o'clock, with luck, our servant, if he has woken up, brings us some Oxo, and then you go round kicking the men to make them stand to arms. As day grows bayonets are inspected and those passed round which have been hit by bullets. There were three one night - one snapped off completely.
The next day is a repetition of what has gone before; there is the usual after-breakfast serenade, and after writing some letters, and a few short snoozes, we start counting the hours until we will be relieved. The men are always packed up and ready to move off a good hour before. Then we wait - of course the relieving regiment, the G.G.'s, are late - you are generally warned of their approach by the sound of muffled oaths and grousings. An Officer leads them, and wants to know why we have fires; then a man passes, 'Well, Mick, we would have had four days C.B. for a glow like that.'
I lead my relieving platoon into their position, blundering and squeezing past my heavily packed men - and how two men with packs on pass one another - well you must hear from them and what passes, and have some idea.
There is just the same delight in showing your next position with all its little special corners and whims to the next lot, as a schoolboy might show his bird collection to a visitor.
At last the G.G.'s settle down - we unfix bayonets and start filing out. The order goes down ahead of you and however slowly the first man walks, the last man is sure to run - it is fated never to be otherwise. After forty four yards of communication trenches we get into the road - skirt the Jack Johnson holes, if we don't fall into them, miss the broken down trees and poles - and so walk in single file for a while or so while the spent bullets are flying over and through you. One always seems to smack the wall of a cottage just as we pass it, and it makes me jump - if no one else.
It is strange, but we always have more casualties coming up to the trenches than we do while in them - from these spent bullets. It is rare if we get through without one man being killed, generally just by the little cemetery where two of our brave officers are buried who fell on Feburary 1st.
On reaching the main road again by a circuitous route about a mile behind the firing line, we form up in the dark as well as we can and then slog home. Then it is you notice you are swinging about and can't walk straight, and the men also seem all over the place in fives and sixes. You try talking to them, but it seems no good - so you just lump it and plod along, only to be roused up when a bright motor light appears ahead, or a battery of artillery want to pass you from the rear.
At last, as your legs get more unsteady, one, and then more lights appear, and you get into Bœuvry. The men shake together, and you are home sooner than you think. Rations and a tot of rum are served out, then we look after our food The stairs seem steep, and when we get into the electric light and see the supper, I realise for the fist time I am tired, and possibly so much that I have to leave my letters ot the next day. There is little talk at supper. Directly it is over, Capt. Young and I are off to our billets at the tailor's shop, to the bed on the floor in my sleeping bag.
I didn't wake till near nine o'clock, so it must have been close on twelve hours. I got up leisurely, went across to the mess, and from the window we could see the men making their morning wash at the village pump, surrounded by the ladies and children of the place. All the square is muddy cobbles, with much piled up, in certain places, a sure trap for the unwary at night, as it is knee deep - and I had fallen into one the night before; luckily there were no men about, otherwise there must have been stories of drunken officers flying about; and we are desperately strict on this - it is a court marshal for every case, and a sentence of nothing less than six months hard labour.
In to breakfast walks Harmsworth, looking as fresh as he ever did. His right arm is tucked in his coat, and he tells us he has had his arm poisoned, the reason being that two nights ago he threw a bomb - German - which exploded prematurely. A bit stung his arm up, but he thought nothing of it until he found his arm swollen. A doctor says a nail is lodged in somewhere, so he was soon packed off for a month.
He is a very jolly man - about twenty - always happy and keen. He boxed for Oxford last year, and, considering he has spent all his life in hotels and big houses, he is wonderfully simple and hard. I liked him more than anyone; he had such a go about him, and didn't care for no one."
'It's an ill wind that blows no one good.' The men even rejoice at times to see the house where they draw wood and water from come down piecemeal. A well-placed shell makes the job of these hewers of wood and water so much the easier.
In the trenches we split the day up by meal times - and they come close to one another - and we sleep and sit about so much that we are getting fat and sleek. I have been made Mess President of No. 4, with orders to see that members don't get overfed. We had such a tiring succession of cocoa that it as quite a relief to find a new liquid in café au lait, made out of condensed milk.
So we pass the day, and evening comes on. We look at the rifles and lay them on the parapet, take precautions about a nasty bank along the road where the Germans might crawl up and throw bombs. In another trench one of our men was on sentry, when he felt a touch on the end of his rifle. He fired, there was a groan, and he crept over to find a dying German, who had lost his way, I expect, scouting.
We have our two hour shifts at night, and drowse the rest of the time. About five o'clock, with luck, our servant, if he has woken up, brings us some Oxo, and then you go round kicking the men to make them stand to arms. As day grows bayonets are inspected and those passed round which have been hit by bullets. There were three one night - one snapped off completely.
The next day is a repetition of what has gone before; there is the usual after-breakfast serenade, and after writing some letters, and a few short snoozes, we start counting the hours until we will be relieved. The men are always packed up and ready to move off a good hour before. Then we wait - of course the relieving regiment, the G.G.'s, are late - you are generally warned of their approach by the sound of muffled oaths and grousings. An Officer leads them, and wants to know why we have fires; then a man passes, 'Well, Mick, we would have had four days C.B. for a glow like that.'
I lead my relieving platoon into their position, blundering and squeezing past my heavily packed men - and how two men with packs on pass one another - well you must hear from them and what passes, and have some idea.
There is just the same delight in showing your next position with all its little special corners and whims to the next lot, as a schoolboy might show his bird collection to a visitor.
At last the G.G.'s settle down - we unfix bayonets and start filing out. The order goes down ahead of you and however slowly the first man walks, the last man is sure to run - it is fated never to be otherwise. After forty four yards of communication trenches we get into the road - skirt the Jack Johnson holes, if we don't fall into them, miss the broken down trees and poles - and so walk in single file for a while or so while the spent bullets are flying over and through you. One always seems to smack the wall of a cottage just as we pass it, and it makes me jump - if no one else.
It is strange, but we always have more casualties coming up to the trenches than we do while in them - from these spent bullets. It is rare if we get through without one man being killed, generally just by the little cemetery where two of our brave officers are buried who fell on Feburary 1st.
On reaching the main road again by a circuitous route about a mile behind the firing line, we form up in the dark as well as we can and then slog home. Then it is you notice you are swinging about and can't walk straight, and the men also seem all over the place in fives and sixes. You try talking to them, but it seems no good - so you just lump it and plod along, only to be roused up when a bright motor light appears ahead, or a battery of artillery want to pass you from the rear.
At last, as your legs get more unsteady, one, and then more lights appear, and you get into Bœuvry. The men shake together, and you are home sooner than you think. Rations and a tot of rum are served out, then we look after our food The stairs seem steep, and when we get into the electric light and see the supper, I realise for the fist time I am tired, and possibly so much that I have to leave my letters ot the next day. There is little talk at supper. Directly it is over, Capt. Young and I are off to our billets at the tailor's shop, to the bed on the floor in my sleeping bag.
I didn't wake till near nine o'clock, so it must have been close on twelve hours. I got up leisurely, went across to the mess, and from the window we could see the men making their morning wash at the village pump, surrounded by the ladies and children of the place. All the square is muddy cobbles, with much piled up, in certain places, a sure trap for the unwary at night, as it is knee deep - and I had fallen into one the night before; luckily there were no men about, otherwise there must have been stories of drunken officers flying about; and we are desperately strict on this - it is a court marshal for every case, and a sentence of nothing less than six months hard labour.
In to breakfast walks Harmsworth, looking as fresh as he ever did. His right arm is tucked in his coat, and he tells us he has had his arm poisoned, the reason being that two nights ago he threw a bomb - German - which exploded prematurely. A bit stung his arm up, but he thought nothing of it until he found his arm swollen. A doctor says a nail is lodged in somewhere, so he was soon packed off for a month.
He is a very jolly man - about twenty - always happy and keen. He boxed for Oxford last year, and, considering he has spent all his life in hotels and big houses, he is wonderfully simple and hard. I liked him more than anyone; he had such a go about him, and didn't care for no one."
Tuesday 24 February 2015
February 24th: in billets, a letter to his mother
My Dear Mother
We are back again for rest, and I am finding the life easier and can get sleep in the trenches. It is lucky to be warm-blooded, as I rarely feel the cold, though there have been frosts. But one night where we entered the trenches and found them up to our knees in water, and we didn't look like getting them dry from 8 to 1 a.m., I nearly cried from pain in my feet. Then we got a fire, and took off, against orders, our boots and many pairs of socks and burnt them both - !!!! - in fact, in the morning I couldn't get m boots on, and these my best pair too, but I hope I have made them wearable now.
A mild flutter. The Prince of Wales has just arrived, and is looking around, probably for the men with latest honours. We are not staying here overlong now, though I can't say when. I have not had any food parcels yet; so far I have been feeding on other officers' goods. I have had tobacco and cigarettes from Reddie, a useful parcel of small things from D., and a great tin of ham from someone unknown.
That little book ' War Manual of Prayers' I find very useful.
Our doings are chronicled in 'Eye-Witness' report (Times) and in 'News of the World', Sunday, February 20th.
We are back again for rest, and I am finding the life easier and can get sleep in the trenches. It is lucky to be warm-blooded, as I rarely feel the cold, though there have been frosts. But one night where we entered the trenches and found them up to our knees in water, and we didn't look like getting them dry from 8 to 1 a.m., I nearly cried from pain in my feet. Then we got a fire, and took off, against orders, our boots and many pairs of socks and burnt them both - !!!! - in fact, in the morning I couldn't get m boots on, and these my best pair too, but I hope I have made them wearable now.
A mild flutter. The Prince of Wales has just arrived, and is looking around, probably for the men with latest honours. We are not staying here overlong now, though I can't say when. I have not had any food parcels yet; so far I have been feeding on other officers' goods. I have had tobacco and cigarettes from Reddie, a useful parcel of small things from D., and a great tin of ham from someone unknown.
That little book ' War Manual of Prayers' I find very useful.
Our doings are chronicled in 'Eye-Witness' report (Times) and in 'News of the World', Sunday, February 20th.
Sunday 22 February 2015
February 22nd: in the trenches at Cuinchy
To Mrs. Deason, Stratford:-
In the trenches (Cuinchy)
I think something must have happened at the mission, in that I haven't had the Magazine nor any tracts from you. At the same time, many silver pieces are burning in my pocket wanting to buy your tickets, though my feet are about as cold as they can be. But I don't want to grouse, for, except for Mission news, I get all I can digest. I would like the monthly Magazine so that I don't get out of touch with things.
Sundays are the same as other days in the trenches, and out, but the R.C.'s are well looked after, as we have a R.C. priest. It is a real good game this, and I am as happy in my dug-out as I ever was within the walls of Martin Street. We are all pleased with our latest doings, having 1 V.C., 2 D.C.M., 2 D.S.O., and two mentioned in despatches. The man who won the VC was a private at the beginning of the War.
Most of our scouting is done by men, who get all their good information by going about the country disguised as animals.
Remember me to ... and any others that treat me as a friend.
In the trenches (Cuinchy)
I think something must have happened at the mission, in that I haven't had the Magazine nor any tracts from you. At the same time, many silver pieces are burning in my pocket wanting to buy your tickets, though my feet are about as cold as they can be. But I don't want to grouse, for, except for Mission news, I get all I can digest. I would like the monthly Magazine so that I don't get out of touch with things.
Sundays are the same as other days in the trenches, and out, but the R.C.'s are well looked after, as we have a R.C. priest. It is a real good game this, and I am as happy in my dug-out as I ever was within the walls of Martin Street. We are all pleased with our latest doings, having 1 V.C., 2 D.C.M., 2 D.S.O., and two mentioned in despatches. The man who won the VC was a private at the beginning of the War.
Most of our scouting is done by men, who get all their good information by going about the country disguised as animals.
Remember me to ... and any others that treat me as a friend.
Saturday 21 February 2015
February 21st 1915: from the trenches
As day broke the men stood to arms, and had to remain standing much against their will. As it became lighter all the parapets and heights of the firing positions had to be adjusted as well as the field of fire: ranges also had to be attacked.
Then when it seemed more certain, the Germans weren't going to make an attack today, men were sent for wood and water from the desolate houses. Platoons were numbered off in sixes and No. __ was put on guard. Fires were soon started, and by peeping through a loophole you could make out the German trenches with their reels of smoke rising above them.
The men had bacon, onions, biscuit and tea, no milk. We officers went off to our dug-outs and had the same sort of meal.
After breakfast the men's rifles had to be cleaned and polished as if on parade - it is difficult to say how caked the rifles can get, and the ammunition the same. And yet it is so important to see that the rifles are ready for any emergency; you can understand what a few jammed rifles and burst chambers can do to endanger the lives of every man in your platoon. So it is that nearly every hour on the day either you or an N.C.O. are examining bolts and triggers.
And in the same way it is inconceivable how slack (or is it cowardly?) some men are not to look to and prepare their own firing position. Quite a few are happy to blaze away at the tops of trees, while remaining all the time well under cover. I see to it and enforce that every man can, f necessary, hit a German's feet five yards away from the parapet. This distance is none too short in these pitch dark nights - when it is inky, and no mistake.
After rifle inspection other men are told off to dig or make up the parapets or build up the firing trenches where there is not less than four feet of earth in front. Little else will stop a bullet.
After that I am practically free and can lie down in my dug-out, where fresh straw has been brought me by my orderly, before my burning brazier, or tke a stroll to see other bits of the line where my company is, or if I have cheek enough, my Battalion is - then you run the risk of running up against Captains and Majors of Companies and possibly the C.O. (heaven help me then!), who want to know what you are doing.
As you wander round, on either side you can see pathetic little wooden crosses where our brave men died in the recent fighting in this place, on the 29th: here, a Northants Subaltern, who I hear did splendidly; there, a K.R.R.C., a Black Watch, and many Coldstreams. And so I come to a trench still more in front where all the men are chirpy enought counting the Germans who lie scattered in the turnip field before them - they must have had a dusting. While I was totting them up a bullet went whizzing over my head - I ought to say through my hair - and I was called down by a rich brogue, 'Get down, sorr; that was meant for you' - and I never realised it. After that I was more careful to look through a periscope and through one glass only of my glasses.
With regards to those so-called dead bodies, it is interesting (and not too crude I hope for you) to know that in the day we teach our men to have fire practice at them. One Company had asserted strongly that these bodies or forms disappear in numbers, by night especially, and it appears that German snipers can take advantage of the cover afforded by the dead comrades to have pots at our loopholes. Ther are no more snipers of that sort in front of our lines.
The first morning was a beautiful spring morning, even larks were singing. We hadn't been long at work when an aeroplane came overhead from the direction of our lines, shut off steam, planed downwards, had a good look at the network of our trenches, and was then off to the German lines.
Then we heard a dull boom behind us - the sound is really like that of a big bang on a big drum, as the Cinema theatres will have it, though I always thought it foolish - and in about ten seconds a puff of smoke appears in the blue sky, well behind the Taube, of course. At least a dozen shots were fired - well wide of the mark every one of them - we can't expect too much of the accuracy of these guns, but we like them to go off, as besides frightening the aeroplanes, their shots give rise to speculation and always look well.
We know what to expect after this visit, and, sure as fate, the Germans began bombarding us to shake our breakfast down - our gunners shouted about the same time, and for a long time frightened me more than our own until I as taught to recognise the various sounds. With us there is a great bang follwoed by a long swish through the air, and up we all get to see what luck and how close it burst to the German trenches. Then perhaps 'Mother' will send one in: she blows off seven miles off, and puts out her half-ton shot. Her shell goes so slowly you can imagine you can see it swinging though the air, and then there is a tremendous bust as it throws about all around it.
With the Germans, on the other hand, the bang and short swish comes about the same time. Generally they make good play on the ground between the trenches, or shell our imaginary supports coming up the road. The one which you don't hear until it bursts on you will finish you for the time being.
As the bombardment goes on and as you potter about all the trenches the men show you their souvenirs - generally chunks of scrap iron, or copper ribbed plate - a great prize is a shell time prize head, and one man picked up a litle copper image. Much shelling is likely to give you a headache, but apart from that you are none the worse for the morning's doing.
Then when it seemed more certain, the Germans weren't going to make an attack today, men were sent for wood and water from the desolate houses. Platoons were numbered off in sixes and No. __ was put on guard. Fires were soon started, and by peeping through a loophole you could make out the German trenches with their reels of smoke rising above them.
The men had bacon, onions, biscuit and tea, no milk. We officers went off to our dug-outs and had the same sort of meal.
After breakfast the men's rifles had to be cleaned and polished as if on parade - it is difficult to say how caked the rifles can get, and the ammunition the same. And yet it is so important to see that the rifles are ready for any emergency; you can understand what a few jammed rifles and burst chambers can do to endanger the lives of every man in your platoon. So it is that nearly every hour on the day either you or an N.C.O. are examining bolts and triggers.
And in the same way it is inconceivable how slack (or is it cowardly?) some men are not to look to and prepare their own firing position. Quite a few are happy to blaze away at the tops of trees, while remaining all the time well under cover. I see to it and enforce that every man can, f necessary, hit a German's feet five yards away from the parapet. This distance is none too short in these pitch dark nights - when it is inky, and no mistake.
After rifle inspection other men are told off to dig or make up the parapets or build up the firing trenches where there is not less than four feet of earth in front. Little else will stop a bullet.
After that I am practically free and can lie down in my dug-out, where fresh straw has been brought me by my orderly, before my burning brazier, or tke a stroll to see other bits of the line where my company is, or if I have cheek enough, my Battalion is - then you run the risk of running up against Captains and Majors of Companies and possibly the C.O. (heaven help me then!), who want to know what you are doing.
As you wander round, on either side you can see pathetic little wooden crosses where our brave men died in the recent fighting in this place, on the 29th: here, a Northants Subaltern, who I hear did splendidly; there, a K.R.R.C., a Black Watch, and many Coldstreams. And so I come to a trench still more in front where all the men are chirpy enought counting the Germans who lie scattered in the turnip field before them - they must have had a dusting. While I was totting them up a bullet went whizzing over my head - I ought to say through my hair - and I was called down by a rich brogue, 'Get down, sorr; that was meant for you' - and I never realised it. After that I was more careful to look through a periscope and through one glass only of my glasses.
With regards to those so-called dead bodies, it is interesting (and not too crude I hope for you) to know that in the day we teach our men to have fire practice at them. One Company had asserted strongly that these bodies or forms disappear in numbers, by night especially, and it appears that German snipers can take advantage of the cover afforded by the dead comrades to have pots at our loopholes. Ther are no more snipers of that sort in front of our lines.
The first morning was a beautiful spring morning, even larks were singing. We hadn't been long at work when an aeroplane came overhead from the direction of our lines, shut off steam, planed downwards, had a good look at the network of our trenches, and was then off to the German lines.
Then we heard a dull boom behind us - the sound is really like that of a big bang on a big drum, as the Cinema theatres will have it, though I always thought it foolish - and in about ten seconds a puff of smoke appears in the blue sky, well behind the Taube, of course. At least a dozen shots were fired - well wide of the mark every one of them - we can't expect too much of the accuracy of these guns, but we like them to go off, as besides frightening the aeroplanes, their shots give rise to speculation and always look well.
We know what to expect after this visit, and, sure as fate, the Germans began bombarding us to shake our breakfast down - our gunners shouted about the same time, and for a long time frightened me more than our own until I as taught to recognise the various sounds. With us there is a great bang follwoed by a long swish through the air, and up we all get to see what luck and how close it burst to the German trenches. Then perhaps 'Mother' will send one in: she blows off seven miles off, and puts out her half-ton shot. Her shell goes so slowly you can imagine you can see it swinging though the air, and then there is a tremendous bust as it throws about all around it.
With the Germans, on the other hand, the bang and short swish comes about the same time. Generally they make good play on the ground between the trenches, or shell our imaginary supports coming up the road. The one which you don't hear until it bursts on you will finish you for the time being.
As the bombardment goes on and as you potter about all the trenches the men show you their souvenirs - generally chunks of scrap iron, or copper ribbed plate - a great prize is a shell time prize head, and one man picked up a litle copper image. Much shelling is likely to give you a headache, but apart from that you are none the worse for the morning's doing.
Friday 20 February 2015
February 20th: in Billets at Bœuvry
In billets
My Dear Uncle William
I was very glad to get your letter in the trenches: my first forty-eight hours' spell. I enjoyed it thoroughly, though it was in a hot corner; three officers had been outed in the period before in the same place. We came through it well, and only had two men wounded; so we were very lucky. The Germans tried to shell us, but if they did they got it three times as hot - we have the upper hand in artillery now. 'Mother' (a 9.2") gives them awful 'gyp'. (This same gun is now to be seen at the Imperial War Museum)
If you look at the communiqué on the 8th you will see the work the I.G. did.
The mill mentioned on the 10th is fifty yards from my platoon. The Brigade, they say, is always put where there is most work to be done, and I am hardly surprised after seeing our men at work. They are quite splendid, and shepherd me about a if I were something precious.
I am very happy with them, and feel they will go anywhere with me. I have eighty men under me, most of them dying to have a cut at the Germans, 200 yards away across a perfectly flat field.
The periscopes are wanted badly, and steel loop-holes. The Germans have both.
We are sapping ahead by degrees, straightening out the line, and look as if we were thus going to dig ourselves to Berlin. The trenches are drying up well now; in fact, in warm weather it will be a joy to live in them.We all feel so well.
* * *
Dear Teddy Milad
Don't blame me if I haven't written before, nor write again,; it is all the fault of the Army. They haven't let us go for a week's rest, as they had once promised, when I had hoped to get off a lot of answers, and it is all even chances you may not hear from me again (an audible sob!). Such is the way of the world here. We are 'Up agin it,' and all our officers are either getting wounded or going sick. Why they should in this weather I can't think; and for a wonder the trenches have been dry under foot for two days. But directly it rains the mud becomes ankle-deep again.
I hope you have some idea where we are - by a large main road where all the recent fighting has been with French and English (or rather, Irish Guards) advances. General French's despatch was good enough, but we all agreed (Coldstreams included) that it was more out show than anyone else's. Since February we have cone better work, so look out for more words of praise. When we don't push ahead, the French do - just across the road - and at these times you can see whole lines of periscopes along the length of our trenches, watching their advance. First you hear a succession of roars well behind the lines, then a stream of shrieks overhead followed by the most almighty cracks and bangs, one and two, again and again. The sound is bad enough 00 yards away What it can be on the spot I shudder to think. In the midst of this there is the ceaseless rattle of rapid rifle-fire. This goes on for ten minutes r so, until the whole German trend seems to be burning with these explosions and clouds of grey-black smoke.
Then someone spots the little grey men with their turned-up grey coats and red trousers clambering out of their trench; first five - then seems a long wait. Is the attack going to fail after all? But thank heaven, about fifty at last start scurrying across the 200 yards. Three drop before they have hardly started, on their own parapets, and then half a dozen on the way, and the remainder reach the German parapet just as the bombardment ceases. Then, strange to say, the French lie down before leaping into the trench under the very nozzles of the German mausers, if there are any left; and thus it comes about that a dozen more were shot, at point-blank range. Why they tried these tactics no one can explain. Anyway the rest crawl in, the wounded after them, and the trench is captured, as far as we can see - and the communiqué reads 'the French captured about 277 yards of the ... road.' (See February 16th newspapers.)
Later in the day my old regiment relieved us , and their Captain went over to pow-wow with the occupants of this trench and was met by a 'Wo ist da?' He didn't wait to answer. This explains the German communiqué of the same day.
I am very happy with my platoon, and, in confidence, my platoon-sergeant tells me that the regiment is in a much better way than it was when it started out. The officers trust all different, which the men like, and we also hear from higher up that the authorities couldn't have believed the Special Reserves would be so efficient. We had four Regular officers with us when we went through these recent operations.
I want the Stratford news - the Magazine - socks, etc
If you don't get any news from me write to my Mother. I am writing officially to her.
Make the boys write: and if you think of changing the prayer card you will find good Bible passages and prayers from the 'War Manual of Prayers,' price 6d (Longman)
My love to you, B, and all at Stratford. I will try and get back for camp.
Yours ever
T.A.
My Dear Uncle William
I was very glad to get your letter in the trenches: my first forty-eight hours' spell. I enjoyed it thoroughly, though it was in a hot corner; three officers had been outed in the period before in the same place. We came through it well, and only had two men wounded; so we were very lucky. The Germans tried to shell us, but if they did they got it three times as hot - we have the upper hand in artillery now. 'Mother' (a 9.2") gives them awful 'gyp'. (This same gun is now to be seen at the Imperial War Museum)
If you look at the communiqué on the 8th you will see the work the I.G. did.
The mill mentioned on the 10th is fifty yards from my platoon. The Brigade, they say, is always put where there is most work to be done, and I am hardly surprised after seeing our men at work. They are quite splendid, and shepherd me about a if I were something precious.
I am very happy with them, and feel they will go anywhere with me. I have eighty men under me, most of them dying to have a cut at the Germans, 200 yards away across a perfectly flat field.
The periscopes are wanted badly, and steel loop-holes. The Germans have both.
We are sapping ahead by degrees, straightening out the line, and look as if we were thus going to dig ourselves to Berlin. The trenches are drying up well now; in fact, in warm weather it will be a joy to live in them.We all feel so well.
* * *
Dear Teddy Milad
Don't blame me if I haven't written before, nor write again,; it is all the fault of the Army. They haven't let us go for a week's rest, as they had once promised, when I had hoped to get off a lot of answers, and it is all even chances you may not hear from me again (an audible sob!). Such is the way of the world here. We are 'Up agin it,' and all our officers are either getting wounded or going sick. Why they should in this weather I can't think; and for a wonder the trenches have been dry under foot for two days. But directly it rains the mud becomes ankle-deep again.
I hope you have some idea where we are - by a large main road where all the recent fighting has been with French and English (or rather, Irish Guards) advances. General French's despatch was good enough, but we all agreed (Coldstreams included) that it was more out show than anyone else's. Since February we have cone better work, so look out for more words of praise. When we don't push ahead, the French do - just across the road - and at these times you can see whole lines of periscopes along the length of our trenches, watching their advance. First you hear a succession of roars well behind the lines, then a stream of shrieks overhead followed by the most almighty cracks and bangs, one and two, again and again. The sound is bad enough 00 yards away What it can be on the spot I shudder to think. In the midst of this there is the ceaseless rattle of rapid rifle-fire. This goes on for ten minutes r so, until the whole German trend seems to be burning with these explosions and clouds of grey-black smoke.
Then someone spots the little grey men with their turned-up grey coats and red trousers clambering out of their trench; first five - then seems a long wait. Is the attack going to fail after all? But thank heaven, about fifty at last start scurrying across the 200 yards. Three drop before they have hardly started, on their own parapets, and then half a dozen on the way, and the remainder reach the German parapet just as the bombardment ceases. Then, strange to say, the French lie down before leaping into the trench under the very nozzles of the German mausers, if there are any left; and thus it comes about that a dozen more were shot, at point-blank range. Why they tried these tactics no one can explain. Anyway the rest crawl in, the wounded after them, and the trench is captured, as far as we can see - and the communiqué reads 'the French captured about 277 yards of the ... road.' (See February 16th newspapers.)
Later in the day my old regiment relieved us , and their Captain went over to pow-wow with the occupants of this trench and was met by a 'Wo ist da?' He didn't wait to answer. This explains the German communiqué of the same day.
I am very happy with my platoon, and, in confidence, my platoon-sergeant tells me that the regiment is in a much better way than it was when it started out. The officers trust all different, which the men like, and we also hear from higher up that the authorities couldn't have believed the Special Reserves would be so efficient. We had four Regular officers with us when we went through these recent operations.
I want the Stratford news - the Magazine - socks, etc
If you don't get any news from me write to my Mother. I am writing officially to her.
Make the boys write: and if you think of changing the prayer card you will find good Bible passages and prayers from the 'War Manual of Prayers,' price 6d (Longman)
My love to you, B, and all at Stratford. I will try and get back for camp.
Yours ever
T.A.
Monday 16 February 2015
February 16th 1915: trench life
Now to continue: I hope you noticed the 'Eye-Witness' reports re brickfields, and know it all applies to us. The officers who came out with me were rather fidgety when we had to parade preparatory to going out to the trenches. Happily enough we had not too much to carry, as our servant took our great-coats, but het men besides their packs and great-coats had their furries, fine waterproof capes, trench boots, and most of them sacks of coke, charcoal or wood.
We paraded in the evening - it is best not to say the time - by companies, and marched off to the trenches about four miles off, along a long, straight, flat avenue of poplars. On either side were occasional cottages and inns, were both Frenchmen and our Tommies were billeted - mostly gunners.
By the side of the road you could occasionally make out lines of trenches wired up, here and there large 'Jack Johnson' holes and a small house wrecked by shell fire. And then passing by us were stragglers on foot, on horse, or in motors, a little later before approaching a large village we charged our magazines. So at last we were getting to business and nearing our end, and one felt more and more strained. Suddenly there was a terrific bang and a long-drawn-out swish overhead dying in the distance. 'What's that?' I asked of my companion, and immovable sergeant. 'Oh! it's only one of our own shells going over our heads.' What a relief!
As we got further and further in the village we could see the desolate signs of the bombardment. It is difficult to conceive what wholesale damage shells can do. In that village, with the exception of Brigade Headquarters house and one or two others, not one had any pane of glass left. It was an exception to see any houses with roofs intact; most had their sides torn out. And the telegraph poles were either down or broken off, with the wires hanging in festoons. And all this in a village two miles from the firing line, of a size not much smaller than Towyn. All the place was in darkness, and any lights in the houses were carefully covered up; in various groups were small parties of men talking quietly together. They were the Reserve Battalion, ready in case of emergency.
Directly we had passed through the village we could hear the whistling of bullets through the trees. And away in front of us down the long avenue flares were sent up - Roman candles or something of that sort. Still, on we went. Every step nearer more bullets appeared to be whizzing around us. We got into single file, and men began to straggle. Awful fear we might lose touch, and I was last in a long string of 200 men. taking a short cut across a right angle to hustle up the men, I couldn't help bobbing when a bullet whizzed just under my chin - swear I could feel the draught it made - but it was no good stopping. The bullet that is going to find its billet in me I shan't even hear, so what use to worry?
Well, we kept in touch and came to a ruined farm, and stood in line along the wall, much longer than I liked, while bullets spat and pinged on the wall above our heads, and flares were going up. In the farm buildings were dusky figures of the Grenadiers whom we relieved. A dash across an open road and a stumble which nearly ended in my falling on my face, and I was in a communication trench, which was just wide enough to take a single man abreast and was here 4' 5" deep.
The line had lengthened out, so it was not at all easy to keep in touch, the end-all and be-all of all trench work. So the only thing to do was to blunder on with the help of your elbows, and getting along a trench is not so easy as you think. For one thing it is not straight for more than four yards (it is 'travested' to prevent enfilade and shell fire having much effect). Then there are all sorts of odd offturns to officers' dug-outs, other lines of trenches: at other places there are steps down and other unknown steps up where a piece of the parapet has been blown in, or some walls of a traverse have collapsed. We meandered down this to Hampton Court maze for about 200 yards and we were at last in our position, where we found more Grenadiers, past whom we had to squeeze. There we took up our position, spread out the men and arranged the hourly watches - one man in three does this while the others snooze as well as they can.
Before I had come up I had spoken to the last Officer, so knew roughly how my trenches went and where to put my support (one platoon) and my firing line (one platoon), and I did not have much difficulty in ascertaining my position, with my right over a large main road, which we had previously been on but had had to leave so as to make a détour. On our right flank were the Frenchmen, to whom I had been told to be friendly.
I think you should here get out my rough sketch map. I had my platoons along AB and CD. We had other troops at E and G to I. The french were across the road and had captured the mill the day we came up.
As soon as I had my men out I went along CD under the road and so into the French trenches. They wanted me to see the mill, so along there I went as there was not much firing. At about point X a tremendous burst of rapid firing commenced, and I was really scared out of my life. Here was I in a French trench, away from my post, and for all the row going on, a German attack was being made! I have a vivid recollection of that moment, of the Frenchmen wildly gesticulating, popping up to the parapet, down again to reload, up again, and firing all the time to the skies. There was an awful rattle and flashing, so I clutched my guide, told him this was not good enough, and hurried back in case this was a proper attack. On getting back I found all had quietened down; such outbursts are common with jumpy Frenchmen and our new soldiers. But I had had such a fright - I wasn't going to those French trenches for some time.
At night the Officers took it in turn to do duty, two hours each; in that time we had to blunder round all our trenches. I didn't care for it, my first time, when I didn't know my way about our trenches, and my hand was very close to my revolver until I was quite sure how our trenches went. In these mazes where we have fought one another so often, and each side has held the ground in turn, you can never be quite sure whether a trench won't lead you straight to the German lines, in more than one place in our present line we actually do have communicating trenches connecting ours and their lines.
Morning came: shivering we stood to arms, and with the light, fires on both sides were started, the smoke could be seen curling up. our breakfast was called up, and there in our Captains dug-out we had sausages (mark you), sardines, b. and b., jam and cocoa.
We paraded in the evening - it is best not to say the time - by companies, and marched off to the trenches about four miles off, along a long, straight, flat avenue of poplars. On either side were occasional cottages and inns, were both Frenchmen and our Tommies were billeted - mostly gunners.
By the side of the road you could occasionally make out lines of trenches wired up, here and there large 'Jack Johnson' holes and a small house wrecked by shell fire. And then passing by us were stragglers on foot, on horse, or in motors, a little later before approaching a large village we charged our magazines. So at last we were getting to business and nearing our end, and one felt more and more strained. Suddenly there was a terrific bang and a long-drawn-out swish overhead dying in the distance. 'What's that?' I asked of my companion, and immovable sergeant. 'Oh! it's only one of our own shells going over our heads.' What a relief!
As we got further and further in the village we could see the desolate signs of the bombardment. It is difficult to conceive what wholesale damage shells can do. In that village, with the exception of Brigade Headquarters house and one or two others, not one had any pane of glass left. It was an exception to see any houses with roofs intact; most had their sides torn out. And the telegraph poles were either down or broken off, with the wires hanging in festoons. And all this in a village two miles from the firing line, of a size not much smaller than Towyn. All the place was in darkness, and any lights in the houses were carefully covered up; in various groups were small parties of men talking quietly together. They were the Reserve Battalion, ready in case of emergency.
Directly we had passed through the village we could hear the whistling of bullets through the trees. And away in front of us down the long avenue flares were sent up - Roman candles or something of that sort. Still, on we went. Every step nearer more bullets appeared to be whizzing around us. We got into single file, and men began to straggle. Awful fear we might lose touch, and I was last in a long string of 200 men. taking a short cut across a right angle to hustle up the men, I couldn't help bobbing when a bullet whizzed just under my chin - swear I could feel the draught it made - but it was no good stopping. The bullet that is going to find its billet in me I shan't even hear, so what use to worry?
Well, we kept in touch and came to a ruined farm, and stood in line along the wall, much longer than I liked, while bullets spat and pinged on the wall above our heads, and flares were going up. In the farm buildings were dusky figures of the Grenadiers whom we relieved. A dash across an open road and a stumble which nearly ended in my falling on my face, and I was in a communication trench, which was just wide enough to take a single man abreast and was here 4' 5" deep.
The line had lengthened out, so it was not at all easy to keep in touch, the end-all and be-all of all trench work. So the only thing to do was to blunder on with the help of your elbows, and getting along a trench is not so easy as you think. For one thing it is not straight for more than four yards (it is 'travested' to prevent enfilade and shell fire having much effect). Then there are all sorts of odd offturns to officers' dug-outs, other lines of trenches: at other places there are steps down and other unknown steps up where a piece of the parapet has been blown in, or some walls of a traverse have collapsed. We meandered down this to Hampton Court maze for about 200 yards and we were at last in our position, where we found more Grenadiers, past whom we had to squeeze. There we took up our position, spread out the men and arranged the hourly watches - one man in three does this while the others snooze as well as they can.
Before I had come up I had spoken to the last Officer, so knew roughly how my trenches went and where to put my support (one platoon) and my firing line (one platoon), and I did not have much difficulty in ascertaining my position, with my right over a large main road, which we had previously been on but had had to leave so as to make a détour. On our right flank were the Frenchmen, to whom I had been told to be friendly.
I think you should here get out my rough sketch map. I had my platoons along AB and CD. We had other troops at E and G to I. The french were across the road and had captured the mill the day we came up.
As soon as I had my men out I went along CD under the road and so into the French trenches. They wanted me to see the mill, so along there I went as there was not much firing. At about point X a tremendous burst of rapid firing commenced, and I was really scared out of my life. Here was I in a French trench, away from my post, and for all the row going on, a German attack was being made! I have a vivid recollection of that moment, of the Frenchmen wildly gesticulating, popping up to the parapet, down again to reload, up again, and firing all the time to the skies. There was an awful rattle and flashing, so I clutched my guide, told him this was not good enough, and hurried back in case this was a proper attack. On getting back I found all had quietened down; such outbursts are common with jumpy Frenchmen and our new soldiers. But I had had such a fright - I wasn't going to those French trenches for some time.
At night the Officers took it in turn to do duty, two hours each; in that time we had to blunder round all our trenches. I didn't care for it, my first time, when I didn't know my way about our trenches, and my hand was very close to my revolver until I was quite sure how our trenches went. In these mazes where we have fought one another so often, and each side has held the ground in turn, you can never be quite sure whether a trench won't lead you straight to the German lines, in more than one place in our present line we actually do have communicating trenches connecting ours and their lines.
Morning came: shivering we stood to arms, and with the light, fires on both sides were started, the smoke could be seen curling up. our breakfast was called up, and there in our Captains dug-out we had sausages (mark you), sardines, b. and b., jam and cocoa.
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